#hyacinth has GOT to be a summer month too i just *clenches fist* feel it in my bones

[retvenkos]

is anyone particularly opinionated about the bridgerton characters (perhaps also a ~star sign~ enthusiast) and want to take a stab at the birth months of all the bridgerton siblings? because i’m 90% sure that they don’t have canon birth months and for some reason i find this important.

[drowning-in-dennor]

Of Love And Loss

One evening, Henrik informs his lover of his human-hating father’s doings, and the boy he must return from exile because of it. [Set in the same universe as The Summer Side.] [Warning: Very fucking long] [Written for day five of @dennorweek with the prompt “fairytale”.]

  After dinner, it is customary for Henrik to lead Stellan to the library, where they are to review his knowledge of the fair folk, of their history, their kingdoms, their culture. After all, Henrik says, it's only right for him to know how the crown he wears on his head and how the title he has been granted came to be. But tonight, when the dishes have been cleared away and he has thanked the attendants for their work, Stellan finds himself following his lover back to the bedroom.

  The door closes behind them and a lock clicks. Henrik sits down at his grand desk and runs his hands over the pale carvings on the surface. Stellan takes his seat next to him, at an ornate chair carved with sloping hyacinths.

  Out from a drawer, Henrik retrieves a book. It is old, its leather cover wrinkled and pages yellowing. He murmurs something, an incantation, perhaps, in the common tongue of the fair folk that Stellan is yet to fully understand. The book opens. It is only then that Henrik speaks to him. "This is going to be a long story."

  He reaches over to cover Henrik's hand with his own, and his lover flushes - even after over a year of being together, he has yet to get used to such displays of affection. "We've got all night. Unless you keep me up until dawn with this story, it can't be too long."

  A grin curves Henrik's lips, showing his jaunty, bright self that has so suddenly been clouded by pensiveness. "All right, then." He runs his fingers over the pages, and images swirl up from them like the ink from the paper has suddenly dissipated into the air.  

  The first image is that of a man. He resembles Henrik greatly, but where Henrik's smile and eyes have always been warm, this man's expression is that of coldness. He is wearing the same crown upon Henrik's head, an elaborate weaving of thornless roses. Stellan murmurs, "is that - "

  "My father." Henrik's smile has vanished. "The king before me. He had so many connections across our realm, and so many people showed up in our castle to visit. He encouraged me to make friends, to get close to the elves, pixies, seelies he invited to visit. But what he was adamant about was never letting me befriend a human."

  The image changes to that of the dining room, Henrik's father sitting at the head of the table in the king's chair. Next to him is who Stellan presumes is Henrik's mother, a kinder-looking woman seated at the queen's chair, the one he presides in. All around them, humans mill around. But unlike the humans he sees today, these humans are worn, haggard, their faces thin with starvation. Their eyes are glassy.

  "He's always had very extreme views on humans in our court. He always said that they were useless, fragile, with the lifespan of mayflies and good for nothing more than servitude." The camellias entwined around Henrik's wrist begin to writhe, sensing their master's frustration. "Every human in our castle was a servant, enchanted to serve the fairies and incapable of free will. My father kept it that way for a long time. He had every rowan tree in our kingdom chopped down so that the berries couldn't protect the humans, and the import of salt from the Spring Kingdom halted." Henrik frowns. "As you can tell, I didn't really take after him.

  "I managed to get the servant who tended to my rooms to return to normal after..." His face contorts in disgust. Stellan laces their fingers together and strokes his hand comfortingly. "After he tasted his own blood, which contained salt. I was pretty close to transporting him back to the human world when my father walked into my room. He killed the servant on the spot."

  "I'm sorry," is all Stellan can say. "That must've been terrible."

  Henrik shrugs, turning the page in his worn book. "I got over it. The next servant to tend to my rooms lived, and I didn't try to save another one again. I can't say the same for another boy."

  "Did he try to save a human?"

  "Worse." Henrik's expression darkens, and the pain in his eyes is evident. "He fell in love with one." The camellias are slithering onto the desk now, like beautiful snakes made of petals and leaves. "His name was Emil, and he was a noble's son. An excellent wordsmith, that one; he could be rambling about anything and the next moment you'd be obeying his every command. Apparently, my father caught him in his room kissing a human maid, who he'd managed to seduce out of even my father's enchantment. He knew his lover would get killed, so of course he tried to talk my father into leaving the room and forgetting the situation."

  Stellan's blood turns to ice; he can't imagine that poor boy being condemned for what Henrik is doing now. "And he failed."

  He nods. "My father accused Emil of two crimes - of being with a human, and of trying to cast a spell to control the king's actions. His lover was killed, and he was exiled to the human world for five fairy years." Henrik purses his lips. "Five fairy years is a very long time."

  Stripped of his magic, his power, banished to lifetimes upon lifetimes of mundanity because of their heart. That must be agony. The hyacinths on his wrist are twirling around his fingers. Stellan gapes at the image off the pages, at the ghostly, white-haired wisp of a boy holding a young woman in horror and the king aflame with rage at the doorway. "Poor Emil. Where is he now?"

  "Still in the human world," Henrik replies. "Even after I became king and managed to free all the human servants in the castle, I could not call Emil back here. Even now, my magic is not as strong as my father's." He exhales. "This book is a diary I've kept since I was a boy. I described every act my father inflicted on the humans in our court in detail, lest I repeat his actions." He smiles again, and Stellan's heart swells to see it. "With you by my side, I'm sure that will never happen." With a snap of his fingers, Henrik closes the book. "I've told you so much, and still haven't gotten to the point. What I am trying to say is that Emil's ten years of exile is almost up. In two days, I will be able to call him back to the castle."

...

  How long has it been?

  Even after so long, Emil has not been able to get used to how humans tell time. Maybe his ten years have been over a long time ago, or he has barely breached his first month. Goodness, who knows? 

  The village he has been residing in since his exile has no forest, no dark thicket of trees he can flee to so that he can pretend he is back in the realm of the fair folk, perhaps riding a dragonfly to a market or gathering mushrooms in a nice meadow. All Emil has is the patch of flowers he has tended to for so, so long. 

  He has lived and died more times than he has cared to remember, waking up in the arms of a different mother in the cottage every time, his memories of his beautiful human being blasted to bits by the fairy king, of the young prince staring at him in horror fresh in his mind. But he pretends. As long as he has his flowers, all is well.

  He heads for the patch of flowers at the corner of the village, stares into the white daisies bobbing gently in the wind. He picks one, strokes the soft pearly petals and thinks of the flowers in the realm of the fair folk, which take years of wilt and are always pristine. These daisies die quickly and their leaves are often eaten away by aphids, but somehow they are equally beautiful.

  "You haven't changed a bit."

  Emil looks up. Standing in the patch, boots trampling the grass, is a sneering young man. His black hair is tousled by the breeze, his copper eyes glinting in the sunlight. "I mean, except for the fact that you've lost the ability to make people serve you just by talking, that you've lost your wings, your magic and your reputation." He smirks. "But at least you've still your pretty face."

  For a moment, he wonders if the arrival of his fellow noble is the king's idea of an extra punishment. "Erland, why are you the first fairy I have to see?"

  The red admiral butterfly wings on the fairy's back flap, propelling him slightly into the air. "You ought to be more grateful to see me, my good Duke. The king sent me here to deliver some news."

  "Oh, is he going to massacre this entire village because I dared to form an attachment to more human, then drag me back to smite me like he did to Leonor?" Even saying the name of his former partner brings a stab of agony through him.

  Erland's smirk wavers. "Einar is dead, Emil. In his place is his son, who is unfortunately much more soft-hearted when it comes to the mundane. Prince Henrik - now King Henrik - even followed in your footsteps and fell for human scum."

  He clenches his fists. He has not even met the new king's human lover, but he already feels protective of them. "Don't call them scum," Emil retorts.

  "He even turned his sweetheart into a fairy." That insufferable grin returns, and Erland flutters a little higher. The peonies on his wrist bloom a little brighter. "As though a tiara and a few magic tricks could turn him into one of us." He flicks his wrist. A peony flies off its stem and hits Emil in the face. "But you'll be able to see the other King soon. I was sent to bring you back."

  "Bring me back?" Emil repeats. "I am to live in the realm of the fair folk again? Use magic, have wings again?"

  "Goodness, you sound like a human child," Erland scoffs. "But yes. Most unfortunately, you may return to living at the castle. Are you ready to leave?"

  The thoughts of former families, old friends and all the homes he has lived in flash through his mind. "I want to say goodbye to my family first."

  Erland snorts. "Say goodbye to the humans who will die in a blink of an eye? I think not. Let's go." He whispers an incantation, in the folk-tongue Emil hasn't heard in ages, and his vision fades to darkness.

  When his eyes open, he is standing in the throne room of the Summer Court. The creamy beige tiles, the golden-gilded walls and tapestries hanging from the ceiling are all the same, as are the thrones, made of living white wisteria branches. But the two figures sitting upon the white-petalled seats are not ones that Emil remembers.

  One is dressed in red, the crown of thornless roses atop his messy golden hair. His mad blue eyes are so like his father's. King Henrik smiles at him, the crimson camellias on his arms twirling in invitation. The monarch butterfly wings on his back are idle, a splash of colour against the mild wisteria.

  The gentleman next to him has round ears, and his blue eyes are similar to the ones Emil has seen in his village. He is, without a doubt, the human-turned-fair folk Erland was talking about. Delicate white stockings and slippers poke out from a midnight-blue gown lined with gold, and around the sleeves are plumes of hyacinths. The crown of blue salvia blossoms, once the Queen's, sits upon his feathery blond hair. He looks strange, like somebody cut off the wings of a blue morpho butterfly and stitched it onto a human, then called him a fairy. Then his eyes flash briefly with gold. Fair folk for sure.

  Then Emil notices that he has changed. In place of his drab village clothes is the off-white gown he wore during his last day at court, and on his back is a pair of delicate crystal-clear wings that glimmer faintly in the sunlight. Sweet-smelling frangipani branches loop around his ankles, and power surges through his veins. After too long, he is finally back to normal.

  The King rises from his throne, descending the stairs rather ungracefully. "Welcome back, Emil!" Henrik's voice has deepened, his shoulders have grown broader. Although he is only slightly older than Emil, he towers above him, at least a head taller. Emil has to crane his neck to make eye contact. "We missed you."

  "I didn't," Erland mutters under his breath.

  "A lot has changed since you were last here," Henrik continues, "my father is dead, for one, and the humans here are no longer enchanted." He gestures to the occupied throne. "One is even your King."

  His lover takes this as his cue to join Henrik before Emil and rises, light and graceful as a dancer. His eyes are an unremarkable, murky blue one second, bright gold the next. Clearly, the other King walks the thin line between magical and mundane. Emil bows. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty."

  The King bows next, his expression serene. "Likewise."

  Ever so boldly, Henrik reaches over to wrap an arm around the King's waist. "This is Stellan, who has been my fellow King for six months now. Even though he arrived at our court a human, he is one of us now, and you will treat him as such." He smiles. He's always smiling, unlike his icy father. "Of course, given that you have always been more than welcoming of humans in our court, that should be no problem for you."

  Emil's wings flutter. He has missed them so. "I will serve you and your new King to the best of my abilities, Your Majesty."

  Henrik nods, clapping his hands together. Even as a Prince, all those years ago, he was not one for excessive formality. "Duke Erland will lead you to your room."

  Perhaps the King wishes to punish him a little more after all. Erland takes a step towards him, stone-faced. "Follow me."

  As he is lead out of the throne room, Emil risks one more glance at the Kings. Stellan is bundled up in Henrik's arms, head resting snugly against his chest and arms squeezing his waist. Henrik's lips are pressed to his forehead, just under his blue crown. Something in his chest aches. This could have been him and Leonor.

  His room is just as he left it, with book and scraps of parchment strewn across his desk, his bed neatly made and haphazardly-built bookshelves lining every wall. Emil sits down at his bed, presses his hand against the pillow where he once hid the notes he exchanged with his partner.

  Erland sits down next to him. "What do you think of the new King?"

  "He's strange. He looks as though he is stuck between the human and fairy realms, although I guess that is what happened to him." Emil picks up his pillow, hearing the rustle of parchment, and places it gingerly on his lap. "King Henrik seems to adore him."

  "Oh, you have no idea. Ev'ry meeting, he pulls out his chair for him and holds his hand the entire time. During mealtimes, he does the same. Wherever you go, you will always always see them together, holding hands, mostly likely, and maybe making eyes at each other or smiling or kissing. It's sickening." Erland kicks his feet childishly. "I suppose he isn't all bad, though. During King Henrik's latest revel, he danced from dusk 'til dawn without ever stopping, even for food or water. His slippers were falling apart, but I don't think he felt tired at all."

  Emil has been to many a revel himself, and he has often spent the afternoons after them getting acquainted with his chamberpot or nursing his aching feet. For a once-human to dance the night away without a single break, achieving what a fairy cannot, is really quite impressive. 

  "He played the fiddle, too, so nicely that half the guests cried. King Henrik was so pleased he grabbed King Stellan 'round the waist and kissed him in front of everyone." He examines his nails. "For someone who spent most of his life as a human, he really isn't terrible."

  When Henrik's father reigned, Erland was the one who took his side the most, especially when it came to policies against humans. "I suppose that is the closest thing to a compliment you will grant King Stellan."

  "I suppose so." Erland rises, his red admiral wings nearly hitting Emil in the face. "I have duties to tend to now. As for you, try to get used to living here again, I suppose. A servant will call you down for dinner."

  He flits through the door, and Emil is left alone in his room.

...

  After a few hours of sorting through his old books, trying not to shed tears at his old notes, Emil is saved from his solitude by a servant entering his room. He is undoubtedly a human, with no wings on his back nor flowers around his wrists and ankles. "Your Grace," the servant says, "it's time for dinner."

  He rises from his desk, where he was poring over a notebook of his poems, and sweeps past the servant. It is then that he notices his eyes are bright and very much conscious. So Henrik was telling the truth when he stated that all the humans within the court were there of their own will.

  On the way to the dining hall, the servant trailing behind him, Emil dares to ask, "what's it like, living here?"

  The servant hesitates for a moment before answering, "very nice, Your Grace. Our quarters are unlike anything I've seen in the human world, and as long as we have salt with us, the food is amazing. The King sends our wages home to our families."

  "Have you been here long?"

  "Only for two days, Your Grace. By the end of this week, I'll be back home for a holiday and you won't see me again after this month."

  Of course not, not when time runs differently in the two worlds. After the servant's month is up, he will most likely return home to see their family aged up at least a year. "I hope you'll enjoy working here."

  He shrugs. "Back home, my family can finally afford to eat and I'm living in a castle. After I go home, I'll have earned enough that my family won't ever go hungry again."

  They walk in silence until they reach the dining hall. Emil thanks the servant, who responds with a smile, and takes his seat at the table.

  His chair has a carving of the glasswing butterfly on it, its ethereal wings paned with glass. Emil bows to the Kings, seated at the head of the table, and sits down. Stellan waves in greeting, and Henrik smiles. Just as Erland said, they are hand in hand, and their chairs pressed so close together there is no longer space between them.

  By the time the meal is coming to a close, and some servants (this time fairies, no doubt employed from the rest of the court) are passing fruits around, Stellan is practically in Henrik's lap. They are holding hands again, and Emil notices that Stellan is blushing. When they rise, having finished eating, and leave, Henrik reaches around once again to cup the curve of his lover's hip, and in return Stellan rests his head on his shoulder.

  "Look at them," Erland snorts, as he leaves the dining hall, "they're practically joined at the hip."

  Emil watches them amble through the hallways, wings fluttering giddily, and sighs. The King and his once-human lover are perhaps the sweetest couple he has ever seen, and the flowers under their control almost perpetually happy. They are what he wanted so badly to be with his Leonor one day.

  He watches as they flutter up flights of stairs, always talking, talking, as though they could never run out of things to be happy about. They enter the castle library still holding hands, fingers entwined and bodies close together.

  He returns to his room feeling happy for them. Maybe one day he shall find somebody he will love as Henrik loves Stellan, and this time there will be nothing to tear them apart.