Summary: Originally the padawan of a Jedi master turned Sith lord, Y/N fumbles her way through the Jedi life as Obi-Wan’s padawan. To her surprise, life as a Jedi holds different lessons and challenges than she expected.
Man, this one took a while to get right, but I wanted to make sure I finished it for y'all before I start my fall clinicals! I hope you enjoy
Summary: Despite the distance between their two lands, Y/N, princess of Archenland, is close friends with King Edmund the Just. But when push comes to shove, will friendship turn to more?
Warnings: none
Word count: 4.5k
White Moves First masterlist | Main masterlist
“There’s no poison.” The wise owl Stormmantle sounded completely sure, but somehow the words seemed to get lost before reaching the part of Edmund’s brain that made sense at the moment.
Edmund stood. “You’re–”
“Absolutely certain,” Torben replied, placing the now-empty goblet on the table with her giant brown paw.
Y/N stood with the grace of her royal blood and nudged him. “See? I’m fine.” She didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by Torben’s hulking stature, nor confused as to why an owl and a bear were the two best healers at Cair Paravel. Another sign that Narnia was her true home.
Edmund didn’t look away from the healers. “What about an undetectable poison? Some dissolve so completely that it might be impossible to test for.”
The owl and bear exchanged a look. “Your Majesty, we tested it,” Torben said gently, proving her kindness and patience once more.
“Twice.” Stormmantle tilted her head, her wide eyes boring into Edmund’s. “After you insisted Torben might not be able to smell it.”
Edmund shook his head. “Desert poisons operate differently than poisons we have in Narnia.”
All three females stared at him with varying levels of exasperation. “The princess is in perfect health, as she has already told you,” Torben said, her coaxing tone much softer than Stormmantle’s harsh expression.
“It’s been a full day, Edmund,” Y/N said to him, as if he didn’t already know. He could never forget the hours he’d spent the night before, watching her sleep to ensure she was still breathing. His eyes often lingered on that scar underneath her chin, and his mind easily distorted the picture into a real, bleeding wound from the Calormene now in the dungeons. The perfectly rendered image of the life leaving her eyes sent fear through his chest, constricting his lungs.
Y/N laid a hand on his arm, and his eyes shot to take in the soft smile on her face. “I feel normal.” Her grip tightened ever so slightly. “I promise.”
Edmund wouldn’t be persuaded so easily. “It could be slow-acting.”
Y/N shrugged her shoulders. “Well, in that case, I suppose I’ll be dead tomorrow.”
“That's not funny.” He scowled at her flippancy, but she just shook her head at him as if he were being unreasonable. There was nothing unreasonable about trying to keep her alive and well! “Tell me the whole story again,” he demanded.
“To what purpose?” Y/N tugged at him, and when he didn’t look over, her soft hand brushed his cheek to coax his gaze to her. “We’ve been over it all. It’s time for us to refocus on the ball tomorrow night.”
The ball celebrating her new role in Narnia. What was the point of celebrating Y/N's place in Narnia if Edmund wasn’t sure he could keep her alive?
He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long breath.
A paw landed on his shoulder. “Your Majesty, you will worry yourself ragged.”
Edmund looked up into the bear’s kind eyes. “Do not trouble yourself with me.” He patted her paw before moving for the door. “I must prepare for the ball tomorrow night." He could almost feel the healers exchanging glances with his wife behind his back.
As he walked down the hallway, he tried to remember Rabadash’s exact threats on the day of the wedding.
He’d said something about killing her while she was sleeping. Edmund ensured the door was locked every night and slept on the side of the bed closest to the door. Anyone coming in would have to walk by him to get to her. Then there’d been something about Y/N being left alone. Y/N was rarely alone. Even when she thought she was alone in the gardens, he always had one of the eagles or gryphons watching from above. The third thing was poison. He remembered that one the clearest. A sleight of hand over a wine goblet, Rabadash had said.
It was the avenue hardest to block. Edmund couldn’t be in the kitchens himself to prepare her meals, because he didn’t know the first thing about cooking other than how much he enjoyed the products of it. In all their years at Cair Paravel, Edmund and his siblings refused to have tasters. The idea of distrusting their own people so completely as to have a safeguard against poison was not the Narnia any of them wanted to create.
But now, Edmund wished there was a way.
Perhaps he would start tasting all her food and drink first from now on.
When Edmund reached his destination on the ground floor of the palace, he made a beeline for the head cook—a kindly woman named Mrs. Dolie. Looking up from her soup, she did not seem the least bit surprised to see him, likely because of the scene he’d caused in the kitchen the day before while looking for the kitchen maid who’d given Rona the goblet for Y/N.
“Your Majesty.” She gave a little curtsy.
“The ball is tomorrow night.”
She glanced around, as if drawing his attention to the flurry of people and creatures preparing the feast. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Edmund stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I need you to prepare Y/N’s meal yourself. Do not let anyone else handle a single crumb on her plate.” He loosed a breath. “I know this makes your job more difficult, but you’re the only one I trust right now.”
The nod she gave him was grim. She hated the idea that poison might’ve come out of her kitchen just as much as Edmund did. “I will handle it all, Your Majesty. I will even serve it to her myself.”
“Thank you.” Edmund looked directly in her eyes so she could be assured he meant every word. “You have my undying gratitude.”
-
Is there such a thing as knowing a person too well? I wondered as I made my way to the kitchens. If he was so concerned about poison, there’s one place Edmund would go other than the healers. And considering that’s where I’d just come from…
I sighed. Worrying was never a good thing, but like many things, my husband was especially skilled at it.
“Y/N?”
I stopped on the second step down to the kitchens, turning to face a grave Queen Susan. “Your Majesty.” I quickly returned to the top of the stairs. “Is something the matter?”
“No, not at all! Your brothers just had a little mishap with their outfits for the ball, but we got the situation rectified.” Her smile was late and harried.
That couldn’t be the reason she wanted to talk to me. What would be the point in telling me about a problem when it was already resolved? Even if it wasn’t resolved, my brothers were grown men, they could handle their own problems.
“Is there…anything else?” I asked, trying to keep my eyes on her face instead of glancing over my shoulder in the direction of the kitchens. How long would Edmund be talking with the kitchen staff?
“Guilty?” I echoed before realizing what she meant. “No, Your Majesty, the Calormene assassin wasn’t your fault.”
“If I hadn’t entertained Rabadash as a suitor, he never would’ve gone to the lengths that he has to hurt you.”
“You’ve met him,” I said shortly. “You know he’s selfish enough to pursue you regardless of your interests.”
“But if he hadn’t felt so slighted when I left–”
I quickly reached out to squeeze her hand, belatedly wondering where I’d gotten the nerve. “The only one responsible for Rabadash’s actions,” I said clearly, “is Rabadash himself. If anyone deserves to feel guilty, it’s him and perhaps the Tisroc.”
She bit her lip, looking unconvinced. “I’ve been cold,” she said, looking apologetic. “I felt guiltier when I was around you, so I’ve been staying away, but…” She furrowed her brows. “You’re my new sister. You’re part of my family now, and I don’t want to miss out.”
I smiled. “Your Majesty, I would love nothing more.”
“Please call me Susan.” It was her turn to squeeze my hand. “Siblings hardly bother with titles.” Then she laughed. “Well, at least mine don’t.”
“Rabadash probably forces his siblings to use his,” I offered and she pulled a face as if she'd stepped into mud and then realized it was something else.
“He would.”
We laughed together, and I felt remarkably lighter. I’d noticed Edmund’s older sister being a bit distant, but I’d always known Susan to be private and reserved. Now the last sibling had given me permission to use her first name only. The air was clear, and now I was unofficially a part of the family beyond my marriage to Edmund. It was these thoughts that led me to smile brightly at Susan.
But her harried look had returned. “I do have other news, and I think Edmund will receive it better from you.”
-
As I lingered outside the kitchens, I wondered if it was too soon to demand a favor from Susan when we’d just become true sisters. But no, she was right. The news would be best coming from me…if I ever decided to walk into the kitchens and catch Edmund. I told myself I wasn’t going in because I didn’t want to interrupt him. In all likelihood, I was just prolonging the inevitable in the vain hopes that it wouldn’t be as bad as I thought.
When Edmund ducked out of the kitchen, his severe expression seemed to have eased slightly. When he noticed me, his expression smoothed altogether. I hated seeing him trying to cover up his feelings.
“Are you satisfied now that you’ve added Mrs. Dolie to your ranks?” I asked him.
He looked down at the floor. “How’d you know I was here?”
“Because I know you. You’ve been worrying non-stop since yesterday.” Well, since long before yesterday, but I’d let him believe he was successfully hiding how much he’d been worrying over me since before our wedding.
“You are worrisome,” he replied, before crinkling his nose. “I meant that you’re worth worrying about.”
I laughed even as the telltale warmth spread through my chest. “You’re worrisome too, Edmund.” I’d hoped for a smile, but Edmund merely gestured for us both to climb the stairs. I wanted to try again to make him smile…but I had news to deliver that would likely make him start recruiting every creature down to pigeons to protect me. “I have to tell you something,” I told him as he walked behind me, finding it a bit easier with Edmund behind me so I couldn’t see his face.
“I already know the rest of the tournament has been canceled,” Edmund said dully.
I rolled my eyes. “I happen to know you’re the one who pushed for it to be canceled, even if you did hold the council meeting while the healers were looking me over.”
“So what’s the bad news?”
Reaching the top of the stairs, I turned to face him and took a fortifying breath. “A gryphon spotted a party making their way to Cair Paravel this morning.”
Edmund furrowed his brows. “People from Anvard coming for the ball?”
I shook my head. “They are wearing Calormene fashion.”
“WHAT?!”
-
Not being allowed to leave my father's castle in Anvard, I'd never been received in Narnian court as a foreign ambassador. This was the first time of hopefully many I was one of the royal family doing the receiving. As such, I didn't know how these occasions normally went, but I assumed it was not usually so dour. As a show of strength, Narnian soldiers were lining the walls with tense expressions and weapons gripped. Curtains had been tied back to allow the bright sunshine to fill the room. All the monarchs sat on their thrones, wearing their crowns with straight, powerful posture. Their relaxed outfits had been replaced with formal wear. The picture was striking and intimidating.
The thought of changing my outfit hadn’t even crossed my mind, so I hung back at the side of the room next to a gryphon. I clearly still had much to learn. Thank Aslan I turned down being Narnia’s third queen. What a fool I would've made of myself. No, I could serve Narnia much better by standing aside. Besides, Edmund’s throne was on the end, so I was near enough in case he needed me.
No sooner had I thought this, than did Edmund shift in his throne to scan the room. With the clench of his jaw, I almost considered ducking behind the gryphon to avoid his attention, but his eyes found me before I could even try. Wordlessly, he held out his hand.
My cheeks burned as I felt every soldier’s attention on me. The gryphon even took a step back to allow me an easier path forward. But I didn’t belong among the thrones with the kings and queens. I shook my head minutely in an attempt to not draw more attention to myself, and Edmund’s eyebrows furrowed. Then he stood up, whisking over to me and linking his fingers with mine. “C’mon,” was all he said before tugging me with him. And when had I ever been able to deny him?
The dais was only a few inches tall, and yet the whole room looked smaller when I stood on it. Edmund led me straight to his throne, keeping his hand in mine while he sat and I awkwardly hovered. I didn’t belong there. I hadn’t earned it. I wasn’t prepared for it. But Edmund brushed his thumb against mine, and I knew I couldn’t move away.
“Your Majesties.” A faun came close enough to lower his voice and still be heard. “His Highness Prince Rabadash is leading the party.”
Edmund’s grip on my hand tightened. Peter thanked the faun and glanced over at his brother. Edmund was staring straight ahead, eyes locked on the door that Rabadash was about to walk through. I wished more than ever that I’d changed into something more regal. The idea of Rabadash judging my plain dress made my stomach turn.
But when Rabadash walked in, his eyes were not on me nor Edmund nor even Susan. He kept his eyes on Peter, looking worryingly cordial. “Your majesties,” he inclined his head, “I hope you'll forgive my intrusion, but once I heard of the treasonous attack on the life of the king's new wife, I insisted upon coming myself." He placed his hands on his chest. "Your Majesties, the attack was not in any way affiliated with my country.”
Peter leaned forward. “The man is from Calormen. He’s been shouting in the dungeons non-stop about the superiority of your land and people.”
Rabadash bowed fully this time, the very picture of humility if it weren’t for the gold tassels dangling from his clothing. “Your Majesty, I would never condone such action.” Finally, his gaze swiveled to mine with enough confidence, I knew he’d seen me there already. “Princess Y/N, you must accept my formal apology.” He stepped closer, and Edmund’s knee shifted as if he were preparing to stand.
I wasn’t sure if I was to accept or reject him, so I remained silent as I glanced at the kings and queens.
Queen Lucy’s eyes were narrowed. “You should be aware that it takes more than pretty words to absolve you after your history with our country.”
“Of course, of course.” Rabadash spread his hands grandly. “I bring gifts!” He paused, but only the men from his own party granted him applause that echoed in the large room. Two large bundles were brought forward by soldiers, and Rabadash gestured to me.
Edmund stood, his free hand on his sword. “Open the gifts first, Rabadash.”
“Your Majesty, that defeats the point of a gift!” Rabadash cried with almost believable distress.
Nothing the prince could do would convince Edmund. “Do it.”
With a heavy sigh, Rabadash opened the first bundle to reveal a heavy golden necklace laden with jewels of every color. I couldn’t fathom the cost of such a piece, which made Rabadash’s reverence seem more genuine as he delicately took it in his hand and held it up to let it glint in the sun streaming in from the windows.
I glanced at the monarchs, and most of them seemed as unswayed by the gift as I’d expected. Narnia had far more precious things than gold and jewels. Susan, however, looked pale and stared unblinkingly at the necklace as if it were about to burst into flames. The necklace meant something to her.
Rabadash unfurled the second bundle, and I sucked in a quiet breath. It was an animal skin, large enough to be from a bear. While that was horrifying enough in a country of talking animals, I didn’t think anyone else in the room would know what I did. The particular red tinge of the bear skin was specific to Archenlandian bears.
He’d skinned one of my country’s animals.
The prince beamed. “See? No harm intended through these gifts.”
Peter gestured to the faun standing by the door. “Please take the gifts from the Calormen prince.”
Rabadash neared the thrones again. “I did hear that there is a ball being thrown tomorrow in the princess’s honor. I would be humbly delighted to show Calormen’s support by attending.”
Peter, Susan, and Lucy were all scowling, but the combined weight of their displeasure was nothing compared to the terrible expression on Edmund’s face.
His eyes did not blink, his lips were pressed together so tightly that they could barely be seen, and every facial muscle appeared to be tensed. He stared at Rabadash like the Calormen prince was an abomination to be sent straight to the pits of hell. He leant forward with his hands gripping the arms of his throne, like he was actively restraining himself from flying at Rabadash in a passion. There was no trace of goodness or mercy in him; he was wrath personified.
It was frightening to behold.
Perhaps it was that fear which made me settle my hand placatingly on his arm. His head snapped down to where my fingers brushed his sleeve, staring at it for a moment before lifting his eyes to mine. The severity of his expression did not dissipate. It would take far more than my actions to douse his fervor.
“Discuss it with your council,” I murmured.
On Edmund’s other side, I saw Peter nod at my words and lean over to spread the message to his sisters. But Edmund did not look away from me, so I had to bear the full brunt of his incredulity.
He looked so disappointed, it made my heart clench.
But Peter was standing now. “Prince Rabadash, you have given our council much to speak of. We would request that you withdraw from the castle and remain outside the castle walls while we deliberate.”
Rabadash gave another artful bow and turned to leave.
The throne room emptied, Rabadash’s men following him, the council members retreating to the council room, and the others dispersing back to their roles.
Edmund, however, remained seated, his fists clenched. “Hey.” I tugged at his hand the way he had mine. “Let’s go.”
With a spectacular glare in Rabadash’s direction, Edmund finally gave in. Though he kept his grip on my hand, he stalked towards the council room with little regard for how difficult it was to keep up with him.
“Wait,” I said breathlessly. “Hold on.”
Stiffly, he came to a stop. “What’s wrong? Is it your shoe?”
“No, we need to talk.”
With a grunt, Edmund kept walking but I sped up to get in front of him and root myself in place. “Edmund,” I said as sternly as I could.
“I don’t want to talk,” he growled, then made to walk around me.
I braced my hands on his shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. “On our wedding day, you vowed to do something if I asked.” He came to a stop with his ferocity dimming. “And I’m asking you to tell me why you’re so angry and worried.”
He let out a long breath, not making any other sound.
“What is it about Rabadash that has you so angry?” I asked with significantly more gentleness than before. “It’s more than just his attitude and audacity.” He covered his face with his hands, shoulders rising and falling under my hands with the force of his breathing. “Please tell me.”
“Don’t make me say it.” He pulled his hands away, and I was shocked to see the redness around his eyes. “Please.”
I moved my hands to his neck, trying to soothe him with my touch. “Whatever it is, I know we can handle it with the two of us and your family and our people.”
“You shouldn’t have to handle it. I’m supposed to protect you.” He frowned. “It’s the first vow I made to you on our wedding day.”
“Please,” I begged. “I’ve been left in the dark for so many years. Don’t leave me in the dark now.”
Edmund hung his head and let out a heavy sigh. “Rabadash…on our wedding day…threatened your life.”
I blinked. “Overtly?”
“As overtly as he ever speaks.” Edmund’s hands brushed my waist and lingered as if to remain, but he quickly dropped them and pulled away from me. “He implied that killing you would be easy for him.”
So that’s why Edmund panicked about the snake, the tournament assassin, and idea of poison. “Oh, Edmund.” I cradled his cheek. “No wonder you’ve been so on edge. You’ve been shouldering that alone this whole time?”
“Peter knows,” Edmund confessed. “He…is not as alarmed as I am.”
“No one is ever as alarmed as you are,” I said with a little smile, but he did not laugh.
“We’re late for the council meeting.”
“Wait–” But my husband forged ahead, clearly finished with lingering. I followed him into the council room which was full of the impassioned words of the monarchs, caws of the raven, the hoots of the owl, and the shouts of the centaur. They all agreed: Rabadash needed to go.
“Send him back to his land immediately!”
“Forbid him from ever returning!”
“Throw him in the dungeons!”
Whether everyone in the room had personally experienced Rabadash’s vanity and greed, they all remembered how he’d treated their queen and his plan to overthrow their beloved monarchs. Their anger resonated in my own chest. I knew how it felt for my country to be threatened by his arrogance and greed.
But deeper than that were my chess instincts. The enemy’s moves were the most important piece of information one could have. Sending him away was like focusing on creating a picture with one’s own pieces.
Susan remained silent, still wearing the haunted expression from when she’d seen the necklace. Having been rattled by Prince Rabadash myself, I worried for her.
Peter raised his hand, and the outcry quieted. “Seems to me that there are two we have not heard from yet.” But Peter turned not to me, but to the magical woman with the burn scars on her hand. “Your thoughts?”
Edmund sat up a little straighter. Whoever this woman was, he respected her opinion greatly, which only made my curiosity rise. The woman glanced around at the councilors, seemingly unbothered by the silence as the whole room waited for her words.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that sending him away is short-sighted.”
The lovely beaver let out a little sigh. “We must protect our people,” she replied. “He is dangerous.”
“Yes, there’s no denying that.” The magical woman braced her elbows on the table. “But when has he ever respected our borders? If he truly wants to stay, isn’t it better for him to stay where we can observe him until he is satisfied and returns home?”
“And Princess Y/N?” Peter asked, confirming I was indeed the second person he had mentioned.
Everyone's attention would've been overwhelming if my own opinion wasn't burning in my chest. This was my moment to speak my mind for what I thought was wise, even if Edmund disagreed. But before I could speak, as the magical woman had, I looked at all the faces of those in the council. All looked impassioned or enraged, but my older sister-in-law sat staring down at the table. “I want to hear what Susan thinks," I blurted before I could change my mind.
Susan’s attention slid over to the magical woman and then to me. In that moment, when the three of us women looked in each other’s eyes, I knew that we were all united in thought. When Susan spoke, she addressed it not to myself nor the woman nor Peter. “Edmund, there’s no better way to know what he’s planning than to let him stay.”
“If not knowing is the price to pay for his departure,” Edmund cut in, “then I’m willing for us to pay it.”
“Maybe now,” I replied. “But later, when we’re sitting around waiting and worrying? We might wish we’d done differently.”
A crazed look winked in Edmund’s eyes, his impatience souring into desperation. “I’ll worry about keeping everyone safe at that time!”
I glanced around at the group, wishing I was alone with him to finish this conversation. But in front of these people who showed nothing but kindness? I could take the leap to speak my mind how only I could. “He’s playing white. He’s going on the offense, and the only way for us to know how to beat him is to watch the moves he makes.”
“This isn’t a game of chess, Y/N!” Edmund seemed surprised by his own volume and cast a distressed look around at the shocked and disapproving faces of the council. The quick clearing of his throat spoke of embarrassment as he looked back at me. “The risk isn’t worth it.”
I could tell from his face that the loaded silence that followed weighed on Edmund as much as myself. “It depends on Your Majesties,” the magical woman said finally. “The rest of us are here only to advise.”
I didn’t have a vote due to refusing the queendom. Should I be regretting that?
“I think he should stay,” Susan ventured.
Peter nodded. “Agreed.”
“He needs to leave,” Edmund insisted.
All eyes slid to Lucy, who was gnawing on her lip. Clearly she hated having her siblings disagree, and I wondered how seldom it happened. If she agreed with Edmund, that brought things to a tie. She wrung her hands once. Twice. Thrice. She took a deep breath. “Edmund,” she said gently, “I know you’re scared, but–”
Edmund stood from the table, his chair legs screeching against the floor. He looked ill as he surveyed his siblings. “Somebody go share the prince’s good news with him. If I do it, I’ll end up breaking his nose instead.”
Here, have some feels that are totally not inspired by my real life right now.
Summary: Dating sucks, but at least Natasha Romanov and Wanda Maximoff are there to listen.
Warnings: unedited
Word count: 2.9k
Main writing masterlist
I stomped through the front gates of the Avengers compound, yanking my hair out of the braid that had been so carefully curated to be effortless chic. “Don’t get it,” I muttered under my breath as I unceremoniously threw my jacket and purse onto the decorative table in the entryway. I’d get them later. “Don’t get it, but don’t care.” Shucking my prettiest and most uncomfortable shoes should’ve given some breadth of relief, but the storm in my chest did not ease. At least I wasn’t crying anymore, having gotten all my tears out on the way home.
“Peanut butter,” I decided aloud. “Or chocolate. Or chocolate-peanut butter ice cream.”
Definitely the third one.
Normally, I floated through the halls of the compound, constantly trying to keep from making a mess or being a distraction. The compound was the home of heroes, and living there as a measly intern for Dr. Banner’s radiation and cancer research did not make me a hero. But now, I did not care about the evidence of my existence as I stalked towards the kitchen while untucking my shirt. Untucked, it was far too long for my skirt, but who cared about showing my curves now? After the great disappointment of the rare free evening, I had no unspent patience for fashion.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Why hadn’t I learned by now? Why did I keep trying?
The calming atmosphere of the kitchen created by the warm lighting and neutral colors did little for me. The cool handle of the freezer was slippery enough that I did not manage to open it right the first time and then opened it so violently the second time that it rammed into my knees. I rooted through the frozen vegetables. “Never again, nope, not even if he begs.” Which he never would. They never did.
“You’re talking to yourself again,” called a disinterested voice from somewhere in the general area of the dining room table.
“Bruce says talking to yourself is a sign of intelligence,” I bit back.
“Just because he does it doesn’t mean it’s a pattern for everyone.”
Only the sad-looking frozen broccoli and corn saw the way I rolled my eyes. “No one’s forcing you to listen, Bucky.”
“He’s right though.”
My hands found the ice cream carton, and I whipped around to face Sam sitting at the counter eating a sandwich. “If it bothers you, you can go to your room!”
Sam raised his hands, glancing over his shoulder at Bucky who was leaning precariously back on his seat, only two legs touching the floor.
Popping the top off, I ignored both the dainty spoons and the ice cream scooper in favor of the large serving spoon.
“Is…something the matter?” Bucky asked tentatively as I concerned myself with the physics of fitting the serving spoon in my mouth.
“No, of course not, why would anything be the matter?” Stuffing a generous amount of ice cream in my mouth, I held the serving spoon with my teeth while I shoved my skirt off, leaving me in a pair of spandex shorts as I kicked the skirt away. It slid across the floor and hit the cabinet in a very unsatisfyingly silent way.
Sam and Bucky exchanged an alarmed look, though whether that was based on the skirt or my attitude, I didn’t know. Voices in the hallway announced Wanda and Natasha’s approach before they walked into the dining room.
“Careful,” Sam mumbled too loudly. “She’s in a mood.”
Both women halted as I pointed the end of the serving spoon threateningly at Sam. “Do you want to antagonize me right now?”
He shut his mouth and looked imploringly at Natasha. “What’s going on?” she asked, speaking more carefully than her normal smooth tone. That was the thing with Natasha; she could adjust to anything. She analyzed a situation, figured out her goal, and immediately donned whatever persona she needed to accomplish it. I could do the same thing with science, but being capable of doing it with people was what earned her a spot as an Avenger. She had probably never had to deal with men not liking her.
“Natasha,” I looked at her with the wide-eyes of a new idea, “I need you to teach me seduction.”
The simultaneous sounds of Sam choking on his sandwich and Bucky’s chair slipping out from under him created such a cacophony made Wanda suppress a grin and Natasha not even bothering to. “Alright,” Natasha made a shooing gesture. “Boys out.”
Bucky hurried out of the room without another word, clearly half-terrified by my request. I’d probably spend the next month trying to coax him from his mortification.
“C’mon–” Sam said, pointing at his sandwich.
“Take it to go.”
Sam groaned, but he never won arguments with Natasha, so he grabbed his plate and shuffled out of the room.
Natasha gracefully hopped onto the marble counter beside my ice cream carton, her knowing eyes on my face. “Spill.”
I stabbed the serving spoon into the ice cream again and brought another helping to my mouth. To complete the humiliation of the evening by sharing it? I preferred taking it to my grave.
Natasha tilted her head. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is.”
With a sigh, I sagged against the counter. Just because I was familiar with her interrogation tactics didn’t mean I couldn’t fall for them. “I had a date tonight.”
Wanda sucked in a pitying breath between her teeth. “And it was that bad?”
I stared back at them, my frustration inflamed. “It might’ve been bad…if he’d bothered to show up.”
And then the flood gates were open, all the embarrassing details on full display. The fact that it was my eighth first date in a row. The stories about how kind this man had seemed over our conversation on the dating app. The pesky hope that kept creeping in regardless of how hard I tried to stay realistic.
Yet even through it all, I couldn’t figure out how to make them understand why every small thing meant so much to me. The blushes over every compliment and the soaring hope when they asked if they could take me out for dinner? Those probably wouldn’t mean so much if someone had ever experienced the profundity of actually being in love.
It didn’t feel as though there could be a more disastrous combination than my hopes and inexperience.
As I told them about how the texts had stopped coming an hour before the date, Natasha’s eyes never left my face. How someone could stand that much intense eye contact, I’d never know. Wanda rummaged through drawers, making little humming sounds to encourage me further in my story or empathize with what I was saying.
When I finished speaking, Natasha shook her head. “You don’t need seduction tips.”
I pulled myself up onto the counter beside her. “Didn’t you hear me? This guy wasn’t even interested enough in me to show up when he said he was going to!”
Wanda plucked the serving spoon from my hand and replaced it with the more appropriately-sized utensil she’d been looking for. “Dating is about showing up.”
“You think?” I snapped.
She winced. “Bad word choice.”
“What Wanda meant,” Natasha cut in, “is that dating isn’t about doing it right or wrong, it’s about spending enough time with someone to learn if you want to keep spending time with them.”
“I can’t spend time with them if they don’t come to spend time with me!”
“Then they’re eliminating themselves which saves you the task of having to do it.”
I tried not to focus on the loaded way the assassin had used the word ‘eliminated’ and sighed while setting down my spoon. Ice cream couldn’t fill the hole in my chest. “I’m a scientist, I can’t believe that there’s no reason I’m getting bad results. I must be doing something wrong.” I hopped off the counter, staring miserably at my skirt. Its wrinkles made it appear just as dejected and abandoned as I felt. “Maybe I’m just not trying hard enough.”
A snort of impressive resonance came from Natasha. “I can tell you that’s not true. This isn’t the first time you’ve come home with your mascara running down your cheeks.”
I self-consciously swiped at my face, wondering how many times Natasha had seen me return after dates. “Well, then maybe I don’t have it because I somehow don’t deserve it yet.” It was a pitiful thing to say, but standing in the kitchen of superheroes in a blouse and spandex shorts with frizzy hair and smeared makeup, I didn’t have much pride left.
“There are,” Wanda shook her head, “so many things wrong with what you just said. Being amazing is not a requirement for a relationship, or there are several married folks I know that should be single.”
“Then what is it?” I whined. “What am I doing wrong?”
“It’s all about timing.” Wanda shrugged. “I lived my whole life without the timing being right. You think I would’ve chosen to meet Vision under the circumstances we did?”
“Or that Steve and I would’ve chosen to fall in love during a life on the run?” Natasha asked.
“Timing,” I echoed sarcastically. “Right. My love clock is just slower than everyone else’s.”
“Slower?” Natasha chuckled. “You’re just 24.”
I gave her a glare with more vigor than I normally would’ve given someone who was trying to help or who could kill me in about a thousand different ways. “There is no just 24. I’m the oldest I’ve ever been. I have been waiting my whole life for this, and somehow you’re telling me my whole life is a ‘just’?”
Surprisingly, neither the spy nor the witch seemed to have a response to that. “Have you ever been 24 and never having been kissed?” My cheeks burned as I said it, but the words kept flowing from the insecurity that had just gotten a taste of fresh air and wanted more. “I have so many friends who have never been 24 and unmarried, yet here I am, some sort of romantic pariah who can’t find a decent guy!”
Storming over to my skirt, I kicked it again, hard enough that it slid under the couch where I was glad to let it stay. “You know, people always talk about how I didn’t date because I was focusing on my studies, I was busy getting my degrees.” I looked Natasha directly in the eyes. “People that have boyfriends or get married don’t get two degrees in less than five years. People that are wanted don’t have that much time to focus on their studies.”
The tears were sliding down my cheeks again, and the hot shame that had rested like a knot inside a chamber of my heart began to grow. To stand in front of two gorgeous, skilled women and admit how much of a troll most men seemed to find me? To witness the pitying expressions on their faces? Not even sitting alone at the restaurant until the waitress made me give up the table could compare.
I spread my hands in the air, inviting them to look closer at the grand failure that was myself. “Everyone is moving forward. There are probably hundreds of people out there in the wide world that are starting a new relationship right now. Hundreds of thousands of people are with their person right now, on dates or at home or making meals together or sleeping side by side, and none of those people are me!”
Sinking into the seat Bucky had abandoned, my shoulders sagged under the weight of it all. “I just…I want the chance to feel something. To have a guy look for me in a crowded room because he’s excited to see me or stare at me when I look pretty. I want someone who will talk to me all about their job the way I want to tell someone all about mine. I want to learn what his favorite meal is and cook it for him when he’s having a bad day because I know both of those things.
“I want to prove to myself that I would be as good at love as I think I could be, but I just feel like–” My voice broke. I wiped at my cheeks, angry that I couldn’t even fully express the grief of it all. “I feel like no one is ever going to love me as much as everyone around me has been loved. And the worst thing is I don’t know how to fix it because I don’t know what it is that makes me so unloveable.”
The room was still as I waited for two of the smartest women I knew to give me their wisdom, to point out the issue the way they did when I attempted to learn self-defense from them. But when I looked up, both of them wore the sadness that I deeply felt.
Natasha came nearer. “We know how you feel.”
I scoffed in spite of myself. I did not want to hear platitudes. “You guys are heroes. People post about you on social media and ask for your autographs and wear shirts or tattoos of your faces.”
Wanda laughed. “And a few months ago, they hated us and were calling for us to be locked up.”
“But you’re both gorgeous and talented and confident!”
Natasha shrugged, as if those were small things. “Maybe those things make us likable.”
“But not lovable,” Wanda finished. “I’m an experiment, made to torment people.”
“And I’m a spy trained to kill people. Not exactly prime girlfriend material.” Natasha’s self-deprecation didn’t sound right coming from the complete package that she was.
“But you guys have power and perfect hair and–”
“And which of those things somehow inherently make us worthier of love than you?” Wanda sat down in the chair by mine, holding out a fresh make-up wipe I wasn’t sure how she’d gotten.
I had no answer for that, and I liked having the answers to things. So I took the make-up wipe.
“ The last thing you want to do is settle,” Natasha said gently.
“You say that like I’ve had an opportunity to settle.” I scoffed, wiping my cheeks until the wipe was black and tan from my make-up.
Wanda handed me a tissue. “Maybe it’s better to be rejected than to be the one having to reject?”
I scowled at her.
“Fine,” she said, “are you telling me there’s not one boy in your whole dating history that you could’ve gotten a second date with if you’d put your whole self into it.”
“Well, not one I’d want to,” I muttered.
“Exactly!” Natasha clapped her hands like I’d won a competition. “Because you knew he wasn’t right!”
“You’ve got better instincts than you think.” Wanda said with a smile while Natasha nodded vigorously.
Instincts. Right. “So…what am I supposed to do?”
“Rally!” Natasha stood and spread her hands grandly. “Go forth! Be rejected! It’s part of the experience.”
Wanda grinned at Natasha’s antics. “You tried, Y/N. And that’s the best thing you can do. Keep trying.”
I sighed. “I was hoping for an easier answer than that.” Several failed first dates seemed like enough evidence that I had some sort of bug that could be fixed with maintenance and troubleshooting.
“Oh, Y/N.” Natasha tilted her head like I was an adorable puppy. “Who ever told you love was easy?”
“My friends all found it easily enough,” I grumbled childishly, thinking of all the bridesmaid dresses in my closet and the pictures of happy couples I always saw on my social media.
“Perhaps.” Wanda patted my knee. “But there’s a lot that you’ve gotten that they can’t dream of.”
Natasha grinned, counting things off on her fingers. “Two degrees, a prestigious position with Bruce, a high enough salary to buy whatever you want.”
Wanda joined in. “A mind capable of complicated research, a high work ethic–”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I said, smiling. I almost hated that they’d made me feel better; there was something so satisfying about wallowing and feeling sorry for myself.
“You don’t have to try again right away.” Natasha picked up the ice cream carton and two more spoons from the kitchen. “For tonight and any other night like this, we’re here for unhealthy amounts of ice cream and sad movies.”
“As long as the dog doesn’t die,” Wanda added, nodding solemnly.
We migrated to the massive couch and started on a dog-less Disney movie that we mostly talked over. We sat together eating ice cream as the conversation veered into lighter topics such as Wanda asking me where I’d gotten the skirt and Natasha recounting the story of how unevenly she’d cut Steve’s hair when she’d just realized how much she liked him—apparently they’d had to come out of hiding long enough to get him to a barber to fix her mistakes.
The ache in my chest didn’t fully go away, but my sadness lifted enough for me to genuinely smile, even if the smiles were small or tense. And every smile was a tiny victory.
While my heart still smarted from the evening and my mind still searched in vain for some quick fix, I reluctantly admitted to myself that I would be okay. Because what burden couldn’t be made lighter by the beautiful music of Alan Menken, scoops of chocolate-peanut butter ice cream, and the company of friends?
Here, have some feels that are totally not inspired by my real life right now.
Summary: Dating sucks, but at least Natasha Romanov and Wanda Maximoff are there to listen.
Warnings: unedited
Word count: 2.9k
Main writing masterlist
I stomped through the front gates of the Avengers compound, yanking my hair out of the braid that had been so carefully curated to be effortless chic. “Don’t get it,” I muttered under my breath as I unceremoniously threw my jacket and purse onto the decorative table in the entryway. I’d get them later. “Don’t get it, but don’t care.” Shucking my prettiest and most uncomfortable shoes should’ve given some breadth of relief, but the storm in my chest did not ease. At least I wasn’t crying anymore, having gotten all my tears out on the way home.
“Peanut butter,” I decided aloud. “Or chocolate. Or chocolate-peanut butter ice cream.”
Definitely the third one.
Normally, I floated through the halls of the compound, constantly trying to keep from making a mess or being a distraction. The compound was the home of heroes, and living there as a measly intern for Dr. Banner’s radiation and cancer research did not make me a hero. But now, I did not care about the evidence of my existence as I stalked towards the kitchen while untucking my shirt. Untucked, it was far too long for my skirt, but who cared about showing my curves now? After the great disappointment of the rare free evening, I had no unspent patience for fashion.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Why hadn’t I learned by now? Why did I keep trying?
The calming atmosphere of the kitchen created by the warm lighting and neutral colors did little for me. The cool handle of the freezer was slippery enough that I did not manage to open it right the first time and then opened it so violently the second time that it rammed into my knees. I rooted through the frozen vegetables. “Never again, nope, not even if he begs.” Which he never would. They never did.
“You’re talking to yourself again,” called a disinterested voice from somewhere in the general area of the dining room table.
“Bruce says talking to yourself is a sign of intelligence,” I bit back.
“Just because he does it doesn’t mean it’s a pattern for everyone.”
Only the sad-looking frozen broccoli and corn saw the way I rolled my eyes. “No one’s forcing you to listen, Bucky.”
“He’s right though.”
My hands found the ice cream carton, and I whipped around to face Sam sitting at the counter eating a sandwich. “If it bothers you, you can go to your room!”
Sam raised his hands, glancing over his shoulder at Bucky who was leaning precariously back on his seat, only two legs touching the floor.
Popping the top off, I ignored both the dainty spoons and the ice cream scooper in favor of the large serving spoon.
“Is…something the matter?” Bucky asked tentatively as I concerned myself with the physics of fitting the serving spoon in my mouth.
“No, of course not, why would anything be the matter?” Stuffing a generous amount of ice cream in my mouth, I held the serving spoon with my teeth while I shoved my skirt off, leaving me in a pair of spandex shorts as I kicked the skirt away. It slid across the floor and hit the cabinet in a very unsatisfyingly silent way.
Sam and Bucky exchanged an alarmed look, though whether that was based on the skirt or my attitude, I didn’t know. Voices in the hallway announced Wanda and Natasha’s approach before they walked into the dining room.
“Careful,” Sam mumbled too loudly. “She’s in a mood.”
Both women halted as I pointed the end of the serving spoon threateningly at Sam. “Do you want to antagonize me right now?”
He shut his mouth and looked imploringly at Natasha. “What’s going on?” she asked, speaking more carefully than her normal smooth tone. That was the thing with Natasha; she could adjust to anything. She analyzed a situation, figured out her goal, and immediately donned whatever persona she needed to accomplish it. I could do the same thing with science, but being capable of doing it with people was what earned her a spot as an Avenger. She had probably never had to deal with men not liking her.
“Natasha,” I looked at her with the wide-eyes of a new idea, “I need you to teach me seduction.”
The simultaneous sounds of Sam choking on his sandwich and Bucky’s chair slipping out from under him created such a cacophony made Wanda suppress a grin and Natasha not even bothering to. “Alright,” Natasha made a shooing gesture. “Boys out.”
Bucky hurried out of the room without another word, clearly half-terrified by my request. I’d probably spend the next month trying to coax him from his mortification.
“C’mon–” Sam said, pointing at his sandwich.
“Take it to go.”
Sam groaned, but he never won arguments with Natasha, so he grabbed his plate and shuffled out of the room.
Natasha gracefully hopped onto the marble counter beside my ice cream carton, her knowing eyes on my face. “Spill.”
I stabbed the serving spoon into the ice cream again and brought another helping to my mouth. To complete the humiliation of the evening by sharing it? I preferred taking it to my grave.
Natasha tilted her head. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is.”
With a sigh, I sagged against the counter. Just because I was familiar with her interrogation tactics didn’t mean I couldn’t fall for them. “I had a date tonight.”
Wanda sucked in a pitying breath between her teeth. “And it was that bad?”
I stared back at them, my frustration inflamed. “It might’ve been bad…if he’d bothered to show up.”
And then the flood gates were open, all the embarrassing details on full display. The fact that it was my eighth first date in a row. The stories about how kind this man had seemed over our conversation on the dating app. The pesky hope that kept creeping in regardless of how hard I tried to stay realistic.
Yet even through it all, I couldn’t figure out how to make them understand why every small thing meant so much to me. The blushes over every compliment and the soaring hope when they asked if they could take me out for dinner? Those probably wouldn’t mean so much if someone had ever experienced the profundity of actually being in love.
It didn’t feel as though there could be a more disastrous combination than my hopes and inexperience.
As I told them about how the texts had stopped coming an hour before the date, Natasha’s eyes never left my face. How someone could stand that much intense eye contact, I’d never know. Wanda rummaged through drawers, making little humming sounds to encourage me further in my story or empathize with what I was saying.
When I finished speaking, Natasha shook her head. “You don’t need seduction tips.”
I pulled myself up onto the counter beside her. “Didn’t you hear me? This guy wasn’t even interested enough in me to show up when he said he was going to!”
Wanda plucked the serving spoon from my hand and replaced it with the more appropriately-sized utensil she’d been looking for. “Dating is about showing up.”
“You think?” I snapped.
She winced. “Bad word choice.”
“What Wanda meant,” Natasha cut in, “is that dating isn’t about doing it right or wrong, it’s about spending enough time with someone to learn if you want to keep spending time with them.”
“I can’t spend time with them if they don’t come to spend time with me!”
“Then they’re eliminating themselves which saves you the task of having to do it.”
I tried not to focus on the loaded way the assassin had used the word ‘eliminated’ and sighed while setting down my spoon. Ice cream couldn’t fill the hole in my chest. “I’m a scientist, I can’t believe that there’s no reason I’m getting bad results. I must be doing something wrong.” I hopped off the counter, staring miserably at my skirt. Its wrinkles made it appear just as dejected and abandoned as I felt. “Maybe I’m just not trying hard enough.”
A snort of impressive resonance came from Natasha. “I can tell you that’s not true. This isn’t the first time you’ve come home with your mascara running down your cheeks.”
I self-consciously swiped at my face, wondering how many times Natasha had seen me return after dates. “Well, then maybe I don’t have it because I somehow don’t deserve it yet.” It was a pitiful thing to say, but standing in the kitchen of superheroes in a blouse and spandex shorts with frizzy hair and smeared makeup, I didn’t have much pride left.
“There are,” Wanda shook her head, “so many things wrong with what you just said. Being amazing is not a requirement for a relationship, or there are several married folks I know that should be single.”
“Then what is it?” I whined. “What am I doing wrong?”
“It’s all about timing.” Wanda shrugged. “I lived my whole life without the timing being right. You think I would’ve chosen to meet Vision under the circumstances we did?”
“Or that Steve and I would’ve chosen to fall in love during a life on the run?” Natasha asked.
“Timing,” I echoed sarcastically. “Right. My love clock is just slower than everyone else’s.”
“Slower?” Natasha chuckled. “You’re just 24.”
I gave her a glare with more vigor than I normally would’ve given someone who was trying to help or who could kill me in about a thousand different ways. “There is no just 24. I’m the oldest I’ve ever been. I have been waiting my whole life for this, and somehow you’re telling me my whole life is a ‘just’?”
Surprisingly, neither the spy nor the witch seemed to have a response to that. “Have you ever been 24 and never having been kissed?” My cheeks burned as I said it, but the words kept flowing from the insecurity that had just gotten a taste of fresh air and wanted more. “I have so many friends who have never been 24 and unmarried, yet here I am, some sort of romantic pariah who can’t find a decent guy!”
Storming over to my skirt, I kicked it again, hard enough that it slid under the couch where I was glad to let it stay. “You know, people always talk about how I didn’t date because I was focusing on my studies, I was busy getting my degrees.” I looked Natasha directly in the eyes. “People that have boyfriends or get married don’t get two degrees in less than five years. People that are wanted don’t have that much time to focus on their studies.”
The tears were sliding down my cheeks again, and the hot shame that had rested like a knot inside a chamber of my heart began to grow. To stand in front of two gorgeous, skilled women and admit how much of a troll most men seemed to find me? To witness the pitying expressions on their faces? Not even sitting alone at the restaurant until the waitress made me give up the table could compare.
I spread my hands in the air, inviting them to look closer at the grand failure that was myself. “Everyone is moving forward. There are probably hundreds of people out there in the wide world that are starting a new relationship right now. Hundreds of thousands of people are with their person right now, on dates or at home or making meals together or sleeping side by side, and none of those people are me!”
Sinking into the seat Bucky had abandoned, my shoulders sagged under the weight of it all. “I just…I want the chance to feel something. To have a guy look for me in a crowded room because he’s excited to see me or stare at me when I look pretty. I want someone who will talk to me all about their job the way I want to tell someone all about mine. I want to learn what his favorite meal is and cook it for him when he’s having a bad day because I know both of those things.
“I want to prove to myself that I would be as good at love as I think I could be, but I just feel like–” My voice broke. I wiped at my cheeks, angry that I couldn’t even fully express the grief of it all. “I feel like no one is ever going to love me as much as everyone around me has been loved. And the worst thing is I don’t know how to fix it because I don’t know what it is that makes me so unloveable.”
The room was still as I waited for two of the smartest women I knew to give me their wisdom, to point out the issue the way they did when I attempted to learn self-defense from them. But when I looked up, both of them wore the sadness that I deeply felt.
Natasha came nearer. “We know how you feel.”
I scoffed in spite of myself. I did not want to hear platitudes. “You guys are heroes. People post about you on social media and ask for your autographs and wear shirts or tattoos of your faces.”
Wanda laughed. “And a few months ago, they hated us and were calling for us to be locked up.”
“But you’re both gorgeous and talented and confident!”
Natasha shrugged, as if those were small things. “Maybe those things make us likable.”
“But not lovable,” Wanda finished. “I’m an experiment, made to torment people.”
“And I’m a spy trained to kill people. Not exactly prime girlfriend material.” Natasha’s self-deprecation didn’t sound right coming from the complete package that she was.
“But you guys have power and perfect hair and–”
“And which of those things somehow inherently make us worthier of love than you?” Wanda sat down in the chair by mine, holding out a fresh make-up wipe I wasn’t sure how she’d gotten.
I had no answer for that, and I liked having the answers to things. So I took the make-up wipe.
“ The last thing you want to do is settle,” Natasha said gently.
“You say that like I’ve had an opportunity to settle.” I scoffed, wiping my cheeks until the wipe was black and tan from my make-up.
Wanda handed me a tissue. “Maybe it’s better to be rejected than to be the one having to reject?”
I scowled at her.
“Fine,” she said, “are you telling me there’s not one boy in your whole dating history that you could’ve gotten a second date with if you’d put your whole self into it.”
“Well, not one I’d want to,” I muttered.
“Exactly!” Natasha clapped her hands like I’d won a competition. “Because you knew he wasn’t right!”
“You’ve got better instincts than you think.” Wanda said with a smile while Natasha nodded vigorously.
Instincts. Right. “So…what am I supposed to do?”
“Rally!” Natasha stood and spread her hands grandly. “Go forth! Be rejected! It’s part of the experience.”
Wanda grinned at Natasha’s antics. “You tried, Y/N. And that’s the best thing you can do. Keep trying.”
I sighed. “I was hoping for an easier answer than that.” Several failed first dates seemed like enough evidence that I had some sort of bug that could be fixed with maintenance and troubleshooting.
“Oh, Y/N.” Natasha tilted her head like I was an adorable puppy. “Who ever told you love was easy?”
“My friends all found it easily enough,” I grumbled childishly, thinking of all the bridesmaid dresses in my closet and the pictures of happy couples I always saw on my social media.
“Perhaps.” Wanda patted my knee. “But there’s a lot that you’ve gotten that they can’t dream of.”
Natasha grinned, counting things off on her fingers. “Two degrees, a prestigious position with Bruce, a high enough salary to buy whatever you want.”
Wanda joined in. “A mind capable of complicated research, a high work ethic–”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I said, smiling. I almost hated that they’d made me feel better; there was something so satisfying about wallowing and feeling sorry for myself.
“You don’t have to try again right away.” Natasha picked up the ice cream carton and two more spoons from the kitchen. “For tonight and any other night like this, we’re here for unhealthy amounts of ice cream and sad movies.”
“As long as the dog doesn’t die,” Wanda added, nodding solemnly.
We migrated to the massive couch and started on a dog-less Disney movie that we mostly talked over. We sat together eating ice cream as the conversation veered into lighter topics such as Wanda asking me where I’d gotten the skirt and Natasha recounting the story of how unevenly she’d cut Steve’s hair when she’d just realized how much she liked him—apparently they’d had to come out of hiding long enough to get him to a barber to fix her mistakes.
The ache in my chest didn’t fully go away, but my sadness lifted enough for me to genuinely smile, even if the smiles were small or tense. And every smile was a tiny victory.
While my heart still smarted from the evening and my mind still searched in vain for some quick fix, I reluctantly admitted to myself that I would be okay. Because what burden couldn’t be made lighter by the beautiful music of Alan Menken, scoops of chocolate-peanut butter ice cream, and the company of friends?
I just hit 40k words written for White Moves First! It's crazy that this was only supposed to be a singular scene with Edmund getting jealous of Rabadash dancing with the MC. Just goes to show that stories have a life of their own 😂
- "what sound does aa make": because I never studied phonetics in my one speech class
- "the sheep detective": because I was trying to remember the name of the character Hugh Jackman plays (excellent movie by the way)
- "lock-picking basics": because Skyrim did not teach me anything
- "supplies needed for embalming": because I was trying to describe a burial chamber
- "vice grip versus vise grip": because vice grip did not seem right and I was correct! It's vise grip, unless you're British
- "would putting corpses in dirt help plants grow": because every writer worth their salt has to think about body disposal at least SOME point in their career
- "word for being able to read and write": because while I am allegedly literate, I did not remember that literate was the correct term
- "dessert poisons": I meant to type desert. Whoops.
- "what holds a torch on a wall": because I thought sconces were a modern invention
In other words, I'm really excited about this fantasy project I'm working on!
This is part 8 of Please Don't Say You Love Me. Dedicated to @sassysaxxy. You're one of my favorite people ever, and I love you!
Summary: Y/N's whole goal in life is to keep her head down and protect her brother. George Weasley's whole goal in life seems to be making sure Y/N can't hide.
Word count: 2.3k
Warnings: none
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
It worked in my favor that most people are exceptionally unobservant. To me, the way I kept glancing at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall was obvious—a flashing announcement to all in the room that I had a vulnerability.
But most people are so wrapped up in their own lives and own conversations that none of them seemed to catch the direction my attention kept drifting in. Every time I realized where—or to who—my attention drifted, I stared back down at my oatmeal to remind myself how dangerous attachments were. But then, before I knew it, my eyes were on him again. Though the cycle felt consistent, no one seemed to notice.
Just like no one seemed to notice how captivating George Weasley really was.
His movements were so fluid, like his mind had the same uninterrupted pace he always walked with. The match of his grin and freckles made him look so full of youth, emphasized by the mess of his hair. Sitting in the midst of the chaos of the Gryffindor table, he looked comfortable and at ease. If anything, he probably felt entirely at home.
I glanced up and down the deserted Slytherin table. It captured the silence and stillness of my home, but none of the terror.
Against my will, my eyes darted back to George.
I felt like I’d returned to the castle from the holiday with a parasite. I couldn’t stop thinking of him, wanting to talk to him, wondering where he was and what he was doing.
At that moment, he chatted with Fred and Lee Jordan, eating a piece of bacon with his long, dextrous fingers. I wanted him to look at me. How outré. When he didn’t look at me, my heart ached. How pathetic.
If that had been it, everything would’ve been fine. I had enough self-control to keep myself from the things I wanted.
But George seemed to have this uncanny ability of knowing where I was. The day after we’d come back, he’d found me on a bench tucked against a hedge in the castle grounds. The day after that, he’d found me sitting against the wall of the furthest corner of the restricted section in the library.
No matter how hard I tried to hide, George was determined to find me, so my little parasite lived on.
He looked up from his bacon just then, eyes meeting mine before a grin spread across his still-chewing mouth. Determined not to be the first to look away, I raised an unimpressed eyebrow. He only smiled wider.
“Y/L/N.” Malfoy sat at the seat across from me, instantly blocking my view of George.
I elegantly brought a bite of oatmeal to my lips. “Need something?”
“No, but you do.”
Instantly, my sense of danger flared. “What’s going on?”
“If you weren’t avoiding the common room, you would’ve heard.” Malfoy glanced around at the table. “Look, there’s about to be some news in the Daily Prophet.” The gravity in his cold, gray eyes quickened my heart as he pursed his lips.
Something happened.
Something happened, and the Slytherins didn’t want to be around for the fallout.
Malfoy nodded at whatever expression was on my face and rose to his feet to sweep out of the Great Hall.
News that the Slytherins knew before the newspapers could only be a handful of subjects. News that was about to blow up this peaceful breakfast was an even smaller group, all related to one person.
The Dark Lord.
My eyes found George again, this time on purpose. His head was thrown back in a laugh that carried farther than those around him, an arm stretching out to shove Lee Jordan’s shoulder. Any minute now, the owls would come flying in, eyes would scan the front page, and that smile would die immediately.
Would his eyes fill with anxiety? Or would the shock not wear off before he left the hall? Would he look at me? Would he guess at the role my family might’ve played in whatever atrocities had occurred?
I didn’t want to see that. But it was about to happen regardless, and simply knowing it would haunt me just the same as seeing it. Didn’t I deserve to see it? To have that image in my brain? It was the penance that someone in my family needed to bear, and there was only ever one member of my family that ever bore it.
The crowd of owls flooded in, bringing letters, scrolls, and parcels—and rolled up newspapers.
My copy of the Daily Prophet landed in front of me about the same time as everyone else’s, but everyone else was distracted by their friends or food. With no such distractions, I quickly untied the newspaper roll and flattened the front page down on the table.
DARK MARK SPOTTED IN LAVENHAM — THREE DEAD BODIES FOUND
My stomach fell through the floor as I read. No signs of injury were found on the bodies, only terror frozen on their faces. Characteristic of the Killing Curse, the Dark Lord’s favorite weapon.
I hadn’t finished the article, but I didn’t need the extra information to let the event sink in. Instead, I watched.
It started with a murmur.
Then a rush.
Then everyone knew. Some were clamoring to each other to discuss while others sat in silence, staring down at the paper. Professor Sprout sat with her hands over her mouth while Professor McGonagall spoke with Professor Flitwick in low tones.
Professor Snape sat, staring down at his paper with his pale face impassive. I wished I was as good at pretending as he.
Finally, I took a deep breath and looked towards George.
Lee Jordan and Fred were gesturing towards the paper as they talked, the other Weasley siblings crowding around. Granger and Potter were there too. Distantly, I recalled that Potter had been telling anyone who would listen that the Dark Lord had risen again, yet he didn’t look victorious at being confirmed. He and Granger were both pale, shaking their heads in disbelief as the Weasleys clamored.
And George sat in the center of it all, looking over Lee Jordan’s shoulder at me.
A horrible, blistering guilt sank into my very core as our eyes met. He looked as though he were going to be sick, but his gaze wasn’t accusatory.
It should’ve been.
We were on opposite sides, of the Hall and of this war.
But no, the grief in his eyes did not cast shame on me.
Which only made me cast more shame on myself.
-
I’d been in a daze all day, and everyone else in the castle seemed to be the same. Most of the students and professors were distracted and fearful, while most of the Slytherins acted as though we were in enemy territory.
Professor Umbridge conducted her class as though nothing about today was different from any other day. Strange, that would’ve been my response too and yet I hated her for it.
It was almost a relief to reach Divination and be given an assignment that required us to lay on the mossy floor and stare up at the enchanted ceiling full of the stars. Some book somewhere must’ve held the spell that Professor Firenze used in classroom eleven, and I was determined to find it someday because that classroom afforded the day’s only modicum of peace.
Around me, my fellow seventh years were trying to finish the day’s assignment, but my completed scroll already sat on the professor’s desk.
Watching the constellations, I rubbed the tiny star charm on my pewter necklace between my fingers. My parents and most of the other Slytherins’ parents held very little stock in Divination, but I’d seen it as another easy N.E.W.T.
I didn’t need the class for a career since witches in my family didn’t work, but another Outstanding on my report could not be a bad thing. I didn’t believe in the interpretations I made or that stars miraculously held answers about the future. I cared only about checking the box.
But laying on my back in the dark, I suddenly wished Divination was real, if only to have reassurances.
Would my parents send me a letter soon? Would Umbridge zero in on my brother again? Would Warrington and the other Slytherins start trying to bully me again?
Was war truly on the horizon? Which side would win and how many would die?
Would I be able to tell George what he needed to hear soon? Would I become the person he seemed to already see? Or would the world catch up to us and separate us before we’d even truly come together?
Distantly, the bells in the tower rang, signaling the end of class. Those who hadn’t finished their assignment would have to finish it before next class, and they grumbled about it. Some even put their unfinished scrolls on Professor Firenze’s desk, clearly preferring to worry about other things.
I lingered even after the stragglers, not wanting to get caught in the hallway during the passing period. Funny, I was more used to avoiding the other houses more than Slytherin, and yet today the whole idea of avoidance felt heavier somehow.
A massive hand clapped my shoulder, and I spun around with my wand in hand before I registered that it was Professor Firenze.
Feeling off balance with the weight of his hand on me, I blinked up at the centaur. “Sorry, sir, I thought you–”
“You don’t have long.”
I watched him, confused and worried by the solemn expression on his face. “Excuse me?”
“The answer to your question.” He removed his hand, yet his eyes bored into mine with the intensity and beauty of a full moon. “Before the snow melts.”
My surprise didn’t wear off quickly enough, and he clopped over to his private quarters.
“Wait–which question?!” I called as the door shut and remained closed. Only one answer? But I’d wanted to know so many things!
Would the letter come? Would war start? Would George and I make it to the next step?
I didn’t know.
But what I did know was that, by springtime, something would change.
-
“What could possibly be the point of giving Harry the map,” Fred was saying, “if you keep borrowing it?”
“You know exactly what the point is,” George replied, scouring the parchment for Y/N.
Fred’s grumblings weren’t quite comprehensible, and George didn’t bother trying to puzzle it out. He’d hoped his family and their friends would relax after spending the holiday with Y/N, and it had worked on his parents, Charlie, and Bill. His mother kept asking about Y/N and Clem, if they were eating enough and dressing warmly for the weather. But all those still at Hogwarts seemed guarded, and Fred particularly more so afterwards than before. Y/N refused to tell George about any of the conversations she’d been bombarded with, no matter how many times he asked.
Would that woman ever tell him all her secrets?
Merlin, George hoped so.
And he hoped one of those secrets would contain the reason behind her expression this morning. While his friends and family had been ranting about You-Know-Who, she’d looked at him with devastation. Devastation for him, he was pretty sure. But why?
“There she is,” he muttered before folding up the map and shoving it into Fred’s hands.
“George!” Fred called.
“Busy!” George called back over his shoulder, jogging towards the new Divination classroom occupied by Professor Firenze.
The bells rang while he ran, and he quickly planted himself down the hallway from the classroom as the students began filing out. None of them spoke about the subject—George suspected no one in the whole castle was speaking about coursework today.
Gradually, the hallway emptied, and he still hadn’t seen Y/N. His breathing had calmed down after his run, which was good. He didn’t want her to know that he’d been seeking her out so intentionally. He wanted to simply appear like he’d been doing all week with the help of the Marauder’s Map.
Despite all his efforts, when Y/N stepped out of the classroom, she nearly jumped when her eyes fell on him.
“Are you going to the match tomorrow?” George asked easily, sliding his hands into his pockets and leaning against the wall. He always did this around Y/N; he’d read somewhere that it was a way to appear less threatening, and he needed all the help he could get to not trigger Y/N’s hypervigilance.
“Urm…” Y/N blinked distractedly, as if not fully aware of the current moment. “The library’s quiet during matches.”
Quiet. She was always looking for quiet. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by George that every time his family had gotten rowdy over the break, Y/N found a way to disappear. No wonder she sometimes avoided him—he wasn’t necessarily a great provider of silence.
He wondered what it would take for her to grow loud herself. He couldn’t even imagine it. But maybe if he hung around long enough, he’d get to hear it. “I was just wondering if–”
“Look,” she shoved her Divination book into her bag, “I’ve got to go. See you later?” And before George could utter a word, she turned on her heel and glided down the stairs in her tastefully easy way, the way she moved when she was trying not to draw attention to herself.
George did not do a thing to slow her down or change her course. He merely stared after her. He’d known their conversation on Christmas Day would spook her, but recently he’d caught her watching him more than he’d ever imagined she’d watch him. That had to mean something…right?
Was there a single thing he could do to help her open up?
Nothing he hadn’t already done.
He sighed before turning around to return to his twin. His promise to wait for her was ringing in his ears. Waiting was turning out to be a lot harder than he’d anticipated.
"At that moment, he chatted with Fred and Lee Jordan, eating a piece of bacon with his long, dextrous fingers. I wanted him to look at me. How outré. When he didn’t look at me, my heart ached. How pathetic.
If that had been it, everything would’ve been fine. I had enough self-control to keep myself from the things I wanted."
Man, it's been a while since I updated for this, but the inspiration wouldn't leave me alone, so here!
Warnings: not edited 😬
Word count: 2.4k
Sorrows Can Swim masterlist
-
Prince couldn’t stay still.
The moment Maid informed him that Princess and Guard had left, he was possessed with the restless energy of a traveler and the scatterbrained spirit of a musician. He couldn’t just stand, he paced. He couldn’t just sit, he rapped his fingers against the arm of his chair in a nonsensical, apprehensive rhythm. He hadn’t realized how much he relied upon the walls of the castle he controlled to keep Princess safe until he knew she wasn’t within them.
It’s for her birthday, he argued with himself as he stared unseeingly at the parchment in front of him.
If this is what her birthday entailed, thank heaven birthdays only came once a year. He couldn’t focus on anything else when he was worried about her; she was all-consuming.
Sighing, Prince got to his feet and started walking loops around his library.
He'd ensured that the picnic basket they’d taken had more food than they could possibly eat in three days, even tucking in an extra picnic blanket. His knuckles were red, dry and irritated from the brisk cleaning of her saddle, because Prince would not leave her equestrian safety to the stable boys. He had done all he could to make sure she returned safely, short of getting on his knees and begging Guard to protect the most important thing in his life.
And the only reason he’d not done that was because royalty did not kneel, not for anyone. To dirty one’s knees was to humiliate oneself.
As if Prince needed to kneel for that when Princess was around.
-
The moment the sun started falling from its position directly overhead, Prince stationed himself at the window of an abandoned bedchamber. Once his little sister had gotten married and went to live on her husband’s estate, the room lay forgotten, tucked away from the bustle of the castle.
Sheets covered the furniture, and the chest was shoved against the wall so that it would open towards the wall instead of towards the person opening it. The only colorful things in the room were the drapes, drawn tight to protect the room from the sun’s rays.
There wasn’t much at all to say in favor of the room, except for its north-facing window, high up enough to give Prince a perfect view of the castle gatehouse. When Princess and Guard returned, the only person to see them arrive before Prince would be the lookout in the gatehouse itself.
Still full of nervous energy and unable to stand still, Prince opened the chest, wedging himself against the wall to rummage through the contents. He bumped the open lid with his elbow, causing it to slam shut. If he hadn’t moved his hand in the nick of time, he’d be down five appendages.
He sighed, sitting down on the chest.
This is what he’d been reduced to? His concern had turned him into a lurker and a snoop. He was better than this. Shaking his head, Prince shut the drapes and left the bedchamber.
Princess and Guard would return when they would return, and nothing Prince could do now would speed their arrival.
Sitting down at his desk, Prince was just scooting his chair closer to it when the doors of his study burst open with such aggression, the doors banged the walls.
Brother strode into the study. A sick feeling in his stomach, Prince rose to his feet. Only the most pressing of emergencies would send his brother here in this fashion. “What has happened?”
“I need you to remain calm,” Brother said, as if his arrival and the furrowing of his brows inspired serenity.
Prince stared back, his heart thundering.
She’s dead, he thought faintly. He’s about to tell me my wife is dead.
Brother clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve just discovered…that Princess left the castle today alone with one of the castle guards. I should’ve been told immediately, but my guards didn’t tell me until just now.”
Prince did not move, reeling from the whiplash. So…Brother was just here to tell him that his wife was with another man? He tried to break through the sudden numbness that had settled over him. How should he act? Surprised? To roar as a jealous husband would and then tell his brother that he would handle it? Or maybe denial was the most convincing response, as Prince still couldn’t believe the situation himself.
But Prince knew it was too late for all that when Brother’s urgent expression loosened into a shock of his own. “You…you knew.” His eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”
Sitting back down in his chair and propping his elbows on the chair to rest his head on his hands, Prince tried to take a deep breath.
The lying was too much. He was tired of it. He spent so much energy concealing this secret from all he could, and now his own flesh and blood stood before him, feeling betrayed. Prince should feel betrayed. He didn’t have it left in him. “I sent them. Princess wanted to see the falls for her birthday.”
“But alone?” Brother demanded. “It’s completely preposterous, especially for you! Why would you put her safety at risk simply…”
The silence in the study was deafening, but Prince found all he needed to in the growing look of horror on Brother’s face. Brother knew. Prince expected relief at the secret now carried by two backs instead of one, but he just felt hollow. Brother, however, seemed full of rage. “How long has this been happening?”
Belatedly, Prince remembered Guard’s threat. So far, Prince hadn’t confirmed anything, not shared any facts or feelings, but Guard was not a man of honor. It would not matter that the secret had come out in other ways; once it was out, Guard would have no hesitation in bringing ruin upon the kingdom. “You must not tell anyone,” Prince said lowly.
The ferocity of Brother’s glare could set Prince aflame. “Have you gone balmy?!”
“I’m telling you, if this gets out, it could bring war to this castle, not to mention what it would do to Princess’s reputation.”
“Reputation?” Brother echoed. “If you were so concerned about her reputation, what possessed you to send your wife off with her lover?!”
Prince held his brother’s furious gaze. “Because I love her.”
“That’s very sweet,” Brother said, the sarcasm rattling in the empty space of Prince’s chest, “but she clearly doesn’t care a whit for you or this kingdom! I mean, you must be a dunce to do such a thing!”
“Perhaps I am,” Prince murmured, his quiet words quite the offset to Brother’s volume. “But regardless of that and despite the fact that she doesn’t care a whit for me, I would do anything to make her happy.”
“Then buy her jewels! O-or a new dress, women like dresses! Don’t let her cavort around with another man, not when she is yours!”
Mine.
Pairing that word with the image in Prince’s mind of a laughing Princess running through the garden didn’t sit right. She wasn’t his. She didn’t want to be his. She was her own. Her own to give to who she wanted, and that was not him.
Slowly shaking his head, Prince folded his hands together. “I won’t force my love on her.”
“Then have her live in the same chastity you have chosen!”
Prince’s eyes lowered to the cracking skin of his knuckles, realizing he’d forgotten to put salve on them after cleaning Princess’s saddle. There was a bit of blood that had seeped through and dried in a dark red. “No one should live a life devoid of love. It is lonely, and out of all the things I wish for her, loneliness is the farthest.”
“She has friends, ladies-in-waiting, pets, and more money than she could ever spend. She does not need some mere soldier for some fantasy of love!”
“It’s not the love she imagines it is,” Prince admitted, looking up to fix his brother with a hard stare. “She does not need to be wise, I can be wise for her. But she does need to be happy, because I can’t be happy for her.”
“How…” Brother trailed off, looking quite overwhelmed. “I know that love is not always rational, but how can you still protect her?”
Not always rational.
Prince wanted to laugh. Nothing about Princess or his feelings for her were governed by logic or reason. “I don’t know. If I knew how to make the feelings stop…” He paused. Would he actually get rid of his love if he could? He didn’t know.
Brother let out an aggravated breath. “Well, I hope you trust Guard.”
Prince looked up questioningly.
Brother gestured at the window behind Prince. “It’s begun to rain.”
Slowly, Prince rotated towards his window to see that his brother was right. Grey clouds had hidden the sun, and droplets were starting to fall against the glass. Prince glanced at the clock. It was past four in the afternoon.
They should’ve been back by now.
-
“Send every soldier we can spare!” Prince roared. “No one rests until the princess is safely returned!” The thunder boomed, emphasizing his distress. The soldiers were all pulling cloaks over their heads as they ran into the stables, preparing to ride out into the growing darkness. The rain made it nearly impossible to see, and it would quench any torch.
Prince watched them ride off to the north together, towards the falls. Somewhere along the way, they’d find Guard and Princess.
He clenched and unclenched his jaw. If war came, then he'd deal with it.
Prince didn’t care if Guard hated being caught; the feelings of a wretched man such as he were irrelevant when compared to the importance of the princess’s safety.
“What I wouldn’t give to be you,” Prince mumbled. His brother got to train with the soldiers; Prince had to deal with the council. Brother had the safety of his trainings while Prince had to bow to every rule to accomplish anything. But most of all, Brother wasn’t staring at one of the worst storms, wondering if the love of his life would survive.
It was agony for Prince to know Princess was missing and know he would be useless out in the rain looking for her compared to his soldiers.
A shadow moved, and Prince looked to see one of the stable boys standing in one of the now-empty stalls. “Hello,” he said gently.
The boy pressed himself against the stall wall.
“It’s alright.” Prince turned to face the boy, but did not draw closer. “I won’t hurt you. What’s your name?”
“The boy’s mute,” Brother muttered from behind him.
A flush of embarrassment hit Prince. “My apologies.” As he gazed at the boy, he could see the fear on his face and the way the small body shook from head to toe. Prince tried for a kinder tone. “I’m sorry if I’ve frightened you. I promise, you aren’t in any trouble.” The boy didn’t look relieved from the fear.
Prince knelt down, his right knee landing squarely in the mud that slowly started soaking through his pants. He looked directly into the boy’s eyes. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared right now too, which is why I need your help. Can you be brave and help me?”
The boy gave a short nod, edging closer.
“Can you point in the direction they went?”
The boy blinked a few times, and with each blink, Prince’s heart clenched. Then, ever so slowly, the boy crept to the opening of the stall, lifted his arm and pointed.
To the south. The opposite direction of the falls.
Prince wanted to curse, to scream verbal filth at the grey skies. After a moment of keeping his body completely still, he let out a long breath. “Thank you.” He patted the boy’s shoulder and then stood to face his brother.
“There aren’t any soldiers left to go,” Brother said, in response to his unspoken questions.
“Then I must go after them myself.” Prince strode towards his horse.
Brother quickly got in between them. “You’re the heir, you can’t go without an escort!”
“Hang an escort!” Prince shouted, shoving his brother aside. He went to the nearest saddle—the one that had originally been on Princess's horse before he re-saddled it.
“I know you're worried, but the kingdom cannot lose its crown prince alongside its princess!”
Prince whirled around, the saddle in his hands. He fixed Brother with the fiercest stare he could. “It will lose me anyway! She is my heart, and a prince cannot rule without his heart!”
“Sir!”
Both brothers turned to see two of Brother's personal guards running towards them in the rain. And the sight of the third man held between them made Prince's heart sink.
Brother breathed a sigh of relief as the guards reached the stable. “You found them.”
But Prince studied the faces of his brother's men. They were stone-faced, as Brother preferred, but the bigger soldier was clenching their charge's arm far harder than necessary, and the smaller one looked as if he’d swallowed a frog.
Guard shook his head.
The man they held, the man that once called Prince pathetic was now covered in mud all down his pale and drawn face. He didn’t need threats to know the trouble he was in.
"Where did you find him?" he asked the soldiers.
"Sneaking into the barracks."
Prince did not kneel this time, bending over at the waist to bring his face right to Guard's. “Where is she?”
“I know you went south. Did you go to the river? To the marketplace?”
“Your highness?” the smaller soldier asked.
“What?” said Prince and Brother at the same time.
The man’s face reddened. Apparently the attention of two princes was too much. “Sir, he's talked of growing up in Teorn.”
A village. Five miles south. Twice as far as Queen's Veil Falls.
Prince leveled Guard with a stare. “You took her to your home?”
Guard did not reply, but the tensing of his shoulder was enough.
Prince’s fists itched to bring a storm of wrath down on the head of this obnoxious, traitorous fiend. But even as satisfying images of bruises and blood ran through his mind, Prince uncurled his hands, looking off towards Brother. “Make sure he’s secured.” He brought his saddle to his horse.
“Where do you think you're going?” Brother asked, grabbing Prince’s shoulder.
Prince yanked his hand away. “You'll have to lock me up to stop me.” As he finished strapping the saddle, the skin on the first knuckle of his right hand split, a singular drop of blood spreading through the crinkles of his skin.
Brother let out a long sigh before saddling his own horse.
Just wanna begin by saying, absolutely loved the latest update, I think it's one of my favourites (altho I think I say that every time)
But it got me thinking
What types or eras of fashion do Narnia and Archenland follow in your mind in 'White moves first'?
Awwww thank you! Every part either becomes my new favorite or my new least favorite, haha!
I view Archenland being similar to Victorian styles with ruffles and lace with corsets and petticoats. Very mature and sophisticated with lots of pastels and neutrals.
Narnia on the other hand is definitely more medieval with plain, loose clothes and bolder colors. Theoretically, the fashion in Narnia is only shown by the few humans that live there as the talking animals and other creatures don't wear clothes. And the humans aren't the types to be as stuffy as Archenland or Calormen.
Y'all I was trying to take my last final of the semester but Canvas shut down, so I just worked on this instead. Hope you enjoy!
Summary: Despite the distance between their two lands, Y/N, princess of Archenland, is close friends with King Edmund the Just. But when push comes to shove, will friendship turn to more?
Warnings: none
Word count: 4.9k
White Moves First masterlist | Main masterlist
The day of the tournament arrived, and Cair Paravel was nearly bursting at the seams with the amount of guests that had come to watch and participate. Even though not a single person had come from Calormen, every room had an occupant, and the hallways were so crowded, I’d taken to spending all my time in the suite or the private library for the monarchs. Just because the whole tournament was in my honor didn’t mean I wanted the attention.
That morning, if anyone other than Rona witnessed the way I vacillated between gowns, it might’ve been a great blow to my reputation.
“My lady,” my lady’s maid’s frustration was barely restrained after I discarded my sixth gown, “any of your dresses will be adequate.”
“I want to look more than adequate! Rona, this is my first appearance as the king’s new wife, I have to look worthy of it!”
“You are a princess,” Rona all but snapped. “Your station already makes you worthy.”
Light blue to represent the Just king or red to represent my new home country would’ve been best, but I had neither. In truth, Rona was right. Any of them would be fine. But a nagging feeling in my gut made me feel as though how I looked today was paramount.
I’d settled for a rose dress that made me look soft and sweet and hoped it would be enough. Being the guest of honor, I’d been seated in the center of the royal stands in a makeshift throne decorated with red ribbons and white roses. The sun was already shining, making the trimmed grass look vibrantly green and filling the field with warmth. I had no doubt the warmth would get oppressive later in the day, but for now, it filled me with a bit more confidence. As uncomfortable as it was to be placed in the seat most optimal for being viewed, I did have the advantage of being able to see everyone.
Everyone.
The stands opposite from me were filled with Narnian creatures. The smaller creatures—birds, squirrels, and the like—were crowded into the stands for a good viewpoint while the larger creatures like giants and centaurs simply stood on the grass beside the stands.
There must’ve been over two hundred pairs of eyes across from me, yet the stares that felt invasive came from those sitting on my side of the field. Lucy and Queen Susan were seated on my right and already discussing the events of the day. On my left, however, was a large portion of the lords and ladies I’d grown up in the same court with.
Nearest me sat Lady Constance. She was only a year older yet she’d married over three years ago. “The trip here was intolerable,” she was saying quietly to the lady beside her. I peeked to see it was Lady Grace, who’d been married almost that long as well. “I never ride side-saddle.”
I frowned then quickly smoothed my expression into placidness. Did Lady Constance think the trip to Archenland would be more comfortable in a carriage? She would’ve been tossed like a salad and bruised like a potato rolled down stairs.
“One of those goat-people showed us to our rooms,” Lady Grace whispered back. “He had actual goat legs. I was terrified the whole time.” I barely withheld my scoff. Lady Grace had the courage of a Dormouse and the depth of a puddle; of course she was terrified of a faun.
“Perhaps this really is a barbaric country,” Lady Constance replied, lightly fanning her face now. “Prince Rabadash was correct.”
Revulsion swept through me, and I bit my lip to keep from snapping at the two ladies who had no idea I was listening. That was hardly the impression I wanted to make on my first day in the public eye.
“If I were princess of Archenland,” Lady Grace said, “I would’ve much preferred going to Tashbaan. Did you know it actually snows here?” She shuddered as if feeling the winter chill.
“Not to mention Tashbaan fashion!” Lady Constance snapped her fan closed for emphasis. “How can Narnia have fashion when it’s only animals?”
I grit my teeth. Weather? Fashion? These were the values these ladies wanted to make life-altering decisions with? Were they truly so ignorant?
“I do love your dress,” Lady Grace complimented Lady Constance.
I tried to tune them out, but the talk of ribbons, lace, and fabric permeated through everything until I started to feel as though no amount of my efforts could compare with their finery. I supposed, as I self-consciously smoothed my skirts, that the only concerns Archenland wanted these ladies to have were those sartorial and meteorological.
Then a thought occurred to me, a thought so horrible that it left no room for anything else.
As ignorant as these ladies sounded to me…was that how ignorant I sounded to Edmund? Edmund, who knew so many things? I, who knew so little?
A terrible memory arose in my brain of my wedding night with Edmund. A warrior and a king, forced to listen to me talk about how I preferred my dress to my mother’s. And what about all the times Edmund had listened to my talk of what I was doing with the gardens? My stomach sank straight through the wooden boards of the stands, falling all the way to the core of the earth. Was Edmund mortified by me as I was by these ladies?
Just then, cheering arose as the competitors took to the field, beginning their warm-ups. The unspoken intention behind this time was to allow the competitors to size each other up and decide who they wanted to challenge.
Corin looked completely natural on the field, having practiced his whole life, but Cor kept glancing around at the other competitors with doubt written all over his face. It seemed far too dangerous for Cor to compete, but he’d said our father expressly told him to participate. Of course my father ordered Cor to participate in a tournament he himself wouldn’t attend.
“The high king’s hair gets darker every year,” Lady Constance mused as she leaned forward to ogle Peter. “Soon, he won’t even be blonde.”
“Is that King Edmund?” I heard Lady Grace ask and my eyes immediately searched the field until I saw my husband.
Most of the competitors were already wearing their armor, but Edmund’s only defenses were his breeches and a white shirt. The shirt was large enough to fit loosely on Edmund’s frame, but he was already sweating, so parts of the shirt stuck to his skin as his sword slashed through the air and caught the light of the sun.
“The best swordsman in the North,” Lady Constance breathed, and for once, I agreed with her reverence. Edmund was deserving of it. Sitting a little straighter, my eyes followed the movements of Edmund’s arms. The midmorning air was still cool, but my face grew almost unbearably hot.
He was a man through and through.
And I was not much more than Lady Grace the Dormouse.
Lady Constance’s voice broke through my reverie once more. “I wish my husband would compete in these tournaments.”
“It’s not quite the experience you might imagine,” Lady Grace said unhappily. Her husband always competed and never had the burden of sitting at the table of victors at a banquet.
“Well, at least your husband can compete.” Lady Constance’s fan was flapping again. “My husband’s jowls are starting to reach his collarbones.”
I couldn’t help my horrified grimace, slightly turning my face away from them so as not to draw their attention. How could they be having this conversation in public with no shame?
“Jowls or no,” Lady Grace replied, “his pleasure is still not mine.”
At this, I leaned to the right, towards my sisters-in-law, ready to beg them for conversation if that’s what it took to stop listening in on the travesty happening on my left. But while the Queens’ conversation about one of the lords on the field settled in my ears, my mind was churning.
These ladies were…concerned with…making their husbands happy. As my eyes followed the dark-haired swordsman, guilt swarmed in my gut. Only poor wives didn’t even consider their husband’s happiness. I needed to give him more…but more of what? What could he possibly want from me?
He loves you, said a little voice in my mind, sounding like a cross between the voices of the queens on my right.
But did he really?
“My lady?” Rona walked up the stairs of the stands towards me with a goblet balanced on a tray. She paid no mind to the attention she must’ve been receiving from everyone else in the stands as she came to a stop near me. “One of the kitchen maids asked me to bring this to you.”
I inhaled the smell, the familiar scent of rose water reaching my nose. My favorite.
Rona, looking as unbothered as she would’ve had she been sewing a button, curtsied. “King Edmund wished for you to have refreshments throughout the day.” Then, she left, tucking the platter under her arm as if she hadn’t just thrown a great complication into my thoughts.
Queen Susan leaned forward to send me a small smile. “A drink for his lady love.” Lucy burst into a fit of giggles.
I tightened my hold on the goblet to keep my hand from shaking. I’d always known Edmund to be a thoughtful man, but a man merely thoughtful would’ve sent refreshments for his sisters as well. So he must’ve been something more than thoughtful. An almost painful sense of urgency arose in my gut, making it impossible to sit still until I knew one way or the other.
Was I his lady love or a Dormouse?
“Excuse me,” I said lightly to the queens, who both smiled at me, before marching past Lady Constance and Lady Grace with my chin held high.
A centaur was standing by the stairs of the stands, and he reached out his hand to help me down the steps. He wasn’t one of the ones who gasped when upon descending the stairs, I walked out onto the field.
-
“Edmund?”
Edmund was in mid-strike when he heard his wife’s voice. Surely he imagined it, for why would Y/N ever be on the field during warm-ups? But when he looked over his shoulder, there she was with a trail of staring competitors behind her.
Transferring his sword to his left hand to keep the blade farther from her, he reached out his right hand. “What are you doing on the field?”
Was something wrong? He searched the stands behind her. Where was the guard that he’d assigned to watch over her today? Once he saw the centaur standing beside the stands, he studied his friend instead. She didn’t seem worried, but she wore that pucker she always did when she was thinking intensely about something.
“I wanted to see you.” The gentle clasping of her hand with his didn’t match the fire in her eyes. A glowing determination that made his stomach flip strangely. Reaching up with her free hand, he felt her touch on his neck, bringing her close enough to him that Edmund was suddenly aware of the sweat he was drenched in.
“I probably don’t smell very good,” he said, quietly so that none of the competitors on the field could hear. He would likely never live it down if they heard him saying such a thing. Sweat was a crucial part of the uniform of champions.
“I don’t care.” Y/N stepped even closer, pulling slightly on Edmund as her gaze lowered from his face. “Um…I wanted to ask your permission…if it’s alright…” She bit her lip, the fire in her eyes growing muted.
Edmund frowned. He didn't like that. He didn’t know what she was asking, but he hated that she still felt like she had to ask his permission for simple things. As if she needed it. As if he would refuse her anything. “Of course.” Out of all the outcomes he was expecting, he didn’t expect for Y/N’s eyes to flutter shut. His concern rose astride his confusion, just as she simultaneously pulled him forward and rose up onto her toes.
His eyes grew wide. Was she–
She pressed her lips to his.
Oh.
His eyes fluttered shut.
Oh.
The crowds all roared their appreciation for the king’s wife, but the roar was a distant thing.
Her lips were so soft, and she kissed him in the lightest possible way she could've while still being considered a kiss. Even in this, after gaining his unnecessary permission, she still moved with hesitance.
He wanted more of her.
No, not simply more. He wanted all of her.
Letting go of her hand, he wrapped his arm around her waist, hauling her to him. He tried to keep his sword arm away from Y/N, not wanting to so much as bump her skin with the heavy weapon. But when Y/N’s tongue brushed his in answer, he heard the distant thud of his sword falling on the grass as both his hands found her waist, pulling her closer into him.
And then her fire was back, burning him through her fingers and her lips, spreading through his body until he was a living flame.
He couldn’t hold her tight enough, get her close enough to him. She responded by wrapping her arms around his back, holding him firmly.
This was their third kiss. The others had been skin-deep, for the benefit of others, but this kiss felt different. And so this kiss burned a mark upon his soul, and he would gladly let himself go up in flames for her.
All too soon, she pulled away, letting out a quiet gasp for air. Edmund probably should’ve let her catch her breath, but it had already been too long since he'd felt her. So he chased her lips and captured them with very little resistance. The little sigh she let out into his mouth made his hands shake.
Forget the competition, Y/N had already won everything. Or perhaps it was Edmund who’d won.
The competition.
The cheering finally broke through his reverie, and he pulled away with intense effort.
The look on Y/N was somewhere between blissful and satisfied. If he actually had the wherewithal to manage something more than an open mouth, he would’ve looked the same. “Did I…miss something?” he asked, breathless and amused as he continued to hold her tight to him. He was already dreaming of when he’d get to kiss her again. Maybe when he won the tournament?
“I wanted to wish you luck,” she said shyly, her eyes darting all over his face as if checking for signs of discontentment. “Sorry.”
“Don’t…uh, it’s fine.” Edmund’s mind felt so scattered, especially as he decided he needed this kind of luck every day. Her hands still rested on his chest as if she didn’t notice the sweaty shirt underneath her palms and fingers, and he couldn’t help puffing out his chest slightly.
Y/N noticed the movement and lifted her hands like she were about to pull away, but Edmund quickly caught her hands. “Hey.”
She stopped, looking up at him. “What?”
“For the record,” Edmund squeezed her lightly, content in his bewilderment, “you never have to apologize for kissing me.” He’d expected Y/N to duck her head or cover her warm cheeks, but the smile on her face was only slightly bashful.
Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his cheek for half a moment, and Edmund’s stomach somersaulted headlong into the flames again. Then, she turned away and walked back towards the stands where the nobles from Archenland and his sisters were all staring.
Edmund watched her go, blinking.
“You dropped this.”
Edmund tore his eyes away from Y/N settling back into her seat to see Peter holding out his sword with a knowing grin on his face.
“Shut up,” Edmund said, taking his sword back. He meant to continue with his warm-up, but every lift of his sword was half-hearted.
She'd never kissed him first, he'd always been the one to do it.
Did this mean she would start doing it more often?
He wasn't sure what to think of that. He couldn’t afford to be dropping things all the time.
-
Everyone in both stands was staring, as well as the competitors on the field which included my brothers, but I didn’t care. I sat prim and straight against all the attention.
Edmund loved me.
I knew Edmund—he wouldn’t have kissed me the way he did otherwise, not even for the benefit of our ruse. He certainly wouldn’t have been open-mouthed like a fish after I pulled away, nor would he have dropped his sword unceremoniously on the grass to hold me closer. Not King Edmund, the best swordsman in the North.
But Edmund’s confidence came from knowledge. Knowing things gave him the foundation for his effortless conversation and conviction. He stammered when I’d stopped kissing him, and he seemed confused even when he told me not to apologize for kissing him.
He loved me, and he had no idea.
Was this the first time it had been noticeable? Or was it only the first time I’d noticed?
Feeling flushed, I drank from my goblet, the delicate flavor blooming on my tongue. He loves me, my heart sang with harmony from my mind and stomach. This time, the voice sounded like my own. He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.
-
The archery was first, and Edmund didn’t bother to watch. If Susan were participating, he would’ve just so he could see the disappointed looks on all the faces of the Archenlandian losers. But Susan had said she had no need of Y/N’s favor, so she remained in the stands.
An unexpected number of Narnians participated, desperate for a chance to win now that their queen wasn’t competing.
Once the archery was over and a medal awarded by Y/N to Adonis the centaur, Edmund approached the field, dressed in his armor.
It was a simple bracket. Peter and Edmund started on opposite sides of the bracket, and Edmund defeated opponents with excitement as he thought of crossing swords with his brother at the end of it all.
But when Edmund had stepped away from the field to drink some water, he returned to see Peter sitting with those who’d already been defeated. He’d lost? To whom?
“Final match,” cawed Swallowpad, the raven on the council. “King Edmund against Gobre from Archenland!”
Gobre?
Edmund didn’t recognize the name, and with no title, he had no clues to puzzle out this man’s identity.
As if sensing this, Gobre lifted a hand to his helmet and pulled it off to match Edmund’s bare head.
Edmund glanced over at his wife to see what she thought of her fellow countryman, but she was engaged in conversation with his sisters and did not seem to notice his attention. Did she know Gobre well? She didn’t seem to be interacting with the other ladies he recognized from Archenland. There were two sitting near her, yet Y/N was turned all the way away from them.
As he watched, Lucy said something that made Y/N laugh, and her delighted smile made one spread across his own face.
“Ready!” called Swallowpad, perching on a post in the field placed just for him.
Edmund twisted his sword around fluidly as he easily switched hands and switched again. There was a lot he didn’t know and much he wasn’t good at, but this? Edmund had been born to wield a sword.
Gobre assumed a defensive stance, looking very serious, yet Edmund couldn’t miss the slight smile on his competitor’s face.
An eager opponent.
How fun this was about to be.
“Go!”
Excitement sparked through Edmund’s veins at the first clang of the swords. Even though this was a fight only in the name of competition, the electric feeling of fighting for his life zinged through him. Not a dissimilar experience to having Y/N’s lips on his…
Distracted, Edmund waited half a moment too long to duck a swing, and the wind of his opponent’s sword whipping through the air made his sweaty hair flap. Another swing, which Edmund met.
The man put more power behind his sword than Edmund had expected.
He fell back a step, letting their blades separate. What kind of swordsman was this man? He’d never seen anyone fight this way. He studied the man’s face. The man couldn’t have been a noble, his skin was too tan and his armor too old.
The man slashed, interrupting Edmund’s perusal.
Edmund fought hard, harder than he’d fought all day. Despite himself, he felt a smile on his face. He loved the challenge, and this man was the biggest challenge he’d faced in quite a while.
The man, however, did not smile. With every clang of their blades, his expression tightened even more. Competing against a king was a lot of pressure, and Edmund hoped it didn’t mess with the man’s strategy. As the man bent to avoid Edmund’s sword, he shifted his right shoulder back, and Edmund lifted his sword to meet the strike.
But the strike did not come from the side.
A powerful stroke hit his sword right at the handle, and Edmund’s fingers couldn’t hold on through the shock.
His sword fell to the grass for the second time today, the thud just as resounding.
The man pointed his blade at Edmund’s neck for just a moment before backing away. “Apologies, Your Majesty.” He held out his hand to help Edmund up.
“Don’t apologize,” Edmund said, accepting the help. “You won. Congratulations.”
The man ducked his head and pulled his hand from Edmund’s. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The crowd was still cheering, so Edmund leaned in. “If you ever want to leave Archenland, it would be a pleasure to have you here.”
The man’s eyes widened, like he’d never anticipated that, before sweeping into a full bow this time. “I’m honored.”
“Now go accept your prize.” Edmund gestured to Y/N, who was already holding the medal awarded to the hand-to-hand combat winner. He stepped back, allowing the man the spotlight. The pride of some men would’ve been wounded by losing to an unknown man, especially if their wives were giving the prize. But Edmund’s pride lay in other things; he really didn’t mind losing, not when it was against a worthy opponent.
“Who is that?” Edmund asked Peter curiously.
“I think he’s the son of one of the minor Archenlandian lords.” Peter cocked his head. “Lord Bote, perhaps?”
Edmund nearly shuddered. That odious man had cornered him at his wedding feast and talked of nothing other than how beautiful his wife’s attendant was. He now hoped more than ever that this young man would accept his offer to live in Narnia.
The young man in question approached the royal box where Y/N stood with a radiant smile. She was a princess that any country lucky enough to have her should be proud of, though Edmund doubted anyone could be as proud of her as he.
Reaching down, Y/N placed the medal around his neck before clapping with the rest of the spectators.
“She’s a natural,” Peter said. “Our people love her.”
Edmund grinned. “Narnia is better with her here.”
A little laugh came from Peter, a confusing enough sound that Edmund looked away from his wife and to his brother. “Yeah,” Peter said, “Narnia is much better with your friend here.”
Not understanding, Edmund raised his eyebrows, but Peter waved him away.
Happy to refocus on his wife, Edmund watched as Y/N went down the stairs of the box like she had done earlier, coming out onto the field to congratulate the tournament winner. The man knelt and kissed the back of her hand. Even from where he stood, Edmund could see the blush on her cheeks from the attention. It made him grin. What was so endearing about seeing her flustered, Edmund couldn’t figure out, but it made him want to try anything just to see her a little nervous.
Then his mind snagged on something. If the man was Lord Bote’s son, why was his armor not new and well-kept? Especially if he were attending a tournament in another country, he would want to represent his land to the best of his ability.
As Edmund watched, the man’s face grew serious. He leaned in closer to Y/N, his lips moving.
Edmund couldn’t hear what he said, but a searing warning tore through his gut.
Before he could think, he was running. “Y/N!”
-
The cheers of the crowd faded away as the man leaned in closer to me. “Prince Rabadash sends his congratulations on your nuptials.”
My mind didn’t have time to process his words before I heard my husband shout. “Y/N!”
I tried to step away, but the man’s grip on my hand didn’t loosen as he lifted his sword. A scream fell from my lips as I tried to yank my hand out of his unyielding grip. “What are you doing?” I cried, pulling.
Dimly registering the flash as the sword caught the light of the sun, I pulled back with enough force that I lost my balance, crashing to the grass.
And then a loud clang sounded as another sword arced to meet the one about to slice me in half.
The grip on my wrist released, and I scrambled backwards through the grass, staring in horror as Edmund positioned himself in between the man and I in time to dodge the man’s strike.
He’d just been defeated by this man, yet he engaged him once more with no fear!
“Edmund!” I cried, just as Narnian soldiers rushed from every place in the field.
“Stop this!” Peter roared in the voice of the high king, but the flurry of attacks didn’t slow. I scooted back on my backside until my back hit the wood of the stands, staring in horror at the man now trying to hurt my husband.
“Surrender!” Edmund commanded through gritted teeth.
The man’s only answer was a violent swing aimed at Edmund’s head.
“Edmund!” The name welled up from the fear in my gut and broke through my lips.
While the man wound up for another swing, Edmund ducked and kicked the man’s knee. The man lost his balance with a cry, just before Edmund’s sword met his shoulder. The swords might’ve been dulled for the tournament, but Edmund’s strike was powerful enough to draw blood. The man barely had time to clutch the wound before Edmund had disarmed him and the other tournament participants swarmed the man, holding him.
Struggling viciously, it took three fauns and a centaur to restrain him.
Then, my view was blocked by my husband. “Are you alright?” He threw his sword aside, falling to his knees in front of me and searching for any injuries. “Y/N, answer me!”
“I’m fine.” Accepting his hand, I stood shakily, staring at the man who had headbutted one of the soldiers. “Who is that?”
“I don’t know,” Edmund said with a scowl.
“Take him to the dungeons!” Peter boomed, and the soldiers started to drag him off.
“You will never subdue Calormen!” the man shouted. “We are mighty!”
I clung tighter to Edmund as we watched him go.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Edmund’s hands started roaming my arms, as if checking to make sure they were still completely there.
“I’m fine.” I gave a little laugh, partially to try to ease his fears and partially from hysteria. “I’ll definitely need a drink from your rose water now though.”
Edmund looked confused, opening his mouth to speak when Queen Susan’s voice cut in. “The crowd is terrified.”
I glanced around at the stands to see half the spectators on their feet and all with expressions of horror. I pulled away from Edmund long enough to lift my hand in a wave. Waves of relieved cheers and staggered applause filled the lawn, but it didn’t matter to me.
Not when Edmund was holding me so close.
He turned to me. “What rose water?”
I blinked. “The rose water you sent me.”
“I didn’t send you any rose water.”
What? It hadn’t come from him? I bit my lip. So…he hadn’t been thinking of me. Lady love hadn’t been an option…aside from the fact that he did love me.
Edmund clutched my arms with an urgency that broke me from my thoughts. “Y/N, did you drink from it?”
“Of course I did,” I said defensively. “It was hot.”
I didn’t understand the look of panic on his face, nor did I understand why he immediately ran for the stands. Seizing the goblet, he came back to me to take my hand. “We’re going back to the castle,” he said under his breath. “And straight to the healers.”
Do you generally prefer a fanfic have a happy ending or do you prefer a fanfic have a sad ending that is more in line with the lore and has a more complete story arc?
Do you generally prefer a fanfic have a happy ending or do you prefer a fanfic have a sad ending that is more in line with the lore and has a more complete story arc?
