Dearest Diary
pairing: leanderxMC word count: 2.7k rating: sfw tags: petty crime as foreplay, emotional manipulation, leander is mansplain/manipulate/malewife-ing his way through it, non-consensual drug use summary: Leander has meticulously cultivated his princely reputation, as the leader of the Adderstone and as the perfect partner, using every tool at his disposal to ensure that he maintains his place. He told himself that breaking into the Little Mage's rooms to read her journal was only a matter of strategy, reconnaissance, a one-time effort to ensure he was on the right track, but as time went on, he found himself relying heavily on his ink-and-parchment informant, weaving himself perfectly into her world. He returns once again, needing just one more glimpse and finds somewhat more than he bargained for.. read on ao3->
Leander knelt on the uneven floor of the upstairs of the Wick, eyes half lidded. A supplicant in prayer at a shrine to his patron goddess. He licked his lips in anticipation, letting his fingertips dance across the smooth surface before him as he planned his approach. His shaking hands dropped to his waist and he breathed deeply, steadying himself before retrieving a small vial of oil and a nondescript roll of leather from a pocket of his coat. Dipping a finger into the vial, he coated a long finger in oil and raised it, the torchlight catching his hand and briefly turning his fingers to molten gold.
"Stay quiet for me" he breathed, prayer-silent in the dark.
A glistening thread of oil dripped from fingertip to the waiting opening below. He smoothed the errant droplet towards the entrance, working it deep inside. He worked slowly, despite his eagerness, fingers pumping in and out, swirling deftly. Each whisper and tiny sound that followed his dancing fingertips was like a symphony, bringing him closer and closer to—
The lock clicked.
The door swung silently open on its well-oiled hinges, granting him entry. He rolled back on his heels, his greatcoat a pooling shadow behind him. He grinned to himself and ran a hand through his hair, huffing out a humorless laugh as the bangs immediately fell back into his eyes. A new record.
True, he noted internally, he could have probably picked this lock with magic in a single moment, but lock-picking was much more fun and he was nothing if not committed to the principle of the thing.
The owner should really fix these flimsy locks, he thought to himself, slipping silently into the room. It would be all too easy for someone to take advantage.
—
At first, he'd told himself that it was purely a matter of strategy. An essential component of the effort to get to know the new stranger that he had let into his home. He'd been fascinated with this new toy and only wanted to ensure that he was able to avoid any unfortunate errors that often arose in the early stages of a new relationship. He'd entered the room on the first occasion much more cautiously, simply planning on leafing through her things, maybe memorizing some titles of books or learning a few interests that he could weave into conversations later. As a sign of their deep connection, of course.
What an absolute gift it had been for him when, nestled in the stack of books piled by her bedside, he'd located a small, tattered journal. He had lifted it cautiously and flipped through the pages with a delicacy bordering on reverence. Inside had been a treasure trove of her innermost thoughts, dreams, and tiny wishes for her life in Eridia. He'd stood there stupidly in the center of the room for far too long, hungrily poring over each page, looking for ways to demonstrate the depth of his devotion. His eyes had landed on an early entry, scribbled in messy, carefree handwriting.
Eridia 4 Although the city is nothing like what I had imagined, I feel more at home at the Wet Wick (what a name!) each day. It's completely unlike my old home, loud and rowdy and always slightly sticky. But I have my own room and I feel safe here. I wish the blankets in these rooms were thicker to help keep out the chill on these cool nights. (She'd crossed this last line out emphatically, nearly tearing through the notebook page) NO. I won't impose on Leander. He is so kind to me and I already could never repay him for all he has already given me. I couldn't bear to ask for more.
"I could never repay him" she'd written. "Kindness" she'd called it! He'd practically preened at the assessment.
He'd grinned wolfishly at her innocence, mind already working overtime at ways to best embody the prince she had chosen to see in him. The next morning he had made sure she awoke to a polite knock on the door and a set of beautiful, thick wool blankets in the doorway. "Simply updating the bedding. Hope you enjoy - L" he'd scrawled. Spellwork stitched into the blankets made sure that each night her dreams were sweeter, scented with lilies, and always lit with the glow of a full moon.
He'd nearly choked when she came running down the stairs that morning, pulling him into a tight hug and thanking him profusely for the gift. Her eyes had shone with such innocent joy that he was momentarily at a loss for words. Perhaps if it hadn't worked so well, he wouldn't have gone back every few days, picking the flimsy lock and returning to the wellspring of inner thoughts for any indication of an unmet need or unfulfilled desire.
One one occasion, he'd been sure to bring a scalpel to lift the endpaper enough to etch a small location sigil into the cover of the book before gluing the paper back with a simple mending spell. The location sigil would keep the book from getting lost, ensuring it was always within reach when she looked for it. A secret gift for her, he'd told himself, since her room was typically such a mess.
The fact that it would also make it impossible to hide it from him was only a small boon in return for helping her always be able to find her journal.
—
Tonight, he walked boldly into the empty room, knowing that the sigils he had placed on the doorframe had gone cold an hour ago. Based on the little mage's habits, she would be busy at that dingy clinic with the self-righteous doctor for at least three more hours. He calmly walked through the room, stepping over discarded clothing, books, and scrunched parchment.
His coat swirled around his calves as he narrowly avoided knocking over a number of small vials of unidentifiable concoctions. A small bundle of herbs tumbled to the floor from a pile and let out a puff of dust.
Shit.
He waved a hand and verdant light gently lifted them back to their rightful place. A shimmer of green light glittered behind his pupils as he scanned the mess before him, looking for the telltale tendrils of his spellwork.
__
With each page he brought to life, she had fallen deeper under his spell, repaying his efforts in tearful smiles, stolen moments, and, most precious of all, freely given details about her inner world unbound by the pages of her journal. She told him tales of her old life, sang songs from her childhood, and whispered small thoughts to him in the evenings when they found quiet moments to be alone on the balcony of the Wick, staring out at the flickering constellations of lamplight of the city around them.
Eridia 19- [He skimmed past several lines about an overwhelming desire to pet a fox. Some wishes cannot be granted, even by him.] …a bakery in high town with the most heavenly pastries I've ever tried. As delicious as they were, they don't compare to the walnut cakes from the little stall in the village during harvest season. I wonder if Leander would lend me the kitchen in the Wick to bake someday. I doubt he would be interested in baking. He seems to be much more focused on bartending…
He'd been careful to avoid arousing suspicion, not wanting to lose access to this perfect window into her soul. Armed with the knowledge of this fabled walnut cake, he had woven his love of sweets into the conversation and asked her about her own favorites.
The following morning, he had gone to nearly every bakery in the city and pulled in a number of favors to secure a recipe. She entered the main bar in the late afternoon and found it empty, save for a few determined Adder regulars. As he had planned, she followed the wafting smell of warm, sweet almond and the sound of humming to the kitchen. He had pretended not to hear her as she entered, busying himself with placing the small cakes on a plate to cool.
She had said something teasing about him being "so domestic" and grinned at him in a way that made his mouth go dry. She'd stepped back, back pressing into the countertop, chin tilted teasingly upward at him as he had turned and leaned into her, offering her a cake. He wanted to kiss her delicately fluttering lashes as she savored the flavor. Instead, he'd stood transfixed heat rising in his ears as his eyes lingered on the crumbs clinging to her lower lip.
She'd stared up at him in wide-eyed shock, lips parted in a silent "oh" as she recognized the flavor. He had been careful to make the cake nearly identical to her memories save for "mistakenly" swapping walnuts for almonds.
How forlorn he must have looked when she informed him of the error! Her knight-in-shining-frilly-apron, so distraught at his error. He had practically begged her to let him try again, with walnuts this time, and invited her to help him revise the recipe.
As planned, she'd spent the next several afternoons by his side, taste-testing recipes and trading stories about their lives in the city.
He'd replayed that day in his mind countless times since, drinking in the warmth in her eyes as they planned to revise the recipe. He grasped the feeling of victory with bone-white knuckles, ignoring the small, incessant twinge of fear that lurked in the edges that whispered that he owed too much of her newfound devotion to his ink and parchment informant.
__
He continued his search of the room, eyes catching on flickers of his spellwork scattered through the room: blankets with charms to ensure sweet dreams of him, a warm scarf to keep out the chill (and send that chill to any eyes that lingered too long), a pair of delicate lily-shaped earrings that would alert him when she was nearly home. His brow furrowed slightly at the realization that she wasn't wearing the earrings today. Had she grown tired of them?
The thought stopped him dead in his tracks.
The skin on the back of his neck crawled. He'd been working so hard. He'd been perfect. Was it possible she didn't like them anymore? Copper taste bloomed across his palatte. He pressed a hand to his lip to stop himself from chewing the already ragged spot. He could have sworn he'd broken himself of the habit years ago, but somehow, thinking about her outgrowing his gift brought it back. He needed to be better.
He had worked so hard.
Fingernails digging into his palm brought him back to himself, eyes locking on a tell-tale thread in a precarious stack of books, papers, plates that she insisted she had not taken upstairs, and- was that an ENTIRE root system preserved in that jar? He would know soon enough.
He plucked the journal from its cluttered tomb with a flourish and settled himself on her bed. A scatter of pillows, blankets, and somehow more clutter covered the surface. A sweet floral cloud enveloped him as the mattress dipped beneath his weight. His eyes fixed on the drying herbs hanging from every available spot she could reach, turning the ceiling into an upside-down forest.
He began to flip through the pages, inhaling deeply as he stretched his long legs out. This sweet herbacious cloud was a sign of his continued success. That he was right where he needed to be.
In his element.
The top scholar in the College of the Little Mage.
—
Eridia 32- The days grow longer and the nights are shorter. I can feel a warm breeze on the horizon. I feel perfectly at home here, with the Adders, with him. I think I could make a life for myself here, but I find myself missing my herb garden. I've found a few medicinal plants here and there, but what I wouldn't give to be back in my old garden, hands covered in dirt. I wonder if I could use that barren patch near the back door to plan some seeds… [The next several pages were covered in sketches of plants, doodles, and illegible field notes]
He'd had to offer his favorite sullen part-timer double their going rate to search for the perfect spot to enact this plan, plus a bonus to ensure that he would not be disturbed during their visit. He simply needed to wait and craft his perfect opportunity.
The rosy sky overhead had painted lowtown warm and pink as he led her along the uneven cobblestones that morning. They meandered seemingly aimlessly as he enthusiastically nodded along while she chatted about her plans and hopes for the day. He'd walked the route several times the evening prior, ensuring the best view of the overgrown archway that hid his gift.
He'd led her by the hand into into the archway and pulled her close to his chest, large hands covering her eyes as he whispered in her ear. She'd giggled as his breath tickled against her skin, a blush creeping up her neck.
One she was in place in the spot he had determined would make the maximum impact, he'd revealed his gift with a flourish: A beautiful, if somewhat overgrown garden, left behind by a former herbalist who had long since died.
He basked, sun-warmed by her praise as she moved among the flowers. She'd pulled shears, twine, and sample bags from her pockets and began flitting about, taking cuttings and giddily calling out the names of each herb to him.
—
As he lay there, enveloped in the scent of drying flowers, something about the memory of that day caught him, like a tongue running over a missing tooth. He couldn't shake the creeping sense of wrongness.
…how had she known to bring shears?
A delicate pressed flower of a plant who's name she'd likely tried to teach him that day tumbled out from where it had marked the start of the most recent entry. He willed his trembling hands to move carefully as he tucked it between the pages for safekeeping.
Eridia - 37 I've spent the past few days working on brewing a number of new concoctions from the herbs I harvested that day in the garden. Many of them have dried beautifully and my room now smells like home. Leander is so wonderfully obliging that I often wonder what I have done to earn myself such a lovely guardian angel (hm, perhaps Kuras would take offense to that comparison), friend landlord (???) person in my life. He somehow knows my every need and has given me so much. Even now, I'm sitting in this room, wrapped in a blanket that smells like him. Excellent spellwork, by the way. Olfactory memory is quite deeply linked to emotion so the smell of lillies was a well-played way of making me think of him while I sleep.
He blinked slowly, thoughts slipping between one another.
How had she known to bring shears?
Sluggish fragments of memories slowly coalesced as he struggled to fit pieces into place. She'd named herbs that day, and their applications. Sleep, relaxation, paralysis…she'd even mentioned a desire to try a new type of preparation to aerosolize them, make them available for patients at the clinic to simply breathe in and relax before a procedure.
His limbs felt heavy.
Thoughts slowed like-
...li-
...hm...
…what was he doing?
He forced his eyes downward, back toward the page.
I love how attentive he has been to me these past few weeks. …But I can't say for certain if his affections are genuine or more of his games. He thinks I don't see how well he plays against the Adders. I have become a grandmaster in my own right, following his lead and guiding his attentions to where I need them. It pains my heart to consider that he might ever grow tired of our matches. So I've decided to flip the board. Steal the pieces and keep them for myself. I hope he will forgive me for this. For my selfish desire to make him stay. I fear I may be in love with him, dear diary. I love his smile, his annoying jokes. I love his devotion to those of us who are devoted to him. I love the games he doesn't know he's playing. …and I love that he thinks I don't know how to hide a journal.
Notes:
My Secret Santa gift for the lovely Hanya~! The MC in this story is veeeeery loosely based on Hanya's beautiful MC, Asuli, an Alchemist with a particular love of potions and plants. I don't know if sweet Asuli is quite as scheming as the MC in this story turned out to be, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same. Also, hey Reader, if you're worried about Leander, don't be. That man's EXACTLY where he wants to be. This is a Freak4Freak situation, okay? Okay. Plus he has like, magic or whatever and could get outta there whenever he wants. He's fiiiiiiiiiine. This is enrichment in his enclosure.
