Eden ♡ @eden1412 - Tumblr Blog

Distant, Carved Blade Memory (Platonic Yandere Princes)

This is the longest thing I've wrote in a while, and it was really fun to just write something for myself. I'm not sure if anyone will really like/read this, but if you do I hope you enjoy it.

Word Count: 9324

Platonic Yandere Princes

---

“State your name and purpose, outsider”

Outsider. The word rang true no matter where you went. You were an outsider.

You stare and the men in front of you with an unwavering disposition, you will not be intimated by the Princes of this realm. Basked in a hue of green that looks nearly unnatural, the sun peaks through the large foliage above, shading you from the harsh rays that threaten to break free any moment. Yet, the sun is the least of your worries, the Prince's duel stares burning through you enough. The two, seated on twin thrones, are dressed in garbs that look unfamiliar to you, not that you would be able to recognize much from this unfamiliar realm.

A time passes before you state your name, “I’m a traveler from beyond this land, wishing to make passage through this grand forest. I mean no harm.” The language on your tongue felt foreign and unfamiliar, every syllable tumbling out of your mouth like stones. More unfamiliar was the flattery, waxing praises like it was your last hope, though it was in many ways. You did not get the impression that these two were necessarily kind to visitors, nor did they appreciate your unwanted welcome into the land they called home.

Through the whispers and mummers from the creatures around you, the name of this lush forest is Verdania, and the two in front of you were duel rulers. You didn’t particularly get ruthless leaders from the men interrogating you, their features too soft and their land too pristine. In your short time of travel, you’ve seen manly lands, some strong, some weak. What you know for sure, their rulers are a reflection of their Kingdom's nature, and these, from your short observation, are not strong rulers. Though perhaps they could sense your resolute nature, as one stands from his throne, his robes and jewelry flowing behind him as he stood. His face was unmoving as kept his eyes on you.

“Many of your kind do not come here.” He speaks, his voice surprisingly deep. “If you’d like to remain, you best understand this, foreigner.” Foreigner, stranger, outsider, none of these words bother you anymore. “You bring any harm to our land, or our people, and I will personally seek your end.” You dare not question his words, nodding silently as he reclines back in his throne, the other motioning for you to be taken away. A hand, more claw than hand, drags you away, seemingly the last your will feel from the Prince's warmth filled stares.

Deep below the earth, you wondered if the creatures of this land ever felt the warmth of true sun, or if all they knew was the light filtering through the soil and crust. Traveling through this land, you scarcely remember the sun or its warmth, the days often blending together when you first arrived, the lack of any natural light preventing you from truly telling day from night. Perhaps these peculiar beings didn’t have a need for clocks or time, their lives more concerned with matters beyond your understanding. Regardless, you chose to pay it no mind, the blanket you were covered with providing you a serviceable warmth, even if it has yet to provide you true comfort in recent ages.

Retreating to a recluse edge of the Kingdom might have been a cowardly move, but it seemed the safest in a land that you were unwelcome in. The language spoken might be your second tongue, you were not naive to the words said about you. Most seemed intrigued by your unusual appearance, whispering sly comments about your tattered clothes or scared body. Many were put off by your unwelcoming nature, intimidated by your stares or strength, though you could not blame them. A strange traveler encroaching on your land would bother even you. Though you could not, however, be staggered by the pity passed around the grove. A child in an unfamiliar land, a stranger lost from home, a being, cursed and discarded. Maybe it would bother you less if there wasn’t a modicum of truth to the words, the creatures seemingly peering into your soul when they spoke about you. Many things about this land filled you with a sense of unease, but these creatures' perceptive nature shook you the most. Perhaps this is why you gravitate towards traveling from place to place, desperate for something but too much of a coward to understand what. Your body shivers, a breeze passing over you as you pull the blanket higher up your body. Refusing to humor your thoughts any further, you accept the cold as a part of you, and leave the depths of your psyche to the unknowable.

“Child, you appear to be cold.” A voice, soft and serene, echoes from above you, your sight blocked by your tent, which was a rag to most. Despite the blockade, you could recognize the Prince, the air around him being something you’ve never experienced before. The term “princely” always seemed strange to you, but as you felt the space around him shift and move as he knelt to see you fully, your words choked up and you wondered why he was kneeling, for Princes do not kneel.

“Why do you retreat to the edge of the Kingdom when we welcomed you in?” This was not the Prince who intimidated you previously, this one gentle in his voice and overall nature. While the Princes appeared similar, up close you could see their differences. The one across from you has shorter hair, light and wispy, daring you to reach out and touch. His build was much smaller as well, though you could tell he was not one to be threatened, if his unwavering gaze meant anything to his bravery. As he stared at you longer, you realized that he was awaiting a response, and you finally allowed yourself to relax slightly.

“Your partner’s welcome seemed less than such.” You respond, slowly sitting up to face the man in front of you. Seemingly pleased by your response, he moves to sit completely on the grass below him, his carefully crafted robes surely being sullied, not that he seemed to care, shifting to move closer to you as you instinctively backed away. Almost as if it was a shield, you wrap the poor excuse of a blanket around you tighter, though the cold has seemingly escaped you.

“I would offer apologies on his behalf but I doubt they would offer any comfort.” The Prince’s words were true, you would not accept an apology from another person's mouth, not that you even expected one. The duty of a ruler often required a strength that didn’t leave room for apologies. In a strange way, it made you understand the unseen power the Princes held, their respect and leadership gained through a strength hidden below the surface, like calm waves building up into a powerful storm.

You didn’t offer a response to the Prince, choosing to remain quiet as he stared. “Idria.” He says, startling you slightly. The name, which you assumed was his, sounded strange, similar to most names you heard while in this land. “You were forced to reveal your name, I find it fair that I offer my name in return.” He smiles at you, something you would’ve found unnerving a time ago. Now, this piece of kindness fills you with another, new unfamiliar feeling.

Slowly, his clawed hand reaches out towards you, no hint of aggression seeping through him. In return, you hand inches towards him, the rest of your body still backed away from the man. As your arm stretches out, your hand is placed softly in his palm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, strange child.” He speaks, the smile never leaving his face.

“I would have said the same under different circumstances.” The look of understanding crosses the Prince’s face. His hand, which now holds yours, is strangely gentle, something you haven’t felt in ages. Your body is nearly frozen as you feel the grooves and edges of his palm, his fingers slightly coiling around yours as you toil away in your own mind.

“It’s our duty to keep this land safe.” His voice carried a level of reverence that marked the truth of his words. It was clear, his land meant much to him, important to him and his partner. “While it’s not desirable, what we do, we do out of necessity. Perhaps we could’ve been more kind.” His words aren’t inherently quilt filled, but instead more curious, like he didn’t even think of kindness when first seeing you. That didn’t necessarily reassure you, but it wasn’t surprising. Many during your travels did not offer you kindness, and you did not expect these rulers to be the first. But even so, his hand feels so warm and gentle. His palm, filled with blisters and scars, was still radiating a warmth that traveled up your arm and into your chest. This warmth, this comfort, if it was not kindness, then you didn’t know what was.

“It is fine.” You rip your hand away too quickly to not make an impact. The Prince recoils slightly, his hand retreating back to his side, and for a moment shock crosses his face. But as quickly as it came, his expression was replaced with something more neutral. “Your partner’s claim was correct, I am an outsider.” Your voice was quiet for a moment, the short warmth that was gone in a moment leaving you feeling hollow. “I am not owed anything.”

“Kindess is not a debt that needs to be paid, it is a basic right.” You felt a piece of yourself nearly choke up, surprised by the Prince's words. What ruler would tell an outsider that they were deserving of kindness? What ruler would offer hope to someone undeserving? Unwanted memories trickle back up into your mind in groves, leaving home, fending for yourself, living replaced with surviving, no room for kindness in the world of your mind.

You push everything away, keeping yourself grounded in the present, a place you did not wish to be in. “You are a poor excuse for a ruler, Prince Idria” You find yourself dawning a small smile, not completely knowing where the words came from.

The Prince smiled, either at his name or at your words. “And why am I a poor ruler, strange child?”

“No ruler would welcome an outsider such as myself.”

“Then I am not a mere ruler.” His answer came quick, nearly as quick as his hands which grasped yours. Reaching over towards you, he pulls your hands in his direction, causing your upper body to nearly topple over as you’re brought closer to him. “I will offer you as much kindness as I see fit.” His smile was bright, a stark contrast to your confused expression. “Starting with the hovel you call a tent.” His eyes scan your soundings, looking almost disgusted at your set up, though you could be confusing disgust with concern.

“My tent is perfectly serviceable.” That was mostly a lie, it barely counted as a tent. Made up of sticks and a cheap rag of a blanket, you chose to prioritize movement over comfort. Anything more would make traveling impossible. Despite the holes and tattered edges and thinned frame, you’ve learned to make due with what you have.

“Your tent is falling apart at the seams.” His retort makes you pout, his giggle only increasing your frustration.

“I am fine.” Your hands were yours once more, crossing them in a feeble attempt to preserve warmth.

“You’ve said that twice now and yet I’m still not convinced.” There was a playful edge to his voice. He was having fun, finding your frustration humorous. His smile was just as beautiful as it was aggravating, worsened by the knowledge that he was supposed to be ruling, not sitting in the dirt with a foreigner.

“Apologies for my living conditions, my Prince.” You drone. “I’ll be sure to scrounge up something better next time.” He giggles at that too, covering up his mouth with the sleeve of his robe. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, the only sign of his age.

“Apologies are not needed, strange one.” He contains himself just enough to respond. “What you need is something that won't blow away in the wind.” He gestures to your tent once more, and you choose to bite your tongue.

“I am glad to have met you, (y/n).” He pays no mind to your silence, standing casually after he speaks. As he rises, you realize how much time has passed. The false light no longer peaks through the leaves, replaced with a dark essence that dances across the vast forest. Quiet surrounds you as you realize that you’ve been “conversating” with the prince for much too long, making your face heat up in embarrassment.

“I will not take up any more of your time, my Prince.” You say, backing into your tent more as the Prince smiles down at you. “And I too will do the same.” He bows slightly, nothing too extreme, but still an unfamiliar gesture. “Maybe I'll return tomorrow and bless you with proper coverage.”

You groan, regretting ever even desiring the kindness of such an annoying man.

“Perhaps, my Prince.”

Time passes in this land like a crawl, partially due to your inability to tell any time, but also because you were always passing through a place. When you never truly settle, you never truly adjust. No doubt you would find life much easier if you remained stagnant for a time, but patience was never in your nature. As soon as you feel your body easing and your mind becoming unconcerned with survival is when you know you’ve overstayed your welcome. Perhaps this is why you’ve resorted to remaining at the edge of this lush Kingdom, cowardly hiding yourself away in order to not get too comfortable, refusing to be romanced by the rest of average society.

That’s why, in moments like these, you choose to focus on your blade, dedicating all that you can to its edge and craft. In many ways, it is the most beautiful thing you own, one of your last memories of home, carved with letters and words you no longer recognize. One of these such words being your name, only recognizable in its birthed language by length and delicacy of the carving. The blade, which has been with you since your birth, has aged with time, the blade not as sharp and the reflection dulled. Nonetheless, you treasure it dearly, a piece of you that will never leave. Even after it corrodes to dust and no longer strikes anything down, you will not bring yourself to part from it, even if you must carry around the broken pieces wherever you go.

“I did not take you for a connoisseur of blades, strange child.” From behind you, the Prince speaks, standing tall with something in his hands, wrapped and held gently under his arm. You don’t waste any time examining further, continuing to polish the blade carefully. The ruler does not back down, stepping towards you quietly as he peers over your shoulder. “The blade is beautiful, but old.” He speaks truthfully. “Where did you procure it?”

“My home.” The answer felt almost heavy on your tongue, the weight of your words leaving a lingering effect. “A gift from my birth.”

The man sits next to you, his arm brushing yours slightly as he looks closer. You can see his reflection in the pond you’re sitting near, his eyes locked on the blade with an expression too soft for such an old weapon.

“A beautiful gift for such a joyous occasion.” His words were not soft like his expression, but were instead masked in something deeper, just out of your reach. Maybe you were less of a coward than you thought, because you chose to dig deeper.

“Are you well versed in blades, Prince Idria?” You look at him to find he has shifted his gaze towards you. His head tilts for a second, his face becoming neutral as he examines your own face in turn.

“Yes, any ruler should be.” He says, looking out towards the pond. The water was clear, so clear you could almost see to the bottom if you focused hard enough. Leaves and dirt decorated the bottom along with small fish who swam beneath the surface. “In fact the blade I use now was gifted to me here.” His voice was now delicate, airy and light as he spoke. “Gifted to me by love, he made it himself. He took me here and pushed the blade in my hands like something to be embarrassed by. Looking back on it, he had no reason to be so fearful, for I would have accepted anything he gave me.” The words were spoken with a level of reverence unfamiliar to you. To love someone so much the air and space around you begins to slow, making room for the affection you carried, it was yet something you’ve experienced yourself. The Prince had a way of making you feel longing for things you never once cared about, kindness, love, a blanket without holes, it was frustrating.

“You speak highly of him, your lover.” You say, not necessarily to him, but simply to the air.

“Of course I do, he means more to me than anything else in this world.” He smiles. “Do you have someone to call your own?”

You nearly roll your eyes. “If you mean a lover, then no.” How would you even be able to love when you’re so dedicated to travel?

He smiles even more, strange and wide. “And a family, do you plan on returning to one.”

You eye him slightly “I have no family to return to.” Worlds nearly caught in your throat, you choke them out, regretting even entertaining this conversation.

“A pity, every child should have a home.”

“I am no mere child.”

You could tell that the Prince was satisfied with the response, the face in the reflection being that of understanding. There was no pity you could sense from him, which strangely made this entire ordeal easier for you.

A moment passes in silence, the Prince starting at the large pond and you polishing your blade. The silence was not unwelcome, in fact you embraced it as you stewed in your own thoughts. Mayhaps the Prince didn’t have any real duties, reaping the rewards of a Kingdom so peaceful. Or he simply persuaded his lover ruler in doing the work for him so he could converse with you. The mere thought made you almost smile, pushing it down as you applied more polish.

“I nearly forgot.” The Prince speaks up after a time, moving to grab the item he arrived with. “I have a gift for you, strange child.”

You did not like gifts, especially those from Princes. Gifts meant you were indebted to whoever was “kind” enough to bless you with said gift. You eye him carefully as he passes you something wrapped in a white cloth, a string made of rope tying it all together. He places it on your lap, encouraging you expectantly. “Go ahead, open it.”

Untying the string, the cloth unfurls to reveal a beautiful blanket, green like the leaves of the Kingdom. You wonder if it was dyed using those same leaves, or if it was made in another strange way. You’ve learned that the people of this land were very resourceful, often creating such wonderful things you’ve never dreamt of before. In your examination of the piece, you’ve only now recognized the purpose of such an item.

“My tent bothered you that much?” The Prince laughs at your question.

“Bothered is not the right word; I was filled with concern.” You highly doubt that. “What if your tent flew away in the wind, where would you sleep then?

“I’d take it as a sign to find a place with less wind.” You say, straightforward, only making the Prince laugh more.

“You sound a lot like him, my dear Andora.” He says as he breaks out of his laughter. “I think he would like you very much.” You feel yourself recoil at the words.

“The last we spoke he was threatening to “seek my end.”” You recall, getting a soft wince from the man.

“You said it yourself, no true ruler would be welcoming to outsiders.” He speaks excuses for his lover's words. “He must make up where I falter.”

“And where did you falter, exactly.”

He moves once more, gaze drifting back to the pond, “I faltered with you, strange one.”

Staring at your blurry reflection in the blade, you find yourself too afraid to process his words. For the short time you’ve been here, you’ve found yourself questioning the Prince's intentions more and more. You’ve never met someone who’s taken such an interest in you, and in many ways you were just as intrigued as you were filled with fear. You couldn’t find any malice or hidden meaning behind his words, which bothered you even more.

“That is your mistake alone, my Prince.” you say, avoiding your own reflection.

“I’m aware.” He looks over at you, catching your reflection in the blade. Dragging a finger down the edge, nothing breaks, which makes him frown. “Such a beautiful blade should never be this dull.” He looks at you, your eyes still away from him. “I could get it mended professionally, if you would like.”

“No.” You respond quickly. “I’m fine with it just as it is.”

The Prince looks almost disappointed, sighing quietly.

“Our people whisper about your excursions, Idria. You’re aware of that, right?” Andora follows his lover through their shared home, the halls dark, only small lights offering illumination. For Princes, their home wasn’t much; higher up than most and only somewhat larger. Balanced in the embrace of branches, there's a slight sway as soft winds outside juxtapose the chaotic nature within the walls.

“You know it is not my intention to cause a scene.” Idria weakly rebuttals, clearly not wishing to engage in the argument. He continues walking, away from the man who’s following angry beside him, retreating back to their shared room in order to hopefully find solace.

“Yet you retreat to the edge of our domain with gifts! Gifts to an outsider!” Andora yells, frustrated beyond belief. He watches in awe as Idria sits on their bed, fascinated by his ability to dodge any sort of responsibility.

“An outsider who sleeps under a hole filled sheet, who has no one to return to!” Idria rebuttals, his voice rising.

“And why does that concern us?!” Andora asks, expectantly, eying his lover with a look of both annoyance and desperation. “What duty do we have to an outsider's accommodations?!”

“It concerns us because they are in our domain, and thus we are responsible for them!” Idria shoots up, surprising his lover. “Hate them if you must but they are not the enemy you wish them to be.” Idria felt himself heave as he watched his partner back down, his breathing calming slightly. Now, the dark of their bedroom was left with two lovers, lost but understanding of each other despite it.

A moment passes where neither of them speak, the air in their home heavy and thick. The argument fills the room with a feeling that is uncommon to the both of them, anger, frustration, disappointment, a mixture of all three. Throughout their many years together, neither has purposely attempted to engage in arguments quite like this, but after the many days spent traveling to your makeshift home, feelings have bubbled up and exploded.

Andora’s mouth opened, trying to speak, but the words didn’t exactly come to him. Much unlike him, he felt himself waver slightly. “I know you desire something–something I cannot give you. There isn’t a day I do not mourn the fact. I wish, I truly do, that I could give you the companionship you desire.” Perhaps companionship wasn’t the correct term, but all others eluded Andora in this moment. “But I plead with you, do not get this child's hopes up.”

Idria takes a deep breath, uneven and nearing a sob, something Andora did not expect. In a strange act of defiance, Idria offers a smile, one that wavers at the edges and juxtaposes the tears in his eyes. The man looked broken, exhausted from the fighting, from the anger and rage. But even more, he was exhausted with himself.

“You should meet them.” He whispers. “I think you would really like them–” He could barely finish his words before he fell into a sob, his lover catching him, holding him to his chest as he cried. Bathed in darkness, the lovers cry together, their wishes melting into an endless cacophony. Both craved so much, yet much went unsaid out of fear of breaking the peace that they’ve carefully crafted. “I hate that I am this way” Idria mumbles, his words drowned out by his soft cries.

“What way, my love?” Andora asks quietly.

“A type of selfishness runs through me, and I desire too much.” He says, anger at his own longing clear in his voice. “I should be satisfied with your love, but I still find myself hollow still.”

Andora runs a hand through his lover’s hair in an attempt to be comforting. “You’re not at fault for your desires.” He says lovingly. “I’m at fault for my nature. I am cold and unforgiving to everyone but you and I’m driven by a jealousy that restricts you.” Idria looks up at Andora, who was already looking back at him. “I should be pleased by your happiness, and yet I’m still filled with fear.”

That makes Idria laugh, his tears already drying. “Fear for what, a child might strike me down?”

“You never know.” Andora responds, a level of seriousness in his voice that makes Idria momentarily forget his own sadness.

“They wield a sword that is as old as you, cracked at the edges even.” Idria teases, getting a huff from Andora.

“You dare insult your Prince?”

“This is the same Prince who is scared of a child.” Idria looks at the Prince with a knowing gaze.

“I’m not scared of them.” Andora exclaims, defensive. “I’m simply concerned for you.”

Idria wipes his eyes, rolling them simultaneously. “Your concern is wasted on pointless endeavors." He reassures the man next to him. “Besides, I thought you were too concerned with the whispers of our people to waste any on me.”

Andora frowns, cupping Idria’s cheek with a gentleness that was unfamiliar to him. “You know it is not like that.”

“Then what is it like?”

Andora sighs, not wishing to argue any longer. “I feel concerned–when our people are spreading baseless accusations about you. While you go frolicking with the foreigner, our people wonder what has bewitched their Prince.” Idria looks down towards the floor they were seated on. “You have duties, Idria, duties that require your presence, not just mine.”

Idria knows that he’s been neglecting his duties as a leader, knows that he’s been selfish in many ways. Even such, he cannot ignore the longing he feels when he’s with you, his heart reaching out in abject desire for something he’s craved for so long. A child, a family, he cannot fully say, but what he does know is that he’s craved this companionship for so long that he’s forgotten what he’s like without it.

But with you, he feels a sense of peace that he thought was long gone.

When you were presented to him that day, he could tell you were scared, despite the tough face you put on. Your hands shook and you jumped when touched. The fear was something that he learned to expect from outsiders, those who come to their land by accident while trying to traverse the forest. Your false bravery, however, was enough to intrigue him, pulling him towards you ever since.

He knew he was a fool for meeting with you, for taking your hands in his and feeling your chill. It made him shiver, but yet he did not find himself perturbed, pushing closer to you with the hope that you’ll do the same. When he was with you, he felt not only happiness, but also a sense of duty. He could protect you, provide for you, make you happy. Maybe what he was feeling was wishful thinking, desiring companionship from anyone who’d offer it. But he knew it was different with you. In that short meeting, he was, like his lover said, bewitched, seeking you out in a desperate attempt to fill the void inside of him. If that made him selfish, then he did not mind.

“I’ll meet with them.” Andora breaks Idria out of his thoughts. “To see if what you said is true.”

For once in this dark moment, Idria smiled wide, hugging his lover tight. “Nothing would make me happier.”

Pass the sea of green leaves, you can see the light of lanterns illuminating the homes of the strange creatures. A blue hue reflects into the forest and trickles down to you, engulfed in shadow, the light nearly reaching your feet as you teeter on breaking through the metaphorical barrier. Music and laughter comes from the same direction, telling tales of histories you do not know. The hum of strings and harps fills you with a desire endless and great, but you're paralyzed as you remember the words of the Prince. You imagine yourself paying no mind to his words, heading, head high, into the town, dancing to the unfamiliar music with glee. Perhaps someone would take your hand and dance with you and together you’d twirl away into an endless abandon, forgetting all your previous worries.

On the other hand, your attention is brought to your new tent, much more secure. The green blanket makes you nearly blend into the ground, something the princes surely thought of when gifting it to you. On more than one occasion, you’ve bumped into your humble abode, causing more than a little frustration. Even such, you've forgotten how good it feels to feel safe, to not simply manage with what you have. Though you’d never admit any of this outloud, you’re grateful for the Prince's generosity.

“Standing in such darkness is dangerous for you, creature.” You’re ripped from the sound of music as you hear the sound of someone behind you. For a moment, you would’ve thought of him the Prince, his voice similar, but there was an edge to his words that made your heart, and face, drop.

This was not the Kind Prince you knew, standing in front of you was the Prince who stared you down all that time ago. His hair was longer and face sharp, he’s dressed in darker robes than his partner, making him almost invisible. His eyes are the only thing truly visible, and they are filled with a hidden contempt that you’re only able to pick up on in certain moments.

“What are you doing here?” You say, voice low, finishing with a “My Prince” In order to keep some modicum of respect. The Prince shifts, clearly annoyed, his body ridged and still.

“My partner has visited you, has he not?” It wasn’t exactly a question, so you do not answer. “He’s taken quite an interest in you.” His smile unnerves you, not reaching his eyes, feeling more unnatural than the Kinder Prince. “I’ve come to learn what’s so interesting about you.”

“I’m not that interesting.” You say on instinct as a defence. You can still hear the music behind you, the world continuing as you feel your heart race.

“My lover would disagree.” The Prince claims.

You raise a brow at him, testing the water. “Are you jealous?” His smile drops, you’ve hit a nerve.

“You’ll watch your tone.” He states, his voice lower than before, causing you to back down.

You refuse to speak after that, facing away from the man out of defiance. You hear him move around you, the leaves crunching as he steps, moving towards you in a slow stalking. You wish it wasn’t so dark, that the lanterns shined brighter or that the false sun showed through, so that you didn’t feel so helpless in the dark. Regardless, you refused to show fear, keeping your face calm, even if your heart was racing.

“Jealously isn’t the issue, child.” The name didn’t feel right, insulting. “The issue is my lover will not end his senseless talks with you.”

“We’ve only come here twice.”

“Twice too many.” He says as he fully stands in front of you, his body tall and imposing, his face unreadable.

“And what would have me do, my Prince?” He doesn’t answer immediately, studying your face, eyes dancing across the marks and blemishes. Finally, once he’s seemingly done, he smiles once more.

“Like I said, I’d like to learn why you’re so interesting.” You suppress a grown, of course both of them had to be stubborn. Stepping away from him, the leaves crunch once more, your feet digging into the ground as you finally get away from the man, who doesn’t seem to mind that you’re further away. Silence begins to fill the dark space once more, a slow breeze blowing the leaves away from you, nothing feels right. The cold in the air travels up your arms, causing you to shiver, but the Prince looks undisturbed, eyes locked on the pond a ways away. You follow his gaze, which was just as unreadable, but you can sense a softness in him.

“He told me you gifted him a beautiful blade here.” You whisper just loud enough for him to hear. He doesn't move, but he releases a slow breath, eyes still locked on the pond.

“Yes, just across there.” He doesn’t point, motioning with his gaze towards a small platform in the pond, nearly unnoticeable in the dark. Covered in moss and water, there was a small bench in the middle, which was covered in leaves and vines from age. During your time here, you’ve often wondered the point of such a place, but now you know it must be an escape for the lovers.

“Are you well versed in them?” You ask, almost childishly. “Blades, I mean.”

Finally, he looks back at you, his face curious as he eyes you from his far position. It’s clear he did not expect the question, pondering on it for a few seconds.

“I’d like to think so.” He says. “Though, it is Idria who is stronger.” That took you back, tilting your head at him.

“Truly?” He nods, a small smile on his face. “It is hard to believe.” The Prince doesn't take offense to your words, instead the small smile remains on his face, one that is true.

“He’s always taken more of an interest in battle, I tend to find it tedious.” He recoils, possibly at some memory you have no awareness of. Quickly he composes himself, looking back at you. “What about you, child?”

You shake your head, trying to hide any emotion you might be showing. “Blades are a necessity in this land.” You answer planely.

The Prince nods, just as planely, “you’re quite right, child.” He goes silent, and you feel yourself bubble in agitation at the feeling of awkwardness. The Prince seemed perfectly comfortable, attention moving between the bright music and the dark pond.

“Though–” You find yourself speaking without even knowing it, lips already moving. “--I do find blades more beautiful than most things.” You sound embarrassed, even though it was the truth. Again, your words seem to surprise the man, even if slightly, his body moving toward you completely as you feel the need to curl up and die.

“Oh.” He hums as if he was processing something. You hate how he goes into these brief moments of silence, toiling around in his mind and paying no concern to you. It’s not like you asked him to come here, he came on his own accord, he shouldn’t be making this forced interaction such a pain! “Do you have a blade with you, child.”

You wonder if it was smart to show him your blade, hidden underneath your sleeping blanket. The idea that this was a trick question flashed through your mind, maybe he would take offence from you brandishing a blade in front of him. Though maybe he would take more offence if you refused him. You felt stupid even caring about offending the man, like he was someone worth caring for.

“It’s not a trick, child.” He said after your prolonged silence. Damn this man.

You awkwardly shuffle to your hut, moving your blanket and grabbing your blade. Carefully, you hand the weapon to him, watching with a baited breath as he holds it in his hands. He drags a finger along the edge, not unlike his partner, grimacing at the dullness.

“He was not wrong.” He mumbles, eyeing the small cracks. He gives you a somewhat harsh stare once he’s done examining the weapon. “You choose to carry around a dull blade as protection?”

“I do not choose!” You huff, regretting this already. “I make due.” You correct him defensively, getting a small laugh out of him.

“Do you even know how to wield the thing?” His question makes your eyes dart away in embarrassment. You’ve had the blade with you since birth, but you’ve never been trained with. At some point, the blade alone was enough to intimidate enemies. Now, with its visible age, its chance of intimidating anyone is low.

You refuse to look at the man, not that you could really see him in this darkness, but you knew if you could he’d be looking at you with some shit eating grin. “No…” You murmur.

You hear another laugh, making you snarl. You try to focus on the music in the distance, but it’s died out over time. “I thought as much.” He shrugs, his voice not necessarily caring judgement, simply intrigue. “Though the blade is beautiful, its age does not come from battle, but from travel I presume?”

You nod, making him do the same. “It’s a shame, a blade such as this deserves to be used to its full potential.” His voice sounds remorseful, making you frown a bit. In your heart, you truly wished to be the warrior you’ve always dreamt of. It pains you that you are such a coward, wishing that whenever you’d raise your blade towards others, your hands wouldn’t shake and your frame wouldn’t falter. The walls around you were the only strength you had.

In a moment, the blade was passed back to you, and the Prince was standing back in front of you, allowing you to see him more clearly. His face was calm as it looked down at you, eyes soft and you took the grip of the blade in your hands. “You should let me train you.” He says. “With a more suitable blade, obviously.”

You stutter, not knowing how to respond, your hands tightening around your grip, feeling the carvings beneath your fingertips. “I don’t think I can accept–”

“It is not a problem if that is what you’re wondering.” He says matter of factly. “It will be more convenient for both of us.”

You take a deep breath, unable to refuse as he begins to walk back towards his village. Again, just like before, you feel hopeless as you stand facing the light, stepping back into the comfort of the dark.

The leaves were now a bright shade of red, yet you feel as though you’ve only spent a few days here. You don’t truly know how long it’s been, but you know that, as your bones begin to ache and the winds begin to chill, you know you’ve spent too long here. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to leave.

“You are pushing them too hard, Andora.” Idria whines from his spot on the ground, watching as you and Andora spar. You three were joined in a small field not far from their village, covered by large trees that blocked you on all sides. Your sword was one loaned to you by the Princes, as yours was too old to use, not that you minded really.

As the time passed, you’ve traded your ragged tent for a warm room in their home, too spacious for your liking. Strangely, the amount of room makes you feel more claustrophobic, but it was soon filled with enough gifts to lessen the discomfort.

“(Y/n), look at this, sweetheart! Isn’t it beautiful!’ Idria would rush into your room on more than one occasion, brandishing something to decorate with. Tapestries, books, paintings, they were all, like he said, beautiful, but a lot. You had the feeling that Idria liked to give you gifts because it made up for not getting to train you. Despite supposedly being much stronger, Andora claims “he’s better at cutting foes down, not teaching.”

“I guess–” You said, holding up the new outfit Idria has made for you. You’ve yet to wear any of the more extravagant outfits, prioritizing comfort, but he didn’t seem to mind. Even when staying in a place so high class, you still convinced yourself that survival was most important above everything else. In a moment, you feel his arms envelope your shoulders, squeezing you tight as he smiles. “--thank you” you’d say out of obligation, but you couldn’t help but be flattered.

Back in the present, you nearly fail to dodge the swing of Andora’s blade descending onto you, causing you to fall down with a huff, your head aching in pain. You hear Idria gasp, nearly shooting up, only being stopped by Andora, who motions for him to sit down.

“You must be quicker.” You hear Andora say as you slowly stand, a groan escaping you.

With Andora’s attention on you, Idria was able to rush over, checking your body for any scrapes or bruises. Once satisfied, he glares at his partner, keeping a tight hold on you. “You must be more careful! They are not like us!” Idria whispers the last part, a reminder to your fundamental differences from these princes.

Andora huffs, rolling his eyes. “They are fine, if they were not they wouldn’t be standing.” He motions towards you, any air of sympathy nowhere to be found. His blade was still gripped in his hand, ready to move at any moment, a clear sign you weren’t done for today.

You shrug Idria off of you, somewhat coldly as you pick your own blade back up. “I’m fine.” You mimic Andora’s words, prepared for battle once again, but are held back by Idria once more, whose grip is as tight as his will, holding you close against him.

“I think that is enough for today.” It wasn’t a question, both you and Andora sighing internally but doing nothing to stop him. “Come, sweetheart, you’ve spent enough of your day with him.” Realistically, you’ve only spent a few hours with Andora, but those few hours must’ve been torture for Idria, watching you fight with bated breath.

You feel Idria take your hand in his, attempting to drag you out of the small field, presumably back to his home, before Andora grabs his shoulder. “Idria, it’s getting colder–training should continue before the forest begins to freeze.” His words were calm, almost like he knew Idria wouldn’t agree with him.

As expected, Idria pouts, holding your hand tighter, causing you to nearly wince. “They are not going to weaken completely from one day of missed training.” He stares his partner down.

Andora visibly represses a sigh, nodding with a false sense of understanding. “They are going to weaken from all the food you feed them.” He says, trying–and failing to be quiet, causing you to glare at him.

“I’m right here you know–”

“Do you suggest I just not feed them?” Idria raises a brow, and a flash of regret passes on Andora’s face.

“Clearly not–”

“Then what are you suggesting, dear lover? Because it sounds like you’re trying to say that training stumps eating!” Idria huffs, you stumble on your feet as he drags you away, Andora following along like a lost pet. Most of their arguments, if you can even call them that, sound like this. Petty and almost comical, it’s almost always Idria bullying Andora into a corner, who would rather die than make his lover upset.

“That is not what I said–”

“You’ve yet to explain what you said.”

Andora huffs, almost like he’s out of breath trying to keep up with the fast paced Idria. “I fear that if the forest gets too cold it would be unwise for them to train.”

“Then I think it’s best if we call the training off for now, don’t you.” That’s also something they do, talk about you like you don’t exist. It bothered you a lot at first, when they’d make decisions for you without your knowledge, like moving you into their home. But now, it’s just another habit of theirs that you’ve learnt to adapt to, mainly by pretending like you're anywhere but in your body. That, however, was enough to snap you of your dissociation, your entire body snapping back into focus as you eye Idria from behind him.

“No!” You yell, startling the two from their banter, both their eyes locked on you with different expressions. Idria looked immediately concerned, while Andora looked almost surprised. Your eyes darted in between them as you thought of a response. “--I like training with Andora, I want to continue!” Idria gives you a sweet look, nearly cooing at your words.

“I understand completely, dear child.” His entire demeanor changed in an instant, going from annoyed to understanding. “But it’s dangerous for someone like you to train so frequently, it’s important to take breaks.” His words have an obvious air of condescension about them, his look that of a mother giving advice to their child. His hands, which were now cupping your cheeks, were warm, but it felt almost suffocating.

“The training is good for them.” Andora interrupts once again and Idria falters for a second. His face falls and a strange look passes over his face. For a moment, he shoots a look at Andora, one that was not kind, but it's gone immediately, the only remnants of his past feeling being his hands tightening on your face, his nails nearly digging into you.

Idria gives an overdramatic sigh, dropping his hands back to his sigh as he casually looks over the two of you. “Fine, you two have your fun–” You feel too afraid to speak, feeling like the air around you will explode if you do. You imagine that Andora feels the same, his body tense as he watches Idria. “--But be back soon, please.” He gives you both a small wave before walking off into the forest, giving you the freedom to breathe once he’s out of sight.

“Was he upset–”

“Yes.” Andora responds, his eyes still locked onto where Idria once was, but his entire body much more comfortable. “But it’s fine.” He looks at you, eyes softer than before. “Would you like to continue?” You smile, nodding your head excitedly.

There's a feeling you get when fighting with Andora that is indescribable. You once thought that it was the strength filling your body, every sore muscle, every cut, every bruise, a testament to your newborn power. You’d spend whatever time you had imagining yourself becoming reborn into a stronger, braver version of yourself. But now, you think there’s a connection you get when training with someone that is not found anywhere else. For once, you felt like you were capable of understanding this land and their people, even if it was on a small level. When battling with Andora, you truly felt seen, which was strange because you never imagined that you’d feel so connected with Andora.

Before you knew it, you both were actually done, you panting on the ground as Andora looked unfazed. “You did well today.” He says, looking down at you. “But this will be our last training.” Your brows furrow, confused. “I was not lying when I said it was getting too cold. It would be unwise to continue." You wanted to protest, to argue, to do something, but it felt impossible. Idria wants training to stop, and your only hope was Andora, but now he was agreeing with him. All at once, you felt hopeless, your heart sinking, your mind being filled with endless thoughts. Andora must’ve sensed this all, sitting down next to you as you panic internally.

“Do not fret, child.” He says, his eyes staring into you. “You’ll still be permitted to stay with us.” You feel even more confused, but your mouth won't move, so instead you just stare at him, puzzled and upset.

“The forest gets dangerous to traverse during the cold, it’s best that you stay until the land is back in bloom.”

You never imagined staying here for this long, you did not expect to stay here longer. While you were grateful for their patronage, you did not want to lose your freedom, not right after getting so much stronger.

“I am strong.” Your words ring like cheap affirmation, you don’t even know if they are true or not, but you knew you had to say them. “I will be fine traveling alone.” You murmur, resting your arms on your knees as your breath evens.

Andora doesn’t respond for a long while, resting in the peace of the winds and leaves. “I do not doubt it.” You look up at him, his face is peaceful as he talks. “But it would be nice to stay here a while, no?” You ponder on his words, hunching over slightly as you think. You could not doubt how nice it feels, to sleep in a bed, to eat warm food, be–taken care of. But what if you got too comfortable? What if you lose a piece of yourself that you can never get back.

A hand is placed on your back, rubbing it slowly. “It isn’t anything to be too concerned about.” Andora says, offering a small smile. “Let us take care of it all.”

You think for a moment, before nodding slowly. Maybe they were right, you’re simply thinking too much. Life here is good, the Princes are mostly kind, you are happy, at least you think. “Okay.” You mumble, not really understanding the meaning of your words.

In their home, there is a small dining area that they eat in. The food is made by workers who rush around the abode in complete silence, placed on the intricate table before you can even sit down. You sometimes try to talk to the creatures, but you have the feeling that they are scared of you, darting past you before you can even get a word out. Regardless, the food is good, better than anything you’ve cooked over a fire.

“You were out for much longer than I expected.” Idria says, his worlds teetering between accusation and genuine question.

“I apologize.” You say before Andora can say anything, him giving you a silent look. “I just wanted to train before it was too late.”

Your answer must’ve pleased, his smile bright. “I’m happy to see you two getting along.” You couldn’t help but smile as well.

“He’s an excellent teacher.” You give a look to Andora, whose expression can only be explained as proud. He doesn’t exactly smile, but he radiates a glowing aura that extends to Idria.

“I also want to apologize–” You add, looking at Idria once more. “--for causing a scene, I should’ve listened to you, I don’t want to make you worry.” The words rush out of you out of impulse, like if you said them fast enough it would convince you that you were in the wrong, like you were in control of what angered Idria.

Idria reaches over to grab your hand, holding it tight, causing you to pause. “It is fine, child.” Your shoulders heave as you take a deep breath. “I take no offense to your words–I just want you to be safe.” He says, but no part of you feels like that’s the case. His smile was so familiar, but you were forcing yourself to find comfort from it, like forcing yourself to swallow bad food. You peer down at his hand in yours, the same scares and grooves are there, nothing has changed, so why does it feel so different? You feel Andora’s eyes on you without even looking, and the same feeling of dread sinking into you.

“Oh, before I forget, we have a gift for you.” Idria says as he rises. Your eyes follow him as travels around the room, Andora looking down at his lap in silence. The room was mostly silent minus Idria’s own talking, going in and out as he moved around. Eventually, he grabs something, wrapped in cloth and tied with string, filling your heart with a familiar warmth. He hands it to you, waiting excitedly. Andora, in turn, sits strangely still, not looking at either of you.

You take a moment before opening it, staring at the package as if you’d be able to see through it. The cloth around it was soft and the content inside was a strange shape. “We thought that, since you’re staying with us for just a while longer, we should offer you something.” Idria says, his words high and his smile crinkling the corner of his eyes. “See it as a Welcome Home gift.” You don’t exactly know how to respond other than smile, albeit awkwardly, as you unfurl the string.

The cloth slowly reveals your blade, now pristine and polished. The edges, which were once rusted and cracked, were now sharp, making you somewhat afraid to touch it. You could clearly see your reflection in the blade, which looked…happy, you assumed. Your eyes kept examining the blade until you were met with the grip. “What does that say?” You point to the largest carving.

Idria tilts his head, smiling, his voice quiet and sweet, “Your name, child.”

Oh–

Your name, which was once delicately carved by people who witnessed your birth, was now replaced with another language you did not know. The poems and songs you never got to learn were gone, your name being the only thing that remained.

You didn’t know if you felt sad, or disappointed, or angry. You didn’t know what you felt at that moment, your mind distant and lost. Perhaps this is love, you thought, giving up pieces of yourself to become someone new, someone better. Maybe, in a way, this was the best thing for you, you were happy, no longer surviving, but living. That was a good thing right–that was love?

“Do you like it, child?” You hear Idria ask, but you were looking over at Andora, who had yet to look up. You wonder if he agreed to this, if he was the one who brought up the idea, since he took your blade once he took up the title as your mentor. Maybe you were the fool for giving it to him, for trusting him, for trusting anyone other than yourself.

But you guess that’s the price you pay when you’re desperate for love after years of building up walls.

You take a short breath as you look back at Idria, “I love it, truly.” You say, placing it carefully on the table to envelope him in a hug. You hear him giggle, his arms wrapping around you. It feels warm and safe, and you can’t help but find yourself craving the feeling. Maybe you’ll get used to the change, at least it’s only for a while.

---

A/n: I kinda rushed the ending because I wanted to get this out, but please let me know what you think.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Eden ♡