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tidustargaryen · 4 years

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Blood of the Dragon

What if different decisions completely changed the course of history... The Song of Ice and Fire...

The last two Targaryens are in exile in Essos, their security is constantly threatened, Robert Baratheon wants them dead and the Dothraki want Daenerys.

They can count on the help of a great friend to prepare the forces necessary to reconquer Westeros.

But the journey will be long and they will have to travel all over Essos to find the help they need. The courage and passion of the young Daenerys will allow her to rediscover what her House lost a long time ago. A great destiny awaits her and Westeros doesn't know how much it needs her.

The notes have changed, but the song is still playing.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22291069/chapters/53236438 On Ao3 too.

Hello to all the brave who want to embark on this long story! This is the first fanfiction that I write so I don't guarantee the quality of writing but I hope you will like it.

The end of GoT, and particularly Daenerys' ending, pushed me strongly to write this, but also because I have not yet found on this site, or elsewhere, a story centered on Daenerys. Of course there are stories that focus on her, but especially on her relationship with Jon and often the story focuses more on him. But Dany has her own independent story, she is her own character, and I regret that there are no stories that focus on her only (I have never read stories where she is tagged with Jorah or Drogo maybe it is). And since, after season 8, I absolutely no longer want to consider a romance with her murderer, I no longer read fanfics.... So if you know non-Jonerys/non-Drogo stories, and especially which focuses on Dany, I am interested :D

I essentially want to focus on Daenerys, her history is very rich, Essos is a great continent is a gold mine for a writer, the universe of George R.R. Martin is huge but often only exploited on Westeros. I remain persuaded that Dany deserves her own books and I hope that my story will inspire other people to write a little more about Daenerys, of her story in Essos, not just in Westeros. I don't intend to rewrite George's story, I don't see the point of it, it's his story, he does it better than anyone, if some people had done different actions, the story could change completely, but I will try to stay consistent, because realism is very important so that we can believe it (Do you know that D&D ??)

English is not my mother tongue, there may be mistakes and I am sorry. Fortunately I have @iwillstandbydaenerysforever who helps me, advises me and above all, corrects all my mistakes! A big thank you to you my friend, this story probably wouldn't be posted without you :)

There is Dany/Jon tag but by prevention for anti-Jonerys people, the tag is there for a reason and completely justified and add for the sake of consistency when the two characters will meet, but I want to clarify that there will be no Dany/Jon. Same thing for Viserys/Daenerys. So if you're only interested in these couples, it won't happen, and if you don't like these couples, don't worry, you can keep reading, but the tags are there for a reason. You have been warned.

If you have questions about the story (No spoilers), if you didn't understand something, or if you have ideas to submit to me (I don't guarantee that I will add them) or if you find errors , don't hesitate, if you want to talk to me directly or ask me questions. Be aware, however, that I never respond to insults and anything I find disrespectful.

These notes have been quite long, I hope you like the story :) (I had planned another header but I didn't have time to finish it, for the moment I make a moodboard but I will change it as soon as possible.

Disclaimers: I don't own anything, A Song of Ice and Fire is the property of George R.R. Martin, as well as all the characters, places, etc... Game of Thrones is the property of HBO.

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Stormborn

The masterly wind that blew on the naval fleet, as well as on the fishing and trading boats capsized the latter and made every sailor, merchant or simple peasant busy on the ships or on the quays deaf. An icy rain fell on the island and its surroundings, waves sometimes higher than the ships crashed on the rocks and swallowed everything that had the misfortune of being at sea. A few boats had not managed to return in time and were now drifting not far from the island, for the luckiest ones, for the others they had already reached the depths of the sea. The men on these boats watched with sadness, desolation, but also fear as one ship after another disappeared, waiting for their turn, they watched helplessly as a whole naval fleet disappeared. However, they heard more than they could see, except when lightning struck a ship and set it ablaze like a torch, they had no visibility. Instead, they heard the thunder, the deafening sound of the wind, but also the rain and sometimes the terrifying cries of men and women burning alive or simply screaming in fear as they waited for their gods to come and claim them.

Between the sailors who were trying to save their ships, putting out fires or trying to empty the water flooding the deck, and those who had given up hope of survival, the soldiers did their best to save as many people as possible by allowing them to take shelter behind the fortress walls. But the raging elements had left little chance for the living, and of the hundreds of people in the harbor and on the ships, only twelve had survived, the sailors and soldiers on the boats had either perished with them or tried to swim to shore, but none had managed to survive in the face of the overwhelming force of the sea.

The few refugees behind the walls of the fortress were mostly in shock, some were in tears, or praying for all the people they had just lost while wondering why the gods had been so cruel. Soldiers and servants would come and lay blankets to dry and warm themselves, but also hot food to cheer them up. The room was filled with screaming and crying, but even so, you could still hear the storm raging outside, the ground was shaking, same for the walls, and some soldiers even claimed that wind, rain and lightning had caused a breach in one of the exterior walls.

A man hurried through the corridors of the dungeon, jumping with fear every time lightning struck somewhere. And although it was daylight outside, the darkness of the place, added to the one the storm had brought made the maze of corridors and stairs more difficult to navigate, only the torches and lightning brought some light into such gloomy places and the roar of the storm did not improve the young man’s mind, but what was most disturbing was the dragon sculptures that adorned the place and lazed around so real and alive. Although he was used to the dungeon and its sinister decoration, what he had just seen added to the weather conditions had made him very nervous and what he was about to announce was not going to be very easy for the masters of the place to hear.

He finally reached the bridge leading directly to the central dungeon called “The Stone Drum” then climbed the few steps that separated him from his destination. The place was even more frightening than the rest of the dungeon because of the strong resonance and the height of the place allowing the power of the wind to increase tenfold. But what worried the servant even more were the cries coming from the Queen’s chambers. The sweet and sad Queen Rhaella was about to give birth to her child, but it seemed that the birth was rather difficult and Her Majesty seemed to want to compete with the storm in its greatest intensity. Dragonstone wasn’t Storm’s End, but the rock from which the fortress was carved was exceptionally strong, there was no doubt in Trevas’s mind that the place would still be standing once the storm calmed down. But would it be the same for its inhabitants?

Ser Willem Darry guarded the door to the Queen’s chambers, he did not seem at all affected by the events outside, which was not the case for the few guards also present in the room, anxiety could be read on their faces and the Queen’s cries and screams did not help. “Do you have any news for us? What’s the situation outside?” Ser Willem stepped forward and showed the first signs of concern.

The servant nodded to greet the knight and replied, “I have bad news. The storm has sunk almost the entire naval fleet, as well as the merchant and fishing boats that were at the docks. At the time of my departure, three ships were still afloat, but badly damaged. I still have no report for the city, but the majority of the people on the docks and on the ships did not survive.” Ser Willem approached a window and looked out pensively. He couldn’t see the harbor from this vantage point, but he could see the power and anger of the gods coming down on Dragonstone.

At that moment, the Queen uttered a sharper, more heart-rending cry than before and a childish voice resounded. “Ser Willem… Mother …?” Young Prince Viserys had just entered the room with a servant and the knight knelt and tried to comfort him about his mother’s plight, which didn’t seem very encouraging. “My prince, the Queen is strong, she’s giving birth to a new dragon’s blood as we speak. Another Prince, or a Princess, a brother to play with and a training companion, or a little sister to protect. A newcomer to the Targaryen dynasty, it’s a great day, and the gods want this to be known, they’re making enough noise to alert the entire kingdom and let it be heard that the dragon blood is stronger than ever so that the Usurper understands he has unleashed his wrath.” The Queen’s cries had now ceased and a maid came out of the room to say a few words to Ser Willem, whose gaze fell at once. He invited young Viserys to follow him, and they both entered the room. No storm could have rivaled the horror they now had before their eyes, blood was abundant on the bed, the Queen’s face covered with tears looked as if it had taken many years in a few hours, she seemed to be having great difficulty breathing while a maid dabbed her forehead with a towel. The room smelled of death, and the Queen was apparently going to join the gods soon. But in the midst of all this chaos, the cries of a child came to brighten the hearts, the Maester brought the child close to the Prince who looked at his mother with sadness, a few tears running down his chubby child cheeks.

“It’s a girl, a Targaryen Princess.” The Maester offered the Prince to carry the child , but he quickly made his way to the Queen, without concern for the decorum. He hesitantly put his hand on his mother’s one, believing that any sudden gesture might hurt her further. The tenderness in Queen Rhaella’s eyes broke the boy’s weak resistance, and he burst into tears. Her voice resounded one last time, with difficulty, but with hope and pride.

“… Daenerys… Stormborn … of House Targaryen…”

Her gaze then turned to Ser Willem, placing all her hopes on the knight to protect and take care of the last two Targaryens, he nodded while holding back his tears, silently promising what he had already sworn to do a few hours earlier when the Queen was telling him her vows if something went wrong. The woman had endured unspeakable suffering during her life, she had lost so many children, had suffered so much abuse from her husband and yet, the most unbearable and heartbreaking thing for her was not being able to be there to care for and see her children grow up. The Targaryen dynasty was collapsing and she was not going to be able to be there to protect them. Aerys had taken everything from her, if his children were threatened when they were just innocent people, he was responsible. He was the one who had unleashed the wrath of the lords, he was the one who had not taken care to secure his family, he was the one who was responsible for the fall of their House. She could only hope for two things now, that the gods would be merciful and allow her last two children to live, they had already taken of all the others, and that Aerys II Targaryen would reach the seven hells so that she would never have to see him again even in death.

The Queen drew her last breath with a smile on her face after looking at each of her children. And the little Prince’s heart was shattered.

Thus, in the early morning, after the storm had calmed down and the necessary repairs had been made so that a boat could sail safely, the last two members of the House of Targaryen set sail for Essos, in order to ensure their safety until their maturity. The Prince, still affected by the death of his mother, had refused to approach his little sister, but had made a promise in his heart that one day they would return home, and take back what belonged to them with Fire and Blood.

Exile

The few maids of Mistress Ilissa Naeraar had hurried to the door of the Princess’s apartments to hear her sweet voice, which they said was similar to the songs of the colorful birds of the Summer Islands. They were always careful to be as discreet as possible, the Princess did not like to demonstrate her talents, but they always ended up being reprimanded by their Mistress or the Prince for their laziness and the noise of the admonitions always alerted the young girl. They had, until now, managed to remain discreet, but were dying to enter the room to be blessed by the sight of the young Valyrian beauty. The Princess was the most beautiful woman they had ever seen, despite her young age, and given their past as pleasure slaves, they had seen many women more beautiful than any other, but none surpassed the Princess. With her long hair of gold and silver, her eyes typical of her Valyrian roots, the color of the most beautiful jewels called amethysts, her natural and royal grace, they were never tired of admiring her and regretted not descending from the lineage of the Old Valyria.

The apartments of the Princess were worthy of the greatest nobles of Essos, a striking contrast when she thought back to her life before, here she had her own baths, a magnificent four-poster bed centered in the middle of the room, occupying half of the space, a table for her meals and another for her writing and reading practice. Another room where she stored the various dresses offered by her hostess, and random men seeking her favors, or her hand in marriage. The third and last room was the latrine. The main room was sumptuously decorated with statues representing the dragons of the lords who had conquered the Possessions of Valyria, as well as various animals inhabiting the continent, horses, monkeys, elephants, made of gold, bronze, and even obsidian. She had even been offered several fabrics embroidered with the three-headed dragon, emble of the Targaryen House that the Princess had hung on the walls, sometimes dreaming of being in the family dungeon, imagining her family always present, and the Targaryen dynasty stronger and larger than ever.

The young woman was standing by a window, her eyes lost in the waters of the Rhoyne, then on the many merchant ships, the sailors pouring into the port to unload their goods and dreamed of being among them, traveling through the seas and oceans, discovering the world and its various beauties and cultures. Sailing was exciting, but what she wanted above all was to cross the Narrow Sea and land in Westeros, to return home, to discover the legacy left by her family, which was stolen from her by the Usurper and his dogs and traitors who massacred her family. Life was pleasant here, it had been six moons since Mistress Ilissa had welcomed them in her big house, it was a very big place composed of several independent residences, including the large manse of Ilissa, their own private place, of her and her brother’s, as well as a big inn also containing a brothel. Life was pleasant, but the threat of a Dothraki attack was constant, and Mistress Ilissa had repeatedly paid the different Khals so that they would not attack her domain, with gold, slaves, precious objects or fabrics, anything the horse lords desired as long as they did not ransack the place.

Of all that she remembered, it was only in Braavos that she really experienced peace, happiness and carefree. Of course, she was still only a child, very young and did not have the same worries as her brother in mind. She could play with the son of one of the servants, study with her brother and listen to Ser Willem singing songs to her, including the one she was singing right now, which she particularly liked, as it described their lives in part and a possible return home. “I’ve been a wild rover for many’s the year… And I’ve spent all my money on wine and beer… And now I’m returning with gold in great store, I never will play the wild rover no more…” She could still hear the voice of her gentle knight, the affection he had for her, the tenderness he showed her, much more than her own brother. Her few sweet years forever etched in her memory, the red door and the smell of lemon that she loved and that dark-skinned little boy who always helped her up when she fell and kissed the place where she had hurt herself.

“And it’s no, nay, never No, nay, never no more Will I play the wild rover No, never no more

I went into an alehouse I used to…” “Daenerys!”

Her brother entered her apartments suddenly, revealing the three maids who were still glued to her door, hurrying back to their occupations before being reprimanded. Viserys approached his sister and put his hand on her forearm, his gaze falling to the ground as if he was looking for the perfect way to tell her something. Her brother was a very handsome man, he had been blessed by the beauty of the Valyrian people just as she had, according to Ser Willem, he looked a lot like their late brother, Rhaegar, the only consolation she had in knowing the appearance of the silbing she had never known. He took her hands in his and placed a tender kiss on one of them.

“Sweet sister… Dany, I’m afraid I have to tell you that we may have to flee this town. There’s a Khalasar headed straight for us.” Run away, again… When was the last time they had the peace of mind to stay in one place and keep what few friends they had? Although his brother was much more resistant to the idea, preferring to believe that his status, even in exile, forced him to demand friends of a higher rank. She did not have the same pride and could befriend and show great kindness to the lowest of men or women.

“Pack your things, I’ll arrange everything with our hostess.” Daenerys nodded and then stopped his brother before he left the room after kissing her forehead. “Brother, where will we go this time?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll find a place, haven’t I done it all these years? Why do I feel like this is a reproach, dear sister? Is it my fault that we are in exile? What they have done to us is unjust, and I will see that injustice punished. We are of royal blood, we are the blood of the Old Valyria, the blood of the dragon and they exterminated ours, they forced us to beg, to wander in rags, no forgiveness will be granted, we will take revenge dear sister.”

Daenerys took a few steps back, away from her brother who had come towards her in anger. She knew she was safe, she and her dear friend had made sure of that long ago, but her brother tended to be a little too self-centered, and he had to learn wisdom if he wanted to become a great king.

“Injustice… It’s true, it’s unfair, and the murderers of our niece and nephew, but also of Elia, they will pay for it, and for everything that happened afterwards, but look around us, brother… Just yesterday I saw a child … younger than I was when we were kicked out of our house in Braavos, feeding on insects on the ground, drinking from a puddle of mud half dried out by the sun and the heat, I’m not even sure it was water. We are always privileged, but these people outside, they are starving, they are working themselves to death so that they can buy a little food and the little clothes they have on them. We have beautiful fabrics, we eat our fill, we know what it is like to live on the streets, but we don’t live like that anymore. “The Princess stopped for a moment to get closer to her brother and put a hand on his cheek before she added tenderly:

“I could be one of those women, in a brothel to survive and you too … you could have been sold into slavery in a fighting arena, you could be dead by now … and so could I. We’re always luckier than other people don’t forget that, brother.”

After dropping a tender kiss on his cheek, Daenerys walked away to the room where she prepared to gather her clothes for their possible future departure. Servants, sent by her brother, were already there and had preceded her. Daenerys smiled at the girls and told them that she could take care of her possessions, freeing them from an extra burden. She sat down on a trunk and lost herself in her thoughts for a few moments, playing with the ring that her knight had given her long ago and which had belonged to her mother, the only possession she had of her, this ring and the crown that her brother had. Ser Willem often spoke to her about her mother, he also told her that she looked a lot like her, that she was as sweet and kind, smiling and welcoming, that she often sang during the time she carried Daenerys in her womb and that she liked to be alone with her future Princess and to caress her hump while telling her stories about dragons and their family. Of course, she was too young for her knight to tell her about the darker parts of her mother’s life, and the suffering and violence she had endured during her marriage, but she had finally found out from someone else, and that day was the first day she had promised herself that she would never let a man do that to her. Knowing her future husband, she knew that promise would be kept.

The town square was teeming with people as usual, the market stalls were very crowded, you could find objects, food and fabrics from all over Essos, the Summer Islands, Westeros and a whole host of other less well-known places. In the middle of the square stood, proudly, the white marble statue of the Triarch Horonno, which could have been magnificent if only it had not been decapitated a long time ago by a rival faction. Most people spoke a derivative of the High Valyrian, but not only that, a whole host of foreign peoples and customs were accepted and respected in Selhorys, formerly one of the Possessions of Valyria, and which had managed to remain standing while other nearby towns were now in ruins during the conflict between the Rhoynars and the Dragon Lords. Essos was like a canvas painted in every possible color, depicting all peoples, all religions and all pleasures of the flesh, and this pleased the young Princess who was thirsty for knowledge and had spent a lot of time immersed in books, especially those from Westeros, where she could learn more about her home, things she had not learned from her brother or other people. Of course there were the dark sides of such diversification, slavery to begin with, in front of “The Painted Turtle” inn where most of the women, but also men, were pleasure slaves and tried by all means to lure passers-by inside in order to extract a few coins from them in exchange of sexual favors. Daenerys was no stranger to the practice, from a very young age she had seen everything there was to see about carnal relations between two or more people, most of the time in the middle of the street where people had no discomfort or desire for intimacy. But slaves occupied many other professions, fishermen, litter bearers, servants in inns or manses with the nobles, workers in the fields, hunters, all the difficult jobs were, of course, given to slaves.

The darkest thing, however, were the sacrifices she had been unlucky enough to witness, always in the name of some god or other, whether they were animals, simple precious objects or one or more people, she had never been spared from the atrocities of which her species was capable and her powerlessness to stop such things weighed only more heavily on her conscience. So many things had remained a mystery to her, but not an impossibility, after all, her ancestors had tamed and mounted dragons, they had made a steel so powerful that it could split normal armor in half, but this knowledge was now lost, even though some claim that in Qohor the blacksmiths are among the best and secretly keep the recipe for this unique steel.

She was now in front of the forges, accompanied by her brother, both hooded in a discreet outfit to avoid attracting attention. Even though their hair was not unique here, many people were lucky enough to possess the gold and silver hair of the Valyrians thanks to the crossbreeding practiced during their empire, the color of their eyes was much rarer, and they also had to wear very modest clothes to avoid curious looks, the poor or slaves attracted little attention and were more often considered as “part of the decor.” As they had no tattoos on their faces, indicating what kind of slave they were, they could only pretend to be poor, foreign merchants or artists, as Daenerys could easily pretend to be a singer, Viserys could only boast of being a good story counter.

Her brother had wanted to go to the markets to buy resources in case they were forced to flee the city quickly, but it was to the inn that he now went, claiming to want to quench his thirst, but Daenerys knew better, his brother was a man, a man with needs and a young woman in that inn had caught his attention, he certainly wanted to say goodbye to her.

The sought-after hostel was a little set back from the center of the city, you had to take several narrow streets to get there, it was the cheapest and most discreet place and the markets had attracted the majority of the population, the place was almost deserted except for a few children playing chase after chase, at times trying to steal the purses of poor people too naive to still believe in the innocence of the youngest. His brother had stepped up the pace, but Daenerys felt they were being watched, on every street corner they could come across thieves or worse, murderers or slavers. Her hand grabbed his brother’s to warn him, but he collapsed to the ground as Daenerys tried to free herself from her attacker’s grasp. It was then the look in Viserys’s eyes that told her that they were in no danger, at the same time a soft, familiar and comforting voice echoed in her ear:

“I could have been anyone and you’d both be dead by now … you’re reckless.”

Once released, the Princess turned around and was warmly greeted by the sight of her closest friend.

“Oberyn!” She threw herself into his arms and held him tightly to make up for the years that had separated them.

Somewhere, at a certain time

The city of Myr was one of the richest trading cities founded by the Valyrians and one of the nine Free Cities of Essos. This town had built its wealth on trade and its excellent merchants, thousands of them came every day to do business in this city, textiles and glass were unique and very expensive resources in this town, but also very desired. The population was also large and it became difficult to move through the streets without being jostled or blocked by a group of people attracted by a stall. This served the young Targaryens well as they could move more easily among the people thanks to their small frame and relieve some of the passers of their burdens. It was always Viserys who took care of the thefts, but the young girl was so adorable that sometimes people would give her a few coins when they saw her frail nature.

It had been three years since they had been forced to flee from Braavos and were surviving as best as they could, hunger and cold being their greatest difficulties with the fear that one day they would be recognized and put to death on the orders of the Usurper. The Prince had lost any royal attitude he might have had one day and was easily confused with the other inhabitants of the streets who were also begging for survival, his sister had never known royalty, she only had the memories that her brother had told her. It was hard for her to understand him, what he had known and lost, when all she had known was fear, poverty, cold, and hunger… That was the worst of it all, being hungry, smelling the food all over the streets, the smoke from the meat, the smell of bread … seeing people constantly eating and having only leftovers lying on the ground, or any kind of crawling animals they could catch. Once her brother had tried to fish, but without equipment all he managed to do was that the fish ran away and several fishermen threatened to cook him with their stews if they came back without food because of him. Dany burst out laughing when she saw her brother’s face, of course, at her young age, she didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation. In anger, Viserys had pulled her by the arm and carried her back to the place where they slept on the ground but out of sight. He had then spent the day looking out at the sea, repeating that he would return home one day and take revenge for the affronts he had suffered.

The last Targaryens were both sitting on a rock not far from the water, they had been lucky that day, the purse that Viserys had stolen contained enough coins for them to make a decent meal and they had been able to buy for each of them a piece of bread, lamprey pie and some spiced wine which Daenerys had spit out as soon as she found the taste foul. Her grimace, however, had worked a miracle, her brother had smiled at her. He hadn’t laughed, just smiled, something he hadn’t done since Braavos, and even there he smiled very rarely. “Dany look over there, in that direction, it’s Dorne and its burning sands. And there, it’s the Stormlands, they belong to the Usurper and his House, their dungeon is called “Storm’s End“ and it is known to withstand any storm. But believe me dear sister, one day it won’t be the storm that comes down on them, but the dragons, and their dungeon won’t stand up to it, I told you what happened to Harrenhal, didn’t I?” The young Princess nodded and said “But the dragons are gone…”

“They have existed, they will exist again, we are dragons, the last, we are not simple mortals, our heritage is great, and our duty even greater, our House will rise from its ashes and our dynasty will be even greater than in the time of Aegon the Conqueror or Valyria. Of this I am sure, and on that day our enemies will regret their betrayal.”

Daenerys understood what “enemies” were, she knew what death was, she had discovered it in spite of herself when Ser Willem had left this world, when her brother told her that their father, the King, had been betrayed and killed like a dog, and that because of their enemies they had to leave quickly to Dragonstone and that their mother had not been given the care necessary for her birth. Even the soldiers protecting the dungeon had wanted to sell them to the Usurper to save their lives and it was only thanks to Ser Willem and a few faithful servants that they were able to escape. But many things were still very complicated for her, so she listened to her brother without saying anything, dreaming of being able to eat her fill, of having a bit of warmth at night and above all, secretly wishing that her mother was there to take her in her arms. She would never have told Viserys, he had already told her several times that it was her fault that their mother had died, but how could she be responsible? She was just a baby… She didn’t understand, but kept quiet so that her brother would stop being angry with her.

“Look over there, that’s our ancestral dungeon, Dragonstone, and over there,” he waved to her, moving his finger a few inches. “That’s King’s Landing, home, our stolen home, one day we will go home sister.”

Dany wanted her home, she wanted her mother, her family, food and a warm bed, Dany wanted many things that a child should always have, but at this moment she would have liked more than anything that her brother took her in his arms, she then hugged very tightly the piece of stuffed cloth with the effigy of a dog she had found in the street, it was all dirty and smelled of death, but it was also her only source of comfort in these difficult times.

Viserys had wanted to eat at an inn because of the meager coins he had stolen today, the place didn’t please his little sister too much, the men were rude and smelled like horse shit, the women always came to their table and sat on her brother’s lap while whispering things in his ear and looking at Dany with a vicious look. Daenerys was a bit jealous, she had been enjoying going on her brother’s lap while he told her stories about their house, but lately he was getting more and more angry with her and didn’t want to carry her anymore, he said that she wasn’t a child anymore and that the dragon wasn’t weak, but these women were much older and he seemed very happy that they were on him. Viserys got up and asked her to wait for him for a few moments without moving, he spoke for a few moments with another woman who looked at the girl. She kept looking while Viserys disappeared into another room.

Dany was a little scared to be alone, even though she suspected that her brother had asked this lady to keep an eye on her, anyone could force her outside and take her away from Viserys forever. Just when she wanted to get up to join her brother, or even to go to the woman who was always watching her, a man sat down in front of her. He had tanned skin, a mustache and smiled kindly at the girl. Dany looked down and wanted to run away when he spoke.

“You’re a pretty little girl, you almost look like a princess. There are princesses in my house too, wouldn’t you like to meet them? They could lend you their dresses and toys?” Daenerys smiled shyly and saw her frightened brother trying to hide something in a bag before approaching.

“Leave her alone.” Viserys approached and took his sister’s hand in his to leave, but the man stood up, his gaze threatening towards the Prince.

“Your brother is very rude, you know.” He stood behind Daenerys and put his hands on her shoulders. “How do you know he’s my brother?” The man then bent down and whispered in his ear, “I know many things, little dragon…” One look from him assured Viserys that he’d better follow him. The man took the Princess’s hand and gently led her upstairs into what seemed to be the room he had rented for his stay. The place was quite small, a simple space to sleep, or do other things, it was a brothel after all, the noises coming through the walls bear witness to this. There was a jug of wine on a small table in the corner of the room, and the man served a glass to the Prince, who hesitated before drinking, then seemed delighted, and the man spoke again.

“Dornish wine, the best…” Viserys took a sip and then replied with a smile, “Pale imitation of the Arbor Gold but it is good indeed… You are certainly Westerosi, Dornish? Anyway, I don't know who you're confusing us with, but you’re mistaken, we’re from Lys, she’s my little sister and I ran away with her so she wouldn’t become a pleasure slave.” When Viserys turned around, he saw his sister rummaging through his bag and pulling out their mother’s crown, which he had refused to sell until now, the only memory he had of her apart from the ring his sister had, but the difficulty of feeding herself was increasing day by day, people were becoming more and more suspicious of children for stealing their purses and yesterday he had seen a man catch one of them trying to steal him, he had not seen what happened to the child afterwards, but he was sure that the punishment had to be consequent. He had climbed up a large rock surrounded by water to hide the most precious object they had, which he was desperate to sell.

“Viserys, what is it doing in your bag?” His brother panicked for a moment in front of the stranger, but he didn’t seem surprised at all. He walked up to Daenerys and stroked the object with one finger.

“She was beautiful your mother, I still remember her royal posture, a real queen, not like your father.” The Prince pulled the crown away from the stranger and drew Daenerys behind him as the child began to ask about their mother. “Who are you?! If you want to do the Usurper’s dirty work, you’ll regret it, you talk to the true King!” Viserys always carried a dagger with him, he was never very good with a sword, and the weapon would have been too flashy, expensive and heavy to carry, a dagger was much more inconspicuous and the only weapon they had to defend themselves. He tried to stab the man with it, but he dodged and knocked the young Prince to the ground. Daenerys began to cry when she saw her brother on the floor, but the man calmed her down immediately.

“I won’t hurt you, little princess, or your brother, but I can’t let him kill me, can I? If you two will calm down, I can tell you why I’m here.” The man took some more wine and served it to the Prince and then sat down on his bed wanting the Princess to come next to him, but Viserys kept his sister close, the stranger’s face lost all smile.

“We do no harm to the children in Dorne … we are neither Lannister nor Baratheon… But we, too, are sure to pay our debts, and our fury is worth far more than that of the Stag… We are patient, we love justice and vengeance, but we can wait to strike better and harder. The time for two children to grow up. ” The man stood up and talk again, emphasizing each of the names he spoke in his beautiful Dornish voice. “Justice for Rhaenys Targaryen, justice for Aegon Targaryen and justice for Elia Martell…” Seriousness had replaced his light and friendly attitude, his words more furious than the snakes that inhabited his lands.

“My name is Oberyn Martell, and I want only two things from you. Fire and Blood.”

------------------------------

Thank you for reading. I prefer not to give a date for the publication of the second chapter, but I will do it as quickly as possible.

I wanted to write Dany's song myself but I like this one :) The song is called "The Wild Rover" interpreted by The Dubliners (Viva Ireland and its songs!) But I like the version of a french group : Wild Rover - Naheulband if you want to listen to it, the intro is long though. All the images used in this chapter were open access.

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profoundnet · 4 years

Text

Profound Member Post - November/December 2019

Header by @cryptomoon and is available on merch from her redbubble store. You can use all those fancy emojis (and more!) on our Discord server!

The Masterpost is open for all creations by ProfoundBond members which are posted in their entirety during that month.

MEMBER CONTRIBUTIONS FOR NOVEMBER/DECEMBER 2019!

Masterpost below the cut.

JessJessTheBest - @saywhatjessie - JessJessTheBest

Forgot all prayers (of joining you)

Dean had forgotten how real and close emotions were when he was here. When he was this close to Cas. When there was nothing between them but time. He wasn’t saying any of this right. His words weren’t working. He couldn’t make his mouth cooperate. But maybe… Or Dean prays to Cas in purgatory. (s15 e08 coda)

Tags: s15 e08 coda, Dean Winchester prays to Castiel, Mild hurt/comfort

SFW

One Hell of a Pilot

He leaned again to get close to the pilot. “This is a rescue. I’m helping you escape.” He took a deep breath, letting it sink in for just a moment that he said those words. That he was doing this. There was no going back. Or Cas is a reformed Stormtrooper, Dean is a rebel pilot, and this is the story of their escape.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Star Wars: The Force Awakens Spoilers, It's literally just the first 36 minutes of TFA, Poe!Dean, Finn!Cas

SFW

The_Madness_Linked_To_A_Hat - @the-madness-linked-to-a-hat - The_Madness_Linked_To_A_Hat

Happy Holidays Cas

Where Dean and Cas follow a seasonal tradition.

Tags: Mistletoe, first kiss, happy holidays SFW

Isangelousdenim - @isangelousdenim - Isangelousdenim

Wishful Drinking

It started with Dean drinking on a case. It escalated to Dean drinking everywhere.

Tags: TW: Suicidal Thoughts, Violent Thoughts & Alcohol Abuse Character Study, Season 15, Heavy Angst

NSFW

Co-written by: Bumocusal

goldenraeofsun - @goldenraeofsun - goldenraeofsun

Head Down, Walk with Reason

As an omega, Castiel is ineligible for the throne after his father dies. When his uncle takes the crown, Metatron's first order of business is to arrange a betrothal with King John for the hand of his firstborn son, the Crown Prince of Terra.

So Castiel flees. His first night on the run, Castiel stumbles into a band of outlaws just at the border. Injured and wary, he has no choice to stay with them. And although he had planned to return to his own kingdom once it was safe, home might not be the place he left, but instead with Dean, their alpha leader that took him in.

Tags: a/b/o, medieval au, royalty au, omega cas, alpha dean, secret identities, angst with a happy ending, castiel and meg friendship NSFW

MaggieMaybe160 - @maggiemaybe160 - MaggieMaybe160

A Thanksgiving Feast

Dean Winchester's dirty prayer before Thanksgiving dinner leads to some shenanigans under the table. Tags: Food Kink. Top Cas/Bottom Dean.

NSFW

One Night

An accidental one night stand between Castiel and Dean leads to whispered confessions and miscommunications.

Tags: Internalized Homophobia. John Winchester's A+ Parenting. Angst with a happy ending. NSFW

followyourenergy - followyourenergy

Christmas in July

When Dean Winchester follows a service dog who won’t leave him alone, he finds Cas Novak, passed out in a stairwell with a Christmas tree on top of him. A Christmas tree? In July? Who does that? Turns out that Cas does that. And once he gets to know the snarky, independent, handsome man, Dean can’t help but fall for him. A story about being seen.

Tags: Christmas, fluff and angst, pining, blind Castiel, service dogs, snarky Castiel, sweet Dean, falling in love

NSFW

Nickelkeep - @nickelkeep - nickelkeep Pillowfort

Talk to Me Now

It started off simple. An ad on Craig's List: Looking for a Roommate, 700/mo, Utilities included...

Tags: AU - Roommates, idiots to lovers, pranks and practical jokes, misunderstandings, comfortably bisexual dean, queer castiel

NSFW

Stuck in the Middle With You

"Fine." Cas slid his right pointer finger into the trap and almost instantly felt the trap snap around their fingers. "That's not right." Dean looked up at Cas. "What did you do?" Cas attempted to pull his finger out of the trap. "I didn't do anything."

Tags: canonverse, cursed object, idiots to lovers, homophobic language, everyone ships dean/cas, love confessions

NSFW

What I Thought I Knew

Dean rolls his eyes and turns to go back to the kitchen when his eyes lock on a guy across the room. He has dark, messy hair and eyes that cannot possibly be so blue. He stares for a moment, ripping his eyes away only when he realizes the other guy has caught him staring. Dean blushes and rushes back into the kitchen. Tags: AU - Modern, Strangers to Lovers, One-sided Enemies to Lovers, Objectification, Miscommunication, Dub-con Kiss

NSFW

Slice of Your Pie

He pulled up the Casual Encounters section of Craig's List and was surprised to find out how right Gabe was. Many people were offering their services for Thanksgiving company. As he scrolled through the ads, one with an interesting title caught his attention. Alone on Thanksgiving? Want to stop the ‘Why are you still single?’ questions?

Tags: AU - Modern, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, Crush at first sight, pre-Dean/Cas, Homophobic Language, Sexism

NSFW

Shiver

"I wouldn't leave it there. I grabbed the most important things and left." Dean shook his head vehemently. "Are you sure?" Sam's face started to crinkle up in an 'I told you so' expression. "Did you really get everything before you ran and asked to crash with your baby brother and his wife?" Dean glared at Sam. "I don't want to go back. It can't be there."

Tags: AU - Modern with Magic, Witch!Cas, Witch!Dean, Blizzards, Car Accident, Getting Back Together, Angst with a Happy Ending

NSFW

Angel

Overcome by a moment of whimsy, Dean walked down the stairs and stepped into the middle of the yard. He looked towards the sky and closed his eyes, letting the snowflakes gently kiss his skin. Tags: Canon Compliant, Fallen!Cas, Snow Angels, Marriage Proposal, Established Dean/Cas, Short and Sweet

SFW

Chandeliers of Hope

"You seriously Christmas themed our D&D game?" Dean rolled his eyes in disbelief. Charlie walked over and patted Dean on the cheek before taking some of the candlesticks out of Cas' arms. "Of course, I did. You said to write what I wanted, I wrote tonight's campaign. It's a one-shot, and it's going to be a lot of fun, I promise." "Gonna hold you to that, Red." Dean pointed at her accusingly before looking and smiling at Cas. "And I'm going to hold you as an accomplice."

Tags: AU - Roommates, Christmas Party, Characters playing D&D, Recreational Marijuana Use, Alcohol Use, Mistletoe Kiss, Cas/Dean First Kiss, Idiots to Lovers

NSFW

A Cold, Dark Winter’s Night

Charlie pulled out a small gift bag and handed it out to everyone. "Secret Santa!" Cas rolled his eyes as Charlie came to stand in front of him, gently shaking the bag. He reached in and pulled out a slip of paper, waiting until Charlie moved to the next person. He flipped it open, and butterflies fluttered in his stomach. Dean.

Tags: AU - Roommates, Christmas Fluff, Idiots in Love, Secret Santa, Everyone Ships Dean/Cas

NSFW

Twas The Night

“It’s Christmas Eve!” “Uh, yeah.” Dean got up from his bed and walked down the hallway to Emma’s room and leaned against her doorframe. “You gonna tell me something I don’t know, Kiddo?” “We need to get started!” Emma was sitting on her floor with her back to the door. “It’s Cas’ first Christmas with us, and I want to make sure he enjoys it.”

Tags: AU - Modern, Timestamp, Domestic Dean/Cas, Established Dean/Cas, Christmas Fluff, KidFic, Marriage Proposal

SFW

You Make it Feel Like Christmas

"Well, considering I haven't had a chance to go Christmas shopping. How about you?" Sam zipped up his bag and did a second check around the hotel room. "I already took your bag out to the car." Sam crossed the room to the motel door and headed outside. Dean stood in silence for a moment as Sam closed the door behind him. Shopping, on Christmas Eve?

Tags: Canonverse, Last Minute Christmas Shopping, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Happy Ending

NSFW

Auld Lang Syne

"She's cute. You ask her out yet?" Dean stabbed his pie with his fork and shoved another bite into his mouth. "Uh, no. Why?" Dean winked. "Means she's available, right?" "No offense Dean, but you don't have a chance. She has standards." Cas took a sip of his tea and looked at his roommate. "Ouch. You wound me, Cas." Dean rested his elbow on the table and his chin on his knuckles. "Bet you I can get Meg to go to the New Year's Ball with me."

Tags: AU - Modern, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Oblivious Castiel, Eventual Dean/Cas, Dean/Cas First Kiss

SFW

Leafzelindor - @leafzelindor

Artwork for On The Road Again

Artwork done for the DCBB fic "On the Road again" Tags: destiel, fluff, au

SFW

For On The Road Again by @hekate1308

Artwork for Life is But A Dream

Artwork done for the DCBB fic "Life is but a Dream" Tags: Destiel, AU

SFW

For Life is But A Dream by @crowleyhasfeels

Jdragon122 - @jdragon122 - Jdragon122 Pillowfort

from stardust to stardust

~ from stardust to stardust ~ The art prize for the lovely gii-heylittleangel ;) who won the Destiel Artists United 500 follower giveaway! They asked for Castiel and wings XD my favorite lol. I was happy to comply <3

Tags: N/A

SFW

Jemariel - @jemariel - jemariel

Human Error

Cas is human now, and things aren't going to plan. (Not that Dean had a plan. Nope. No plans of any kind.) Anyway, what's a Winchester to do when everything he tries seems to blow up in his face? Go hunting. Obviously.

Tags: Human!Castiel, Alternate season 9, Casefic, Only One Bed, Mutual pining, Miscommunication, Sex under the influence of alcohol, Canon-typical violence, Wendigo, Injured Cas

NSFW

Sarasaurussex - @sarasaurussex - sarasaurussex

Don’t Mess with Dean’s Alpha

Dean and Castiel are enjoying a relaxing night out, until Cas gets hit on by another Omega.

Tags: Omega Dean x Alpha Cas, Possessive Omega, BAMF Dean, Jealousy, Fluff

SFW

The Wendigo

Dean has a lot of baggage from his childhood. Castiel wants to help, if Dean will let him.

Tags: PTSD trauma, parental abuse trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Healing, First Kiss, Confessions

SFW

Destiel Christmas Sweaters, Part I

I had some funny Christmas sweater ideas and couldn't resist dressing up the boys. Dean is not amused. Tags: Destiel, Crack, Humor, Christmas

SFW

Destiel Christmas Sweaters, Part II

More ugly Christmas sweaters for the boys ;D Tags: Destiel, Crack, Humor, Christmas

SFW

Miracle on Lebanon Street

The bunker gets an unexpected visitor on Christmas morning, and it’s not Santa! (Contains Destiel and Sabriel)

Tags: Ugly Christmas Sweaters, White Christmas, Gift Giving, Christmas Feast (it’s pie), Mistletoe, Fluff SFW

vaudelin - @vaudelin - vaudelin Pillowfort

of mundane things

“You never told us,” Dean hisses, during a muted conversation carried in the protective depths of the kitchen. “You got hitched to a djinn? Since when?” “I did tell you,” Cas growls back. He slams on the faucet, filling the glass with vigor. “It’s not my fault you weren’t listening.”

Tags: Alternate Season/Series 14, dream walking, Dean in Castiel's Dream, Getting Together

SFW

a tale that can’t be told

Black leather and oil scent the air around him, a welcome change from antiseptics. Impala, Castiel thinks. Baby. Except he’s not allowed to call her that. A flash of brown panelling slides through his memory, rattling on a rusted truck bed with wood for bed rails. Outside the car, the brothers are quietly arguing. Castiel cranes to listen, but he only picks out a partial phrase from Sam: Since when was he losing his powers? The snippet from Dean is even more troubling: Is Chuck fucking with us by giving him a factory reset?

Tags: Alternate Season/Series 15, Castiel Losing His Powers, Human Castiel, Memory Loss, Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx Mixtape, Castiel's Missing Brown Truck, Getting Together, Sharing a Bed, Hopeful Ending

NSFW

low voices in the library (are appreciated)

Sam moved, though in which direction Dean couldn’t yet tell. Not the library, Dean mentally begged. He didn’t want to deal with the scene Sam was about to stumble into, let alone its know-it-all aftermath. Tags: Library Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex

NSFW

a handful of seeds

Dean paused in his chopping. He swiped the green pepper chunks into a neat pile on the cutting board. He was running out of excuses to make. Weakly, he asked, “Where would I even keep a garden?” Cas, sensing victory, rose up in height. “Behind the bunker entrance, in the patch of earth lined by mulberry bushes.” Dean cursed, caught out. “Why’d you even bother to ask, if you already knew?” Softening, Cas gave a small smile. “I’d like to add to it, if that’s okay.”

Tags: Mary Winchester Feels, Gardens & Gardening, Domestic Fluff

SFW

LanaSerra - @lanaserra - LanaSerra & Spandwiches - @spandwiches - spandwiches

300cc

300 Complementary Characters: a forum on Kansas City University’s student website. You can write whatever you want, but it has to be 300 characters or less. Dean is crushing hard on Sam’s TA, but it feels different than it has before; it feels like he needs to do it properly, to have a grand declaration and to prove that romance isn’t dead. What better way to profess his feelings than posting a poem on 300cc? Castiel is torn. There’s no mistaking the poem is for him, but who could be posting them? Despite being very tempted by the very attractive new light and sound engineer that will be working on the play he has written, Castiel can’t ignore the feeling that he and the anonymous Poet are meant to be together. A comedy of errors, mutual pining, and erotic poetry.

Tags: college-au, two person love triangle, explicit poetry, fluff, the boys fail to use their words while using ALL of their words, consent is sexy, POV switching, explicit, minor Sam/Eileen

NSFW

MittensMorgul - @mittensmorgul - MittensWraith

This Must Be The Place

Seven years after their profound meeting, Cas knows he's exactly where he was always meant to be. (a sequel to Lifetime Piling Up, but can be read as a standalone)

Tags: Doctor Castiel/Tattoo Artist Dean, Established Relationship, Marriage Proposal, Fluff

SFW

On This Night

Something goes terribly wrong while hunting a djinn. Newly-human Cas had never considered what the effects of djinn poison could be for a human, and struggles to remember why everything seems just so slightly off when he wakes up back at the cabin he and Dean had been staying in during the hunt. The cabin has been transformed with holiday decorations, and Cas wonders just how long he'd been unconscious. Only when he tries to get answers from Dean, reality comes crashing back in on them both, in the best of all possible ways. Tags: Canon case fic, Christmas Fluff, snowed in, first kiss, POV Castiel, djinn dreams

SFW

firefly124 - @firefly124-writing - firefly124

Making It Up as We Go

Dean’s not entirely sure what he’s looking at, but he’s almost sure it’s a message from Chuck.

Tags: mentions of past (temporary) MCD, spoilers through SPN 15x06

SFW

Something Bright to Dispel the Gloom

A road trip to Salina had sounded like a good idea when Dean had suggested it. Cas hadn’t been back for long, though, and this was shaping up to be the world’s most awkward road trip ever.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07

SFW

Crumblin’ Down

Dean’s feeling nostalgic. Cas is mystified. Sam is oblivious.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07

SFW

Overdue Explanations are Overdue

If Dean thought this day had been a rollercoaster ride before, he didn’t know what to compare it to now.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07, reference to past (temporary) MCD

SFW

Faith, Hope, and Maybe Something Else

Castiel figured he’d probably just ensured that the Empty would never come for him.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07, reference to canon character deaths

SFW

The Choices We Make

Castiel takes a moment to reflect on the choices he has made as well as those others have made, and is presented with a new one to consider.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07

SFW

Wargurl - @wargurl83 - wargurl83

Christmas in the Bunker

Join TFW as they discover a little bit of the magic of the season. Tags: Cannon-Divergent, holiday shenanigans

SFW

#member masterpost #members masterpost #profoundnet monthly masterpost #November masterpost #December masterpost #profoundnet #deancasreclist #member art #member fic

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gii-heylittleangel · 5 years

Text

Cas Loves Emojis, Burgers, and Dean

Hey, people! I know, I know, again? Yep, again. Insomnia is not letting me get any sleep this last week so I’ve been writing during the night. I hope you like this one! @fangirlingtodeath513 beta-ed this for me, as awesome as she is. ❤

And I had no ideas for a header and decided to leave it like this.

You can read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19258918 or keep reading here

Cas is sitting in front of his computer, staring at the blinking cursor on his blank document like it’s making fun of him for not being able to write anything in the last five hours. He wants to rip his hair off or hit his head against the wall to see if his original ideas come back to him. Why does his brain insist on having inspiration when he can't write and, when he is absolutely ready to do so, all those ideas disappear?

He grunts, lowering his head until it hits the table. He hits it a few more times, grunting every time his head meets the table, resting his head there after, hoping that the book will magically write itself.

He raises his head when he hears his phone ringing, checking the ID and seeing Dean’s name written on it. He smiles as he answers it, “Hello, Dean.”

“Heya, sunshine. Everything okay?”

Cas groans, staring at the blank document again. “Not really. I can’t seem to find inspiration for my next novel.”

“Oh, don’t worry, babe, I’m sure you’ll find your inspiration. I’m bringing burgers for us today if that’s any consolation.”

“That makes me very happy.”

Dean chuckles, “I know it does. But you need to at least have something outlined to earn yours. Use this as an inspiration.”

“Oh, come on, Dean, don’t do that to me!”

“Not my fault, babe, you said you need inspiration, just trying to help. Think how good those burgers are going to be and force yourself into writing. I’m sure anything you come up with will be great. You can even write something about a terrible husband using burgers as blackmail.”

“I hate you.”

“I know you do. Now stop complaining and get to writing. I’ll make it up to you when I get home.”

Cas scoffs, “You better. I’ll be waiting.”

“See you later, sunshine.”

“I’ll see you later, Dean. Oh, lots of bacon on mine.”

“Of course.”

Cas hangs up and puts the phone back on the table. He goes back to staring the blank document in front of him, the freaking blinking cursor making him go crazy. After a few minutes, he sighs and decides to follow Dean’s advice—write about a jackass husband, which shouldn’t be so hard as he has one of those at home.

Cas starts to write about some of the times Dean was a dick with him but placing those stories inside of his own, creating new characters and sceneries. He doesn’t even pay attention to what he’s writing or how fast the time seems to pass now that he’s focused and writing. He only takes his attention off the computer when his phone vibrates again and he picks it up, seeing a text from Dean.

Dean: i’m leaving work and heading to get those burgers and some apple pie

Cas smiles and texts back: You can get me a burger and pie because I was able to write after talking to you 💻💻🍔🍔

Dean replies a few minutes later: told ya it would work, i’m awesome

Cas shakes his head while texting again: You are so overconfident 😑😒 How do I manage to live with you?

Dean’s text comes in just a few seconds: u love me, best to just accept it. anyways, what’s up with all the emojis?

Cas: I like emoticons, they are nice and there are a lot of them 👻😁😝

Dean: lucky for u there’s no rolling eyes emoji but u can pretend i’m using one

Cas: Just get here with the burgers 🍔🍔, I’ll get some beer in the fridge for you 🍺🍺, and there is a rolling eyes emoji, you just can't find it 🙄🙄

Dean: thanks babe, love you (i'll pretend there isn't an emoji so you can't make fun of me)

Cas smiles as he stands up, putting the phone in his pocket and turning his laptop off. He walks towards the kitchen, grabbing some bottles of beer from the cupboard and putting them in the fridge for Dean. He then walks to their living room, sitting on the couch and turning the TV on some random channel just until Dean gets home and they can go back to their Game of Thrones binge watch.

After half an hour Cas gets another text from Dean: just got the burgers. will be home in ten, love u ❤

Cas smiles, texting back: Your 🍺🍺 is on the fridge and I’m getting Game of Thrones ready for us 📺 and see, you like emoticons too, you’re even using it

Dean: again, pretend i sent the rolling eyes emoji. see u in ten

Cas only laughs and gets up to put the Game of Thrones DVD on, pausing it after. He sits on the sofa again, getting one of the books off the coffee table. He gets immersed in the book until he hears the front door being unlocked and he turns his head just in time to see Dean entering the house.

“Hey, sweetheart, how was your day?”

“Heya, babe.” Dean takes his jacket off and walks to Cas, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “It was good. Tiring as usual. And yours? Besides, you know, your writer’s block.”

“Well, I was able to get some new words so it wasn’t a total waste. Which means you can't blackmail me and I get to have my burger.”

Dean smiles and hands him one of the bags. “You know, sometimes I think you love these burgers more than me.”

Cas puts a hand on Dean’s cheek, running his thumb on it. “Oh, just when you’re being especially annoying, which is most of the times.”

Dean only makes an annoyed face at him. “Haha, very funny. Oh,” he snaps his fingers, walking back to where he put his jacket, “I got something for you on the way back. I think you’ll like it.”

He comes back with another bag and gives it to Cas. He takes it from his husband’s hand and opens it, taking a pillow from inside it. “Really, Dean?”

Dean shrugs. “What? I thought you were going to like since you love emojis so much.”

Cas looks at the pillow on his hands—round with a heart eyes emoji and with the rainbow colors on it. He throws it at Dean. “And you complain when I call you annoying. Now come on, sit here so we can watch Game of Thrones before our burgers get cold.”

“I’m not annoying, okay? I’m a joy to around.”

Cas scoffs. “Do you know yourself, Dean? Especially in the morning?” Dean mumbles to himself, too low for Cas to hear, walking to the kitchen. “Did you say something, sweetie?”

“Nothing, babe.”

Cas smiles, getting his bag and his burger from inside it. Dean sits by his side after a few minutes, his burger and beer in his hands. “So, are we going to watch it or not?”

“Just hit play, Dean.”

Dean unpauses the show, putting his leg on top of Cas’s, smiling at his husband. They spend most of the evening bickering at each other, throwing the emoji pillow at each other until they get tired and cuddle together until they fall asleep.

#littleangelwrites #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #fluff #married #they look like an old married couple #cas with a writer's block

13 notes · View notes

sprydecreates · 5 years

Text

endgame

requested: nope

warnings: drinking, heartbreak, extreme self doubt, language

pairings: calum hood x reader

type: angst ; actual body writing (my rat brain doesn’t know what to officially call it) ; 1.9k words ; gender neutral

summary: rejecting calum wasn’t planned, or wanted. was it for the best?

a/n: hi! i felt like breaking hearts on this good day. was looking for a header earlier, and seen lyrics from halsey’s ‘sorry’ and thought it’d be a wonderful song to write about in a sense.

also gonna try and actually write, not just a hc list this time. hope it’s good! didn’t necessarily proof read it out of fear of hating it so sorry if there are any misspellings or anything.

let me know how you feel about it!

it’d been a couple of months since you moved to california, and things were going pretty nicely. you got back into college, and were excelling. your job was sable, and rather flexible with your schedule and requests for time off. that was great, considering calum was finally back from visiting his family australia.

you had met calum while moving in, considering your apartment was in the same complex as ashton’s (where he was heading). he and ashton helped you move in, as you and a couple of friends who came along to help were struggling on the sidewalk with your hand-me-down couch.

the next day, calum came knocking at your door to see if you were settled alright. you were in the middle of unpacking dishes, and he asked if he could help you. you agreed, cause, why not have a cute australian boy help you move in? he just never left after that; even though he told ashton he’d get to his place soon.

the days have went on, and as cliche as it sounds, you both bonded and eventually had designated cups at each others houses (his is a meme mug that you bought that says “happiness is friends fishing together”, yours is a game of thrones cup with a sword as the handle), matching blankets (that were picked up on a late night target run; his says “mrs” and yours says “mr”), and swapped a pillow each, so you’d be comfortable sleeping.

things were going pretty well, to say the least. only thing that scared you, was rejection. did you like calum? yes, a little too much, but you told yourself several times that it wasn’t love. since it’s convenient to find out about him online, you decided to see if you were his type. seems as though you weren’t, from the girls he was rumored to date at least.

considering this, you called your best friend from your hometown, and explained everything going on. their only advice, was that you needed to talk to calum; they couldn’t tell if calum liked you, or was just being friendly. feeling nervous and hesitant, you invited him over for the chat.

like most of the times when you have a crush, you sat and debated on whether or not you were up for heartbreak. you had never really felt heartbreak, because no one had ever returned your interest for a significant amount of time. so, you didn’t know how to proceed. do you risk telling calum, and getting nothing in return and live your life alone? do you tell him and get a healthy relationship that you’ve convinced yourself would never be endgame?

when calum finally arrived at your apartment, you had cried all you could thinking about every way he could reject you, or how it would end. at this point, you were happy you didn’t have to go through anything that could blindside you.

after catching up, calum brought up the idea of the party, “so, me ‘nd ash were thinking about having a get together with all our friends now that we’re back. to like, catch up with everyone. you wanna come?”

“who all will be there,” you questioned, setting your cup of koolaid down.

“the guys, their girls, some friends.”

“very extensive list, thank you calum,” you joked, raising your eyebrows to signal so. it was nice, feeling comfortable after hours of terror sweats.

he let out a breathy laugh, “sorry, i really only know for certain about eight people. maybe more, maybe like one less.” he sat his fishing cup down, and looked up for your reaction.

you shrugged, thinking more about ‘their girls’ and ‘friends’ and which one you were categorized as, “when?”

he noticed your expression change, “uh, i think this friday but i’ll have to make sure.”

you nodded, “okay, i should be free.”

there was a small silence before calum cleared his throat and stood up, “well i should uh, prolly get going. supposed to meet ‘shton in a bit for dinner.”

you stood up and followed him to the door, “alright, have fun?”

calum turned when you ended your sentence with a question, and shadowed the doorway, “you good?”

you nodded again, tempting yourself to blurt out your thoughts but your fear took you over, “yeah, why?”

“you just,” he looked down at the tips of his shoes, moving them in an anxious manner, “seem, different? i don’t know, like you seem like somethings on your mind.”

“oh, nah,” there was, “just a bit tired,” a lie.

calum nodded, and stepped outside, “alright. i’ll let you know when everything will be set up, okay?”

“alright.”

“call you this evening?”

you nodded one last time and watched him disappear down the hall after your confirmation. after shutting and locking your door, you texted your friend and told her you chickened out, but were going to try and speak to him after the party.

wonderful. two more days of restless thinking, unbelievable amounts of notes written in your phone, and hours of staring into space just thinking of what could go wrong. calum calling didn’t help, either. he sounded more sweet, and soft than usual. or did he always sound like that? did he know about you maybe liking him and was trying to find ways of letting you down easily and this was step one?

ugh. the thought of it all made you sick. literally. friday came around, and you really had made yourself sick with worry. you wanted to get it over with, though. combating sickness AND heartbreak at the same time? undefeated combination. that being said, you didn’t bail. instead, you just showed up in sweats and a beat up old shirt.

no one was really dressed up, which was good for confidence measures, but horrible in the sense that you didn’t scream “i have a cold please don’t get infected”.

calum, however, thought you looked cute. like in a fanfic where you have your hair in a messy bun have on an old shirt that’s baggy but somehow shows off your figure sweats built the same way and you’re about to be sold to 5sos to pay off your parents debt. not that he said all that in one sentence, though.

throughout the evening, you noticed calum getting closer and closer to you, practically sitting on your lap after an hour. you didn’t mind all too much, but it was still strange to experience after all you’ve thought about. he seemed a bit, distant, though. he didn’t speak directly to you like he usually did, no hand on your thigh to push himself up, didn’t laugh at the same joke luke told whenever he popped a cap off of a bottle. something just didn’t, feel good.

after feeling a little dry and all too conscious, you decided to go into the kitchen and take a few shots; seeing as ashton and calum had migrated in there a couple of minutes ago. but, right when you get to the archway, you faintly hear the end of ashton’s sentence, “gonna do?”

calum’s voice came in after his, “i guess i’m just gonna have to tell y/n.”

that’s it. he knows. your heart rate shot up in mere seconds, and the tears made your eyes swell. you quickly turned and headed towards the bathroom, locking yourself in to cry a little bit. you couldn’t believe for a split second that you REALLY thought you were gonna have something. how could you be so gullible? the signs were all there. he was suiting you up to drop you from cloud nine. all the late night calls talking about life made him sick of you and he decided you weren’t the one for him. after that he noticed how much you liked him via the matching things, and it made him sick of you. he was sick of you. Sick. Of. You, and everything that you are to him.

you decided this wasn’t a reunion get together, this was a ‘goodbye y/n’ party. that’s why everyone was exceptionally inviting to you, because they knew you weren’t going to be around much longer, and they wouldn’t have to put up with you after this. if that’s the case, why not go out in style: drunk and pitiful.

you came out of the bathroom after several minutes of breathing in through your nose to stop the tears, and regain your composure. you head straight to the kitchen, nod to calum, ashton, and now sierra before pouring and downing a shot without saying a word. ashton laughs and cheers you on, as he’s never seen you do this before and thought it was a wave of encouragement. calum knows somethings wrong, but he doesn’t want to out you in front of people you aren’t entirely close with.

unfortunately for him, he doesn’t get any alone time with you until you’re five shots and two mike’s hard lemonades in. in other words, you were comprehensive, but your filter was gone and your emotions were bold. calum puts his hand on your shoulder once everyone is out of the kitchen, and asks whats wrong, “i know somethings off with you, y/n. you’ve never drank like this before.”

“not. a. thaaang,” you gave finger guns to him and ‘blew out’ the tips of your fingers.

he halfway smiled, but quickly furrowed his eyebrows and gave a stern look, “i’m serious.”

you shrugged, “me too. you think i, me, am joking?” you pushed his hand off your shoulder and turned to get another shot, but calum stopped you.

“y/n,” he said with his hand on yours, preventing you from lifting the shot glass, “we don’t have to talk about it, but are you sure you’re alright?”

you stopped. his hand was on yours, and that’s how it needed to be. you were staring at your hands, and everything was clear for a minute. you sobered up enough to say, “i heard you.”

he lowered his head, both confused and hard of hearing, “what?”

tears started to form again, “i heard you and ‘shton.”

calum let out a solemn breath and removed his hand from yours, certain this was taking a turn for the worst, “when?”

your breathing had hitched as you tried to stop yourself from crying, “a few minutes ago.” before calum could speak, you began your subtle rant, “i get it. i know i’ve been clingy, and weird, and overbearing and ugly and everything else. i know you don’t like me calum. i’ve fucking known that from day one, and i’m sorry i’ve known it.”

you continued with nonsense babbling until you realized how long you had been talking. calmly, and with tear stained cheeks, you told him goodbye, and that you wished you could be friends.

as you left the apartment and party, calum was left stood in the spot that he would later refuse to go near. he had tears of his own streaming down his face. he recalled his and ashton’s conversation from earlier:

ashton: dude, you’re getting reaaally cozy with y/n.

calum: yeah, i know.

ashton: is there, something... there?

calum: i don’t really, like know? i like y/n so fucking much. borderline love, i guess.

ashton: jesus man. what are you gonna do?

calum: i guess i’m just gonna have to tell y/n.

all this time, calum was the exact opposite of what you kept imagining. he built up the courage to talk to you about his feelings that night. because after all, he thought you were his soulmate: beautiful, smart, humble, different and the same in a puzzle piece manner. he was sure you were his endgame.

so, now what?

#calum hood #calum hood x you #calum hood x reader #calum hood imagine #calum hood one shot #calum hood fic #calum hood blurb #calum hood angst #sprydecreates ch

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carryonmyswansong · 5 years

Text

We Are Wayward AF: A discord server for Artists who are ages 18 and older!

Originally when I created this discord, it was meant to bring together writers on tumblr and other places. But it got little exposure and not a lot of people joined.

It was a place to brainstorm, to vent about life, writing, and share information about fandoms. A place to collect lore, gifs, and share memes.

Since tumblr decided to change their site, I decided to open the discord server to more than just writers. And to build the community so that it felt like a safe place to hang out and -just be-. A place where you can share yourself, and build a family.

Below the "read more" is a list of all the different categories and the channels under them.

Each channel that is specifically NSFW will either be titled as such, or will be marked with an asterisk (*). There are plenty of specifically sfw spaces, as well.

Below are sections for writing, reading, and other art. There are also fandom spaces. That list is small, but we hope to expand, as we need them. For now, each fandom space as a place for collecting talking about fan theories, headcanons, etc, as well as a place for collecting canon lore. Some have a space for recipes as well.

As more and more people join the discord, the more we will add. The discord will grow with us! I hope that you come and visit, and stay a while. I'd love to grow and expand this discord.

The Invite Link (Takes you to “The Rules” section)

Server Name:

We Are WayWard AF

SERVER STUFF (only available to moderators)

new-arrivals

server-maintenance

STAFF

rules

server-announcements

HELP

questions

requests-suggestions

blog-reporting

social-media

blog-related-qs

MEMBERS

introduce-yourself

member-announcements

LOBBY

general

*cant-sleep

sfw-memes

nsfw-memes

bot-chat-dump

whats-on-tv

*tv-discussions

*movie-discussions

share-your-music

IN REAL LIFE STUFF

*venting

pets

fund-raising

conventions

other-irl-meetups

convention-meetups

akf-always-keep-fighting

*health-and-body

family-moments

clothing-advice

THE WRITER'S ROOM

useful-docs-links

beta-seeking

character-sheets

*brainstorming

*writers-block

sfw-writing-prompts

nsfw-writing-prompts

coauthors-collaborative-works

your-swf-fics

your-nsfw-fics

favorite-comments

THE READING ROOM

what-in-your-library

nsfw-fic-recs

sfw-fic-recs

nsfw-author-recs

sfw-author-recs

fic-post-schedule

THE ARTIST'S STUDIO

useful-links-and-tools

lets-talk-shop

headers

*fic-aesthetics

mood-boards

page-dividers

sfw-pics-gifs

nsfw-pics-gifs

cosplay-wips

finished-cosplays

sfw-fanart

nsfw-fanart

fiber-art

candles-soaps-etc

HARRY POTTER

diagon-alley

hogwarts

food-recipes

drink-recipes

SUPERNATURAL

*harvelles-roadhouse

dads-journal

DISNEY/MARVEL

shawarma-palace

friday

food-recipes

drink-recipes

DC COMICS

lux

batcomputer

DARK HORSE COMICS

*the-academy

bprd

TEEN WOLF

*beacon-hills-hs

the-bestiary

DOCTOR WHO

t-a-r-d-i-s

the-library

GAME OF THRONES

inn-at-the-crossroads

the-citadel

BROOKLYN NINE-NINE

the-precinct

food-recipes

drink-recipes

BBC SHERLOCK

221b-baker-street

mind-palace

CRIMINAL MINDS

wheels-up

baby-girl

VOICE CHANNELS

*text-for-voicechat

The Common Room

#written by CarryOnMySwanSong #please reblog #please share

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someinvisible-string · 5 years

Text

Magnificent and Furious Ch. 10

Summary: After many years, rumors swirl that the Evil Queen is back and filled with more vengeance than ever. But instead of setting her sights on Snow White she goes for the thing Snow loves most, her beloved daughter Emma. For her own safety, Emma is to be transported to safety on an unassuming merchant ship, where she meets two indentured servants hoping for a way to find their freedom

A/N: I am so so SO sorry about the late chapter update, I'm going on my 6th day in a row of opening at my job and I've been exhausted and I totally forgot to post yesterday. But I hope this extra long and action-packed chapter makes up for it! Huge props to @justanotherwannabeclassic for betaing this chapter and helping me make it as good as it can be! Also as always be sure to go to my blog and check out the chapter header @princesse-swan made!

CW: battle, but not like game of thrones level violence, more like The 100 or The Hunger Games level of violence

last chapter/ AO3

picset

Emma woke the next morning to Killian pressing soft kisses to her shoulders and collarbone, she giggled when he brushed over where her neck met her shoulder.

“Someone’s awake,” he smiled. She rolled over nestling her head on his shoulder, fingers absentmindedly trailing over his chest. The day’s plans started to sink into her. “Hey,” Killian said tapping her on the shoulder. “You’re going to be great today.”

She nodded, letting out a long breath. “Well, I guess we should get up then.”

“Hold on there,” he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, leaning into her ear and whispering. “Last night was…”

“Incredible,” she smiled.

“Aye, that it was. But I just need to know, why last night?” Emma could see his unasked question in his eyes. Did she want to make love to him because it was going to be her one and possibly only chance to?

“Because, it all clicked for me,” she ran her fingers through his hair. “You’re really in this for the long haul, and it’s a longer haul than we both expected. And I know that you’re to be with me through it all.” She took a deep breath, “And I know that I love you and that when this is over whether that be 3 months, 3 years, or 3 decades from now I will still want you by my side for whatever adventure awaits us.”

Killian’s soft smile grew larger, “I love you too and I vow that I’ll be right here with you no matter what.” He tilted her head up, his kiss was tender and soft. Emma let that kiss fortify and strengthen her for the day ahead.

“Let’s do this,” she whispered as they broke apart. He chuckled and rolled over, fetching his clothes from where they were scattered across the tent, throwing hers in her direction.

The air was still cool and the grass still dotted with dew as Emma and Killian trudged across the camp in search of breakfast. A few people from each faction had come together and restarted last night’s fire, the scent of ham smoking slowly making its way throughout the camp.

“Good morning,” Elsa smiled at them as they approached. She was perched on a log, daintily eating some fresh berries. Merida sat beside her digging into her plate of ham with gusto.

“Morning,” Emma smiled stretched tight over her mouth. She noticed her friends’ eyes flicking over to Killian. She could practically see them putting two and two together and when Elsa and Merida looked at her with wide eyes she couldn’t help the blush rising on her cheeks. She and Killian sat down next to them, plates of food balanced on their laps as they tried to make small talk. As the sun rose more and more people gathered around them, nervous energy soon filling the camp. No one wanted to sit still, the blacksmiths worked on sharpening razor-sharp weapons, archers tested their bows and examined their arrows with frantic attention, Emma sat her knee jiggling up and down.

A loud caw broke through the hustle and bustle of the camp; Emma looked up, her raven from last night fluttered down to her, a scroll tied to his leg.

“Well, what does it say?” Merida asked as Emma unfurled the scroll.

“She’s agreed to the parlay,” Emma said, her voice shaking. This was it, it was now or never. “I’m to meet with her at the prearranged spot by midday.”

“Emma!” Roland said running up to the campfire, flanked by Robin and a few merrymen and Merida’s archers. “I have some pretty important news, we all snuck down to Regina’s castle and-”

“I didn't tell you to do that!” Emma bristled. “What if you were seen? What if Regina hurt any of you?”

“She didn’t and you said you needed us for reconnaissance so we went out and you really need to hear this. Regina has men, loads of them. Way more than she could get if she was just ripping out their hearts and controlling them.”

“She has allies? But how? Who in their right mind would ally themselves with her?” Merida asked.

“They were separated into factions,” Robin described. “One seemed to be made up of these big burly blokes with furs. Their flags had some purple and green and the soldiers seemed to be led by 13 generals.”

“The Southern Isles,” Elsa whispered. “They must have heard that Arendelle was joining you Emma and joined Regina. They have been trying to overthrow my kingdom ever since I took the throne.”

“Who’s in the other faction?” Killian asked.

“They had flags with dragons on them, a big sword down the middle with 2 on either side. But that’s all I could really get from them, I’m sorry,” Roland explained.

“That has to be Camelot,” Emma said stunned. Camelot while never a strong ally, was also never hostile with Misthaven. “Why would Arthur join Regina?”

“Perhaps they have some sort of agreement between them?” Killian offered. “He helps her here, she helps later down the line.”

“Regina doesn’t exactly work like that,” Emma bit down on her thumbnail nervously. “Something isn’t right about this but there’s not much we can do right now to figure it out. Regina agreed to the parlay but I’m not going to be so naive as to think she won’t go in without backup. I say we move out, get into the formations I went over last night.”

“Agreed your highness, all right, men!” General Abarca boomed out. Emma tried to hide her surprise at his approval. “Get ready to move out.” All around them, King Thomas’s men scurried about, some wolfing down food, others running back to their tents to get their armor on.

“Emma, I have something for you,” Elsa said taking her hand. She could feel her friend’s hand shaking, Emma squeezed her hand tight hoping to comfort her slightly. “Follow me, it’s back at my tent, Killian can come too,” she smiled knowingly. The four of them walked quickly to Elsa’s tent, Elsa still holding on to Emma’s hand tightly, Emma couldn’t tell if it was she or Elsa who was shaking.

“What is it?” Emma asked.

“You’ll see,” she said quickening her pace to put some distance between them and Killian and Merida. “Now tell me about your friend Killian.”

The question felt so out of place for what they were all planning on doing later that day that Emma couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry I just wasn’t expecting that,” she giggled and held her friend’s hand tighter. “He’s… well, I don’t quite know what to describe him as. He’s smart and kind, and he’s stuck by me throughout this whole adventure.”

“And?” Elsa said, her excitement palpable.

“And I love him,” Emma turned her head to look back at Killian who was being interrogated by Merida. He nervously scratched behind his ear but caught her looking at him and smiled softly at her.

“I’m really happy for you, Emma,” Elsa said, squeezing her hand and pushing her way through the flap of her tent. Inside was spacious, just enough room for the four of them and a blacksmith who was polishing some armor. The breastplate shone brightly, the plates extending up to cover the collar and shoulders. Matching gauntlets shone on a nearby table with a new shield polished bright enough that Emma could see her reflection in it.

“Oh, Elsa, this is beautiful,” Emma said in wonder, holding up the gauntlets for a closer look.

“You like it?”

“Of course, this work is exquisite,” Emma responded, looking down at the shield. “But these flowers, those aren’t your insignia?”

“No, they’re yours,” Elsa smiled. “It’s yours.”

“Elsa I can’t,” Emma stuttered.

“I’m not letting my best friend walking into a parlay with the queen without something to protect herself,” Elsa said firmly.

“You’d have to be daft to go in there with nothing but that vest on,” Merida piped up.

“And I can’t say I disagree with them,” Killian said.

“Killian, I didn’t know you were coming, so I don’t have anything that will be as fitted as this is,” Elsa gestured to Emma’s armor. “But I’m sure we have some pieces that’ll fit you well to give you some protection too.”

“You’re giving me armor?” he asked, stunned that someone would even feel bad for offering second-hand armor when he had nothing.

“Of course, I doubt Emma wants you down there with no protection,” Elsa shrugged.

“Can’t say I disagree,” Emma smirked.

Midday came, Emma waited in the pre-agreed spot, her eyes trained on the horizon. From atop her new steed, a bay colored mare the Merida’s camp had brought, she could see for miles. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, her nerves on edge, her mare pawing at the ground clearly feeling her rider’s tension. Emma tried not to have her new armor clink and clash against her shield and sword, it had been so long since she’d wielded a sword and shield while wearing armor that it took some getting used to. She had decided against the leg gauntlets, instead choosing to wear thick leather breeches so she’d be more mobile if she needed to make a quick dash up the mountain. She glanced over her shoulder, she knew Merida and the other Merrymen were hidden just out of sight and even further back Killian waited with General Abarca. She wished she could just look at him, she knew all her doubts and uncertainties would melt away if only she could look into his ocean blue eyes.

Up on the hill she finally saw movement, Regina also mounted on a black steed clad in decorative chainmail. She was flanked by two guards, one on each side. Emma’s heart sank, everything inside her screamed that this parlay was going to end in battle. She held her head high, shoulders back, she was prepared. She knew Regina might do something like this, Roland’s news had basically guaranteed it, her eyes scanned the mountain further behind Regina and sure enough, Black Knights and soldiers were picking their way through the trees and brush trying to remain unseen. If Emma could see them, no doubt Merida or Robin or even Roland could see them and hopefully send word to her foot soldiers. Slowly, painstakingly, Regina made her way to the clearing.

“Well well, the Savior in the flesh,” the queen smiled. Emma shivered, her parents had been right. There was something off with her, very off.

“Regina,” Emma said, easing her steed forward. “I believe we had the matter of my parents to discuss.”

“Yes and here’s the discussion,” the queen cleared her throat. “I will keep them alive but only just, they will suffer like I did for years but only after I tear your still beating heart out of your chest.”

“Regina you don’t have to do this,” Emma said, hoping to reason with her. “Let go of your revenge, you have the power to end a cycle of violence and abuse that started with Cora and continued with the Dark One. You can end this.”

“Don’t you dare mention my mother,” Regina bristled, bringing her hand up. A ball of fire formed and before she could even think Emma’s steed reared in fear and turned and ran towards the forest. Emma could feel the heat of the fireball before she could see it, thinking quickly she rolled sideways off her saddle and landed on her feet. She watched her horse disappear into the woods as her reinforcements began pouring in on all sides. Arrows whistled over her head from high above, several grunts told her they found their targets. Quickly unsheathing her sword Emma turned, Regina’s Black Knights running quickly towards her. She took a deep breath and raised her sword, a quiet calm falling over her as she ran out to meet them. Her sword clanged loudly against the first knight’s, he was tall and broad but relied too heavily on brute strength. Emma kept low, using her shield to obscure his vision and dancing out of his reach. The thundering of footsteps and war cries filled the air as King Thomas’s men poured in from all sides. Emma found an opening in the knight’s chainmail where his leg was exposed, she ran her sword through, trying to ignore his howl of pain. He fell to his knees, Emma ran on trying to close the space between her and Regina’s castle as quickly as possible.

“Emma!” Killian’s voice was high and panicked, Emma looked around frantically searching for him. She spotted him, dueling two knights at once, his sword a mere flash of steel as he wielded it back and forth. She sprinted over to him, terrified that she wouldn’t make it in time, that he’d take a wrong step, when an arrow spliced through the air striking one of the knights in the neck. She saw Roland drop down from above them, already pulling another arrow from his quiver.

“Thank you,” she said as she ran up to him.

“Don’t thank me quite yet,” he said, letting loose another arrow and hitting a knight on horseback. His horse whinnied as it’s rider fell, lifeless from his back, galloping on through the battle.

Killian wheeled around, heaving his sword into his opponent’s side and slashing upward. He turned and ran towards Emma and Roland, blood shining on his armor. “We need to get you to the castle,” he yelled over the din of battle.

“What about Merida and Elsa?” Emma asked she wasn’t about to ditch her friends here.

“They have to be around here somewhere, but Emma we have to make some moves if we’re going to get up to the castle,” Roland said already leading the way through the mass of fighting. As quickly as he was firing arrows he was picking them up or pulling them out of the fallen around them, Emma and Killian followed quickly behind him, cutting down any black knights that tried to get through. Emma tried to keep her eyes peeled for Merida’s mass of red curls or Elsa’s light blue armor.

A sudden coldness fell over them, Emma knew that Elsa must be close. Sure enough, Elsa was there, wielding her magic unlike Emma had ever seen before. Elsa stood with her arms outstretched, ice and snow flowing from her fingertips freezing soldiers in their tracks and shattering their steel.

Roland, Emma, and Killian called out to her, Elsa turned and nodded to them. “Hold on!” she called as she twirled her hands through the air, ice and snow swirling higher and higher until a great roar echoed across the field. Soldiers and knights turned to see a giant ice monster roaring and swiping men across the ground with a flick of its enormous wrist.

“Marshmallow, cover us,” Elsa called as she sprinted towards Emma and the boys.

“What on earth is that?” Killian said, holding his sword at the ready while Roland readied an arrow.

“Oh, he won’t hurt us-” Elsa assured them, almost drowned out by Marshmallow’s bellowing. A thick fog burst from his mouth, surrounding them with slight cover. “But he will cover for us, now let’s go!” Elsa urged. The others didn’t need telling twice, with Marshmallow in tow the men parted giving them a clear path up the mountain. Emma was getting worried, she still hadn’t seen Merida anywhere since the start of the battle.

“You fools, don’t let her get away,” Regina screamed as she spotted Emma. A flash of red was the only warning Emma had before another fireball was shot at them.

“Get down!” she grabbed Killian and Elsa and tried to reach Roland as they fell to the ground. Emma could feel her hair ripple as the fireball passed over her. Marshmallow was hit directly; with a mighty scream he bust into pieces, large pieces of ice fell all around him as he crumpled to the floor,

“Ahhhh!” Roland screamed, Emma looked up to see that his sleeve had caught fire. He quickly rolled around to get the flames out, but Emma could tell his skin was badly burned. “Go!” he yelled as they went to help him.

“No we’re not leaving you here,” Killian said, fiercely.

“Just go, you’re wasting time!” Roland’s eyes were full of fear and pain as he tried to get up. His clothes had fused to his skin, if he wasn’t trampled to death then an infection was going to do him in for sure. Marian’s sweet face swam before Emma’s vision.

“No, I’m not leaving you here, Killian help him up,” she commanded. Roland screamed as Killian hoisted him up. Emma ducked under and supported his other side, Elsa fought off any approaching guards with her magic as Emma and Killian dragged Roland off into the woods. “Lay him here,” Emma said, pointing to a boulder covered in soft looking moss. Roland was grinding his teeth together, trying not to scream as Emma bent close and inspected his burn. It was as bad as Emma expected, his skin red and raw. Flesh was burned away and what remained was now fused to his clothes.

“Please just leave me,” Roland begged, tears starting to form in his eyes.

“Not a chance,” Emma said, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“Emma,” Killian said, his voice thick and raw. “Look.” Emma looked down, her hand was glowing, a golden light coming off of it in waves. She held both her hands up to her face, both glowed, a slight warmth spread from her fingertips all the way to her chest. Instinctively Emma held her hands over Roland’s skin before their eyes the skin healed. Blisters faded and skin repaired itself. Emma withdrew her hands and Roland held up his arm to his face, blinking in disbelief.

“You have magic?” Roland looked up at her in awe.

“Yes,” Emma panted, her energy drained. She looked up to see Elsa and Killian staring at her.

“I never knew you could do that,” Elsa said, looking down at her own hands.

“Is this part of-” Killian began to ask, his voice low, raspy, and awestruck.

“I think so,” Emma nodded. The four of them stood in silence as the battle raged just beyond the trees. Emma breathed in, trying to ignore the scent of blood and burning wood that perfumed the air. “We need to get back out there, Roland are you sure you want to come with us?”

Roland took one last look at his newly healed arm before nodding, “I’m sure. Let’s go.” He got to his feet, slinging his quiver over his shoulder and white knuckling his bow, his brown eyes hardened as he faced the field. The other three followed behind him as he marched out of the woods.

“Emma,” Killian whispered as he fell into step with her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she huffed, holding her sword higher. There was no time to discuss her magic, they needed to get up that mountain, she quickened her pace to catch up to Roland and Elsa.

The sound of battle had been muted in the forest, but as they set foot back on the field the din of battle rang in their ears. Men screamed, horses whinnied and bellowed, their hooves pounding the earth, swords and shields clashed together ringing their ears. The flames from Regina’s fireballs had spread, the smoke thick and black and stung everyone’s eyes and throats.

One voice rang out over all the rest, Merida riding on her warhorse Angus firing arrows and bellowing at the other riders following her.

“Merida!” Emma yelled, pointing at her friend so that the others would follow her. She ran through the crowd, pushing and shoving people out of her way.

“Come on lassie, jump on,” Merida shouted when she saw Emma running towards her, she looked over to her other riders. “Give them your horses, make me proud!” Her men instantly demounted their horses, allowing Elsa, Roland, and Killian to quickly mount them. Emma hoisted herself onto Angus, gripping tight to Merida’s waste.

“To the castle!” she dug her heels into Angus, spurring the horse faster. The horses moved so fast it felt as if they were flying through the battle, it was all Emma could do to hold on let alone fend off any Black Knights who tried to unseat her or Merida. One growled at her as he tried to grab her by the leg, Emma kicked him and heard the satisfying sound of crunching bone as his nose broke. She looked over her shoulder and saw Elsa casting her ice magic, freezing Regina’s men in place.

“Once we reach the trees it’ll be harder for them to follow us,” Emma screamed in Merida’s ear.

“Come on Angus, just a bit further,” Merida urged her horse on and up the steep terrain. Higher and higher they climbed, the sound of war sounding more and more distant. The late afternoon sun hung low and bright in the sky, the smoke rising turning it red.

Before Emma could even properly formulate anything resembling a plan, she could see the gates of Regina’s castle. Merida pulled on the reigns, slowing Angus to a walk then stopping just out of sight of the castle.

“So what’s the plan?” Roland asked, sliding off his horse. “I counted around 20 guards still guarding the castle.”

“We’re going to need some kind of diversion,” Emma said. “Lead all or most of them to one spot while we sneak in somewhere else. Elsa, think Marshmallow is up for it?”

“It’ll be his pleasure,” she smirked, she inhaled deeply and threw her arms in front of her, ice and snow swirling higher and higher as Marshmallow formed. He roared and stomped off towards the castle, smashing trees and throwing boulders towards the left side of the castle. Emma peaked between the trees, Black Knights were running full speed towards the giant snowman leaving their posts unattended. She spotted a balcony leading to a glass door, the wall outside of it easily climbable. She pointed it out to the others.

“Let’s go,” Emma darted out, running quickly towards the wall. Roland and Merida both fired arrows connected to ropes into the wall, both getting caught in between the grout of the wall. Emma tested the ropes and finding that they would hold her weight began to climb up the wall.

Up the wall, over the low balcony wall and through the glass doors, Emma and her friends made it into the castle with ease. Emma crossed the room and opened the door out on to a deserted hallway. She looked around, her sword held ready for an attack but none came.

“So which way love?” Killian asked. Emma froze; she didn’t know. She had been so focused on getting into the castle, she’d barely spent a thought about what she would do or where she would even begin to look for her parents.

“Um,” Emma bit her lip, turning and looking in all directions. “They’re probably down in the dungeons.” She started towards her right, figuring at some point they’d find a staircase that would take them down below the castle. She silently prayed the dungeons were somewhere downstairs as she raced down the hallway.

“Slow down!” Roland panted as he jogged to keep up with her. “If we make too much noise, the guards will find us.”

Emma whirled around and faced him, “I’m this close to saving my parents, I’m not slowing down until I get them the hell out of here.”

Roland looked down at his feet, hushed into silence as Emma started down the hallway once again, she opened a door she found at the end of the hallway and to her relief, she found a stairway. She hurtled herself down it, hoping that at the bottom would be the dungeons. Around and around they went, everyone silent and looking nervously over their shoulders or squinting into the darkness ahead of them.

Finally, she reached the last floor, Emma didn’t wait for the others to catch up to her; she opened the door and walked into the large entrance hall of Regina’s castle, filled with Southern Isle soldiers who all turned as she burst in.

“It’s her!” one shouted and the guards began to move towards her. Emma’s friends stood behind her, each pulling out their weapons to defend themselves. Elsa froze the floor in front of them, several guards slipped and fell but more moved around the ice and were still coming. Merida and Roland fired some arrows into the wave of knights but were only able to strike down a few of the many. Emma swung her sword as soon as one came close enough and got lost in the chaos.

“Keep her alive, the Queen needs her for later,” another guard shouted at the one fighting Emma. She took advantage of her knight’s temporary distracting, slicing him across the shoulder. No sooner had he slumped out of her way then another grabbed her from behind, Emma struggled against his grip trying to stamp on his feet.

“Emma!” Killian shouted, running towards them, his sword held high as he ran towards them. The knight held Emma close, using her as a human shield, knowing that Killian wouldn’t do anything that would hurt her. She saw Elsa discreetly froze his foot to the ground, Killian quickly maneuvered around him, ramming the pommel of his sword into the knight’s helmet. He groaned and let go of Emma as he fell to the floor, his helmet ringing with the force of Killian’s blow. He took her by the hand and began to run across the room, ducking and dodging around knights, not even sure where they were going.

“Hey princess!” a knight yelled, his voice full of self-satisfaction, Emma recognized him as Hans, the youngest of the Southern Isle princes. She whirled around and saw Merida, and Roland all behind held by several guards each. Elsa appeared to be unconscious, her guard roughly holding her head up by her hair. Emma stopped dead in her tracks, rounding on them with her sword raised. “Ah ah ah,” Hans held his hands up. “Wouldn’t want to do something that’ll get your friends hurt would you?”

“Let them go,” Emma lowered her sword but kept on her toes.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he shrugged sarcastically. “You see the Queen is very interested in these friends of yours. She needs you and at least one of your friends here alive. So I’ll offer you a deal, you come quietly with us and all your friends live or you try to fight us and we let you pick with one lives while we kill the rest, sound good to you?”

Emma hesitated for a moment, her eyes glancing at Elsa’s limp form, “All right.” Her sword clattered to the floor as she raised her hands over her head.

“Your friend too,” Hans pointed to Killian.

“Emma-” he started.

“It’s okay, it’ll all be okay,” Emma wasn’t sure if she was telling Killian that or herself. Killian dropped his sword and raised his hands over his head, mirroring Emma. Several guards ran over to them, they roughly shoved Emma’s hands behind her back and bound them with rope. “What did you do to my friend?” Emma asked, her eyes still on Elsa.

“You’ll soon find out,” a knight roughly said, as he hit her over the head. Emma felt pain bloom in the back of her head as stars danced before her eyes before it all turned to black.

#csbb #captain swan #csff #cs au #cs fic #get comfy because this is a longer chapter #but I still hope yall like it!#my fic #m + f fic

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plastic-smile · 7 years

Text

whats up tumblr ive had this blog for 3 days and this is the Official Intro Post ✨ with a nice header and everything so lets get this started. the studyblr community has always fascinated me and i think its a good time as any to give it a try and maybe get a grip of my life lol

basics:

im marina

im 17

high school senior

mexican

spanish/english speaker

mm yeah idk what i wanna study but i have law, linguistics and communication as options for now

interests/likes:

music (kpop, matd, mystery skulls, galantis, etc. a little bit of everything?)

im watching riverdale rn but otherwise i dont watch a lot of netflix/tv

astrology :D

memes

pink colors

food

dogs

drawing (sometimes)

reading (need to get back to it daily. game of thrones caught my eye)

what i want:

better grades

IMPROVE MY HANDWRITING

learn how to organize myself

choose a career and college/uni

make some friends here!

make the best out of this last year of high school

blogs i look up to:

@sushi-studies @nemo-studies @studyquill @emmastudies @inspiring-studies @studyblr @equaticns @h2o-phd @lawschoolstudying @pennyfynotes @annabaestudying @aou @sleepystvdying @imperialstudy @jiyeonstudies @sarxhstudies @studejing @colorfulstudiess @coco--studies @sumerstudies @skulstudy @somecoffee

i hope to start posting motivation stuff and pics of my work and how i build myself up from basically nothing lolol so yeah!

if i can come up with ways to help others ill definitely post about it and id really love to talk w ppl here although i get a little shy sometimes aah

thanks for reading all this 💕

#studyblr #intro #study intro #studyblr intro post #law #linguistics #communication #donutdesk #elixirstudies

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whoajeon · 7 years

Photo

+ GRAPHIC COMMISSIONS

+ w h y

i severely miss creating things in photoshop. yes, i have the impulse creations tag, but that isn’t something that has me creating graphics on a daily basis. so this is why i’m here: i’m reaching out to my followers to help spur my creativity

+ w h a t

this is where you come in;

i’ve decided to take requests–52 in particular–which i will complete on a weekly basis (1 a week)! by having a weekly goal, i’m hoping it will spur on my sleeping desire to create.

+ h o w

all i’m asking from you is to send in whatever your heart desires. whether it be a flat (unmoving) gfx, a gif, a small storyline, anything–i am willing to attempt it! just make sure you let me know what graphic type [flat or gif], unless you would rather me decide (which is totally fine!).

format;

[idol] + [your request (ie. jimin as a high ranking person in the nosedive universe!)] + [how you’d prefer it (ie. gif storyline | flat typology | flat texts)]

+ s u g g e s t i o n s

[those marked with a * are my personal favorites to make]

*movie/tv!au

ie. Game of Thrones, Harry Potter, Nosedive, Sherlock, etc.

typology

ie. lyrics, quotes, etc.

icons/headers/lockscreens

*text gifs

ie. example one | two

color palettes

*iphone gifs (good as storylines)

ie. example one | two

fic recs

ie. example here

note; if you see a graphic floating around that you like a lot, submit it to me with your request and i’ll give it a shot! (like those bold colored edits that vheein makes i am heart eyes for them idk how she does it)

+ thank you!

i look forward to seeing what you all come up with!

#graphic commissions #requests

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starticker · 7 years

Text

To Be By His Side

Summary: Prince Takashi of Shirogane must marry to inherit the throne, and his spouse must be determined by eligible candidates competing in a series of competitions known as the Royal Games. Complications arise when Shiro's bodyguard, Keith, goes missing weeks before the Games begin, and then again when a mysterious suitor shows up to compete. What has happened to Keith? And who is the Red Knight, the challenger who seems determined not just to win Shiro’s hand but also his heart?

A/N: Written for @amillionsmiles for @sheithsecretsanta2016! Sorry it's a little late, but hopefully you enjoy it anyway! Also: shout out to @kanazo for this art! Although they didn't realize it, amillionsmiles's idea of prince/bodyguard + their art is the entire reason this fic exists.

Also also: while I try to make sure that fic is readable and compatible with my Tumblr theme, this story is 19,000 words long; click on the header of this post if you’d rather read it on AO3.

***

There was something coldly practical, Shiro thought wryly, about immediately following a war with a marriage.

“I’m sorry, Prince Takashi,” said his parents’ oldest adviser as he twisted the tail of his shirt anxiously between his hands. “I understand this is not the best time. But, with the mourning period officially over—”

“It’s fine, Edmund,” Shiro interrupted, not needing to hear another word about either mourning or marriage. He’d been expecting this conversation ever since he awoke to the reality of being the last surviving member of the royal family; the only part that surprised him was that it had taken an astonishing two months for the council to remind him of his duty. It showed a sensitivity that he would not have expected, although—if Keith’s quiet snort behind his shoulder was any indication—that might just be wishful thinking on his part.

“All the same, Your Highness…”

Edmund twisted the fabric of his shirt again, seeming to gather courage as he did so. Shiro wondered if he was really that intimidating, that someone who’d known him since he was a child would hesitate to speak in front of him, and then decided he probably was, thanks to the muscle he’d gained and the vicious scar across his face. His decorative arm peeked out from between his sleeve and glove, and the gleam of silver might’ve looked like a concealed knife to someone unused to it…or at least that was what Shiro chose to believe, whenever he shifted and the people around him flinched.

Of the two people who never did, one stood in front of him, and Shiro reminded himself of that when Edmund continued to speak. He owed him enough to listen, even if every word felt like a deep stab into the part of him that still didn’t want to believe his parents were gone.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way. But the law clearly states that you must be married to assume the throne, and in this time of unrest, we can’t afford to be without a king.” Edmund pulled a rolled scroll from the pocket of his vest and set it gently on the corner of Shiro’s desk. “I’ll leave this here. It’s a list of all the nations who may submit a challenger for the Royal Games. They’ll be informed by our fastest messengers once I leave you; the Games are set for one month from now.”

Shiro frowned at the time line.

“One month? Can we wait that long?”

In truth, he’d expected the challengers to already be on their way, each one of them licking their lips at the prospect of marrying into a kingdom that had managed to maintain its wealth even after two and a half years of war.

“You’re still on bed rest, Your Highness, and something as strenuous as hosting the Royal Games is too much to ask.” Edmund’s brown eyes were sad but sympathetic beneath his bushy white brows, and Shiro heard what he didn’t say. It was a kindness; he’d stalled the proceedings as long as he could.

“Thank you, Edmund.” Shiro looked down at the worn surface of his desk; the last time he’d sat here, his father had been at his shoulder, pointing out the tax districts. The memory was vivid, like it had been only yesterday, and it brought a lump to Shiro’s throat. “If that’s all, I think I’ll go lie down. It’s been a tiring day.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Edmund bowed and left quickly, closing the door behind him and leaving Shiro and Keith alone in silence.

Everything was still for a moment, and Shiro sensed more than felt Keith’s quick touch at his chair, his palm resting on dark wood while his fingertips barely grazed his shoulder. Shiro wished for a more substantial comfort, Keith’s arms around him in solidarity and love, but he was quick to dismiss the fantasy. When Keith’s touch disappeared soon after, Shiro told himself it was for the best.

It was still a pleasant surprise when Keith rounded the desk to face Shiro head-on, abandoning his usual position guarding Shiro’s back. His lean body looked tense and ready for a fight even though the details of his figure were disguised beneath his thin padded armor, and his eyes glinted with emotion.

“This law,” Keith said with unexpected vehemence as he crossed his arms, “is bullshit.”

Shiro laughed at that, very softly, and looked down so Keith wouldn’t notice that his eyes were slightly wet.

“It works for the most part. This is just an unfortunate set of circumstances.” Shiro gestured to the black clothes that he still wore a solid two weeks after the official mourning period had passed. “My parents have been dead for over a year. It’s just bad luck that I only found out two months ago.”

“Still. If anyone should get to put off marriage because of mourning, it’s the king.”

“I’m not the king yet,” Shiro corrected gently, and it was with a great deal of effort that he made himself grab the scroll Edmund had left behind. It felt heavy in his hand, the parchment thick and weighed down with gold-crusted ink, and when he unrolled it, the sheer number of countries was staggering. If every one of these countries sent a challenger, it would take weeks to get through them all; Shiro wondered if that was the plan, or if the invitations were mostly for show, a sign that the country of Shirogane was once again strong enough to honor its alliances.

Keith, for his part, did not seem impressed, and he dismissed the list with a roll of his eyes. Shiro wished he could do the same.

“I don’t know why you can’t just pick someone and marry them. Or why you have to get married at all—Altea doesn’t have a king.”

“That’s because Princess Allura is also General Allura, and I’d like to meet the person brave enough to call Altea weak for it.” Shiro scanned the names with minimal interest. “Well, that’s one challenger off the list, at least; I don’t think Allura will send anyone.”

“Altea is on the list?”

Shiro didn’t understand why Keith sounded so surprised, but he nodded all the same as he reached for a nearby pen. Scratching out Altea was only mildly satisfying, and it still left a daunting hundred countries behind; he quickly re-rolled the scroll and stashed it inside his desk, hoping he wouldn’t have to look at it again in the coming weeks.

“They’re one of our allies. It would be impolite not to give them the chance to put someone on the throne beside me,” Shiro said. He ignored the choked sound Keith made at the words. “Although, again, I don’t think Allura will try.” He shrugged, trying his best to ignore the ache in his right shoulder, a painful reminder of the weight of metal at his side. “After all, the Altean council is more familiar with my injuries than most. They wouldn’t send someone off to compete for my hand without telling them about it, and that’s sure to change a lot of minds.”

“That,” Keith said, quieter than before, “is also bullshit.”

But not wrong, neither of them said out loud. Keith might be comfortable ignoring the reality and Shiro was content to let him do so, but that didn’t change the fact that Shiro was far from the prince most people would expect. He needed to remember that if he didn’t want to be disappointed in his future spouse.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t matter right now.” The trip that he’d been considering before Edmund’s arrival seemed a welcome distraction from the future, and Shiro braced himself against the arms of his chair and made to stand, not surprised when Keith rushed to help him to his feet. “We need to check on the Eastern roads; last week’s storm might have washed them out, and I’d like to know if they’re safe to traverse before we start getting foreign visitors.”

“You’re still recovering,” Keith protested, but when Shiro determinedly headed towards the stables, he didn’t try to stop him. “At least let me send a servant to light a fire for your rooms for when you return. You’ll catch a chill otherwise.”

Shiro admitted that it was a logical plan, and so after Keith made sure he was surrounded by a veritable army of guards to counter his absence, Shiro sat down in the hall to wait for his return. He wasn’t very surprised when Keith returned with his coachman as well, and Shiro shot him a fondly exasperated look even as he followed him down the front steps and to the waiting coach.

“I’m not going to collapse, Keith. I promise I can ride a horse.”

“You’re still recovering,” Keith repeated stubbornly, his cheeks tinged pink. “What kind of bodyguard would I be if I let you get hurt because you were careless and overtaxed yourself?”

“You have a point.”

Although Shiro was reluctant to admit it, Keith’s concerns were not unfounded, and the short trip to the Eastern border—only a few hours there and back—proved more tiring than Shiro had expected. After seeing with his own eyes that the road was in fact washed out, he was grateful to return to the quiet inside of the coach and lean his aching head against the wall. Keith’s presence, as always, made him feel safe, and the third time Shiro accidentally dozed against his shoulder only to snap awake in embarrassment, Keith eased his head back down. His hands were careful and lingering, and Shiro closed his eyes in reflex, even as he took the touch as permission to sag against the warm line of Keith’s body.

“There’s no one here to impress, Shiro,” Keith said softly, using the nickname he spoke only when the two of them were alone. “Just rest.”

Shiro didn’t need any further encouragement, and he let the outside world fall away until all that was left was the rocking of the coach and Keith’s shoulder under his cheek.

***

Recovery for Shiro might have been slow, but it wasn’t for the country of Shirogane. Although it often required pushing himself to his limits and going to bed late at night, exhausted to his bones, Shiro managed to stretch the following days beyond measure, and it made a noticeable difference in the state of the country. Roads were repaired, food stores were refilled, and rationing was lifted. Defenses around the central city were set in place once again now that the war had come to an end, and three weeks before the Games were set to begin, open trade and travel between their border countries resumed. Between him and the ten members of his council who had been recovered after the fall of the Galra, they’d managed to condense a year’s worth of recovery into only the few months since Shiro had woken up, and Shiro took pride in that. Even if his weakened state meant that he’d achieved only the bare minimum of what his parents would’ve done in his place, Shiro refused to shirk his duty or let the country crumble because he was too weak to shoulder it.

Keith, of course, did not approve of Shiro’s attempts to work himself to exhaustion, even if years of friendship meant that he understood it. He gave his support by staying with him through it all, a silent presence behind his back during even the most menial of tasks. Although he’d never admit it, Shiro also took comfort in Keith’s prickly nature and unsubtle attempts to help him outside of his official duty. Even though Shiro always refused, Keith regularly extended invitations to spar with him in an attempt to restore Shiro’s confidence from before he’d lost his arm. When those invitations were refused failed, he let Shiro talk him into playing the games of strategy Shiro’s mother had liked (and that Keith himself hated) until their eyes were sliding shut and propriety slipped just a little. Those were Shiro’s favorite moments: when Keith remembered that Shiro was not just his prince but his friend, and when Shiro let himself wonder what could’ve been if he’d never been a prince at all, bound by his sworn duty to his country. He knew which duty he’d refuse first, given the choice.

Neither of them mentioned the upcoming Royal Games, which was probably why they were both so surprised when the challengers began showing up a full two weeks ahead of schedule. Sixteen challengers in total arrived that first day, all of them bearing extravagant gifts from their home countries and messages from their sovereigns, and all with insincere compliments flowing from their mouths. Shiro wasn't fooled; he understood perfectly what flattery didn't say when they complimented his eyes but their gazes flickered to avoid landing on his obvious scar, or when the bolder men and women marveled at his broad shoulders while never once looking at his silver arm. Shiro had no choice but to greet them and welcome them to his country, but doing so took something out of him that days of rehabilitation and duty did not.

Two days later, the number of challengers in residence numbered thirty-one, and Keith was livid.

“The invitation was for a month away!” He exploded after the door of the throne room closed behind the most recent arrival, a wisp of a man who’d seemed more fixated on the chain of delicate silver and black opal that hung from Shiro’s shoulders than on any of Shiro’s formal greeting. “They think they can just show up like that?”

“I wouldn’t bar anyone from the kingdom. My parents never did.” Keith was living proof of that, although Shiro took great pains never to bring it up. “Besides, it’s strategic. If any of them go into the first match with my favor, it’ll demoralize the competition.”

Keith’s glare shifted to a look of confusion.

"But that's sneaky and manipulative, and you hate that sort of thing. They’ll never win your attention that way."

"You know that; they don't." Shiro shrugged and removed the circlet from his head. Staring at the ring of silver was a better option than meeting Keith’s gaze just then. "I think they're hoping I'll be flattered."

"Flattered," Keith repeated dully.

Shiro shrugged again, keeping his voice deliberately light as he spun the circlet between his fingers.

“I’m guessing the rumors about my injuries have spread a lot faster than I expected. It’s not important.” He chanced a glance at Keith and his carefully blank expression. “Besides, it’s not like I’m against the token gesture of romance. It would be nice to think that the man or woman I end up marrying actually wanted me for my own merits as well as my crown.” He laughed, almost to himself. “These ones are just bad at pretending.”

Shiro didn’t think Keith would have anything to say to that, but Keith surprised him.

“And you’d want that.” At Shiro’s confused look, he elaborated. “A romance with one of these people. You’d want that.”

Shiro would’ve been lying to say he did, but what he wanted—in short: Keith—was not something that would ever become a reality. Even before the war, Keith had never seemed interested, and that had hardly changed now that Shiro was down one arm and up more scars than he could count. Would Keith get offended on his behalf when others insulted or undervalued him? Certainly. But even if the sky opened up and a greater power changed the rules and allowed entries from Shiro’s home country into the Games for its throne, Keith would never want to be his champion. Friendship was not obligated to cover marriage.

“In theory,” Shiro answered evasively, unable to bring himself to lie directly. “If there was someone I liked.” He glanced down at the circlet again. “But hoping for that is pointless. There’s no guarantee that the person I liked would win.”

“Huh,” Keith said.

A second quick glance at his face showed him looking baffled, and Shiro could guess why. In all the years they'd known each other, Shiro hadn't often spoken about his future or the marriage of alliance he'd inevitably have to make to become king. Keith probably thought Shiro was like most nobles, only interested in fleeting romance; it would have looked that way from the flirtations he'd engaged in as a teenager, in the months before he'd truly known Keith or suspected what he might be missing from sex and flirtations alone.

Shiro wondered if Keith had noticed when his flings stopped. If he had, he’d never said anything.

"Never mind that," Shiro said, feeling embarrassed. Keith was still staring at him, and when Shiro stood up it felt awkward for reasons that had nothing to do with his still uneasy balance. "Didn't you say the head of the guard wanted to speak to me? We should probably do so before it gets too late."

"Or before another suitor shows up to waste another hour of your time," Keith added, sounding unaccountably annoyed. Shiro didn't think much of it, and they were quiet as they left the room, Keith as ever at his back.

***

It was frantic knocking against his chamber door that woke him, and Shiro was pulled from sleep so suddenly that, for a moment, he forgot where he was. Once he took stock of his surroundings and regained his bearings, he tried to sit up, his arm shaking as he struggled to support himself underneath the weight of his covers. Despite the difficulty, however, he made himself move precisely because it was knocking. If it had been Keith, he would've known to just come in whether Shiro responded or not, and since it wasn't Keith, that meant something terrible had happened. Something urgent.

Shiro didn't bother with decency, and he answered the door in his nightclothes. The two guards there, Landon and Hervy, immediately flushed upon seeing him with bare legs, but they also stood straighter, undeterred from their mission by the sight of him in private clothes and with one sleeve hanging mostly empty at his side.

"Your Highness," said the older one, Landon. His voice was still pitchy despite his age, or perhaps it was nerves that made his voice crack. "I'm sorry to bother you, my prince, but it's about your personal guard, Mister Keith."

Shiro's mouth went dry, his hand clenching too tight around the door handle as disaster scenarios ran through his mind. Keith injured. Keith dying. The palace once again under attack and war at their gates.

"What about Keith?"

"He's gone."

Of all the scenarios Shiro had imagined, that hadn't been one of them.

"Gone?” Surprise made the word come out in a louder voice than he’d intended, and it all but echoed down the darkened hallway. “What do you mean he’s gone?”

Hervy shifted minutely forward in response. "We went to fetch him for the morning patrol, Your Highness, but his bed was empty." She hesitated, her pale eyes darting quickly from side to side. "The head of the guard told us to tell you."

"That doesn't mean anything. He might’ve just been unable to sleep and decided to take a walk." Not even Shiro believed the flimsy explanation; everyone knew that Keith came to stand outside Shiro's chamber door whenever he couldn't sleep, providing an additional body to keep him safe. If they hadn't found him outside before they knocked, restlessness wasn't the cause for his disappearance.

"We searched for him for hours, Prince Takashi, but he's nowhere in the palace,” Hervy said, her voice apologetic. “He must have left sometime before dawn."

The way she put it—he must have left—made Shiro want to shake his head in denial.

"He must have left by force."

The two guards shook their heads mutely.

“No one else in the palace is missing, Your Highness, and we haven’t found a breach where an outsider could’ve gotten past our walls.”

"Then was there no note?" Shiro heard the desperation in his own voice, but he didn't know how to stop it.

"No, Your Highness." Landon sounded not unlike he was comforting a child, and the embarrassment of being coddled was almost enough to shake Shiro from his shock. "Perhaps an urgent matter with his family?"

“That’s not possible. Keith’s family is—” Shiro snapped his mouth closed before he could reveal secrets that weren’t his own, and he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm. “Never mind. Thank you, Hervy, Landon. Please send a message to the stables; I’d like our fastest horsemen to meet me downstairs as soon as possible.”

They bowed in response, but Shiro didn’t miss their shared look before they left. He could only imagine what the palace gossip would sound like later that day; if Keith had been here, they would’ve tried to predict it together, coming up with more and more outlandish tales to pass the time. In the silence and the dark, the lack of him was like a physical ache, more real with each passing moment, and Shiro couldn’t shake the feeling that every additional second put Keith further out of his life, never to return.

Even though he hated to do it so early in the morning, he summoned his valet to help him dress, unable to handle the task on his own. After waiting long minutes for his arrival, Shiro decided to forgo his decorative arm in favor of speed. Even if some of the challengers already in residence saw him, he doubted it would make much difference to them, and this was more important than hiding his defects with precious metal and jewels.

Keith wouldn’t have run away without a good reason, Shiro told himself as he hurried through the motions and then downstairs to await the arrival of the riders. He wouldn’t have snuck away in the night unless he’d had no choice. Even if Shiro couldn’t guess at the reason that he had to leave without a word to his friend of many years, he had to have one.

That didn’t make the reality easier to face, in the end. As impossible as it was to believe, Keith was still gone, and when Shiro sent the riders to explore their borders in the hopes of picking up Keith’s trail, he already knew they wouldn’t find him, not within the country.

As impossible as it was to believe, Keith had disappeared.

Keith did not return that week, nor did he return the following week. While there were definitely better ways of measuring the time, Shiro nonetheless found himself unable to prevent his days from returning to this single fact. It was impossible, when he went to sleep with quiet corridors outside his chambers and woke up with nothing but sunlight to greet him, not to think about the fact that Keith had yet to come home.

The riders, however, did, and they came with exactly the news Shiro had expected: they'd found no sign of him, not within their borders. Upon seeing his reaction to the news, they immediately volunteered to go out again, spending more time in the inns and cottages at the edges of the town and country before further moving beyond their borders. Shiro agreed, but his heart remained heavy with doubt. If they found anything, he would be surprised; Keith was too smart to be found if he didn’t wish it.

Through it all, the challengers kept arriving. The morning before the Games were to begin, the participants numbered fifty-one; an impressive number, to be sure, but much less than Shiro had feared when he’d seen the original list. It was both a relief and not to see the schedule of the Games--a mere four days, with a day of rest between each--and know that he would end that week as a married man and a king. In the face of his looming fate, it seemed impossible to be polite, but fortunately, Shiro had had a lot of practice with smiling despite the odds. He appreciated the efforts his parents had gone to in his youth to teach him etiquette, especially when he conversed with the challengers each day, welcomed them to his palace and his country and to eat at his table. Each time, he tried very hard not to think about the fact that Keith likely wouldn’t be at his wedding in any capacity.

In light of all this, it surprised Shiro immensely that he had time to find a favorite among the challengers.

Sir Lance of Veradera didn't look like much with his too-angular face and gangly body, and he’d arrived at the palace the day before with only the barest of luggage and with a single horse. Shiro hadn’t known what to think when he seemed to brag and boast to an almost obnoxious degree, but he was pleasantly surprised when they spoke. When Shiro greeted him the first time, he’d said only two things: how pleased he was to be at the palace, and how honored he was to meet the person who’d led the charge during the Battle of Kerberos. Apparently, even a disastrous battle had its fans, and Shiro had been surprised enough that he’d lost his prepared speech.

“I--thank you for coming. Good luck during the Games,” Shiro said sincerely.

Sir Lance responded with a smile that was blindingly white against his brown skin, and then he’d shaken Shiro’s metal hand rather than bowing over it. It wasn’t exactly the protocol, and Shiro could hear sputtering behind him afterwards, a sure sign that one of the stricter advisors had noticed, but it was welcome all the same. Much like Sir Lance himself, the greeting was friendly rather than formal, and Shiro could make a future with friendly...or at least he hoped so.

The night before the Games were set to begin, nine more challengers arrived, clogging up both the entryway and the great hall. Shiro had to resist the urge to close the palace gate in case any more snuck in during the early morning hours, but he settled for sitting stiffly in his chair while they were announced rather than greeting them personally at the doorway as he'd done before. He was sure he made an intimidating picture, sitting on a raised platform high above the crowd and saying nothing, meeting the eyes of those around him only momentarily before he dismissed them with a sip of wine. Nobody came to speak to him for an extended conversation, and for that, he was grateful; intimidating as he might have looked, the truth was that he was just tired, and his shoulders ached.

It wasn't until he heard Edmund's distinctive voice begin announcing the newcomers that Shiro even tried to listen to sounds beyond the crowd, and even then it was only with mild interest until the last name was called.

"And lastly, representing the sovereign nation of Altea: the Red Knight."

Shiro immediately straightened in his chair, curiosity getting the best of him. So, Princess Allura had sent someone; that was a surprise, as was the Red Knight themselves. No other name had been given and no title followed, and over the heads of the crowd, Shiro could just barely make out a slim figure in sparse armor and a blazing red tunic, their face completely obscured by their full helmet. The rest of the room was already tittering over the mystery, and Shiro couldn't help but smile into his glass when he took another sip. No name and no face; if the goal was to stand out and generate talk, they'd done an amazing job with nothing more than a step into the room. It was the highlight of an otherwise dull evening, and Shiro was surprised to find himself almost eager as the remaining challengers shuffled forward to meet him. Although he smiled politely and welcomed each one, it wasn't until the Red Knight was called forward that his smile became more genuine.

"Thank you for coming. It's always an honor to see a champion of Altea." He held out his right hand, the same as he'd done with the others, wondering if the Red Knight would flinch before reluctantly bowing over his silver arm. About half of the contenders had.

The Red Knight didn't flinch, but they surprised even Shiro when instead of dipping their head and moving on with a token gesture, they instead took his hand in their own and bent to kneel on one knee.

"...Highness," the Red Knight murmured as they pressed a helmeted kiss into the crafted tips of Shiro's fingers. Their voice was deep and rich, but that was not the detail that startled Shiro into silence or kept his heart pounding long after the Red Knight released him and moved back into the excited crowd.

It was that they hadn't said "your highness;" they'd said "my highness."

The words, for Shiro's ears alone, had sounded like a solemn vow.

It wasn’t a mystery Shiro could easily let go, and as soon as the evening’s festivities were called to an end, he sought out Edmund. Since Edmund had welcomed each visitor into the palace before the ball began, he had surely also checked their papers and their country of origin. If anyone had any further clues to the Red Knight’s identity, it would be him.

Unfortunately, what Edmund had was little more than what Shiro already knew.

“He’s some sort of minor baron, Your Highness,” Edmund said, after he got over his shock at Shiro even expressing open interest in one of the challengers. “He wouldn’t give me his name, but he came bearing a letter from Princess Allura herself. He also declined a stay inside the palace, saying he’d be happy to support the local inns instead.”

Either of those things would’ve been odd; both, combined, made the Red Knight sound more like a spectator than a visitor. Who declined the hospitality of the royal family one sought to marry into?

“Do you still have the letter?”

Edmund nodded and retrieved it from his desk, then quickly handed it to Shiro. The letter was tri-folded, no official seal or envelope in sight, but it took only a glance at the writing to know it was Allura who had written it. He’d know that sloppy penmanship anywhere.

Shiro, it began, using the nickname she’d picked up from Keith during their brief stay in Altea, just weeks after the war ended. Seeing it filled Shiro with equal amounts of amusement and pain: amusement because of the informality after they’d met maybe a dozen times, and pain because it was a reminder that Keith wasn’t there, reading the words over his shoulder.

The letter continued.

Please take care of the Red Knight. He’s determined to keep his identity a secret, but he will not betray your trust. I am proud to have him represent Altea in Shirogane's Royal Games.

Signed: Princess Allura, Ruler of Altea

And that was all. While Shiro normally appreciated Allura’s direct approach to things, it wasn’t helpful just then.

When Shiro flipped the letter, the writing at the top said only “Endorsement for the Baron of Kogane.”

“Kogane.” Shiro racked his mind for a memory. When he came up blank, he shook his head and refolded the letter. “I’ve never heard of that province.”

Edmund didn’t seem concerned about Shiro’s potential memory lapse, which was more comforting than Shiro would’ve expected. He accepted the letter with only a bare shrug, his round shoulders only seeming rounder when he hunched forward to store the letter once again in the stack with the others.

“It may be new. There were several of them created from one of Altea's larger extinct titles after the war ended. Princess Allura awarded them to her most loyal men.”

“So, he’s an Altean soldier.” Shiro tapped a finger against his chin, thinking of the Red Knight’s stature. From what he could gauge despite his armor, Shiro could tell he wasn’t a big man, half a head shorter than Shiro himself but with shoulders not nearly as wide. All the same, he’d stood straight and tall and moved gracefully.

And, Shiro realized, there was something about him that was familiar.

“I’ve met him before.”

Shiro knew it with certainty, although he couldn’t say why.

“Your Highness?”

“Sorry, Edmund.” Shiro smiled to reassure him, but his mind was already elsewhere. “It’s just a feeling I have.”

***

The first game day started earlier than Shiro had hoped, with every challenger in residence rising at dawn and making enough noise to wake an army. Even worse, this was accompanied by the petty squabbling that Shiro remembered from the games he’d seen as a child. While there’d never before been a need for the Royal Games to be called in his lifetime, it was remarkable what the challengers had in common with those who participated in matches with much lower stakes. Namely, how petty they could be about minor things.

First, it was Sir Hameline from Eclar, who took insult about being assigned to the last matches of the day, as though it made any difference.

Then, it was Madame Nicolet of the Seagrass Islands, who was convinced that having a match between two people who used the sword followed by a match between two people who used the spear was cheating. Somehow.

Third, it was Baron Jom from the tiny province of Scistan, who was appalled that there was fighting at all. Apparently their king had failed to mention that getting to the tests of skill on the second day required first winning multiple one-on-one matches in armed combat.

By the time the Games were set to begin, Shiro already had a headache. Unfortunately, being the prince meant he wasn’t allowed to bow out regardless of circumstances, so he gritted his teeth and made the required announcement anyway, wishing them all good luck in their matches. Of the sixty challengers present, only ten seemed to listen to his words; the rest seemed focused on the prize of a kingship, clearly already spending the country’s vast coffers in their minds.

Most of the matches, as a result, did not last long. If it wasn’t for the fact that each challenger was required to complete three matches and there were sixty challengers total, the day's games would have been over by midday. Shiro almost hoped for it; there were a great many things he could be doing with his time that didn’t involve sitting on a hard wooden throne, watching grown men and women scuffle in the dirt and hot sun while he was covered by shade. He’d never been interested in bloodshed for itself, not even when he’d been required to lead an army, and he liked it even less after a year spent with the Galra. In truth, far from being impressed, he felt sick to his stomach every time someone had to be carried from the field. The amount of viciousness that he saw was repulsive, and he didn’t understand why anyone considered this a fair test for the right of kingship; if it had been up to him alone, he would’ve disqualified most of them on grounds of having a poor temperament.

Fortunately for Shiro, in the end, he didn’t have to; those who relied on pure bloodlust to get through their matches were eliminated quickly, and in the end, the fifteen who remained didn’t surprise him. They were the same ones he’d focused on during the introductory period, with Sir Lance and the Red Knight leading as the only ones to win all three of their matches.

It was more of a relief than Shiro expected to declare the winners, and the crowd of spectators laughed when Sir Lance responded with a wink and an arrogant boast. The wink, Shiro noticed, was not directed at him, but at a pretty female challenger who seemed vaguely alarmed by the attention. Flirtatious; Shiro would have to remember that.

The Red Knight said nothing, facing forward, facing Shiro, the entire time he spoke, and leaving as quietly as he’d entered the ring the moment he was finished.

***

It had been the council’s idea to throw a ball at the conclusion of each game day as a way of congratulating the winners and honoring their countries, and while Shiro hadn’t initially been thrilled at the idea, he admitted that it was a smart one. Although there was much that he would rather be doing with his evenings besides providing food and wine while the winners boasted and losers sulked, at least it was a pretty sight that represented his country well. Shiro had to admit that the planners and decorators for the ball had done well in choosing to drape the tables and windows with flowing white or gray fabric, a gentle compliment to silver candlesticks and chandeliers. The overall effect was resplendent without being ostentatious, and it carried the message of wealth and stability. As a bonus, no one had said a word about Shiro continuing to wear black even during this occasion, most likely because his tailor had compromised when he wasn’t looking; now, his usual dour clothes were trimmed in silver, making him look festive rather than severe. When he approached the challengers as part of his duty, their eyes were rarely drawn to his arm. It was, after all, only more silver.

More than attractive surroundings, though, the ball was...educational, to say the least. If Shiro had been of a military goal that night, he imagined he could have planned an invasion with only the bare details some challengers tossed aside in conversation, and Shiro made note of their names and ranks, careful to keep an eye on which ones had made it through the first game day. For the safety of the country, he couldn’t let anyone so loose-lipped have access to confidential information, and he was sure they’d show their hands on the third day at least, when games of strategy came into play.

If Keith had been there, he would’ve laughed at Shiro gathering information during a ball. Laughed but agreed with the method, even if he would’ve refused to mingle quite as well as Shiro did by drinking glass after glass of too-sweet wine. It made Shiro’s head foggy after only an hour, and he refused to drink anymore, if only to prove to himself that he could manage without Keith reminding him that wine always gave him a sick stomach the following day.

His patience and blending paid off in the end. After two hours of polite conversation and polite congratulations and polite grimaces when no one was looking, Shiro had successfully sorted the challengers in his mind. Most of them fell into two categories: those who were openly after his money and title, and those who were subtly after his money and title. The third group—those who were actually interested in him or at least convincingly pretended to be—was much smaller, and included Sir Lance and maybe half a dozen others, half already eliminated from further games. The fourth and final group—those whose motive was unknown—was not a group at all, since it numbered only one: the Red Knight. Shiro couldn’t understand what to make of him, largely because, out of the sixty challengers who had competed that day, he was the only one who hadn’t yet shown up at the night's ball. If it hadn’t been for his position as one of the clear winners of that day’s games, Shiro would’ve assumed he didn’t want to win at all; he’d certainly made no attempt to speak to Shiro outside of their brief introduction, which seemed odd when considering a prospective betrothal.

It was baffling, and it didn’t get any clearer when the evening wore on and the Red Knight did appear in the doorway, still in his full armor, only to turn and leave a second later.

“What in the world,” Shiro murmured, unwittingly interrupting Lady Nyma from her own boasting about the day’s events.

“Your Highness?” she asked sweetly. Too sweetly—from what Shiro had seen of her fights, deception seemed to be her main weapon and she wielded it well. “Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing.” Shiro smiled with all the charm he could muster as he set his full glass on the tray of a passing server. “But you’ll have to excuse me for a moment. Too much wine.”

She didn’t look happy, but she nodded and turned to the nearest person to resume her conversation, dismissing him. Shiro would’ve laughed, but he was too focused on making it through the crowded ballroom before anyone noticed where he was going. He probably drew more than a few curious glances his way, but he couldn't focus on that. He'd never get any answers to the questions that plagued him if the Red Knight disappeared.

Fortunately, when Shiro pushed beyond the guests lingering near the doorway and stepped out onto the terrace, the Red Knight was still there. He looked lost, standing still as he was with his helmet turned towards the garden; he also didn’t seem to notice Shiro coming up behind him, even though Shiro had made no real efforts at walking quietly across the pavement.

When he was only five feet away, Shiro cleared his throat.

"Looking for something?" he asked loudly, deeply amused by the way the Red Knight startled. "Or have you changed your mind?”

The Red Knight turned and bowed his head, the picture of respect.

“Changed my mind about what, Your Highness?”

His voice was still melodic and deep, but now that Shiro’s heart wasn’t pounding hard enough to almost drown out the sound, he thought it sounded artificially so, like the Red Knight was pitching his voice low on purpose. It was hard to tell, though, with the helmet he still wore; Shiro didn’t like the additional mystery.

“Whatever it is you came here for,” Shiro answered, already exasperated by the conversation. “It can’t be connections or alliances; you’ve hardly spoken to anyone since you got here.”

“I’m not here for that.”

“And you’ve hardly spoken a word to me either.” Shiro crossed his arms as best he could, then spoke softly. “Don’t you want to know the state of the treasury?”

Although it was difficult to tell behind the armor, Shiro thought the Red Knight looked offended.

“Prince Sh—Takashi.”

Apparently, he’d been offended enough for his disguise to slip just enough.

“You were about to say ‘Shiro,’ weren’t you?” The Red Knight said nothing, but Shiro was already nodding to himself. The confirmation was a surprising one; there were only so many places he could’ve heard the nickname, and it had nearly spilled from his lips without thought. “I knew I’d met you before.”

“Of course we’ve met before,” the Red Knight said gruffly, sounding annoyed at having been caught. “Who shows up to marry someone they’ve never met before?”

“At least fifty-nine people, apparently,” Shiro remarked blandly, and he thought he heard the Red Knight chuckle in response, muffled somewhere behind his helmet.

“Well, I’m not one of them,” he said with confidence, before visibly hesitating to continue. “I was there the day you were recovered from the Galra.”

“Were you in the medical wing?” It was entirely possible. Shiro’s bed might have been curtained off from the larger room, but once he’d woken up, he’d heard the sounds of others in pain, others healing. Even with minimal awareness, he’d recognized those sounds. “Did we speak?” They must have, if he was calling him Shiro.

The Red Knight nodded.

“Often.”

“I’m sorry; I don’t remember it.” He remembered very little of those early days, in fact, that was not pain or Keith’s face over his, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears of relief. The entire palace could’ve been there just outside his reach, and Shiro wouldn’t have known. He’d barely been aware enough to notice the lack of his arm.

A terrible thought occurred, and Shiro spoke it before he could think better of it. He blamed the wine.

“Were you scarred?” It would explain much. If the Red Knight had been severely injured in battle, Allura would very well consider a barony to reward his sacrifice; depending on the extent of his scars, he might even wish to keep his face covered at all times.

It was also, in light of Shiro’s own injuries, an incredibly rude thing to ask, and he was opening his mouth to apologize when the Red Knight answered.

“Less than you. And I wasn't nearly as handsome as you are anyway.”

The compliment was delivered awkwardly, but it sounded sincere enough that Shiro was startled all the same. He didn’t know what to say, and he was grateful for the night that covered his blush. It had been years since anyone had called him “handsome;” a flirtatious response no longer came automatically.

They said nothing for several minutes, and it was the Red Knight who broke the silence.

“I’m here to compete. That’s all.”

“I believe you.” Shiro did, now. He still wasn’t entirely sure of his motives or his words, but he was considering moving the Red Knight to group four. Handsome...he’d even sounded like he’d meant it. “Good luck with the rest of the Games.”

“Thank you, Prince Takashi.”

“You can call me Prince Shiro.” Shiro shrugged. “After all, you’ve already done it once.”

***

After the ball ended, Shiro deliberately put the encounter from his mind. It was a necessity; with only one day of rest between each day of Games, Shiro had very limited time to attend to his official duties, and he could hardly afford to be distracted by a single mysterious suitor. Fortunately, when the challengers were informed of his other obligations, they grudgingly accept that they’d have to entertain themselves, leaving Shiro free for more important matters: namely, coming up with plots to convince Allura to tell him the identity of her champion.

(He had not, in fact, put the encounter from his mind.)

It had taken only an hour of fitful sleep before Shiro settled on “bribery,” but it took a full two hours of the following day to gather three cases of the hot peppers she liked and a cask of the whiskey-milk that Princess Allura favored. The stench of them both combined was enough to make him gag, but he was perfectly willing to ignore that if it meant getting answers. He sent them by way of their fastest messengers, accompanied by a formal letter that might have been more pleading than strictly necessary. Unfortunately, Shiro didn’t expect to hear back very quickly; between Allura likely intending to keep it a secret and the relatively short duration of the Games, he probably wouldn’t know the answer until he was already king.

Still, it was better than doing nothing, which was what he did for the remainder of the day. He didn’t plan to, but despite making the time to tend to his duties, Shiro apparently had none. With even the most basic task being either postponed or delegated, Shiro was left with unexpected time to himself; he found it all highly suspicious, and after occupying himself until past the midday meal with trivial things, he went in search of his council.

Despite his best efforts, the council seemed to be conveniently busy or in a hurry every time Shiro found any of them. When he spoke to Advisor Almericus, he was on the way to a very important meeting with the palace guard, but of course the meeting was much too minor for Shiro to attend himself. Advisor Ellice meanwhile, had to journey to Altea quite urgently, a grueling journey for a single day especially when considering her age. Even Edmund, usually the most accommodating, seemed to immediately find somewhere to be whenever Shiro asked for him.

If Shiro didn't know any better, he'd guess that he was either being usurped or set up for an assassination, and he couldn't say he cared for either option. The third, more likely option—that they'd deliberately given him a day to rest in light of his "condition"—he liked even less. Regardless of their motive, it was clear they were hiding something from him and going out of their way to avoid talking to him alone. It did not bode well.

The evening of Shiro’s unexpected day off came to an end with his spine tight with suspicion, and it took him many hours to fall asleep.

The second day of the Games was much like the first, except that Shiro was almost looking forward to it. Although other people might have been surprised by this, Shiro himself wasn't; he'd always appreciated talent, and there was something soothing about watching individual performances that were about skill absent bloodshed. Even if most of the challengers chose things that emphasized their combat abilities, it was still more revealing of character than a simple fighting match. More personal.

Or at least that's what Shiro thought, up until the first demonstration, where Sir Rolo came out to show off his swordsmanship and Shiro found himself itching to correct his form. It was distracting and not something Shiro had expected, for which he blamed Keith; thanks to years of observation, Shiro had gotten too used to his flawless movements, his quick reactions, and his impressive stamina. Despite his young age, watching Keith train meant watching a master, and he'd never failed to provide something to aspire to.

These challengers…were not masters, and by the time the fifth contender came forward to demonstrate their skill (with the sword, like the previous four) Shiro knew he was in for a long day. With the sun already sweltering and the ground baking in the open arena, he only hoped that the rest of the demonstrations would be brief, for safety’s sake. He’d hate to think of someone coming out to demonstrate their skill, only to faint from the heat while wearing full armor.

It wasn’t until Sir Lance finished his demonstration (with a spear rather than a sword, and at this point Shiro was willing to give credit for the novelty) that he actually sat up straighter in his wooden seat. The Red Knight passed Sir Lance as he exited the field, and in his hand he held…a sword. Shiro slumped back down in disappointment.

It wasn’t until the Red Knight took a stance that was both unfamiliar and not that Shiro realized he was getting something different from the standard positions, and he sat up again, intrigued. Now that he looked more closely, he could see that the Red Knight wasn’t holding a sword at all but a katar, and Shiro wondered how he’d missed that. Had he fought with that weapon in the individual fighting matches, and Shiro just hadn’t noticed? It seemed unlikely.

Then the Red Knight began to move and Shiro’s mouth went dry, all other thoughts leaving his head.

"What’s he doing?" asked Adviser Balan, sounding bored. Shiro barely noticed that his council was once again at his side, seemingly out of excuses to avoid him for now. "More sword demonstrations?""

"No," Shiro answered back quietly. His heart was pounding fast enough that he wondered if he should be concerned about the heat, even though they were once again sitting under a shaded canopy. "It's a dance."

More than one person scoffed.

"I've never seen any sort of dance like that!"

Shiro hadn't either, but he recognized it all the same. Years ago, before the war with the Galra had begun, he'd found a book in his father’s study about ancient dances. It had been full of fading illustrations and neat lettering describing each pose, and Shiro had been fixated on one dance in particular, the Dance of the Lions. It was supposed to be a gesture of respect and trust, each pose designed to offer a weapon while presenting those around them with the vulnerable slope of their back or head, but Shiro hadn’t seen it that way; more than once, he’d jokingly told Keith that he found it romantic. Dancing alone and offering that much trust to any one person? It had to come from a place of love.

And now the Red Knight was performing it, and doing so in a way that Shiro had only ever dreamed of seeing. The way he moved was amazing, transitioning from pose to pose smoothly, answering questions about the dance that illustrations alone couldn’t. The only thing that was missing was music, but Shiro could imagine that just fine; with how light the Red Knight’s steps were and how sharp his twists and turns, how high and clean his jumps, Shiro imagined something fast, with string instruments and drums. When the dance was over, Shiro wasn’t the only one sitting on the edge of his seat, and the smattering of applause that had followed each performance up to that point was louder and more enthusiastic this time. The Red Knight bowed low in the direction of Shiro’s throne, but he used his katar for support when he stood up again; the dance had taken a lot out of him, and Shiro wondered why he’d exhausted himself like that. Shiro could tell from his movements in the dance that a sword demonstration from him would’ve been impressive enough to make him one of the day’s winners, and yet he’d chosen to do a dance few people would know, a dance that Shiro ached to see. There was no way he could’ve known, and yet he had.

When the eight winners of the day were chosen, the Red Knight was naturally among them.

***

It was no one’s fault that Shiro was distracted at the ball that night, but Shiro felt guilty anyway when he had to ask Sir Lance to repeat himself a second time.

Sir Lance, in keeping with his easy-going nature, didn’t comment on Shiro’s lack of focus, which was remarkably tactful of him.

“I said, what did you think of Sir Hunk’s performance?”

The question was delivered mildly, as though he had no particular interest in the answer, but Shiro wasn’t fooled. Sir Hunk of Sandwich Isle might not have been one of the day’s finalists due to his baffling attempt at the sword when the previous day had shown him to be an expert with a club, but he and Sir Lance were often seen in conversation when Shiro was otherwise occupied. They were, as Sir Hunk had freely explained, childhood friends.

It was endearing to know that Sir Lance wasn’t too arrogant to ask after the impression his friend had made, and Shiro reminded himself, again, that he was supposed to be evaluating all of the remaining challengers for their potential as his match, rather than staring at the terrace doors impatiently.

“He did very well,” Shiro said, which was only a small lie. It was worth it for the way Sir Lance beamed before he quickly tried to hide it, and Shiro made a mental note that a firmer alliance with Veradera might also come with Sandwich Isle in tow.

Then he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, on the terrace outside, and Shiro completely forgot about alliances. He fumbled his wine glass as he set it down on the table, hard enough that some of it stained the white tablecloth and his sleeve.

Sir Lance’s hand came up to his elbow to steady him, his expression pinched with concern.

“Prince Takashi? Are you all right?”

“Yes. I just need some fresh air, that’s all.”

Sir Lance nodded slowly and released him. As far as touches went, Shiro had barely noticed his.

“I’ll wait here for you, unless you’d like me to go with you?”

The lack of a hopeful lilt in his voice made it easier to shake his head, and Shiro left, certain that he’d come back to Sir Lance and Sir Hunk deep in conversation. In a way, it reminded him of how he was with Keith, and he wondered if perhaps that should’ve been taken as a bad sign rather than an endearing one. After all, surely one person in love with their unavailable friend was enough for any marriage.

Shiro almost laughed at the thought, but he muffled it as best he could as he made his way outside. Unlike the first ball, this time the crowd thinned well in advance of the doors, likely to avoid the unseasonable draft; the weather was cooler, with a slight chill to the air that anyone would be smart to avoid. Surely not even the Red Knight would be outside after such an exhausting day, and sure enough, when he stepped onto the terrace, Shiro saw no one. The glimpse he'd seen might have just been his imagination.

Instead of going back inside, Shiro leaned against the wall and spoke confidently to the dark.

“You did well today. Congratulations.”

The answer was silence for several minutes before the Red Knight must have realized he wasn’t going anywhere, and he emerged from the shadows.

“Thank you, Prince Shiro.” Another bow, this one slighter than the last; Shiro wondered if he’d injured his back, and he resisted the urge to chide him for overtaxing himself. As enjoyable as it had been to watch, there were limits to what a person should do in full armor, which the Red Knight still stubbornly insisted on wearing.

“It was a lovely performance.” Lovely was understating it, but Shiro had spent all afternoon wondering how wise it was to go into more detail with a masked man. “But I admit that I’m curious about why you chose that dance. Is it Altean?”

Despite Shiro's angling, the Red Knight didn’t fall for the innocently asked question, and he shook his head in denial until his armor clinked. He was more visible than he should’ve been in the dark, his armor gleaming in only the bare light that came from the windows; Shiro wondered if he polished it every night, or if it was done by a squire he’d ordered to stay out of sight, lest they give away his identity.

“No. But the Altean crest is a lion, so it seemed appropriate. I’ve spent years trying to learn it.” The Red Knight tapped his armored hand against the wall, several feet from Shiro. The vibrations traveled easily through stone, and they felt almost like a touch. “I could teach it to you.”

Despite the words, his tone was straight-forward rather than flirtatious. Shiro wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“No, thank you,” he answered politely. “I haven’t picked up a sword in months; I can’t imagine dancing with one would be any less strenuous. Even someone as talented as you had trouble.”

The Red Knight ignored the compliment and fixated on the one part of the statement that Shiro had hoped he would ignore.

“Why haven’t you picked up a sword? You don’t lack the talent.”

As usual, the Red Knight seemed to know far more about him than Shiro could understand. It was amazing, actually, that he didn't know this.

“I have one arm,” Shiro said bluntly, but the words didn’t seem to affect the Red Knight at all. He actually shrugged, as though the statement was of no more concern to him than Shiro having white in his hair or an easy smile.

“And one made of metal,” the Red Knight volleyed back, with far more passion than any of his awkward flirtations or compliments had contained. “If it were made of steel or iron, it could be a shield that just happens to be attached to your body. You have the range of motion for it, even though you try to keep it unused at your side. Why?”

The question made Shiro jerk, the question unintentionally ringing with memories.

Why? A voice had asked, in pain. One of his soldiers had fallen in battle, but they weren’t dead yet; with no way to retreat or move or speak, Shiro hadn’t been able to answer. Hadn’t been able to help, no matter how talented he was.

All he’d been able to do was get good men killed, and then the Galra had been there, literally ripping him from his horse.

“That's not your business,” Shiro said sharply, more to the memory than the Red Knight.

Still, it was the Red Knight who answered back.

“Of course not, Your Highness.” He bowed shortly, and even through the armor, Shiro could tell the motion was stiff. “It wasn’t my place to ask.”

“It’s not that. We’ve spoken frankly before.” Shiro sighed, long and low. He was mad at himself for losing his temper, but more than that, he was surprised; very few people could get past his polite facade even enough to make him remember. “It’s just bad memories.”

“I’m sorry.”

The Red Knight sounded like he felt personally responsible for Shiro’s dark thoughts, and Shiro had to laugh. The moment was so familiar, so normal, that it took Shiro a moment to realize it shouldn't have been.

“It’s strange," he said slowly, "but...you remind me of—a friend.”

Keith. The Red Knight reminded him of Keith.

The realization hit him, and Shiro didn’t know whether to laugh again or cry at the injustice of it, of being so close to what he wanted but not quite there. The Red Knight was probably a good man, if blunt. He was here competing for Shiro’s hand because he’d met him before, and he actually seemed to find Shiro attractive despite his physical flaws, which seemed like a miracle. If the Red Knight won, they might even be able to make a happy marriage for years to come.

But he still wasn’t Keith. He didn’t come to the palace as an orphan, with desperation in his eyes and the hungry lines of his mouth as he begged for a chance. He didn’t radiate talent like heat from his skin even as he struggled to hold a sword nearly as big as he was, and he didn’t keep standing even after he was knocked down tens, dozens, hundreds of times. He didn’t make himself someone Shiro needed with his determination, his opinions, and his friendship, and he didn’t cry over Shiro’s bedside when they recovered him from the Galra, hand resting unhesitatingly over the bandage where his arm had been. The Red Knight might have been a lot of things, but he still wasn’t Keith, and that meant that Shiro didn’t want him, not really.

He was also the best Shiro could get, and the fact settled heavy in his chest, like a weight. That, the reality of it, was worse than bad memories.

But because he was perceptive just like Keith, the Red Knight noticed his change in mood.

“Prince Shiro? Are you all right?”

The question came out as concerned as it ought to, and Shiro saw the aborted movement out of the corner of his eye, of the Red Knight wanting to reach for his shoulder. He didn’t follow through on the movement, though, and Shiro figured that was for the best; he might’ve done something rash if he’d been offered comfort just then.

“I’m fine.” He smiled gamely, and wondered if the Red Knight knew him too well to be fooled. “I should get back to the ball, though. It’s impolite to focus on only one winner, after all.”

"Of course." The Red Knight took a step back and then another, no doubt itching to flee back into the night now that his conversation with Shiro was over. "Have a good night, Prince Shiro."

Shiro returned the farewell with a nod before he turned back to the ballroom, certain that the Red Knight would be gone before he'd taken even one step inside.

***

Shiro didn't give his council a chance to hide from him the following day. He planned his ambush carefully, first by rising at dawn and having his valet on call, second by confirming that all the challengers in residence would spend the day occupied with some hunt or another. If his suspicions had any merit, Shiro expected to find all of his advisors planning their next move in the safety of the council's meeting room, and he didn't want an audience anywhere nearby for the fallout.

Shortly after breakfast, he had the guards waiting in the hallway, and he burst through the council room doors without warning. He told himself that he didn't feel betrayed or hurt to find them huddling together as he'd expected, clearly deep in a plot.

"What's going on?" Shiro asked plainly, not bothering with coy words. His spine was straighter than it had ever been, his voice deep with suspicion, and the members of the council closet to the door shared a worried glance.

No one said a word for several minutes, but in the end, it was Edmund who stepped forward first, pulling nervously at his shirt.

"What do you mean, Your Highness?"

"You know," Shiro answered. "Don't pretend you don't." He moved his hand in a wide circle, encompassing both the room and the council themselves, many of whom were still frozen and hunched close to one another. "Siphoning my duties. Avoiding me. Hiding something."

As far as accusations went, it would've been an easy one to deny. To Shiro's surprise, no one tried to; instead, all ten faces in front of him looked immediately guilty and ashamed, and something else that made him feel almost sick.

Something was wrong.

"Prince Takashi—" Advisor Lowis began, his quiet, raspy voice breaking the stillness of the air.

"—perhaps you should sit down," Edmund finished, and when he pulled out a chair, Shiro realized what else he'd seen on their faces.

Pity.

He sat. In his mind, he already knew what they were going to say; he knew what secret they'd try to keep from him, why they'd try to keep him from the stables and the guard alike.

"The riders found Keith."

His body, Shiro thought. They've found his body.

"No. But they found where he was last." Edmund's hand came to rest on the arm of his chair, his fingers curling in and out while he struggled with the words. "Mister Keith…appears to have eloped."

The breath left Shiro's body like it was punched out of him, with pain on the exhale. He'd feared the worst, but this…this was close.

"How can they know that?" he asked quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

It was Advisor Almericus who answered him, which only made sense; he'd been the one who had claimed an urgent meeting with the guard when Shiro had last asked about him. Shiro should have realized that the excuse meant sending the guard to investigate.

"They found his signature in a ledger on the edge of town. The Boysenberry Inn. He was not alone."

"It can't be him."

"I'm sorry, Prince Takashi. We didn't want to burden you with this, not now."

Not while the Games are in progress, Almericus didn't say, although that was clearly what he meant. As much as the council might have cared for Shiro's feelings personally, they couldn't afford to have him at less than peak performance for the Royal Games. Couldn't afford to have him distracted, or causing a scandal.

Judging by the way his knees were shaking and his chest hurt, the concern was very real. His half-arm ached and ached under its metal sleeve, and Shiro rubbed at it unconsciously rather than rub at his eyes.

"…is he alive? At least?"

"We can't know for certain without finding where he went afterward, Your Highness. The inn connects to the main road, and he could've gone to any number of countries from there."

"I see." Shiro sighed out shakily. "Thank you for telling me."

The council flinched, Edmund most of all. Shiro took a perverse pleasure in that, and he stood as regally as he knew how before leaving without another word.

***

The moment he was out of the sight of the guards, Shiro hurried to the stables and took the first available mount that could be saddled, his mind already charting the quickest route to the Boysenberry Inn. While he'd never stayed there himself, the name was familiar, a place that he'd passed dozens of times when he came to and from the city, and the need to go there was strong. Even if the council thought they were right, they could've been wrong, and no one knew Keith's handwriting better than Shiro. And even if they weren't wrong…Shiro needed to know that with his soul, rather than by the word of someone else.

Since it was nearing midday and some guest would soon be missing their horse, Shiro made himself make the trip as quickly as possible, with hooves flying over cobblestones as he rode through the widest streets. By the time he'd made it to the north end of town, the streets had narrowed significantly and the cobblestones were showing their age, becoming more and more uneven with each passing step. It was enough to risk twisting a horse's ankle if their rider wasn't careful, and so Shiro dismounted; he was only a few streets from the inn he was seeking, if memory served, so he continued on foot, leading the horse behind him but careful to avoid every pothole.

Two blocks from where he suspected the inn to be, Shiro turned the corner and nearly ran directly into the Red Knight.

"Prince Shiro," the Red Knight greeted, sounding just as surprised as Shiro was. He didn't bow this time; they were standing much too close for him to manage one, not without a very awkward jump backwards.

"Red Knight," Shiro returned, his hand tightening on the horse's reins. "Were you heading to the market? Don't let me keep you."

"It's nothing that can't wait." The Red Knight's helmet turned, facing the space over Shiro's shoulder. "Do you often leave the palace without a guard?"

He sounded deeply annoyed by that, and Shiro wished he had it in him to be amused at the moment. Apparently, the Red Knight had more in common with Keith than just his proficiency with a sword and an insistence that Shiro return to his training regimen despite any and all setbacks. Shiro briefly hoped he didn't also share a tendency toward elopement, and he had to fight back the feeling of guilt at the thought; it was disloyal to think such things without even confirming it.

"When necessary," Shiro answered flatly. "This is an urgent matter and couldn't wait."

"What sort of urgent matter?"

"A missing person."

"I'll go with you." At Shiro's look, he shrugged. "If you insist on not carrying a sword, you shouldn't be without someone who has one."

Shiro had no argument for that, and he didn't protest when the Red Knight pulled the horse's reins from Shiro's loose grip and fell into step behind him. It felt odd to have someone at his back again after weeks without it, even if Shiro wasn't exactly expecting him to plunge a knife between his shoulder blades.

Shiro tried to walk quickly all the same, and it took only a few minutes to reach the Boysenberry Inn, a rundown little building with fallen bricks and dying bushes around the perimeter. It was almost the sole building fit for human occupation in this area, and Shiro turned to look at the Red Knight.

"Is this where you're staying as well?"

"It was the cleanest room and bed available for the price," the Red Knight said, sounding certain.

"You could've stayed in the palace," Shiro reminded him. "It was offered."

"I didn't want to take advantage," he said, which was such an odd thing to say that Shiro let it rest in silence as they walked up the steps.

The Red Knight elected to stay outside with the horse and Shiro didn't comment on that. Even without his presence, it was easy enough to find the owner of the inn and ask to get a look at his ledger from the month before, even if it also required Shiro to slip him a handful of coins, much more than a night's stay would've been worth.

The ledger was set on the table in front of him, and the pages were worn, damaged by water and poor storage. He handled them gingerly and only when necessary while his eyes skimmed the ledger, looking for the day Keith had disappeared. At first he found nothing, but then by chance his eyes skipped a line, landing on the day before. There, in handwriting as familiar as his own, were the words Keith and Pidge Gunderson, for two night's stay in the inn's "best room."

Keith had left even earlier than everyone had thought, Shiro realized numbly, and he'd never said a word of goodbye. What's more, he'd taken a last name when he'd left; years ago, he'd refused to use "Shirogane" when Shiro had offered it to him, claiming that it would give the wrong impression.

Shiro was outside before he fully realized he was leaving, and he came to his senses on the edge of the street.

Well. At least he had his proof, if the stabbing feeling under his ribs was any indication. That was enough for him, and he would've left as quickly as he could, except Shiro didn't know where his damn horse was.

"Your Highness?"

Shiro startled and turned, fast enough that the air made his eyes sting; he hadn't even heard the Red Knight come up behind him. Hadn't thought about him at all.

"Yes? What is it?" he replied, perhaps too harshly. The words certainly felt harsh, coming out of his throat.

The Red Knight visibly hesitated.

Shiro wondered what he saw on his face.

"The owner of the inn asked if you were done with the ledger."

"Oh. Yes, of course." Shiro looked at the ground, at the fine dust that clung to his boots. "Please tell him that I'm sorry for wasting his time. Everything seems to be in order."

"Of course."

Shiro heard the crunch of his metal boots on the gravel, one step and then another before he paused.

"It doesn't mean anything, you know." The Red Knight sounded almost desperate for Shiro to believe it. "Anyone can write a name in a ledger."

"I know that." But, he reminded himself sadly, Keith hates lying. If it was true, it meant that Keith didn't trust Shiro to approve his marriage. If it wasn't true, then it was to cover up something much worse. Shiro might've learned to be happy with whoever Keith chose to love, but he couldn't shake the feeling that that wasn't the case. Couldn't shake the idea that Keith was in danger, waiting for someone to come for him who never would.

Keith, when it mattered, had always come back for Shiro.

"I just wish I knew if he was alive. And why he left—the real reason." Shiro gave the Red Knight a weak smile before looking back down at the ground. "I'm sorry. I'm not representing my country very well at the moment."

The Red Knight was so still for so long that Shiro wondered if he might have left. It would've been fitting.

"I should be the one apologizing to you," he finally said.

Shiro didn't understand until the air shifted around him, bringing the Red Knight's pointed boots within his sight moments before he felt the unmistakable feeling of arms coming around him. Shiro stiffened instinctively before he realized that the Red Knight was hugging him. It was awkward and slightly uncomfortable, plates of metal digging almost painfully into Shiro's chest and the Red Knight's arms barely able to stretch around him, but it was also clearly intended as a comfort.

Shiro, despite his best judgement, hugged back.

"Your friend must have had a good reason," the Red Knight said quietly. "They wouldn't have left otherwise."

As he held on tighter to the comfort he'd been offered, Shiro could only hope that was true.

Due to the time and concentration necessary for any game of strategy or wit, it was decided that the third game day would be closed off from the public and conducted indoors, with the games themselves being watched closely by members of the council rather than requiring Shiro himself to be present at each one to save time. While the arrangement was clearly meant as a reprieve, Shiro didn’t take it; in light of the previous day, he needed the distraction, and with the initial four games happening simultaneously, there was plenty to be distracted by. Besides, it was interesting to see the games chosen, and who favored what; without assigned matches, the challengers naturally drifted towards their preferred type, whether it was cards or a board game, and they settled into their seats with stiff backs and fierce glares at their opponents. The atmosphere was not unlike a war negotiation, and even though Shiro had expected it, he still felt himself tense.

At the end of this day, only two challengers would remain, and one of them would become Shiro’s spouse. The very thought was nerve wracking, especially when he considered the possibilities. Would it be Lady Nyma, with her cunning and speed and disdainful eyes? Would it be General Iverson, with his impressive military background and cold nature and twice Shiro’s years? Would it be Sir Fokker, who had said not a single word in the entirety of his stay? No matter how he looked at it, most of the options seemed dire, and yet Shiro wondered if he’d prefer that: someone who he could dismiss as cruel or cold and an unfortunate match, rather than someone who already wanted him, someone who would be let down if their interest wasn’t returned.

While Shiro could offer a crown and a fortune, enough for most, he wasn’t sure if he could offer himself.

He tried not to think about it as he walked the room, and his eyes deliberately skimmed over the Red Knight’s match, then Sir Lance’s as well. For the first time, he wasn’t sure if either of them would win; Sir Lance faced Lady Nyma while the Red Knight faced General Iverson, and both matches seemed stacked against them.

In the end, it was chance that enabled Sir Lance to win his match; a little over an hour into the day’s games, Lady Nyma lost her temper and launched herself over the table to attack him, violating the rules of conduct. She was disqualified and removed from the premises, while Sir Lance shakily tried to regain his footing from his upended chair.

Shiro gave up on pretending indifference and rushed to help him stand, receiving a grateful smile in return as Sir Lance leaned heavily against Shiro’s side and tried to balance. What might have been meant as seductive unfortunately fell short, thanks to his pointy elbows and thin frame.

“All I said was that she looked lovely in blue,” Sir Lance said.

Shiro raised one eyebrow.

“That’s all?”

From what he’d seen of Sir Lance’s match, his lips had rarely been still.

“Well, maybe a few things more.” His expression looked as innocent as he could make it. “I might have asked if she was related to Lady Oriolda. They seemed similar to me.”

Lady Oriolda, of course, had been eliminated in the first round, and on top of that, she looked nothing like Lady Nyma in either coloring or build. Her vanity must have required that she point that out, violently; Sir Lance had clearly not intended the barb to be quite that effective.

“Good strategy,” was all Shiro said in the end, and he turned back around, intending to seek out one of the council members nearby to make sure that Lady Nyma was removed from the challenger list. He saw the Red Knight turned towards him and he smiled reflexively, entirely forgetting his plan to ignore him. He received a nod in return before the Red Knight turned back to his game and a red-faced General Iverson.

Although it took several more hours, the longest one yet, the Red Knight won his match. When the morning’s four winner settled down to new games to winnow their numbers down to two, Shiro found himself holding his breath. Sir Lance and the Red Knight did not sit across from one another, however, and this time when they played, their advantages were clear.

Despite his earlier worries, when the Red Knight and Sir Lance were announced the day’s winners, all Shiro felt was relief.

***

The atmosphere of that night’s ball was different than the others had been, and everyone knew it. It wasn’t just because the two finalists had been chosen; if anything, the excitement and gambling surrounding the Games themselves were a welcome relief to the tension in the air, the strain in conversations. No, the atmosphere was most charged because—for the first time—the Red Knight actually entered the ballroom to greet Shiro rather than lurking in the shadows of the terrace.

What should have been an auspicious sign, however, was ruined by the fact that the Red Knight and Sir Lance apparently hated each other. It took the better part of an hour to find out why, but according to most sources of gossip, they’d spent the majority of the rest days between games practicing side-by-side, trying to outdo one another. The Red Knight’s talent with his katar was one point of contention, while Sir Lance’s tendency toward conversation was another. It was rivalry, plain and simple, and it explained easily why they had chosen not to play against one another for that day’s games; likely, they weren’t willing to admit defeat to the other until the final game day.

That did not, however, stop them from bickering like children for twenty minutes before steadfastly and openly avoiding one another for the rest of the night. It was enough to make Shiro’s head spin, and he didn’t try to force the issue; as soon as they went their separate ways, Shiro followed to wish Sir Lance good luck on the final match. He didn’t miss the smug expression on Sir Lance’s face at being greeted first, nor did he miss the way the Red Knight seemed to sulk about afterwards, holding a glass of wine that he couldn’t drink with his helmet still on. It should've been laughable, but wasn't; if anything, it made Shiro feel like a toy being fought over by two particularly petty dogs, and he was prepared to dismiss both of them and retire early when he turned and saw the Red Knight surrounded by over eager nobles still curious about his identity.

It didn’t stay that way for long. The Red Knight, when not talking to Shiro alone, was apparently shockingly rude, and after about half an hour of watching him try to navigate the court politics (and failing utterly) Shiro called him over in his most authoritarian voice. The relief in the Red Knight’s shoulders at the excuse to avoid the nosy crowd was almost painful to see, and Shiro wished he’d thought to do it sooner.

“You can leave, if you like,” Shiro said quietly, once the Red Knight was close enough. He’d already forgiven him for his earlier behavior, especially since, of the two of them, Sir Lance was far worse about it. “You don’t have to stay the whole time.”

The Red Knight sighed and set his untouched glass aside.

“I don’t think I’d make a very good consort,” he said, sounding so mournful that Shiro let out a startled laugh. He thought it was amazing that he could laugh at all, after yesterday.

“You wouldn’t be a consort—you’d be the Wed-King. It’s a different position, with a much smaller, ah, entertainment aspect.” The Red Knight didn’t seem to appreciate the difference, but then he’d seemed on edge all night, beyond even his irritation with Sir Lance. Worried, perhaps, or nervous. “You’d even have equal weight in choosing our successor.”

“Well, that’s important.” The Red Knight fidgeted, a truly odd thing to see from someone in full armor. “Are you going to wish me luck this time? Against Sir Lance?”

Shiro straightened his back and nodded.

“Of course.”

He’d opened his mouth to do so when the Red Knight held up a hand to stop him.

“Not here.” The Red Knight raised his hand to his helmet and paused, as though he’d been aiming to run a hand over his hair or face and forgot. “Would you meet me in the stables? Around midnight?”

Shiro’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.

“Not for anything suspicious!" The Red Knight said, sounding flustered. “I just…all these people. I’d rather it was just you and me.”

“If you like.”

It was a terrible idea, but Shiro shrugged. It was not the first time he’d met the Red Knight outside of the palace; for that matter, it wasn’t the first time he’d met someone after dark in the stables. It would probably be fine.

***

The problem with sneaking into the stables after dark was that Shiro could not come up with a believable excuse for why he needed to keep either his metal arm or his clothes on to go to bed. After trying and failing to convince his valet that he thought the council might call for him due to a difficult challenger earlier in the day, he gave up and accepted that he might well be meeting the Red Knight in his nightclothes. Half-till midnight, he decided that he couldn't actually go through with it, and he began the painstaking task of getting dressed with one hand. Between the laces on his boots and the ones on his breeches, it took him a good forty-five minutes before he was actually able to begin the walk to the stables, and by then he was certain that the Red Knight would have already gotten impatient and left, convinced he was not going to show.

Shiro went anyway; he'd given his word, in a way, and since he was already up, it wouldn't hurt to enjoy the brisk walk. The stables were on the far corner of the palace land, still well within the gates but surrounded by trees, and Shiro had always enjoyed being out here when he had the time. The atmosphere might've been a bit more eerie and gloomy in the dark, but the inside of the stables was still familiar, with the smell of hay and horse filling the air. It was also damned cold, and Shiro wished he'd thought to try his luck with putting on a thicker jacket.

The Red Knight, of course, was nowhere to be found, but while Shiro might normally roll his eyes at that, this time he didn't.

"Red Knight?" he asked of the darkness, his eyes scanning the area for movement that wasn't a quietly sleeping horse. When he felt a hand gently touch his shoulder from behind, he stiffened but otherwise didn't move.

The hand stayed there, warming him through his shirt. Shiro was amazed he could feel it, but then he realized why: the Red Knight wasn't wearing his gauntlets, and possibly not wearing his armor at all.

The Red Knight must have felt Shiro tensing in preparation for turning, because his soft touch quickly became an iron grip.

"Don't turn. Please."

Without the helmet in the way, his voice was softer, a whisper that was easy to lose among the sounds of the stable and the wind. Shiro had to focus to make out the words.

"I don't think," Shiro said, just as quietly, "that wishing you luck will be very effective if I'm saying it over my shoulder."

The Red Knight didn't release his shoulder, but his touch became lighter and far more distracting.

"Then could you close your eyes?"

"It's pitch black in here," Shiro said, ignoring that he was perfectly able to pick out the shapes of individual stalls and animals. That came from years of practice. "And I'll have to see your face eventually."

"You will. After the last game, you will. One way or another."

"Well, at least that didn't sound threatening at all." Shiro sighed and gamely closed his eyes anyway. "Fine. My eyes are closed."

The Red Knight's touch at his back disappeared, and Shiro felt the air shift as he circled him. His eyes twitched with the effort of keeping them closed, and he wasn't sure how close they stood until he felt a soft breath on his chin and warm hands came up to rest on his cheeks. Thumbs glided across his cheekbones and the scar over his nose, the caress gentle but deliberate, and Shiro found it hard to breathe all of a sudden. He swallowed, but that didn't erase the way the air around him suddenly felt hot, his own tongue thick in his mouth.

This was far more intimate than a simple wish of 'good luck,' and Shiro knew he should shake the touch off. He had the time; the Red Knight seemed frozen, not moving beyond his soft touch against his skin while he waited for him. Waited for him to say 'no.'

Shiro…didn't.

"Good luck on the final match," Shiro said, the words a whisper. If the Red Knight heard him, it didn't matter, because before the last word had left his lips, the Red Knight's mouth was there.

In contrast to his hands, his lips were cool, and they trembled with nerves. His hands were surer, and they turned Shiro's head just slightly so that the Red Knight could press closer. Their lips slid against one another softly, the loudest sound their breathing, and the Red Knight's hand shifted, sliding behind Shiro's head to his hair while his other hand drifted down to cup his jaw. Soft hair tickled Shiro's cheeks and his hand itched to touch, but he couldn't bring himself to; in the darkness, even that small clue would've felt like stealing, taking something the Red Knight wasn't ready to give.

When the Red Knight pulled gently on his hair, Shiro's lips parted on reflex, almost to the edge of deepening the kiss, and suddenly he was gone, even his hands no longer touching him. Shiro felt knocked off his feet even though they were both firmly on the ground, but he kept his eyes closed.

The breathed heavily in the darkness for a moment or two, and then:

"Thank you."

The words were sincere although it sounded like it took effort to say them, and Shiro was still confused, disoriented, breathless. The kiss couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, and Shiro got the impression that the Red Knight didn't kiss many people; it wasn't coy and practiced, didn't have anything in common with the lust-filled dalliances of Shiro's youth. Instead, it felt like shyness and longing—like the Red Knight wasn't sure it would be entirely welcome in the light of day, but was satisfied with even something that small from him. Shiro didn't think he'd ever been someone worth longing for, and he couldn't help but wonder why.

"Who are you?" he asked, voice ragged. Shiro must have forgotten a lifetime of memories if the Red Knight wanted him this much.

"I'll see you on the final game day, Prince Shiro," the Red Knight said in lieu of an answer. His voice sounded just as soft as it had before, but this time it was accompanied by a soft touch to Shiro's fingers. Another kiss.

When Shiro opened his eyes, the Red Knight was gone.

***

Despite his best attempts, sleep would not come after that encounter, and Shiro finally gave up around dawn. He felt conflicted, and that didn't sit well with him; for all that he'd had a tumultuous life in the past few years, Shiro had always been relatively certain about his choices, never wavered on the things that mattered. Now, however, all he had to do was lick his lips in the dry air and remember, and he felt…guilty. Ashamed.

It didn't take many guesses to figure out why. Apparently, Keith could disappear for weeks, even elope with someone without a word, and Shiro would still feel guilty about kissing someone else—someone who might even be his husband before the week was out. It was maddening, and Shiro didn't know who to turn to; it's not like he could ask Edmund or his valet for help about this.

The idea occurred while he was eating breakfast, runny eggs over toast, and he remembered how his father had eaten his eggs over-hard, always. It was the little details like that, Shiro knew, that would haunt him until his dying day; his parents had been a presence in his life that he couldn't shake even after they were gone, and their advice had been invaluable to him.

Shiro stood before he fully realized he was going to, mind already set on his destination.

"I'm going out!" he said, to everyone and no one, and he strode from the room to sounds of people scrambling behind him. It was possible someone would think to send a guard after him, but it was just as likely not; with that in mind, he slowed as he walked by the armory, and then grabbed a sword and scabbard on a whim. It felt heavy and unnatural in his hand and on his body, but Shiro knew it was just because he was out of practice. If he had to guess, he'd say the sword was actually smaller than those he used to use; he made a mental note to see the blacksmith, and also see the armorer about crafting him another arm of sturdier metal. It was not, he told himself, because the Red Knight had recommended it. It was just…a good idea, one he hadn't wanted to listen to.

Perhaps, he decided, it was time to listen.

Before he left the palace as he usually would, he summoned his coach. While it was a simple enough ride to get to the royal graveyard, the slowly-brightening sky looked overcast and cloudy, and Shiro didn't want to get caught in the rain and mud. It wouldn't do anyone any good if he visited his parents while muddy, and with that thought in mind, he stepped into the coach. It felt too large with just him inside, but he ignored that and waited quietly.

When the coach slowed in front of his destination, Shiro hopped out with a nod and trudged past the fence line. It was raining but lightly, not enough to obscure the path or make it impossible to travel, but Shiro was careful with his steps anyway as he looked from side to side. His parent's graves barely took up any space in the royal graveyard, their headstones small and unobtrusive against the skyline in comparison to those from generations before. Shiro knew there'd been no time for an elaborate funeral and no craftsmen to spare for artistry, but despite this logic, it still seemed a crime to him. To Shiro, there had been no greater queen and wed-king, and yet it took him an age to find where they'd been laid to rest. This was only the second time he had visited; the first, he had been numb, shaken, barely awake and aware, and he'd leaned on Keith the entire time.

This time, he was alone, and with no one around to see, he sank to his knees in the soft dirt. To hell with the mud.

"I'm sorry I haven't visit," he said, feeling like a fool as he stared at the engraving on his mother's tombstone. "I've been…busy."

An understatement, to be sure; if his mother been here, she would've laughed, likely while attempting to brush the hair away from his eyes and ordering him to sleep more and worry less. She would also, he imagined, have advice for him; she'd been through the Royal Games before. She must have been conflicted just like he was, especially when Shiro knew that his father hadn't been here first choice. They'd made it work regardless; Shiro would be selfish to do any less, especially when neither Sir Lance nor the Red Knight would make an objectionable match.

But…

"I'm in love with Keith," he said out loud for the first time. The information would not have surprised either of his parents, he suspected, since they had watched over them both. "But I think I could love someone else if I tried." The prospect was terrifying, and terrifyingly real. He'd only known the Red Knight for less than a week; was his heart that fickle?

No, he decided. The love wasn't there yet. All that was there was potential, but that was both enough and more than Shiro could've hoped for. He shouldn't have to apologize for what he might feel one day, and he wouldn't; what tormented him now was not knowing what had become of Keith, and not knowing if Keith had ever realized that Shiro loved him.

"I never told him." Not even once, and he'd had the chance. Maybe—probably—Keith wouldn't have returned the feeling, but he'd surely deserved to know, even if nothing would've come of it. Maybe if Shiro had told him, he wouldn't have felt like he had to run. It was impossible to say, but Shiro knew one thing: he missed Keith. He would always miss Keith, and that feeling was real.

"I wish Keith was here. But." Shiro sighed and sat back on his heels, looking towards the sky. It felt more honest than staring at stone. "I want him to be happy more than I want that. If he ever wants to come home…I'll welcome him, no matter the circumstances." It felt good to say the words, even if his heart stuttered and stammered, still wondering. "If either of you see him before I do, please take care of him."

Shiro touched his hand to cool, damp stone, over the crest of his family and kingdom. Although the stone didn't speak to him, it still felt like a promise, and he sat there beside his parents' graves until his legs went numb from the cold, and his coachman came inside the fence to fetch him.

The fourth and final day of the games dawned bright and auspicious, and Shiro chose to take that as a sign. He was not the only one who felt that way; although Shiro had selected his clothes with care that morning and made sure that he wore his most presentable circlet in respect for the day, when he climbed into his seat alongside his council and guard, it was impossible to miss their excited chatter about the days beyond. While some of them might have only been excited to see the end of the Royal Games, others were excited for the country; Shiro becoming king would open up opportunities for more treaties and trade, and not even the staunchest advisor was immune to the temptation of commerce. Those who were excited for Shiro and his soon-to-be marriage, however, mostly stayed silent in acknowledgement of the occasion, merely nodding at Shiro with respect when he looked their way.

When the challengers stepped onto the field, the crowds, both public and noble, fell silent. Shiro's eyes were automatically drawn to the Red Knight first; his armor gleamed even more than usual, and his katar looked fiercely sharp, catching sunlight on the edge of the blade. He looked deadly and moved with confidence, and Shiro wondered, briefly, if that was how he was in battle. If so, he imagined the Galra had run the minute they'd seen him; even Shiro shivered instinctively in trepidation, and he knew the Red Knight would never harm him.

In comparison, looking at Sir Lance was…baffling. His armor was impressive enough, his stance loose-limbed and just as confident, but where Shiro had expected to see him carrying his spear, he saw instead another sword. To Shiro's knowledge, Sir Lance had never fought with the sword in any of the previous games; Shiro hadn't even known he had a sword.

"Is that a sword?" asked Advisor Ellice, and Shiro nodded absently, even though the question likely wasn't directed at him. When both challengers came to a stop at the foot of Shiro's platform, however, he masked his confusion and stood.

"Challengers," he began, hands folded in front of him. "Today is the final match of the Royal Games. Good luck to you both; you may begin when ready."

Sir Lance bowed comically low in response and shot Shiro a wink when he straightened. The crowd laughed, and even Shiro smiled; it was hard not to, when Sir Lance seemed to do everything for a crowd.

The Red Knight, meanwhile, noticed the exchange and dug the tip of his katar almost angrily in the dirt. He didn't look at Shiro once before he stormed to the center of the field, the slump of his shoulders sullen. If that wasn't jealousy, he certainly pretended well, and that made Shiro smile wider as he sat down. The Red Knight's stance, although angry, was still perfect.

When Sir Lance took a stance opposite of him, it was clear he'd never held a sword in his life. Shiro wondered why he'd chosen that weapon, but one glance at the two of them showed them locked in a fierce glare, seemingly unaware of the roaring crowd or any stakes other than winning.

Rivalry. Where previously Sir Lance had used it to his advantage against other challengers, it was clear that the urge to beat the Red Knight with his own weapon had defeated him this time. Shiro could only shake his head at the madness of it. Sir Lance might have stood a chance with his spear; with a sword, against a clear master like the Red Knight? It was a rivalry doomed to failure.

To be fair to Sir Lance, once the match started, he lasted longer than Shiro had thought he would. Despite being unfamiliar with the weapon in combat, he still had speed on his side, possibly even greater speed than the Red Knight. He parried at the right times and blocked when he should've, but his offensive maneuvers were lacking; he was not used to fighting so close or with such a heavy weapon.

When the Red Knight knocked him down the first time, Shiro was prepared to call it. After the second, third, and fourth times, however, he couldn't stop himself from doing so, if only to spare Sir Lance the injury to more than his pride.

"People of Shirogane, we have a winner!" Shiro stood and walked to the edge of the platform, drawing the attention of the crowd and challengers both.

When the crowd cheered at the announcement, Sir Lance finally admitted defeat, and he managed to regain his feet before leaving the field with dignity. Shiro admired that, and the crowd applauded in acknowledgement of a match well-fought.

The Red Knight, meanwhile, came towards Shiro with slow, measured steps. He didn’t seem tired or out of breath; it was as if he’d never fought a match at all.

“Red Knight,” Shiro said, focusing on making his voice project more than on the words themselves. Shiro’s heart was pounding rapidly. “You’ve won the final Game, and are the champion of Shirogane. Please remove your helmet--” Shiro paused to swallow, his mouth dry. “--and come forward to accept my hand.”

Shiro held out his silver arm and waited. The crowd was silent and everything was still; even the wind seemed to slow, waiting for the Red Knight’s answer. For several minutes, they waited, while the Red Knight didn’t so much as drop his katar.

Then, slowly, he did. When the blade crashed into the dirt, he reached up his gauntleted hands to remove his helmet.

He was revealed in pieces, first his dark hair, long enough that Shiro already knew how it felt against his cheek. Then his mouth, familiar in more ways than one.

By the time Shiro saw his nose, he couldn’t hear anything other than a buzzing in his ears. The crowd might have been screaming, his council might have been shouting in his ears, but all he could focus on was the man in front of him, on his familiar defiant expression in the face of the shock of those around him. He let his helmet fall to the ground and didn't move, daring anyone to object.

Keith. The Red Knight was Keith.

Before he realized he’d done it, Shiro dropped his hand.

***

Shiro couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this angry.

If he’d had to guess, he would’ve come up with a time when he was in captivity, thinking that no one would save him but himself. Back then, the anger had been pure and hot, aimed at the Galra and the world and his own failings; what filled him now was anger that was slick like oil, tainted with betrayal and confusion. It made him feel ill the longer he looked at Keith’s face, and he pressed his hand against his stomach to hold the sensation in.

Keith’s defiant expression faltered, changing to concern and back in a blink, and Shiro was striding down to the field before he knew it.

“Come with me,” he said, voice trembling with the effort to keep from shouting as he grabbed Keith’s elbow and tugged him behind him. He could hear the chatter of the crowd now, the confused whispers as to why Shiro wasn’t following tradition and waiting for the winner to come to him. They wouldn’t be confused for long; if any of the palace staff were among the spectators, the secret of Keith’s identity would be common knowledge soon.

The explanation, however, was still a mystery, and Shiro cursed the part of him that was curious.

He didn’t stop pulling Keith behind him until they were well out of earshot, the arena a vast shape in the distance. He dropped his hold but kept walking until they were surrounded by trees and only a truly determined eavesdropper would be close enough to hear them. Shiro didn’t care either way, and when he stopped, he kept his back to Keith and said nothing.

“I told you I had a good reason,” Keith said quietly after only a few seconds, and that, that was too much for Shiro. It was one thing to lie; it was quite another to throw his confidence, his grief, back into his face.

Shiro had looked for Keith, had been prepared to mourn Keith. And the entire time, Keith had kept this secret rather than tell him, had been silently watching him from only an arm's length away.

“You lied to me. You lied to everyone.” Shiro spun around and gestured furiously in the direction of the arena, then the palace. “You made a mockery of our entire culture! The results are invalid now.”

Keith’s expression shuttered, like Shiro’s words had connected with unexpected force.

“Why?” he asked, suddenly all but spitting in anger. His fists were clenched at his sides, hard enough that Shiro could hear the metal grinding against itself. “Because I’m an orphan? Because I’m not good enough for you?”

Shiro laughed without humor. He wanted to shake some sense into him, but it wouldn’t have done any good. Keith would’ve just twisted out of his hold anyway; he knew his weak spots.

“No, because nobody in this country was ever eligible to begin with.” Shiro took a deep breath and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, trying to find the words to make Keith understand. “As soon as word gets out, every challenger who showed up will demand a rematch. And that’s assuming that they don’t go back to their countries and accuse us of rigging the Games. The entire point of the Royal Games is to provide unity.”

“No, it isn’t,” Keith said through clenched teeth. “The point is to trap you in a marriage with someone flinches when you try to touch them, when they should be damn grateful for the privilege.”

They both stiffened at the words, neither one of them moving until Keith released a shuddery breath.

“I couldn’t let that happen, Shiro, and you wouldn’t have said anything. Not even if you were miserable for the rest of your life.”

It was on the tip of his tongue--it’s not up to you to save me--but the words wouldn’t come. After all, Keith had saved him before. Keith did save him, every day, just with his presence.

Shiro couldn’t say that either, and he rubbed at his eyes with his palm, trying to find something he could say that wouldn’t ruin them beyond repair.

“I can’t imagine why Princess Allura supported this—”

“She didn’t, not the way you’re thinking,” Keith interrupted. “I am an Altean baron. It’s just…a long story.”

Shiro glared, but it was half-hearted; his anger had already begun to fade, although it would take a long time before it disappeared entirely.

“If that’s true, it’s a story you should’ve told me weeks ago.”

“I can tell you now,” Keith said, and he did. He talked about the war, and how he reacted when Shiro’s old bodyguard was found dead, with Shiro nowhere in sight. He talked about floundering in the remains of the royal household, desperate to do anything to find him again. He talked about how scared everyone was of trying, and he talked about volunteering his services to Altea, the only country with the might and the will to try to get Shiro back. He talked about how his success on the frontlines was mostly an accident, but one Allura had rewarded anyway once the war was over.

All he’d wanted was Shiro back. What he got was Shiro, injured and unconscious, and land and a title that he left behind as soon as Shiro was well enough to make the journey home.

“I didn’t mean to deceive you, not at first,” Keith finished quietly. There was shame in the words. “It just never came up.”

Shiro doubted that; Keith didn’t always get along with most of the palace staff, and it must have taken iron will not to respond to one of their taunts by flaunting his new status. More likely, Keith just hadn’t bothered.

“You still should’ve told me.” Shiro ran his hand through his hair as he processed Keith's explanation, taking note of the places where he'd rushed over the details. It was an incredible story, and one that Shiro would like to hear in full one day, when they weren’t one wrong move from another open war. He hoped he’d still get the chance. “What about everything else? Leaving with...someone, and coming back as the Red Knight.”

And talking to me, and comforting me, and kissing my hand, kissing me, he didn’t say. Keith had played the role of besotted suitor very well, and Shiro didn’t know if he could forget that. Every interaction he'd had with the Red Knight now took on another meaning, every memory now hazy with doubt.

Shiro wished he’d kissed him longer when he’d had the chance; if Keith was tortured by similar thoughts, he didn’t look it.

“I left with Katie Holt because she promised that she’d make me this armor if I escorted her to Altea.” He gestured to himself, to his tunic and plate mail. “It’s lighter than regular armor, and the helmet disguises my voice. I knew I’d never find anything like it here.” Keith paused and looked down at the ground, like he couldn't bear to look Shiro in the eyes. “I competed because you deserved a choice.”

“A choice?”

Keith nodded quickly, his hair sticking to his sweat-soaked neck. “Even though I won, you don’t have to marry me. If you’d rather marry Sir Lance, you can.” Keith said the words like they were painful to him, and for the first time, Shiro wondered if maybe he’d been wrong to think this entire ruse was a lie.

“How would I do that, exactly?” Shiro asked quietly, his eyes fixed firmly on Keith’s face, and this time he saw it: a grimace of pain. It was barely there before it was gone, hidden under a mask of calm, but Shiro recognized it. He’d felt it himself, whenever he’d thought of Keith these past weeks.

How stupid he’d been, not to remember that Keith wore armor even when he wasn’t playing the Red Knight.

“I’ll...I’ll withdraw.” The offer lacked Keith’s usual commitment, but Shiro didn’t doubt he meant it. “You seem to like him well enough.”

Shiro rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t sure if it was more because of the sullen tone or the idea that Shiro might prefer someone else. “I didn’t kiss him in the stables.”

Keith flushed. Shiro was glad he could see it.

“Well, that’s...good.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That you wanted to marry me,” Shiro clarified, finally looking away from his face. “You said, the first night. That you weren’t like the rest, here to marry someone you’d never met.”

“That’s not quite what I said.” Keith began to pull at nonexistent threads on his tunic, clearly flustered. “I told you why I’m here. I told you then.”

“And then you called me handsome,” Shiro reminded him.

That, it seemed, was Keith’s breaking point.

“You are handsome. I can barely look at you sometimes.” He looked at him then, with an expression Shiro had never seen before, awe mixed with longing. “Of course I want to marry you, Shiro. I’ve been in love with you for years.” He looked like it killed him to admit it, or maybe like he was expecting Shiro to finish the job. “I was hoping I could be someone like that for you, but I’m not very good at. Flirting, or anything.”

“You already were that person, Keith,” Shiro said softly, and then he immediately held out his hand.

Keith’s eyes went wide with surprise, realizing the implications immediately but not believing them.

“Really?” He rapidly flicked his gaze between Shiro’s hand and his face.

“Yes. I love you. Stay with me, marry me, be by my side.” His lips twitched. “Heaven knows you’ve been everywhere else.”

Keith, guarding his back. Keith, competing in front of him. Could he have ever ended up anywhere else but at his side? Shiro couldn’t see how.

And, when Keith took his hand, it was clear he couldn’t see it either.

Although there was still much to be discussed and solved, they walked back to the arena, hand-in-hand and side-by-side, prepared to face whatever was waiting for them.

#sheithsecretsanta2016 #Sheith #Takashi ''Shiro'' Shirogane (Black Paladin)#Keith Kogane (Red Paladin)#television: voltron legendary defender #my fic #fusions and crossovers and AUs for the win #prince shiro and his loyal loving knight

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