#now that the kingdoms can live in relative peace arthur can see the good magic can do for a kingdom as essetir thrives

[justaz]

semi-dark king merlin au, someone from ealdor tells king cenred about merlin and he is captured and held as a slave in essetir. since merlin despises captivity and servitude, he’d rather be dead and free than alive and in chains so he acts out and pisses people (especially the king) off so they’ll think him too much trouble and kill him. at first they stick to beatings until merlin manages to get his chains around a few necks and now has a body count so they kill him…..only he wakes back up a few hours later and king cenred is Intrigued and keeps him close. merlin keeps acting out but no matter how many times they kill him, he won’t stay dead. merlin has this moment after waking up perfectly fine after his twenty seventh death where he is hopeless and believes there to be no escape, not even thru death. a few other sorcerers in chains come and help him clean up and give him a lil peptalk, realizing him to be emrys, and then they revolt and take over the kingdom and crown merlin as king and now uther is like “wtf” bc his neighboring kingdom who was kinda sorta on his wavelength about sorcery, though uther did not approve of keeping them alive, is now a kingdom ruled by magic. he goes to war with them but with magic running free and fucking emrys on the throne, they don’t make a lot of headway. anyways merthur meet on the battlefield, enemies to lovers, you get it

[oswinsdolma]

Proving all the Knights of the Round Table have magic part 3: Elyan

I've seen quite a few people headcanon Elyan with magic before, and it's definitely one of the more popular magic!knights hcs, so I apologise if I accidentally hijack anyone else's points xx

The most obvious indicator of this is the fact that Elyan leaves Camelot a year before Merlin arrives. This is about the same age Morgana's magic shows itself, so it would be natural to assume he left because he began showing signs of being a warlock, Camelot's laws being what they are.

It is also implied that Elyan left fairly abruptly, with Gwen having no idea where he went. He may have left in a hurry because somebody might have noticed him, and not told Gwen or Tom for fear of putting them in danger.

Perhaps in a darker note, he didn't say where he was going because he was ashamed of his magic and didn't think his family would accept him.

Gwen says that "[Elyan] always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time". Maybe accidents happen around him because he had trouble controlling his magic and found it increasingly difficult to cover for. This could be another indicator as to why he left.

Elyan didn't return to Camelot even for his father's funeral, and while he expresses his guilt, he doesn't give sufficient reason why: the reason? He may not be able to tell Gwen because he was still scared to return with magic.

When Gwen reveals her relationship with Arthur, Elyan is skeptical, and maybe even a little panicked. After all, would your sister falling in love with someone with the power to set you ablaze not be a terrifying concept to anyone with magic? But when Arthur comes to rescue them and proves himself to be slightly less of a prat than he may think, he tentatively agrees to return home, though I suspect this is mainly for Gwen's sake.

When the immortal army invades Camelot, Elyan manages to stay hidden and fight off some soldiers. Note that he is the only one of the group within Camelot with no Knights' training, which begs the question: how did he manage to escape? The answer could very well lie with magic.

Again, in The Darkest Hour, he is one of two knights that survived the meeting with Morgana. He is one of the more inexperienced knights as well, which suggests that he may have aided himself magically in the fight.

When faced with a seemingly unbeatable threat, Elyan says to Arthur: "tomorrow, we fight in your name, sure. For freedom and justice in this land." Now there is a lot to unpack here, but if we break it down, firstly there is the fact that Elyan places is emphasis on "your" when addressing Arthur. He has previously made a statement about the Pendragon crest, but in this moment, it seems that he cares more about Arthur than this. This is clearly indicative of the fierce bond between Arthur and the core knights, but it could be more than that: the emphasis of "your" is specific to Arthur, but perhaps more importantly, it is an exclusion of Uther. In his time, Arthur has made mistakes, but he has generally been more sympathetic towards magic than his father, and this may be Elyan's subtle way of acknowledging that.

In addition, the words: "for freedom and justice in this land" could just be in reference for Arthur's abilities as king, but this is a deep speech and one would assume it has a deeper meaning. Freedom and justice are two things that have not been afforded to those with magic for a long time. Uther's twisted "justice" involved executing anyone who disagreed with him and anyone who could be vaguely affiliated with sorcery. As for freedom, Arthur has created a fairer kingdom than his father, but magic users still live in fear. Combined with the earlier stress of "your", this is indicative that Elyan too believes that Arthur may one day come to bring peace to anyone who is born with magic.

This last point also has the implications that Elyan knows of the Once and Future King and surrounding prophecies. Though he is described as a troublemaker by Gwen before he comes to Camelot, he keeps his head relatively low upon arrival. Perhaps in the time he spent travelling, he sought help from magical communities, e.g. the druids, who helped him control his powers. This would also explain his vagueness about his whereabouts and lack of contact during the years he was missing.

I could go on about this quote but we'll leave it there for now.

Before he is overtaken by the power of the Lamia, Elyan is vocal in standing up for Merlin. This could be because he knows what it is like to be shunned by society. Magic could be a reason for that. (Also I fully believe that the only reason the Lamia didn't try and take over Merlin was because she was scared of the extent of his magic, not just because he had magic.)(and the merthur reasons when I'm in the mood)

Then Elyan falls sick, before the others begin to show symptoms. Maybe the Lamia sensed some magic and decided he was more trouble than he was worth.

Elyan was not raised by druids, and does not have the same powers as Merlin so wouldn't have sensed the power of the shrine, at least not too strongly. When he first sees the spirit though, he is genuinely sympathetic, even before the murderous intent takes hold.

In the Dark Tower, Elyan is consumed by his need to find Gwen, convinced that he is to blame for her capture. This could be survivor's guilt (and to an extent, probably is), but it is equally probable that Elyan believes that he should have used his magic to protect her.

Going off on a slight tangent here, the theme of "I have magic so it must have a purpose" within warlocks/sorcerers in the show is a) not a healthy mindset and b) uncomfortably common. Elyan may have latched onto the idea that he must use his magic to protect Gwen to convince himself to stay in Camelot, and with that conprmino, he began to fall apart. His behaviour is almost identical to Merlin's fervour regarding Arthur at this point, and it's fairly disturbing that these characters adopt this mindset that is Not Good For Their Mental Heath, Please Get Some Therapy.

Elyan dies. It's heartbreaking, and he does so trying to save his sister. But what is interesting is his funeral. When most main characters die, they are given a funeral in Camelot, e.g. Uther, Lancelot (the first time). But then Freya and Shade!Lanceot (and later Arthur) are set to rest in the Lake of Avalon. The difference between the two is that the lake funerals were arranged by Merlin, and those laid to rest there can somehow be affiliated with magic.

Now I'm not saying that Merlin knew about Elyan's magic, because sometimes he can be really not very perceptive about that (though it's always fun when fics cheerily toss that out the window because it's fun goddamnit-), but I don't believe he was entirely oblivious. Think about it: there are two of Arthur's closest friends canonically hiding magic from him and it's fairly probable that they'll pick up on Elyan's magic at some point. Even if it's just little things like his sympathies with magic or gentle arguments about the way mages are treated. There are so many avenues to explore with this it's overwhelming-

I also think Elyan may have picked up on Merlin's magic later in the series: the point of realisation was probably when Merlin rescued him during his time being possessed by the drowned druid boy, upon which he says: "you know, Merlin, you're much braver than you look." This is the first time Merlin has revealed his more BAMF side to Elyan, and in this moment, something unspoken passes between them. If not mutual understanding, it is at least Elyan realising what Merlin does beneath his carefree exterior, and despite the possession, I think he acquires a lot of new respect for his friend.

(also are we going to ignore that the lake funeral implies that it was arranged by Merlin. How close were they and what stuff did we miss out on behind the scenes for him to be trusted with this?? I need to know)

Elyan and Mordred have a friendship in series 5. If the earlier headcanon about Elyan learning to control his magic with druids is true, perhaps he may have recognised Mordred from his time there. They probably didn't acknowledge it much, but it created a bond between them.

And now for the mythological context!!

Of all the Knights of the Round Table, Elyan's backstory is perhaps the most estranged from the original legend (of course all of them are fairly disconnected *flashbacks to pope-gwaine* but Elyan's is w a c k y)

As a consequence, there is little to draw on for behind-the-scenes evidence of magic.

Elyan, or Helayn, was another Knight whose origins stem from France (the Vulgate Cycle, I think, though he could have surfaced earlier). He is said to have joined Lancelot in exile after his affair of 'courtly love' with Guinevere (go and look up this concept- it gets convoluted in the myths but is really interesting in terms of both origin and content). Anyway, his exile here could represent the time he spent out of Camelot before his appearance in s3, and relates to hiding from harsh laws, particularly if we regard Lancelot and Guinevere's relationship in the same way as we do in the Vulgate Cycle (basically keep the context with the appropriate work and it sort of makes sense)

I appreciate this seems a little like grasping at straws but that's literature I suppose ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

In the legends, Elyan is nephew to another of Arthur's knights, Sir Sagramore. This knight is less famous than some, but at one point, he embarks on a quest to find the fay. The fay are closely linked with the she, and perhaps also live on Avalon, somewhere mortals are only supposed to see moments before death. Perhaps Elyan can be associated with this magic?

In reality, there is little written of Elyan and no prose or poetry dedicated to him so it's quite hard to find stuff about him.

Also legend!Elyan is heir to the throne of Constantinople, which just goes to prove how widespread and deeply convoluted the mythos is.

[blankdblank]

Ridikulus Pt 14

By nine you were off home again receiving confirmation from Percy that the hidden islands were now emptied. And those families were settling back into their homes excited to learn all they could of what they had missed on their new world from the back issues of the Daily Prophet detailing all the updates including the nominations given for Minister of Magic, along with other positions in the Ministry. Crude maps were given of the new layout of the globes being made of this world and the Wizarding lands within it to be sold before long. Listings of all that was needed for the coming city of Dale to be formed were posted as well along with Rita’s full page delving into the impending engagement of Hermione to a certain Dwarf Prince. Though whenever possible other tiny paragraphs were written with other possible pairings including Ron, Ginny, Regulus and of course you, which was a rotating list of names and faces without a solid answer.

.

Through the snow and bustling suburb you walked until you found the house formerly Number 4 Privet Drive. Biting your lip you walked alone to the front door and gave it a gentle knock. Inside shuffling was heard paired with giggles and when the door opened Petunia was there grinning at you as Vernon peeked out of the living room. Rapidly smiling she stepped back motioning her hand to welcome you in, “Come in, come in Jaqi.” She peeked through the door at the quickening snow then shut it and joined you all in the living room asking, “Any news? There were some explosions earlier.”

“Ex-,” for a moment your lips parted and brows furrowed before you said, “Must be fireworks. We did settle down the other hidden islands and towns,” easing their worries greatly as you smiled at Em, who was coloring beside Dudley at the coffee table. Over to the couch behind her you went kissing the top of her head as you sat down and said, “It’ll be all over the papers by noon no doubt, everyone being resettled. Short version, most of the Wizarding world is in a ring of mountains in the land of Angmar down to a Dwarf city called Moria, fit quite nicely into the Misty Mountains, as they’re called.”

Em, “Misty?”

“Yes,” you replied in a smiling giggle making her do the same in her turn to coloring again.

She nodded and Vernon asked, “So, we’re safe now?”

You nodded meeting his eyes, “Yes. We’ve sealed the lands and everyone knows their new jobs joining in producing food and clothes, things like that. Even have a series of cities for the Muggles we managed to gather up.”

Dudley, “What, what, do we, do?”

You flashed him a weak smile, “Well, I know you’ve been getting along well with Arthur, and we’ve actually come up with an idea of sorts.” They nodded, “We don’t have very much Muggle born representatives for European Wizarding communities, as it were, so we were hoping you might help us by joining a sort of council to ensure that needs are met and if anything arises you could bring it to our attention. Arthur could fill it in more thoroughly than I am,” you said with another quick chuckle.

Vernon, “A Council?”

Petunia, “Like a neighborhood watch, type thing?”

You shook your head, “No, you would have a place in Parliament, meeting regularly with the Queen and being our buffer, so to speak.”

They all nearly choked on the air they were breathing as Vernon replied, “The Queen?!”

You nodded, “Well, she wasn’t exactly very willing to deal with us when we first proposed hiding her lands. Burning, was mentioned with shouting, and shin kicks were issued, well, it didn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped, and she sort of banished me from her kingdom.”

Petunia nodded with her lips pursed before releasing a soft snicker, “Well, I do suppose we could see where the difficulty would lie in that.”

Dudley, “Don’t know how banishment was s’posed to stop you.”

You smirked at him as Vernon smiled saying, “Well, if you’ve already set it, in their minds, you know,” he wet his lips, “It doesn’t sound too hard. Neighbors have grown quite peaceful, and I am getting used to the comfortable lifestyle you’ve switched to. Change in the cars is nice to, what do they run off of?”

“It’s a bit hard to explain. Sunlight and some other, elements.”

He nodded giving your hand a gentle pat, “Just leave it to us. We will be your buffer.”

You smiled and glanced at Petunia when she scooted forward, wetting her lips as her hands folded across her lap nervously, “Last time, you mentioned the orphans. Vernon is a much better negotiator than I am. I would very much like to help, if I can.”

You nodded and replied, “I know. We are in need of foster families. I will add you to our lists, and will send word to the other members of the Council for a meeting for you all before you meet with the Queen.” They all joined you on your feet in Em’s climb onto your lap ready to go, and walked you to the door where you paused saying, “Oh, about Harry’s son, would you want to come over when he’s here?”

Petunia nodded with a teary gaze, “Absolutely. We would love to.”

“Shouldn’t be long now. Week possibly.”

A finger wave and turning around you nuzzled Em closer to your chest in a warm bubble and heard the door shut behind you after their animated goodbye to the little girl and you. Grinning to her you asked, “How was your morning?”

Animatedly she shared about the coloring she did widening your smile after her having snuck to the garden to get snow to throw at Dudley making you giggle.

 *

Breakfast had gone well for your relatives, at least until the papers had been delivered. The announcement of his name in the papers the following name beside the absurd Lockhart, that had named himself once again, drove Remus to nearly choking on his morning tea wondering how anyone could name a Werewolf as their Minister. Sure he had managed to complete his year teaching at Hogwarts without his secret being outed.

And since falling here he had startlingly found himself without the uncomfortable feelings around his first shift Sirius, Ron and Arthur had set up a safe place to lock him inside when the moon rose only to find him still without a reaction at all even without his potions. But with all the Order members on the Council he had obviously been the clearest choice in both experience and demeanor as an Auror and his vast studies into races, creatures and magical plants and objects.

The teens had all slipped out of the room smirking the more his brow twitched taking Teddy and Vici with them eventually leaving the trio of men with two of them smirking wildly relaxing in their morning off to move into the sitting room.

With a huff Remus threw his jacket he’d jerked free from onto his arm chair in the sitting room in the Black Family Home. “A Werewolf! They can’t possibly elect a Werewolf!”

Regulus, “Technically that’s just a rumor.”

Sirius nodded his head, “Yup. Besides, how can they prove it? Obviously something changed in us when we were sent here. You’ve been cured!”

Remus rolled his eyes, “I have to tell them.”

Regulus, “Not going to do any good. Werewolf or not you’re better than Mr La-dee-da Look-at-Me Airhead Blondie.”

Remus raised a brow and Sirius added, “Plus, even if it did come out how would you prove it, hmm? Your shift hasn’t happened once!”

Remus, “Still-!”

Sirius, “Still nothing. All they can find on you is a very unruly pet rabbit from school that all these tall tales on your absences are based around.”

Remus sighed and Regulus clapped him on the back, “Just accept it as a sign that good things are to come.”

Giggles signaled Remus to come out of his slump when Sirius sat up and grinned at Em in her race for him to accept the hug she offered, “Hello jellybean.” He said kissing her cheek puling her up onto her lap.

Regulus gave your arm a gentle tug letting you settle between his legs on his fainting couch to relax against his chest, “Sleep well? Lindir said you slept at Elrond’s again.”

“I followed my shoes again.”

Remus, “ooh, must mean Fin is nearly ready.” Making you giggle to yourself before he asked, “Do I smell, horse?”

“Glori took me on a forest tour. The outer rings. Pretty much a ride around the outside their forest. Showed be this cool spot on a hill with these huge birds and reindeer sleeping. Blended in with the snow could barely see them in it.”

Sirius smirked behind his mug, “Sounds cozy.”

“Could be, if he wasn’t so damn serious all the time. Barely spent eight minutes up there.”

Regulus teased, “Sounds like someone’s catching feelings.”

Turning your gaze to Remus who smirked saying, “Have you picked yet?”

Playfully you replied, “Gin says I should just keep both. Give Em two step dads.”

At that your father snorted and leaned in to kiss Em’s cheek, “More power to you if you do. Besides, we could use ample arms for our little herd. Any word on their comment on fostering?”

“Yes, I said we could start the vetting at least.”

Regulus hummed out laying his arms across your middle, “No problem, already have a team in mind. Lindir can help us get started tomorrow after the vote.”

“Oi!” From the doorway you spotted Troy and Moran, the latter saying, “Thank you for calling it late today. Missus is having terrible cramps, and everything’s swollen. I will be glad when our girl is here. Just hate seeing her so miserable the last month.”

Troy rolled his eyes, “Just wait till you get to teething.”

In a roll you climbed to your feet changing your clothes in a flick of your fingers before tugging back your hair into a braided ponytail crossing the room, “Then there’s the first flu.”

Sirius, “Dragon Pox.”

Regulus, “Ooh, stomach virus.”

Remus, “Wait for puberty.” Earning groans from all three as you giggled and continued out to the pitch in the back to go tear yourself apart.

.

Painfully sprawled across the floor on your belly you groaned through Draco’s barefoot walk across your back and legs post workout soak only to shift your head seeing Fili pausing in the doorway looking you over. “Hey Fili. I think Hermi’s at Luna’s.”

Fili shook his head, “No, I, um, I was sent to ask about uncle’s apartment.”

“Ah,”

Inching closer he asked, “Is there a reason you are being walked across?”

Draco, “Helping to relax her muscles.”

Fili nodded and you groaned out in the final popping of your throbbing hip, “Quidditch practice.” Draco stepped off you and bent to help you up then helped you stretch your arms in various ways. “I’m good. Body’s on fire but let’s go resettle a home.” Grinning widely you guided the Dwarf back into the snow pulling on your boots and coat for the start of the long walk to the archways and then up to the Royal Wing. Full designs were set up and unable to help it Thorin asked, “If I may, I hate to trouble you with more pressure, only-,”

“Fred and George started your potion last night. Two and a half weeks roughly and you will be a Dam.”

In that his eyes lit up and he said with a spreading smile, “That is fantastic! So soon.” Anxiously he wet his lips and his eyes scanned over you, “You are in pain. Was this too straining on you?” he asked with worry in his tone.

Shaking your head you said, “Quidditch practice. Getting used to training again.”

Dwalin patting lulu’s back in her nap against his chest in a sling asked, “Have you tried hot rock press yet?”

Fili, “She had her cousin Draco walk across her back and legs.”

That made the Dwarves halt and Balin clear his throat to say, “Miss Jaqi, no offense to the young lad, but he is a bit, on the slender side.” Making you giggle to yourself.

Thorin offered his hand, “Come, in this we can aid you.”

Not two floors down you were stripped to your underwear and entered the steam room where a pair of Dams helped to lay and stretch you out. Then rolled you over to coat your back in oil and settle hot rocks across your back. Nearly an hour he asked you, “Feeling better?”

“Oh, if you weren’t practically married to Bilbo I would kiss you,” lowly he chuckled.

Bilbo in settling into his favorite armchair after having explored the tiny island turned garden getaway, “I just might let you.”

The comment adding more chuckles and in the silence after Dis stated, “It is comforting to see you so at ease with offering affections after being offered up like cattle by your relatives.”

“I imagine their intentions weren’t far from your parent’s in helping you court Vili.”

Dis, “Had I a child already there would be no reason to have bartered up for the sake of fertility.”

Holding your grin you replied, “Well I’m young, ample child bearing years ahead, they just don’t want me to miss any chances. Marrying well means comfort. For some people breaking it off with Barty would mark me as damaged goods, Em helps to confirm I am far from barren and of some use to continuing bloodlines.”

Dis’ lips were parted and she stated, “You speak rather frankly on this matter.”

In a shrug you replied, “The Black family is a lot like the Durin line, heavy name has heavy expectations. I am the only child of the male line so far, Draco the female line. Babies are a must.”

Dis, “I was not aware such weight was enforced on your children.”

“Not many realize what comes along with being from the Sacred 28. Both the privilege and the problems.” In a glance over her face you said, “But you don’t have to worry about all that. My bundle of sticks. For now,” your eyes narrowed a moment, “Dwarves don’t use cufflinks do they?”

Her brow inched up, “Cuff, links?”

“One of the traditions we have for engagements tends to be cufflinks, little decorative metal studs used to hold the ends of the dress shirt sleeves. If not I can think of something else.”

Dis, “I am certain for special occasions Fili might wear some of your own clothing designs belonging to your people to wear them.”

“No rush on that, plenty of time to think of gifts.”

.

A call for Thorin to head down for a meeting had you turning to head home again where a shrill call from your owl had you reaching up to let him perch on your arm asking him in a stroke of his head, “You deliver all your letters already?”

His shrill reply had you heading up to your study where you left him on the edge of the desk while you thought of who you could send him off to. In a shrug you brought over a firefly decorated sheet of parchment you uncapped your feather tipped pen to write to Thranduil.

‘King Thranduil,

This is a bit impromptu, however I seem to be at a loss for who I might write to. You see, I seem to be at a lack of composed notes to send off with my overly eagle owl who abhors the lull in my communications since graduating. If this letter bothers you I will refrain from sending them in the future, though the delivery of this one might buy me some time to compose a few more decoy letters to keep my owl distracted for a few weeks.

I apologize for the inconvenience, but thank you all the same,

J. Black’

A quick blow over the letter and the ink was confirmed dry, in the folding of the page your owl fluffed up his feathers listening to where you were sending him in the drip of the yellow wax you melted onto the crease that was stamped with your duck seal. The final touch of scrawling his name across the front of the page later and your owl took off rather excitedly while you brought out your usual list of contacts to start with Newt and work your way down to those not living with or near you to avoid irritating your owl.

 *

Halfway through an inspection of his wine supply in hopes of throwing a celebration soon the sound of wings and an eager screech had Thranduil’s eyes rising to the large dark owl with a pale yellow letter in its talons. Suddenly it dropped the letter and his eyes flinched wider and he reached up to grab it noting the elated screech of the eagle who circled him and landed on his shoulder. Curiously he eyed the unintelligible writing on the front making him turn it over feeling his lips part seeing the duck seal.

Tauriel beside him asked, “My King?”

Thranduil, “From Miss Black, I cannot read this,”

Hastily she replied, “If you require privacy-,”

“No,” cutting her off he strode away mumbling, “Who knows Westron…” Glorfindel was just as clueless in this as he was. Celeborn was mainly the same, Arwen knew a few common phrases and he would be damned to take your letter to Rohan or Gondor for their aid. He had heard Bilbo holding trouble reading your notes before leaving him to hope Elrond was not as rusty as he had always claimed. If not he might be left to drastic measures to convince one of your relatives or kin to translate it for him.

The seal sat broken and the page was admired in the King’s path through his kingdom after having given mental orders on what to do with his wine requests, off to Rivendell he went with growing wonder at just what you had written to him about. Inside his study Elrond sat and raised his gaze from his book when Thranduil had entered curiously looking over the bird on his shoulder, “I require your assistance in translating a letter.”

Elrond, “Oh,” his eyes wandered to the yellow page in the King’s hand, “What language?”

“Westron. Miss Black wrote to me.”

Elrond nodded, “Yes, well, depending on the subject matter of the letter-,”

“I doubt it will be very intimate, we have yet to share our intentions.”

Elrond sighed and his eyes narrowed accepting the page only to say, “I do not understand half of these words, and the script-,” After a moment he called out, “Lindir?”

Around the corner into the doorway from his own study Lindir appeared, “Yes, My Lord?”

Elrond, “Has Regulus taught you Westron? I have seen you borrowing their books.”

Lindir nodded and entered the room with hand extended to accept the page offered up to him. “Yes, through our mental bond. The language washed through me all at once.” Lifting the page he softly read the simple message leaving the King more puzzled than anything. “Regulus has mentioned her owl before, Fluffball, is what he called him.”

Thranduil, “Why would Miss Black consider me to be against receiving her communications?”

Lindir, “From my perspective Miss Black has a reluctance to forcing bonds with others. It has not been long we have known one another there is caution at forcing her company or friendship on others. Written correspondence outside of official reasons is quite an intimate thing.”

Elrond, “True.”

Lindir, “Would you be responding?”

Thranduil, “Yes,” he replied sharply, then shifted to begin pacing with fingers smoothing over his lips, “I must word my response to promote further communications. Outside of official matters as well.”

Taking his usual seat for dictating he brought out a blank piece of parchment and began to address the letter to you, carefully copying down the letter sentence by sentence eventually filling a page. The ending of which being a series of possible invitations from him and the other Lords, including Celeborn having dropped by for tea with Arwen to add to the list to the sound of the owl’s impatient noises. When the page was just barely folded the owl on the King’s shoulder gave an eager cry and leapt off to snatch the letter and fly off before it was sealed leaving Lindir wide eyed.

Elrond, “Miss Black was not kidding just how eager her owl truly is.”

Lindir, “I believe it is because she may write the letter out of his sight if it is particularly lengthy.”

Thranduil, “I must hope that the letter was adequate to encourage new communications.”

 **

Hours had passed and finally the telling screech sounded in your room as you finished off the final set of exams you would be giving the next week. Reaching up you accepted the letter and let your owl head over to his perch to puff up for the night to rest. Curiously your brows furrowed seeing your name on the open letter and opening it you turned it over seeing a full page response you leaned back in your chair to read. Setting it down you groaned rubbing your face, “More invitations…”

In a huff you stood and went down at the growl of your stomach to the kitchen. Alone there you started to slice up a few potatoes while your carrots boiled on the stove. Through the door however your eyes rose to Lindir in his approach anxiously avoiding your gaze. “Hungry? Just making some veggies, but I can whip you up something if you like?”

In a timid shake of his head he replied, “No, no thank you, Miss Black.”

“You can call me Jaqi if you like.” You said lifting the cutting board you carried to the strainer in the sink you used the knife to dump the potatoes into for a quick rinse.

“Thank you, Jaqi,” your name added softly before he mustered his voice again to state, “I do hope I did not overstep any boundaries.” That made you look at him and shut off the water to dump the potatoes into the water filled pot you floated over to a spare burner.

“What boundaries would those be?”

“My translating and taking dictation for the reply for your letter to King Thranduil.”

“Trans-,” you wet your lips then asked, “Thranduil can’t read?”

Lindir shook his head, “Not Westron, this tongue, Regulus taught me, and Lord Elrond took notice of my borrowing your books.”

“Huh,” you said to yourself as a matter of fact-ly, “I did not even consider that. To answer your question, no, I am not upset. Honestly Puffball has a hard time controlling himself. He didn’t seem upset?”

“Puffball?”

In a giggle you replied luring a ghost of a smirk onto his lips, “The King. I know Puffball was upset he didn’t even let you seal the letter.”

“Ah, King Thranduil was not upset, a bit curious why you would have a reluctance to correspond with him, though as it was your first correspondence it was understandable. Puffball did seem rather impatient, yes.”

In a glance over Lindir you said, “Regulus is at the Ministry till seven, sorry to say, if you were here to see him.”

Lindir, “Oh yes, he informed me yesterday.” Timidly his eyes scanned over you and he asked, “Are you requiring a translator for letters in the future?”

“Well,” you said moving to the carrots to blow on one you raised out of the water, “Lord Celeborn has taught me Valinorian, so I can write to him, I wouldn’t want to add to your work so it can wait until I get the others to share the languages they know.”

Lindir gave you a soft grin, “That sounds like an excellent plan.” After another glance at your ring in your taking a nibble of the carrot you slid back into the water again, “Have you spent much time with Miss Em’s father?”

That had your eyes on his again and you shook your head, “No, he’s playing mother hen for his wife between classes.”

“Regulus speaks so fondly of her, is why I ask. Do you believe he would wish for a daughter?”

A smirk eased across your lips as you checked one of the potato slices, “Regulus would be happy with a chicken if that was what he was given. Gender is irrelevant, he loves children.”

That made Lindir smile more, “That is reassuring.”

“Would you want daughters?”

The question made him blush and he replied as confidently as he could muster, “I have a sister whom I assisted in rearing. I have only witnessed the boys whom Elrond has claimed as his wards before.” Timidly his gaze dropped and shifted to the newspaper on the table that his head tilted to read on the story about you and some mystery affair taking you from your duties in school. “Is this fiction?”

Shifting your gaze you reached out pulling the paper closer to him and yourself, “Oh, mostly.” His eyes rose to look you over, “The paper has a habit, two days before an election they don’t write about it. We’ve had a week full of reading on it, it gives the people a chance to mull over their choices before the vote tomorrow. Rita Skeeter, the author is given the front page. The bottom flap is on Ginny and her ‘Mysterious Blonde Beau.’ Yesterday’s was all on Hermione and her ties to the Durins. It’s all fluff, Rita’s just blowing smoke, that’s a delivery boy from earlier in the picture.”

Lindir, “And it is allowed, for her to write such lies on your honor?”

In a giggle you replied, “No one takes much weight on what Rita says or writes. It’s usually just taken as amusing gossip, besides, there’s been worse scandals than alluding to a possible romance for me.”

Lindir, “You are not offended then?”

“I am offended that she couldn’t spell my school house correctly, or even bother to write that I am Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher and not trying to take over Professor Trelawney’s position in teaching Divinations. Where she got that nonsense I’ll never know. Other than that all fluff. If you really want to see some juicy stories of hers I should bring out copies of her column when I was in the Triwizard Tournament. Ooh, now that was scandalous.”

“It is common for you to be a topic in the, Daily Prophet, then?”

“Among other publishings. Newspapers, Magazines, random bits on the radio news feeds. Whole family since I got into Hogwarts have been famous.”

Curiously reading more into the story he asked, “This states you are, sentenced to the school?”

His eyes rose and you nodded, “When I killed my uncle Riddle, part of my coming out publicly as Leader of the Death Eaters was being named Defense Professor for the rest of my life.” His eyes narrowed a moment, “It is complicated. There was a Minister Riddle was using as a Puppet in charge, who when Riddle died was set free of his mental fog and wanted to set extreme punishments to Death Eaters, wanted to sentence me to prison for life. Ensure I never saw Em again. Then Rufus, our previous Minister the puppet took over for when I faked his death to save his life came back and bound me to the job so I wouldn’t be in prison. He needed a sentence but wanted it to be lenient for saving him and others.”

Lindir, “That is troubling to hear, you being treated in such a manner. Even as Queen.”

“Queen to the evil guys doesn’t scratch up fluff to any of the Aurors past making me a target.”

Lindir, “Regulus is an Auror,”

You nodded, “And a Death Eater. He was a target too. It’s different now. When Riddle died and more groups rose up the skew on us changed. They wanted us to save them.”

Lindir nodded again, “This-,”

In the breaking of his voice you sliced off another piece of your next carrot you stabbed with your fork, “It’s troubling, and confusing, but you have my word, we’re safe now.”

“Yes, I, it is all so, painful. New faces and new names, hearing the stories and now meeting those involved, you were children, in war, that is, terrifying. I will adjust, in time. Merely pardon our awe at how resilient you all have been.”

With a grin you said, “We sacrifice for those we will never meet, just like those who plant trees they will never live to lay under. We have to be better.”

Through the door Regulus came smirking and causing Lindir to shift in his seat, “Ah, there you are. We closed early so we might start our first round of foster interviews, would you be available to help translate?”

Lindir glanced at you seeing your grin at him and bowed his head to you then rose, “Of course.”

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @here2have-fun​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​

@long-cosmos-overhead​, @partoftheminfamily​, @alishlieb​

Pt 15

[soda-rebel]

Prick My Heart

For my dude @midnightleone ! Enjoy your angst bro!

Summary: It’s hard to be the royals of Spades, but Alfred and Arthur make it work. 

The Kingdom of Spades were a proud people. Proud of their towns and streets that glittered with pure sapphire. Proud of their heritage that held volumes upon volumes of victories. Most of all, the people of Spades were proud of their kingdom that had asserted itself as one of the strongest empires of the world. But the Kingdom of Spades was not proud of their royals.

It was common knowledge that in order to keep the gifts bestowed upon them by the previous kings and queens, the royal bloodline had to be ruthless. Each new ruler was more cunning, more heartless than the next until the kingdom outright rebelled against their tyranny. From that day forth, the royal bloodline was determined by two magic imbued clocks, one for the king and one for the queen. After the death of a monarch, the clocks would be rewound, signaling the birth of the next era. The clocks would choose the best fit rulers from among the citizens. Sometimes they were upper class, sometimes common folk. But it was always a mystery as to whom the crown belonged to next. Which, of course, lead to the present king and queen: Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland.

Arthur was a man built for the kingdom, but not in the sense of royalty. He had joined in the ranks of knights hoping to defend his country, willing to lay down his life if needed. His sacrifice never came to be. A day before Arthur’s knighting ceremony, a bold blue spade rose up from the depths of his skin to brand him forever. On that day, he was forced to lay down his sword and pick up peace treaties and champagne glasses instead.

Alfred had less of an honorable background. Witness to the lowest slums in Spades, the orphaned Jones boy had made a living pickpocketing and pilfering from anyone who could spare it. He had been decent as a thief, but only just. It’s always the decent thieves that end up at the gallows. Alfred would have been hung too, had it not been for the spade symbol that abruptly glimmered into view. He was escorted into a life so luxurious he was almost sick.

A man for a queen and a thief for a king. They were a duo that brought shame upon Spades. Yet, the country couldn’t have been better. From his days living on the streets, Alfred knew what funds to give to what cities and what ports to put more taxes into.

Arthur, a master in negotiations, was given the task of peacekeeping between countries. He had even managed to bargain with Ivan, the difficult ruler of the East.

In fact, it was from a meeting with the said man that the king and queen were returning from.

Arthur sighed as he leaned ungraciously against the cushioned insides of the carriage. Ivan was still as stiff as ever, but it was nothing a couple drinks couldn’t help. Or three. Or four. Or twenty. It was a good thing his newfound magic burned up the alcohol quickly. Suddenly, after being out from the scrutiny of others, Arthur remembered the jabbing pains against his ribs. Damn corsets. Quickly, he shed the coat and shirts he wore.

“Alfred,” he singsonged. “Be a dear and unlace me will you? I would, but you know I can’t move in these blasted abominations.”

Alfred, who had been sitting and waiting patiently in the carriage the entire time, leaned over to help him. The first freed lace felt like a boulder was lifted off of Arthur’s chest.

“So how’d it go?” Alfred asked.

“As it usually does,” Arthur replied, breathing a bit deeper the farther down Alfred went. “It’s Ivan. If I can count on one thing, it’s that he never changes.”

“You know what I meant, did he threaten war or --ah, I got it!” With an accomplished smile, Alfred peeled away the corset that hid Arthur’s natural and familiar shape. Along with the corset, two small daggers and a relatively decent sized knife tumbled to the floor.

“What?” Arthur asked, after seeing Alfred’s stunned face.

“That’s not safe at all, Arthur!” Alfred worried about his reckless husband, sometimes. Just think, if one of those daggers had shifted…

“You’re one to talk, love,” Arthur laughed. “Don’t tell me you haven’t hidden weapons under your breeches.”

Alfred had, he’d give him that. “Fair enough. Just, promise to be careful how you place them?”

“Why darling,” Arthur smiled, running a hand over Alfred’s shoulder, “If I was careful, I wouldn’t have loved you.” Arthur leaned in close, so close that Alfred could feel each new rebirthed breath against his skin. Alfred felt Arthur’s beautiful smile pressed against his lips, gentle like a lapping wave. The bitterness of some sort of berry wine was fresh in his mouth.  

“I suppose that makes two of us, charming Highness,” Alfred mumbled. He was slipping into the security of Arthur, in his hands that had always been softly covered in calluses. In Arthur’s smell, something like old parchment, stamps, and warm, herby magic. In Arthur’s eyes, a reflective pool of green that seemed electric with life. Until Arthur, precious, warm, Arthur, pulled away.

Alfred, of course, whined and tried to go back to some sort of embrace. But Arthur was redressing and thinking, his corset abandoned on the floors of the carriage. Alfred could tell Arthur was worried by the way his smile grew thin and his eyes glittered with intensity.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Arthur looked perplexed. It was clear his magic was restless, their bond through the spade mark made it certain.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “Maybe I’m just overreacting. My magic always acts up when we leave the borders.”

Alfred furrowed his brows. Overreacting or not, they still needed to be careful. “Are you sure, Arthur? Because if it’s something--”.

“No, no, I’m probably just picking up Ivan’s magic. He lets loose when he drinks.” Or so that was what Arthur said. He chose to ignore the voice that screamed somewhere in the corners of his mind that Ivan’s magic would’ve been undetectable for miles. But it seemed to have calmed Alfred, so he allowed it.

“Alright, I believe you, darling.”

Arthur scoffed. “As you should.” With a mischievous glint to his eyes, he added, “Now, I believe you were in the middle of ravishing me?”

Alfred happily--and practically--leaped back onto Arthur, showering him with kisses and fleeting touches. Arthur almost purred from the treatment.

“Are you gonna be ok for the knighting ceremony tomorrow?” Alfred asked, cupping Arthur’s face in his hands.

Arthur stilled at the question, knowing well that his old comrades would be seeing him for the first time in months. Shaking the doubt away, he held Alfred’s hand gently, squeezing it a little for reassurance. “I’ll be just fine, love. That’s for me to worry about, anyway. What you need to be concerned about is the meeting with Ludwig tomorrow.”

Alfred physically slouched. “Can’t you do that, Arthur?” he whined.

“We made a deal, Alfred,” he reminded. “I take Ivan tonight and you take Ludwig whenever he calls.” “But Artie, he’s boring!” Alfred groaned, sinking further into the carriage cushions.

As if being royalty didn’t mean piles of “boring” paperwork mound after boring paperwork mound. Most of which Arthur was in charge of. Alfred wasn’t really the reading type.

“I don’t understand why you can’t be king,” Alfred grumbled. “You’d be great for Spades. They’d love you.”

Arthur sighed. They had gone over this a thousand times at least. “Spades needs both of us to survive.” He took both of Alfred’s hands in his, letting his thumb trace small circles onto them. “And that’s just not my place as queen.”

Alfred kissed him on the lips, softly. It was a precious fleeting warmth. “Why? Wouldn’t they be satisfied?” Alfred mumbled.

Arthur rolled his eyes, amused as usual by his king’s antics. “The people barely love me as the queen, and you think they’d accept me as king?”

“Who says they hate you?” he asked.

“Alfred dear,” he sighed, “You should know by now that queens are made to appease the people, and I’ve never even been good at appeasing. They have a right to be upset.”

Alfred smiled a devious little smile. “I wouldn’t say that. I was pretty ‘appeased’ last night.”

“How vulgar.” But Arthur smiled and laughed all the same. “You’re a lovely king, darling. Don’t doubt yourself.” He kissed Alfred briefly, it was just a peck, really. Alfred cherished it all the same.

And then their carriage shuddered to an unnatural halt.

Alfred, confused, called to the carriage driver. “What’s the meaning of thi--?” Arthur clamped a hand over his mouth, his intense green eyes telling Alfred not to make a sound.

They listened as the barely audible crunches of boots surrounded them. Alfred reached for a sword he managed to smuggle under a loose board. Arthur let go of Alfred and picked up both of his corset daggers.    

They stilled when the carriage door handle turned ever so slightly. Arthur darted his eyes at Alfred’s, nodding toward the door. In three seconds flat, Alfred kicked door back. A slam told them that someone had definitely been knocked out. They leaped out of the carriage, confirming that they were surrounded. The assassins were covered in black fabric--even their faces--except for one detail. On each chest, a patterned number of spade symbols were painted. There seemed to be ten of them in all, including the one groaning by the carriage.

“Who sent you?” Alfred yelled.

They were silent, almost inhumanely silent. One man with the three of spades finally spoke. “Your people.”

Alfred didn’t get the chance to shout or really react. The circle moved in on them, dangerously slashing the air around them.

“You take the left and I’ll take the right,” Arthur said, throwing his daggers into the closest men.

Alfred took off at the command, slashing at the limbs of those closest to him. When a four of spades came close, he sent a small blue flame at him. Though his magic couldn’t rival Arthur’s, Alfred was decent at small bursts.    

Speaking of, Arthur immediately called his magic after discarding his daggers. It snaked through the air, crackling and hissing like a live bolt of lightning. Quickly, it wove and settled just barely above Arthur’s fingertips. They were essentially daggers made of his soul that waited for a chance to slash and sting and cut. Better than any corset dagger, that’s for damn sure. The earth shook as Arthur pulled up roots using his magic to pull and ensnare the assassins with. If Alfred hadn’t been married to him, Arthur would’ve looked pretty damn menacing.  

Alfred only looked away for a second. He nailed an assassin in the back, and spun to see Arthur absolutely decimating more than their agreed “half”. It was the most alive he’d seen Arthur in days. He was just so...confident, so relaxed. One more ripple of thorns and plunge of a sword and Arthur had finished off the last of them. Alfred had run up to him, excitement on his tongue and love in his heart. Alfred practically crashed into Arthur, swords clanging together and rejoicing their reunion. He ran his free gloved hand over Arthur’s face, checking for deep cuts or burns.

“I’m fine,” Arthur sighed. But under that sigh, he still held the wonderful perfume of fondness and relief.

“I just wanna check,” Alfred reassured him. “I need to see that you’re in one piece, I’d rip them a new one if, I swear to Spades---”

Arthur hushed him and kissed the space between his eyelid and brow. “You’ll take down an entire kingdom with your temper,” he chuckled.

“I’d do it if it was for you, my Highness.” Alfred kissed the bridge of Arthur’s nose, feeling the warm exhale against his neck.

“I love you so much, Alfred.”

And that was all he’d ever say of that.    

When Alfred and Arthur were enraptured in each other’s eyes and beating hearts, one assassin--he had five white spades painted across his chest--mustered up what strength he had left to plunge his sword deep into Arthur. It cut under the bone of his shoulder blade, past his clothes, and eventually poked out from his chest. The sound it made was sickly, somewhere between a crunch and a wet snap. The assassin twisted the blade and yanked it out. The entire scene took less than a minute.

Arthur looked up at Alfred, fear in his eyes and blood dripping from his chest. The world stood still.  

“Al--?” But Arthur had trouble saying that. He fell. Alfred grabbed for him, setting Arthur down as soft as he could. Arthur choked on the blood that welled up in his lungs.

He was scared, Spades was he scared.

Arthur dry heaved--no, it crackled too much to be a dry heave. Arthur gasped for air, drowning in an ocean of his own lifeline. His eyes were wild, looking everywhere and nowhere, refusing to make contact with Alfred’s equally frightened ones.

“Artie, you’re going to be ok. You’re going to be ok, I’m sure we’ll get help soon.”

But Arthur never said a thing. He continued gasping and tearing his throat up with the gargled sounds he made. Arthur didn’t seem to feel the gentle hands against his face, holding, feeling, loving him.  

“Artie, Artie, please don’t leave,” Alfred cried. “I’m not--I can’t be a king without you.”

Arthur’s eyes were weary, and the ground around him was slick with his blood. He held Alfred’s gaze for a second, maybe even two. Alfred held onto it, almost like a sign, kissing Arthur’s still warm lips. Alfred’s lips turned sickly bitter, coated with oily blood. He didn’t care. Alfred could taste the tang of blood in his mouth. He didn’t care. Arthur’s fluttering lashes tickled his cheeks. He didn’t care.  

“Al?” he managed to whisper against Alfred’s lips. “ ‘M scared.”

Alfred held him, gripped the sides of Arthur’s sleeves until his knuckles turned white. “Don’t be, I’ve got you.” Alfred tried to smile, he tried so badly to sound brave. But then Arthur exhaled softly, so softly Alfred almost missed it. It was a relinquishing breath, the kind of breath that only gave and never took.

“Arthur?” Alfred squeaked.

Arthur never breathed again.

A fury bubbled up in Alfred, an all-consuming blind fury. He lunged at the barely standing assassin with his sword. They didn’t move as Alfred, snarling and pained, raised his sword. In one wide arc, Alfred severed the assassin’s head. It went tumbling onto the forest leaves, slicking the ground with gore. Alfred turned to dare an enemy to stand, he dared them to even consider living after the example he set. To his slight disappointment, not a single one moved. He was in a forest of death.

With no more men to kill, Alfred wandered back to Arthur like a battered ship to a lighthouse.

Arthur’s unblinking eyes stared at the sky, almost as if he was asking it a question. His lips were still slightly parted, almost like he was on the verge of speaking his mind. Yet Arthur still looked so pained, even in death.

Alfred couldn’t help but fall to his knees, hands shaking as he brushed some of Arthur’s fringe from those dulled unblinking eyes.

“My highness, my dear highness,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

He cried as he held Arthur’s stiffening body. He cried knowing that it was the people who had done this, people who should have cared more than anything about Arthur. In some cruel and twisted away, Alfred thought it was fitting that only he loved Arthur best.

It hit Alfred that he couldn’t go back to the kingdom now. He didn’t want to lead a kingdom that only took from him, and he doubted that the people of Spades wanted him anyways.

After picking himself up, Alfred dried his eyes. He took a few minutes to pick some wildflowers and gathered them into a bouquet. Even if Spades didn’t care for Arthur, Alfred knew he deserved a respectable sendoff.

As he shoveled dirt with his hands, Alfred numbly thought of Arthur. That laugh, the one that was just barely one note above a snicker. His gentle voice, the one he only used for Alfred. The last kiss they shared and the warmth of his lips against Alfred’s.

It was never the crown that had made Alfred king. The magic had chosen him for the role, but Arthur was the one that molded him into a fitting king. Arthur who encouraged, Arthur who believed his abilities before anyone else. Arthur who had led and reassured him every step of the way. Alfred didn’t know how he would live a life without him.

So Alfred left sword, crown, and queen buried deep in the earth, spending his days as a wanderer wallowing in his grief.