#knightly proclamations

[godsgamefreak]

No time to check Tumblr in like two weeks and as soon as I do get back, my suggestions immediately get invaded by my wife's Sonadow obsession.

[une-sanz-pluis]

Similar slippages between knighthood and treason arose in Henry Percy’s rebellion in 1403. After deposing Richard II in 1399, Henry IV had drawn on his reputation as a knight and on chivalric institutions such as the Order of the Garter to legitimise his own kingship and to secure the support of the nobility. Percy, meanwhile, was considered to be a model of ideal manhood, ‘the flower and glory of Christian knighthood’, and he had a record of military service under first Richard II and then Henry IV. Percy had supported the armed invasion of England in 1399 by Henry of Lancaster (the future Henry IV) and had since been fighting the Scots on behalf of his new king. Yet by 1403, Percy was in rebellion. The essence of his cause was that Henry was not the true king because he had broken his oath not to claim the throne, and Percy had issued written proclamations stating this. Henry IV accused Percy of treason, precipitating a conflict in which Percy and the king fought, first verbally and then physically, over who was the ‘true’ man. The account of their confrontation in An English Chronicle demonstrates how, in the context of treason, political conflict could be expressed through such debates over the claim to knightly manhood. When he was accused, Percy first sought to defend his honour through a knightly trial by battle, saying: ‘Traytour am I non, but a true man and as a true mon [sic] I speke.’ The kynge drue to hym his dagger; and then he seid to the kynge, ‘Not here but in the fielde.’ The perception of treason as an inversion of chivalric masculinity is strikingly illustrated in Percy’s claim that he is no traitor but a ‘true man’, a gendered identity that he will prove with his body in knightly combat. Percy met the king in battle at Shrewsbury, where he further stressed his claim to be the ‘true man’ in the encounter by telling Henry IV ‘thou payeste no man, thou holdeste no house’, both of these signalling the king’s failure to perform the chivalric virtue of largesse. Percy was slain in the battle and Henry IV seems to have had the last word in terms of marking him as a traitor by immediately having his head ‘smytte off and sett up ate Yorke’. However, rumours persisted that Percy was alive, risking the potential validation of his cause in his trial by battle and thereby his claim to be the ‘true man’ in his clash with the king. Henry IV was forced to re-enact the public degradation of Percy’s manhood by having his corpse disinterred and shamefully exposed between two millstones in Shrewsbury marketplace. That these conflicting claims to chivalric manhood could only be ended by Henry’s desecration of Percy’s corpse suggests that knightly identity was at its most fragile when it was constructed through the unstable opposition of traitor to true man.

E. Amanda McVitty, ‘False knights and true men: contesting chivalric masculinity in English treason trials, 1388–1415′, Journal of Medieval History, 40:4, 2014.

[nixalegos]

❛ you’re playing nurse to a killer, you know. ❜

"You're taking this battle...a little harsher then the others." He said as he held out the tapered crystal of stolen life essence he called a healthstone for her to take. "The tabard you took is going to fade away as soon as the chrono-anomaly is reset." He reminded her as gently as she normally did to him, as he looked to what she'd taken. Dripping in blood, paracasual flakes clinging to the fabric, it made it difficult to tell just what knightly order of the GRAND GLORIOUS ALLIANCE she held as grim trophy and source of what sounded like bitterness in her proclamation of murder. He gently reached down to pry the wet cloth away from itself to display a livery of Silvermoon, only done in blue and gold. A city that had never fallen to the Scourge. That never had any reason to join the Horde. That had never needed to take the Light, and yet still boasted it all the same. Someone who, if not for matters of time and place, would, could, or had been ally and friend. "...Us or them love." The warlock said softly. @tyleinth

[odetolove]

Who would be your ideal knight? I think mine would be Tendou (though I'd pick him even if he were a terrible knight 😂) knight!Tendou would make faces at me when my dad was giving a proclamation, trying to get me to break in front of the entire upper class. Knight!Tendou would also bring home little trinkets that literally no one else would find sweet (because I'm a crow, I swear) like funny shaped rocks to lovingly toss my way, and bits of broken glass that reminds me of the sparkle in my eyes, and really fucking cool looking sticks! But he'd also high-key be the kings right hand man, known as the demon knight of the kingdom. If anything should happen to me, he'd cause the biggest bloodiest mess as revenge ❤️

THIS IS SO CUTE ;~; i can just see your chambers filled with little trinkets he brings you back from his knightly escapades.

and my ideal knight would probably be ushijima. i can imagine how big and marvelous hed look on horse back n how his armor would just make him look like a giant ;~; also the softness in his eyes that only those closest to him would be able to tell when he looks at me, or how he tries really hard not to crowd my space but he can’t help it bc he wants to be closer but doesn’t really know how to say it- not that it’s allowed in the first place … just ahhh ;; i’m swooning at the thought

[faroreswinds]

When I get bored, I look at useless stuff. Today’s useless stuff is: Quotes From FEH From Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude. Why? Because believe it or not, FEH does offer some insight into characters and their stories. 

Let’s start at the top (heads up, this is a long one):

Summoning Quotes

Edelgard: I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir apparent of the Adrestian Empire. I will follow you, but I bow to no one. 

Edelgard introduces her full name and what she is heir to. She is very clear about following you but bowing to no one. It makes her feel distant. This is fitting of her character in the game, as she follows her own rules and is distant from many characters. 

Dimitri: I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, heir to the throne of Faerghus. I hereby devote myself to your cause. 

Dimitri, similar to Edelgard, introduces himself by his full name and what he is heir to. However, his approach is more “knightly” than Edelgard’s, as he proclaims he will devote himself to your cause. This is fitting, as he does not live for himself until late in AM. 

Claude: I'm Claude. I'm not big on formalities, so no need to put on airs. Feel free to throw me a feast any time, though.

Claude is the most casual of the three. He only introduces himself by his first name (probably to hide his identity) and makes no claims about following you or your cause. He is the only one who “makes a request” though, for a feast. 

Friend Greeting

Edelgard: I was asked to say hello to you. Now that I have, I will take my leave.

Distant and rather cold. She does not drop names, and makes this seem more like a chore than a favor. 

Dimitri:  My apologies for the intrusion, but [Friend] asked me to send their regards.

Pretty kind and polite. Dimitri makes sure to apologize first and foremost for coming (the only one to do so), before name dropping the person he is there for.

Claude: I was asked to say hello by [Friend], so... Hello! And with that, I'll be off.

The most upbeat of the three and casual. Similar to Edelgard in that he is a bit standoff-ish, making it seem more like a chore, but at least name drops the Summoner. 

Leveling Up

Edelgard

+[4,5] Points: I am always getting stronger.

A focus on her power, and always improving herself

+[2,3] Points: A step forward.

A nod to her ambitions, and always looking towards the future

+[0,1] Points: An underwhelming result... I will not let it happen again.

Finds her efforts to not be enough, and that she won’t allow that same mistake again

Edelgard has a focus on gaining more power. She is always moving forward, and never looking back, and does not want to fail in gaining strength. 

Dimitri

+[4,5] Points: Impressive as this result is, I will not allow myself to become complacent.

Admits that his growth is noticeable, but nothing that should allow him to relax

+[2,3] Points: I will not lose anyone else. Never again...

A nod to his desire to protect others, and to how he lost people in the Tragedy of Duscur. He doesn’t want that again.

+[0,1] Points: A disappointing result, but I will persevere.

Disappointed in himself, but he will push forward

Dimitri underplays his growth, avoiding praising himself too much and even taking to heart about losing others. His focus is for others, and he will push forward. 

Claude

+[4,5] Points: Sometimes I even surprise myself.

Despite his expectations, he can still be surprised

+[2,3] Points: I expected as much.

A nod to his nature to predict and expect

+[0,1] Points: Not one of my finer moments.

Is more playful and relaxed about his poor growth than Edelgard or Dimitri

Claude is more “chilled out” with his growths, not really overplaying or underplaying what he has accomplished. He’s calm and even playful. We get the sense of his ability to predict and plan with how he expects or surprises himself. Unlike Edelgard and Dimitri, we don’t get any nods to his ambitions or his past (not unlike his route, to be honest). 

Ally Growth

Edelgard: Watch as I master this new power.

Edelgard calls her new skill a “power”, and asks that you watch her master it. Her focus on getting more powerful is clear. 

Dimitri: You have my thanks. I will prove myself worthy of your trust.

Dimitri is the only one who thanks you for help (polite as always). Rather than talk about his power, he promises to prove himself to you.

Claude: I'll put this power to good use.

Claude notes his new power similarly to Edelgard, but instead of focusing it directly, he promises to put it to good use in some fashion. 

Castle Quotes

Edelgard: 

As a princess myself, I feel sympathy for Princess Veronica. I wonder if she is acting of her own volition.

The white-haired, red Emperor focuses on the other white-haired, red Emperor. She feels for Veronica, as if she sees herself in her. Whether the quote is trying to tell us that Edelgard doesn’t feel like she’s acting in her own volition, or does feel that way but is nodding to the fact that Veronica is not, is hard to tell (personally, I feel the a latter is true). 

My father, the Adrestian emperor, was stripped of his power. As his successor, I will reclaim what he lost.

Edelgard’s ambitions are very clear in this quote. Her father lost power, and she plans on reclaiming what was taken from him. This goes well with her desire to conquer Foldan. 

Having been thrust into an unfamiliar world, I find it difficult to feel at ease. Perhaps you know the feeling.

Nothing special here, just noting that she and the Summoner may share feelings over being in a different world. 

Your enemies are similar to my foes in my own world. We may both stand to learn from our time together.

Edelgard is focused on learning here in this world, as the “foes of her world” are similar to your enemies, and that perhaps they could learn from each other. 

Excuse me. I was taking a moment to rest. In my own world, I was so busy that I rarely had the time.

A callback to her desire to want to lay around and eat sweets, but as future Emperor she is too busy. 

Dimitri:

Honor gained by killing is worthless. When killers are labeled Heroes...that is the most despicable "honor" of all.

A little bit about his mindset. That you do not gain honor by killing, and that killers should not be called Heroes. Although not directly said, he includes himself in this, as he believes himself to be a monster.

So many loved ones lost... Father. Stepmother. Friends. Allies. I alone can silence their pleas for revenge.

A little call back to not only those he lost in Duscur, but also his mission in the game and hearing voices in his head. 

One rarely succeeds without help from others. If you need help, you can turn to me, or any of us.

A callback to how part of the theme of his route is working with others to succeed. Funnily enough, a lesson he learns himself. 

Perhaps you can give me a tour of this land? It's so warm and bountiful, a far cry from my own homeland.

Here a learn a little bit about the Kingdom (not warm and bountiful), and Dimitri would love a tour from you. 

As someone who learned to fight before learning to read, I am most relaxed when training. Care to join?

Another tidbit about the Kingdom, that people there learn to fight before reading. It brings him calm, and (polite as always), invites you to join.

Claude:

I'm not thrilled about how I got here, but seeing folks from different worlds work together like this? It's nice.

A callback to his desire for people of all types to live together without prejudice. 

Someday I'll lead the Leicester Alliance, but my ambitions are far grander. I want to change the world.

Another callback to his goals for changing the world so that people can live together (but of course, is barely touched upon in the game).

I like you. If you want something, you don't just pray for it—you take action. We have that in common.

Here we note Claude’s disdain for the religion (you don’t just pray for it) and his “let’s get it done” attitude. He takes action (mostly, the game sometimes suggests otherwise).

Everyone here takes themselves so seriously. Why don't we have a feast? That would lighten things up.

His more laid back nature pops up here, and his love for feasts and good times.

I've been mixing up a new poison. Some might call it a dirty trick, but I just like to come prepared.

This is meant to call to her scheming and under-handed nature. It’s a shame this barely happens in the game, however. 

5* Level 40 Conversation

Edelgard: You tend to look at me as though you expect me to leave at any moment. I suppose it can't be helped. You need not worry, however. Even if I did not care about this country and its people... For the sake of my own ambitions, I would still be sure to see this effort to its end. I promise you that. Remember who I am. I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, and I am sworn to help you vanquish your enemies. With my allegiance to your cause, victory is a foregone conclusion.

Edelgard is very sure of herself, as evident from not only her other quotes (such as mastering a new power and bowing to no one), but here too as she states “with my allegiance to your cause, victory is a foregone conclusion.” She is confident in her abilities and her path and who she is (as she proclaims who she is, Edelgard von Hresvelg [no other lord makes this proclamation]). However, we can see some of her more selfish attitude shine through here. She states that for her “own ambitions,” she will see the efforts of Askr through to the end. The focus on “her ambitions” calls back to her scene with Byleth after the death of their father, where she hoping you will join her when she is ready to move forward. She does seem to imply that she does care for Askr and its people, as even if she didn’t she would still help you, but she would help you for her ambitions’ sake no matter what rather than for the people at the end of the day. 

Dimitri: I never expected to stand beside you for this long. In truth, I was more than willing to give my life to your cause. I am grateful to you, [Summoner]... That's why I need to say this... You should stay far, far away from me. No need to look so shocked. I did not mean right now. I know I have a duty to help you save this world. I will protect you no matter the cost. But when the day finally comes that you no longer need Heroes... Forget about men like me who are stained with blood. Live in happiness. That is my hope for you, dear friend.

Dimitri, not surprisingly, pushes away the Summoner (although he is the only one who name drops them here), as he views himself as someone to stay away from. Throughout his quotes, Dimitri is devoted and trying to prove himself to you. But here, we start to get that “dark side” 3H alludes to early on. Just like in his own game, Dimitri full heartily expected to die for you early on as he was “more than willing to give up his life to your cause”. And because he is grateful to you, the Summoner, he wants you to stay away from him because he believes that is the best thing for them. When his usefulness is spent, he believes he should be forgotten. That he is stained with blood. He talks little about himself and his wishes, other than wishing for you personally to live in happiness, and calls you a dear friend. He is the only one he doesn’t talking about having any desire to leave, however. 

Claude: I didn't plan on staying here this long. Time flies, I guess. Sometimes I wish I could leave, but then I think about... You. There's something about you. You have a presence that compels people to follow you—me included. I've never been much of a follower, but you make me so curious, I can't help but stay by your side. I'll go back to my world someday. Before that happens, though, I want to learn more about you. So I'm planning to stick close to you from now on. That won't be an issue, right? I'm a useful guy to have around.

Similar to Edelgard and Dimitri, Claude begins by talking about leaving, and how he didn’t plan to stay here this long. But unlike Edelgard, where she says “it can’t be helped that the Summoner expects her to leave” and Dimitri, where he expected to actually be dead at this point, Claude simply didn’t expect to stick around for anyone and desires to leave. However, he is clear that he finds you personally fascinating and that he cannot help staying by your side. He is clear that he is not a follower and that he intends to leave, but he wants to learn about you, and not to worry, that he will be useful to have around. True to his own game, he is less concerned about talking about himself and more concern with focusing on learning about you and your secrets. However, he does have confidence in his abilities and praises himself by proclaiming he is “useful to have around”.

Extra: Titles and Descriptions

Edelgard: The Future

Princess and heir apparent of the Adrestian Empire. Her steadfast ambition is veiled by her elegant, self-confident demeanor.

As she is basically the games main character, calling her “The Future” makes sense as she looks toward the future and it is her actions that change it forever. However, it is perhaps a bit misleading as it implies heroism. Perhaps you do consider her a hero, but she does stand as the game’s main antagonist, and we don’t get that sense from her title. 

Her description goes well with her subtle (not so subtle) nods to her ambitions. 

Dimitri: The Protector

Crown prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Known for his chivalry, it seems a darkness may lurk beneath the surface.

Dimitri, when he isn’t hellbent on revenge, wants to protect people more than anything else. He wants to help the weak, and prevent the strong from trampling on them. Although he loses his way for a while, it’s probably fair to call him the protector for the most part.

Hid description is pretty spot on. He is chivalrous, but we get hints of that dark side of “having blood on his hands” and “being a monster”.

Claude: The Schemer

Heir to House Riegan, the leading house of the Leicester Alliance. Employs both an easygoing attitude and an effortless skill for scheming.

Claude is meant to be a schemer, and we get hints of that in the game. But he actually is more of a schemer in FEH than in Verdant Wind (a victim to VW being a copy of SS). Still, he does have some schemes, more than perhaps the other characters, so it is an overall fitting title. 

Well, we certainly get that easygoing attitude from his quotes as suggested by his description, but FEH plays up his scheming more so than 3H. Still, that was the intention of his character.

[searchingwardrobes]

Desdichado: 14/19

I know it has been ages since I updated one of my WIP, but it’s not for lack of writing. I just have so many I’m juggling for one thing, and for another, my muse is demanding I write in short spurts for each one instead of plugging away on them one at a time. Anyway, the good thing about that is I have multiple fics almost ready for updates!

Summary: A CS Ivanhoe AU that I wrote because I never liked how the original ended. So we’ve got knights and ladies, the code of chivalry, and sword fights. Set in the middle ages with no magic.

Rating: T

Trigger Warnings: women treated like it’s the middle ages, starts out Sleeping Captain, very anti-Neal (in this fic, Baelfire)

This chapter is about 2,500 words. It ties up some plot points and sets things up for the climax for Captain Swan.

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @thislassishooked @whimsicallyenchantedrose @winterbaby89 @kday426 @tiganasummertree @bethacaciakay @teamhook @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @mythologicalmango @wellhellotragic @let-it-raines @shireness-says

 There was a knock at the door of Emma’s chambers. She frowned, a long sigh issuing forth. She wished she could simply tell him to go away, but she knew it was futile. At least he fancied himself “in love” all of a sudden. She placed a ribbon in the book she was reading, set it on her nightstand, then rose from her bed and smoothed her dress. Another impatient knock sounded, and this time she groaned and rolled her eyes.

“Come in, my Lord.” That wasn’t his title, but Emma had found that using it made him feel in control. The more Sir Baelfire felt in control, the more likely he was to continue his “courtship” of her. Yet she never let her guard down when he visited her. His lust for her was still there, simmering beneath the surface. She knew it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to it. Hopefully she would find a way of escape before that happened.

“Lady Emma,” Sir Baelfire breathed, his face eager as he rushed for her. Emma took a slight step back, but extended her hand for him to kiss. “Sit with me,” he practically begged, pulling her gently towards a fainting couch in an alcove along the wall.

Emma smiled at him sweetly. “Oh no, dear sir, that is highly improper here in my chambers. Join me by the fire instead.”

She sat in the chair on the hearth without awaiting his reply. To soften the request, she extended her hand and smiled at him beneath batting eyelashes. Baelfire gave her an eager, lovesick grin and then complied.

“Emma,” he said, sinking to his knees beside her and clasping both her hands in his, “relieve me of this torture and marry me. I love you more deeply than I thought I ever could.”

Emma forced a smile upon her face even as a pit formed in her stomach. He thought he was in love because she was just out of reach. She had given him just enough hope to keep him at arm’s length. It had been a desperate attempt when she had awakened that first night with him leaning over her. Rejecting his advances outright hadn’t worked the last time, so she prayed perhaps stringing him along would bide her some time. It seemed her time might be almost up.

“But my dear Baelfire,” she told him sweetly, stroking his knuckles, “I am a delicate maiden who hasn’t been around many men. I need more time. Not only that, I wish for my mistress to be here. She is all the family I have ever known. I want her to be here for my happy day.”

A slight furrow formed in the knight’s brow. “Emma, darling, you do realize that your reputation has been ruined beyond repair. You shared a chamber with Sir Killian, unchaperoned much of the time. You should be grateful for my proposal.”

Emma bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from arguing with his words. Killian had been severely ill and wounded, but even if he had been whole, he would not have laid a hand on her. His integrity and adherence to the code of chivalry was something the man before her could never comprehend. Yet saying such things to Baelfire would be suicide.

“I have spent much time alone with you in this chamber, have I not?”

That glint of lust lit his eyes, the one that made her blood grow cold. “So in the eyes of many, you are already mine.”

She swallowed against the nausea rising up in her. “Therefore, what is the rush, my sweet?” She almost choked on the endearment.

Baelfire’s face hardened as he leaned in close. “Are you stalling, Emma?”

“Of course not.”

His eyes narrowed. “Then seal it with a kiss.”

Emma forced herself not to move as he drew ever closer, his breath hot on her face. At the last moment, she turned away, his lips landing on her cheek.

“That is a proper kiss for a knight courting a proper lady,” she said softly, dropping her eyes to her hands in her lap. She hoped he thought her demure, shy.

Sir Baelfire grasped her face roughly and turned her to face him. The look of a lovesick knight was completely gone. “Will you or will you not wed me tonight? My father demands an answer.”

Emma swallowed hard. “I can’t Baelfire. As much as I care for you, I’m . . . frightened. Just a little more time, please.”

He released her roughly, and Emma forced herself to remain calm, blinking back the tears that pressed behind her eyes. He stood over her, fire in his eyes, and for one terrifying moment, Emma thought her time was up. The lust had won. But then he turned suddenly from her and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Emma was left trembling all over.

***************************************************

“She still refuses to marry you?”

Baelfire flinched at his father’s barely contained rage. “I have had mere days to woo her, and -”

“She has bewitched you, my boy!” Robert Gold pounded his fist on the dining room table, causing goblets to wobble, sloshing wine onto the tablecloth.

“I don’t deny that,” Bealfire admitted, “for I have never felt this way about a woman before.”

“I don’t mean it in a romantic way,” Sir Robert seethed, “I mean, she has literally bewitched you.”

Baelfire frowned and shook his head. He turned suddenly as the door to the room burst open. His mouth fell open as his father’s guards dragged Emma into the hall. She wasn’t coming easily, twisting and kicking her feet. The men shoved her roughly to the ground at his father’s feet.

“Accusations of witchcraft have followed you throughout the land, Emma Swan,” his father barked at her. “Do you deny it?”

“Interesting line of questioning,” Emma muttered, “you didn’t ask me if I am a witch, you asked if I’ve been accused.”

Sir Gold’s lips twisted in a sinister smile. “Fine then, are you a witch?”

She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Of course not.”

“Yet you are brought in to perform miraculous healings.”

“Simple knowledge of herbs and the human body. But if it were miraculous, shouldn’t we be praising the Lord for His healing hand upon the sick?”

Baelfire gasped when his father’s hand suddenly connected with Emma’s cheek, the sound echoing throughout the dining hall.

“A witch should not speak the Lord’s name.”

Emma’s jade eyes flashed. “So you already presume me guilty?”

“My son left home aligned with Prince James, his mission to see him take the throne. Yet he comes home with you, having failed in that mission, spouting ridiculous proclamations of love.”

“I cannot help your son with his feelings.”

“You could marry him.”

“I thought I was a witch.”

Sir Gold slapped Emma’s other cheek, her head whipping at the contact. Baelfire surged forward, but his father stayed him with a lifted hand.

“Emma Swan, the Knights of the Templar charge you with witchcraft and using the dark arts to seduce Sir Baelfire.”

“Father, no! She's done nothing of the sort!” Baelfire found himself restrained by his father’s guards.

“You will be burned at the stake,” Sir Gold continued, coldly ignoring his son as he strained against the guards, “unless a champion comes to do battle in defense of your piety and honor.”

Baelfire cried out, subduing both guards and wrestling the sword away from one of them. He fell to his knees before his father. “I will be her champion!”

“No, my son, you cannot. You will be fighting as a Templar if a champion comes forward. If that happens, you will slay said knight where he stands.”

*******************************************************

Sir Killian and King David strode into Misthaven’s great hall. Though David was royalty, he was also a man of honor, and as such, he would treat Lord Stefan with respect while in his home. He also hoped to keep his best friend from insulting the man who had raised him with demands for horses and a small army of knights. He couldn’t help the grin playing with the corners of his mouth as he thought of the way Killian spoke of his sister. They would rescue her, of this he was sure, and he knew Killian would have a large part in accomplishing it.

“My lord,” Killian said, sinking to one knee.

“Son!” Lord Stefan exclaimed.

He shocked Killian by rising from his chair, pulling the knight up to his feet, and embracing him warmly. The man had raised him, it was true, but actual affection had been rare. The man stepped back, his hands still clasping his ward’s upper arms, a huge grin on his face.

“My boy, I am so glad to see you whole and hearty.”

“Whole,” King David broke in, “but not hearty quite yet.”

Killian turned a glaring eye on his best friend, and the King suppressed a chuckle.

“His Majesty is being overly cautious, my Lord, I am perfectly capable of resuming my knightly duties, which brings me to -”

“There’s only one duty I wish to speak of on such a joyous day,” Lord Stefan cut him off. “I can’t believe I was so blind to Prince James and his selfish ambitions. I praise heaven above that he was caught and thrown into the dungeon before he could wed my precious Aurora.”

Stefan turned to the alcove nearby where his daughter stood hesitantly beside Sir Phillip. Her face paled, her gaze avoiding Killian, as her father gestured her forward. He took her by one hand, and Killian by the other.

“I see now the honorable man that you are, Sir Killian, and nothing would please me more to join you in marriage to my daughter, to have you as a true son and heir to all my estate.”

Killian had waited so long to hear those very words, yet now they made sadness sweep over him. The face that drifted before his mind’s eye was Emma’s, and he knew with sudden clarity that he had given his heart over to her, no matter how he had tried to guard it. He also knew, with David’s news, that he could never wed her. He, a knight with no title, could never marry a princess. And what of his youthful vows to Aurora? The tender kisses they had shared? He had no choice but to do the honorable thing, so he lowered himself to his knee once again, this time to Lady Aurora.

“If she will have me, my Lord.”

Behind them, King David couldn’t help the scowl upon his face. His best friend’s damn chivalry and code of honor was going to break two hearts at once, and a third years down the road when Lady Aurora realized her husband’s heart was distracted.

Silence descended upon the great hall as Aurora stood pale, trembling, and speechless. She finally hung her head, and whispered to her childhood sweetheart.

“I’m sorry, dear knight, but I cannot.”

Killian’s head snapped up to meet her gaze in shock. He searched her gaze intently. “Has something changed?”

Aurora’s eyes were sad, yet her lips couldn’t help tilting up in a smile as she glanced back at Sir Phillip.

“I’m . . . afraid it has.” She grasped both this hands in hers, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “I will always love you, Killian, but in the way of a mere girl. Do you understand?”

Killian’s gaze softened, a smile of understanding dawning upon his face. “Aye, I do. You and I are bound by childhood affection. However, I have come to learn of a deeper type of love.” He kissed her hands. “Who has captured your heart, dear Aurora?”

Her face broke into a full smile as she turned to Sir Phillip. She said nothing, just clasped her hands beneath her chin as she beseeched the knight before her without words.

“Lady Aurora?” Phillip asked hesitantly, scarcely daring to believe this turn of events. In two strides, he was beside her, cupping her face with his hands. “Could I dare to dream that you love me as I have come to love you?”

Aurora nodded as tears slipped down her cheeks. “I do.”

Phillip gave a small, delighted laugh before bending to press his lips to hers. Being in the great hall, with her father present, he kept it chaste. Yet the pleasant warmth that seeped through them both was evidence of what they shared.

“This is . . . an interesting turn of events,” Lord Stefan sputtered.

My Lord,” Phillip addressed Stefan, releasing Aurora and sinking to one knee before him, “I ask permission to wed your daughter.”

“A Norman and a Saxon bound in marriage?” Stefan sputtered, still clearly overwhelmed by this turn of events.

“Sir,” David spoke up, stepping forward, “uniting the two is my highest priority as king. This union will go far in bringing peace to the kingdom. Not only that, Sir Phillip has broken with the Knights of the Templar and pledged his knightly allegiance to me.”

Lord Stefan blinked rapidly, glancing between his daughter and King David. “Well, in that case . . . “ he looked down at the knight still kneeling before him, then released a long sigh, “the ways of the young are baffling to me, but if the King himself smiles upon this union, who am I to protest?”

Lady Aurora squealed in a very unladylike manner, throwing her arms around her father’s neck. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear.

Killian reached a hand out to his old friend and first love. She took it, giving him a knowing smile.

“Make sure to tell her how you feel, Killian.”

His eyes widened. “I . . . don’t know what you mean,”

Behind them, King David let out a loud guffaw. “Don’t be ridiculous, the way you feel about Emma is obvious to everyone.”

Killian’s face reddened as he lowered his voice so only his King could hear. “You of all people know why my feelings matter not.”

David arched a brow at his friend as he whispered back. “And I of all people can allow my sister to wed whomever she pleases.”

Killian’s jaw dropped as his mind struggled to process the implication of David’s words. Before he could respond, the doors at the end of the hallway burst open, and in strode Robin Hood with Regina close at his heels. David and Killian rushed to greet them. Regina grasped the young knight in desperation.

“Sir Killian, my ward helped save your life, now you must save hers.”

“What’s happened?” Killian asked in alarm.

“Unless a champion comes to fight for her, she will be burned as a witch,” Robin told them gravely, righteous anger shining in his eyes.

Without hesitation, Sir Killian and King David drew their swords.

“Sir Gold doesn’t know who he has threatened,” David growled.

“He wants a champion?” Killian added with a clenched jaw. “Then a champion he shall get.”

[samwpmarleau]

you spoke a word and life began

This was originally intended for the @asoiafrarepairs​ week, but I never got around to finishing it in time. The prompt was jealousy.

He’s not felt like this before; the sensation is foreign, without name. He’s felt something like it, when Baelor would perfect a move faster than he ever could, or when Daemon would be praised for something Baelor had done first and better. That was longing, he’d come to term it. Longing for recognition, for justice.

But this is darker, insidious, consuming. He’s five-and-ten now, he’d grown out of his childhood quick temper that Mother had always said he inherited from her. Rather, he’d learned to control it. Yet now, it threatens to surge forth, he yearns to hit something.

Or someone.

Ser Michael’s family had come to visit a week ago, including his nephew who, as it happens, has more than a dash of his uncle’s refined gregariousness. And he’s a year older than Baelor, has been a knight for years where Maekar is not one, has helped himself to talking up anyone in the palace he so chooses.

Maekar thinks his artifice is obvious, underhanded, had thought surely Dyanna would see through it in a trice. Instead, every time he sees him talking to her with that arrogance, she seems ever more besotted. Sometimes he hears them discussing the status of the mountain agriculture or a mutual friend or some local tale, and Maekar knows none of what they speak.

He’s been to Dorne, of course he has, but the only place he’d spent any considerable time was in Sunspear to visit his aunt and uncle. Dyanna’s told him much of her home, and Ser Michael has as well, but Maekar has never lived it.

Training helps keep his mind off Gerris, so he puts all his concentration into swinging his mace and practicing his footwork. If he’s exhausted, then he can’t think, and if he can’t think, then he can’t dwell.

At least, it works until after one session in which he manages to best Baelor, when instead of preparing for another bout just the two of them, he hears, “Prince Baelor, would you mind if I spell you for the next round?”

Gerris stands there with a blade in his hand and a sickeningly familiar silver bangle around his wrist. He catches Maekar staring at it and blithely comments, “You seem a formidable opponent, so I asked Lady Dyanna for her favor. She was generous enough to give it to me.”

“Some of us don’t need favors.” Gerris blinks in surprise, but doesn’t comment.

“By all means, ser,” Baelor interjects. “I’d best be off, besides. Good luck to you. ”

He casts Maekar a worried glance before heading back to the armory, the sort of glance that means he’ll be subject to an inquisition sometime later. Not that it would do any good. Maekar doesn’t know what explanation he could give. Not one he’s prepared to give to his big brother, anyway.

He beats Gerris at sparring, in the end, though the part of Maekar that doesn’t trust anything wonders if Gerris hadn’t fought to the best of his ability, or if Maekar had beat him fair and square. He’s not sure he wants to find out. Regardless, he does win, and that’s something. Never mind that Gerris doesn’t appear particularly bothered by the outcome.

“Your Grace,” he says as he sheathes his sword in its scabbard, “I’ve been intending to ask--have I offended you in some way? I get the sense that I have. Whatever it is, I apologize.”

“You didn’t do anything, Ser Gerris,” says Maekar stiffly. “You are an apt swordsman, and I hardly know you.”

Unable to stomach the man’s concern and his bloody annoying face, Maekar mutters a goodbye and follows in Baelor’s footsteps. Right now, he’d like nothing more than to be alone and to get the image of Dyanna’s bracelet out of his mind.

The better part of another week passes without incident--Gerris will be leaving King’s Landing soon, he reminds himself, just a little longer--but he should have expected that eventually it would come to a head.

He’s been successfully avoiding both Dyanna and Gerris, but apparently even after a decade of knowing her, he’d underestimated her tenacity. On his way through the halls to retire for the night, he hears purposeful footsteps behind him, and then her voice.

“I must speak with you,” she hisses, quietly enough to not disturb anyone, yet plenty loud enough for him to hear her irritation. Despite being fully aware that ignoring her is sure to only make things worse, he tries it anyway. He wills her to leave, to go take a stroll with Gerris or some such, but he gets all of three steps before Dyanna calls out again, “I must talk to you.”

The last thing he wants is to risk a courtier or servant witnessing Dyanna’s wrath and his inevitable aggravation, so he changes course and exits the keep entirely, out into the pouring rain. He’s soaked in moments. If he’d thought Dyanna would prefer to stay dry, however, once again he is mistaken--she follows him outside with no care as to the weather.

“Stop walking away from me! Maekar!”

He finally comes to a halt and turns around, against the wishes of every self-preservation instinct. But Baelor and Father always address and overcome their obstacles head-on, and so must he.

He will not run away; but he can’t bring himself to be wholly composed either. He contents himself with glowering and saying nothing. Dyanna’s face is twisted into a scowl when she catches up to him, her rain-drenched hair hanging in ropes, but there’s hurt there, too.

“Why are you so vexed with me?” she demands. She has to yell to be heard above the storm. “I’ve scarcely seen you of late, and when I have, you’ve been utterly disagreeable. What could I have done to wrong you so? What has changed?”

“I saw you enough.” His jaw clenches. “With...him.”

“Him? Gerris?” Incredulity dawns in her expression. “Are you jealous?”

Jealousy? Is that what this is?

He’d always thought of that as a baser emotion. Beneath him. Reserved for such people like Daemon who bristle at being outshone by a half-Dornish prince, or for possessive husbands who keep their wives under lock and key.

This can’t be jealousy, though. What could Gerris Manwoody claim that Maekar can’t? He’s a lordling, not a prince, and Maekar had bested him at sparring despite Gerris’s flaunted favor and knightly title. Just because Gerris is more confident and affable and unmarred by pox scars and--

“I’m not jealous,” he insists. “What would I have to be jealous about?”

“You tell me!” Dyanna shouts. “Gerris is a friend, that’s all. Even if he weren’t, what would it matter to you?”

He grits his teeth. “It wouldn’t. I’ve no qualm with Gerris. He’s just--he’s not--”

“You?” Dyanna’s voice has grown small. “He’s not you, you mean.”

He’s seen this look in her eyes before--she’s searching for a specific answer. Every excuse, every explanation, every objection vanishes all at once, leaving him with only panic. He doesn’t know how to do this, whatever this is. Baelor’s always been the one with the easy charm; Aerys’s cleverness is the envy of many; and Rhaegel is sweet, unassuming, gentle; Father, not known for his silver tongue, can make Mother laugh at a moment’s notice.

Maekar is none of those things. He never has been. He’s...less.

Dyanna stays doggedly silent, refusing to take the lead like she is so wont to do. He wants to say something, anything, even if it’s not the right thing (it’s never the right thing), but he has none of Aerys’s poetry.

Finally, she gives up. “Very well, then. By your leave, Prince Maekar.”

The prospect of confessing that which he’s denied for so long is paralyzing. Yet it is unthinkable to let her leave, to further open the door for her to find someone else. Gerris may be only a friend, but Dyanna is a woman grown, growing ever more beautiful by the day, and bears the name of one of the realm’s oldest houses. In short order, men near and far would seek her out, he’s certain of it.

His hand darts out to grab hers before she can step out of reach. “Anna, wait.”

She looks up at him with her blazing violet eyes rendered almost as black as the night sky above them. Except, still the words remain unspoken; his action was on impulse, not thought. He knows what he wants to say, what he wants to do, but for the life of him, he cannot take the leap.

Dyanna waits a few more expectant beats, then shakes her head in exasperation. “You are impossible.”

With that as her only warning, she clenches both hands in his doublet, leans up, and kisses him full on the mouth. He’s so astounded he can’t react at all. When she pulls away, his voice comes out strangled.

“What--why?”

“Why does anyone kiss someone else?” she counters. “I like you, Maekar. More than like, to tell it true. I thought I’d seen glimpses of the same from you, but you’ve never said anything.”

“But why?” he asks again. “Why me? Why not Baelor or Gerris or...or anyone?”

She scrunches up her nose. “Baelor’s like a brother to me,” she says, “and Gerris...I’ve told you.”

She huffs in frustration, takes his hand, and places it on the side of her neck, just under her jaw. Her heartbeat races beneath his fingertips, as if she’d run a league. Of course, she hadn’t; she’s simply been standing here.

“I know what I feel,” she continues, “and maybe you feel the same. But I can’t do this alone. I won’t. Not if you refuse to leave your brother’s shadow and think so very little of yourself.”

I like you, Maekar, she’d said. More than like.

It’s inconceivable to him, still, even after her proclamation and actions. That someone could want him--him, instead of one of the many more desirable men in the realm--let alone someone as stunning and dynamic as the Sword of the Morning’s niece. It’s--inconceivable.

Yet here she is, offering him that which he’s dreamt but never once expected.

He nods, his heart racing as fast as hers. Slowly, he slides his hand from her neck into her hair, and settles the other on her waist.

I like you, Maekar. More than like.

He doesn’t know a whit of what he’s doing, not at all, but he bends down and kisses her anyway, each of them soaked to the bone and in plain view of anyone who would chance to glance out a window. Somehow, none of it matters. Not his inexperience or the storm or anything. None of it. She pulls him closer, as though it is she and not him who had longed for this the most.

It is strange to him; not simply that she’s kissing him at all, but the kiss itself. Mother and Father both had said theirs was awkward and unpleasant, for neither of them had had a say in their betrothal, one on which the entire realm depended. It had taken them years to learn each other.

And while Lady Jena is winsome and she and Baelor seem quite fond of each other, ultimately neither had had a choice in their marriage either. Aerys and Rhaegel, they too are betrothed, though not yet joined, to ladies who were chosen for them.

But Maekar, no one had set a betrothal for him. A fourth son is of no import, will stand to inherit nothing of value. There is no noble lady whom he does not know waiting to wed him, there is no alliance he must oblige. He is free from that sort of duty, free to find love, even in these direst of times.

And gods, has he found it.

[belanas-schatzkiste]

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[ecotone99]

[FN] The Kingdom's Fate

It was late in the day when the Companions gathered in the Hall to mark the passing of another somber Summoner’s Eve. Each had their own stories, but it was in silence they filed through guild, only the clink of battered armor to tell their tales.

With bowed heads they murmured prayers to the gods for blessings, opportunities to prove themselves, and a chance to end the reign of the dragon king. One day… one day! It was a promise that fell from every warrior’s lips and a prayer over every babe. Forty six years of the dragon king’s rule had left the land scorched and the stables bare. The people of Fairen despaired that it may never know the sight of a green countryside, or cattle in their pastures.

On this day, like so many anniversaries of Summoner’s Eve past, the brave companions mourned their kingdom’s future. It would start with a solemn prayer, followed by an offering of leafy greens to the gods….

A thud at the far entrance interrupted them, light spilling into the establishment as the huge oak doors swung open. The dying streaks of ripe currant in the sky silhouetted an expectant figure at the far end of the lodge.

The occupants paid the visitor no mind-- every adventurer from here to Hare’s Peak thought they were the first to arrive on the dusk of Summoner’s Eve, just like the mage Myrgan in tales of old. Only forever more the Companions of Everlasting Courage knew the truth.

The kingdom of Fairen would never again be free. A thousand companions and mages had died at the hands of the immortal dragon king. There was nothing left but to drink, and remember the days of glory, when most were just squires to the brave souls who proved the truth of the kingdom’s fate.

Hugor the Hale was one such former squire, now a man broad of belly and chest and a gray head taller than any Companion still alive. He sat at the end of the long table, whisking a whetstone down a blade the size of his palm. It was a blade of great sentimental value to him, and despite the hopeful days of glory well behind him, he took care to sharpen it each day. Sir Sven the Stirring would be proud. It was the least Hugor could do. He was the last in a long line of king-blessed knights to bear the blade.

The visitor’s over-long pause in the doorway continued for a moment more, cleared throat echoing through the hall. It was duly ignored. Travellers were common in the Guild District; they’d find their way out on their own, or they were shown out.

It wasn’t until the newcomer approached Hugor that he bothered to pause his task. A woman in boiled leather glared at him, a dark braid thrown over one shoulder, a bandoleer stocked with vials slung across her front. She seemed even shorter than she had in her ‘grand entrance’ to the hall, barely reaching the height of his stooped shoulders, and he was sitting down. She bore a resemblance that seemed awful familiar, but Hugor couldn’t place his finger on why and thought nothing more of it, and bent to his task once more.

“Heard you needed a mage.” Her voice carried a bellyful of pride, like so many before her.

Hugor scoffed. “The guild for ninnies and womenfolk meets in the warrens.” He began to turn back to his whetstone, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure they are just dying for another of your kind.”

She spat, green-tinged saliva arcing to land on the man’s breastplate. It smelled… minty.

Hugor looked down, disgusted by the spittle slipping down his armor. Tiny flecks of green floated in the liquid, landing in loud drips on the stone floor.

“Uncommonly rude.” He wiped the spit away with a sleeve. “I will forgive the impertinence if you leave my guild this instant.”

The girl made no such move, instead fishing into her belt pouch for more mint before folding her arms in defiance. “You fool! I have come to lend strength and honor to your cause!”

Hugor barked a laugh. “Strength? And honor? You could’ve been mistaken for a mouse in a potato field. Go home, little mouse. The Age of Courage is over. The Foretold never revealed himself. Summoner’s Eve is just another day. ”

The little mage’s eyebrows slammed together in her fury. “My name is Frynn of Premly, Frynn the Foretold! I am here to show you the error of your despair, Hugor the Hale!” She thrust her arms out, baring dark arcane tattoos on umber flesh. They seemed to writhe of their own accord in the candlelight like a mess of serpents in a pit.

Hugor sat up. The lost resemblance and distinct marks now demanded further thought. Some old geezer before the fall of the rightful king had come knocking on the guild’s doors, nailed some convoluted drawings and a prophecy to the doors. Uncommonly rude wizard, too. Called them all fat and slovenly and downright unheroic.

Finally some interest dawned in him. “Where’d you get those?”

“I am the Foretold, and I am here to lead this fat and slovenly Guild to glory once more.”

At such a loud and rude proclamation a number of adventurers stood, their benches scraping away from the table in indignation. Hugor raised a hand to quiet them.

“I don’t care if you’re my mother’s dull daughter, insulting the guild’s state of fitness will not earn you friends, mage.”

“I told you, my name is--”

“Uncommonly rude. Nealan, Kayn, would you do the honors?” The two Companions came forward, nearly as portly and grizzled as Hugor himself. Nealan the Noble and Kayn the Knightly saluted him. With an energy they’d not shown since their last near-campaign, the two warriors bundled a shrieking tiny mage back to the doors from whence she came, and ejected her into the street. A thundering boom followed as they barred the door from any similar incursions. The rest of the warriors gathered ‘round them, cheering and congratulating Hugor and their mates for their swift actions.

And so it was that on Summoner’s Eve, forty six years after the fall of the rightful king, that the last in the line of true royalty, and only soul to bear the marks of the prophesied Foretold, was ejected from the distinguished hall of the Companions of Everlasting Courage.

Alas, the kingdom was doomed. But at least it still had standards for manners.

______

Thanks for reading! You can find more smoking hot garbage at r/aliteraldumpsterfire.

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