Warnings: Arranged marriage, illness, doctors, cold weather, and angst
Summary: Six months into her life in Lawrence, Y/N falls ill, and Sam devises a plan to help her become well again.
A/N: This is a continuation of the story “Homeland". As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. I hope you enjoy!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
One | Two | Series Masterlist
You take breakfast in Sam’s personal chambers each morning, and you dine in the grand hall with him and Dean for the midday and evening meals. Dean escorts you, but unlike the first meal you attended together, your journey to and from your rooms is silent. On several occasions he asks if you would like him to travel with the traders heading to Aldrinia to bring back news, but you decline. You know it would only pain you to hear how wonderful your people are without you.
There are never any guests when you eat, nor do you see any throughout the day, but you know it’s likely there are guests elsewhere in the castle. No king has a castle full of empty rooms.
Sam rarely speaks to you. When you enter the room, he dismisses any of his advisors that are present. None of them spare you a second glance, as if they’ve been commanded to ignore you. The only time he says anything during your meals together is to ask you the same question.
“Will you cede and show me your arts?”
Each day, you give him the same answer.
“I will not, my King.”
Dean stays out of it, but you can tell that he’s waiting for one of you to finally give. He hasn’t tried to defend his brother since the first night. The rest of the castle staff tiptoe around the three of you, acting as if the ground is made of eggshells rather than the rough gray-black stone from Lawrencian quarries.
Six months go by, and you refuse to show him the powers you’re barely clinging to. You can already feel them slipping away with every passing day. Sam holds steady too, however, and you both refuse to lose ground after so long. Even if you tried to convince him that you have little to show to him, you know he won’t believe you. Sam is a man of sight and fact—he didn’t believe in the Aldrinian arts until the river quieted at your word, and he won’t stop believing until he has definitive proof that you can do nothing to further his kingdom, or harm it. Your word, as true as it might be, is not enough.
You spend your days moving between your room, his chambers, and the grand hall. No other part of the castle is open to you. At first, Rose tries to get you to cede and give in to Sam’s demands, if only so that you can explore the depths of the castle, but she gives up after the second month.
You can feel yourself becoming weaker and weaker, until you realize one morning that your arts have well and truly left you. Without them, there’s no longer any trace of Aldrinia inside of you, meaning that you are, for the first time, fully alone. Not even the herbs Jade had given you could bring them back now, though the plants have long since died. The empty pots sit on a table in your chambers, a stark reminder of what you used to be. There’s a never-ending ache left behind too. Before, any pain you’d felt could be soothed away by the rich earth of Aldrinia and all she had to offer. This new ache is one that can’t be cured.
It feels like you’ve lived two lives. Your life before, in Aldrinia, was plentiful and mostly joyful. It was filled with adventure and fresh air and freedom. This life in Lawrence is one in which you are held captive at the whim of someone you’d thought you could trust. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth and a weakness in your spirit that you lack the energy to explain.
“Which dress would you like today, Your Highness?”
You look over at Rose from where you’re sitting on the edge of your bed. Your bones feel heavy and tired, and you can feel the weight of your lungs inside of your chest every time you breathe. The air stutters when you inhale, making it hard to focus. Your head swims as black spots dance in your vision. One of the them blocks out her face when you try to look up at her. You squint a little.
“I will not be going to breakfast,” you tell her for the second time. If you’re being honest, you’re not truly certain if the first had been out loud or just in your head. “I am not well.”
“But ma’am…”
You close your eyes and pivot on the mattress, laying back down and pulling the covers over you. The world around is spinning now and you shiver against a chill that climbs up your spine. You curl up to try and preserve some warmth.
“Please, just go. Tell Lord Winchester I won’t be joining them for the meal. He can convey my message if you are unwilling."
There’s a long pause and you know she’s watching you to see if you’re truly ill. Rose is loyal to a fault, but she’s terrified of Sam. Though she’s your handmaiden, she won’t jeopardize her position in the castle for your comfort. If she thinks you’re faking it, she’ll try and force you out of bed and to his chambers. The thought makes you feel even more exhausted. If you had the energy, you might cry.
A knock on the door makes her abandon the wardrobe, and you hear the door to your bedchambers open. You don’t bother to open your eyes, already knowing it’s Dean before he says anything.
“Her Highness is indisposed, Lord Winchester,” Rose says.
“Indisposed?”
A pause.
“Unwell,” she clarifies. “She needs rest, and warm broth.”
You don’t want warm broth. You know for a fact you don’t need it, but after a second you realize that it’s probably a Lawrencian custom. You know very little about the traditions in your new home, only what was contained in the books you read before leaving Aldrinia. Warm broth was not in any books.
What you need more than anything is to back in Aldrinia, where the land knows you. Truthfully, you’re not confident that being there would heal you, but this land is unfamiliar either way, and the heavy stone of the castle prevents you from feeling the energy of the earth beneath you. Even if you were allowed out to the garden, you have little hope that the land here could revive you.
“Very well. Send for the doctor, too. His Majesty will want a thorough examination.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door creaks closed as you listen to Rose put away the dresses, then leave through the attendants’ doorway. You adjust the heavy blankets over you. They’re up to your chin, and the thick wool makes your skin itch, but you can’t be bothered to move any further. The minimal movements you’ve made since waking an hour before have already sapped you of any strength.
You’re finally starting to feel warm when someone knocks on the door and enters without permission. If you keep your eyes closed, you can pretend it’s one of the priestesses, coming to bring you a tonic made of clean spring water and fresh herbs, and infused with the enchantment your people have used for hundreds of years to ward off sickness. You haven’t taken such a tonic since your childhood—your plentiful time outside and the daily herbs you drank kept both minor and major illnesses at bay—but it would be welcome on a morning such as today.
A man’s voice shatters the illusion you’ve created in your head.
“She’s very sick. This kind of illness doesn’t just happen overnight, Your Majesty. Has she complained of anything?”
A doctor, you think, and when you move to roll onto your other side, putting space between yourself and the edge of the bed where he stands, a hand stops you. The only thing keeping you from whining outright is the voice that follows.
“No, but I should have noticed. She’s been getting thinner, and paler, too. She barely eats at meals,” Sam answers.
A flare of anger makes you open your eyes. How dare he enter my chambers without permission, you think as you stare up at them. Anger burns in your chest, but you can do little except glare at him from the bed. Your vision is blurry and you blink a few times before rubbing at them with your fist.
Sam stands near your head, though slightly behind a wizened doctor in a dark blue cloak. His clothing underneath is dark and nondescript, unlike the castle servants that dress in clothes embroidered with the Lawrencian crest.
He looks over the doctor’s shoulder at you, and he meets your eyes. While your vision is still hazy and mottled with blind spots, you don’t think it’s poor enough to alter the world around you, and you frown at the look of concern on Sam’s face. For a moment, your anger is forgotten.
“She needs rest. I would advise that she have no visitors for a while.”
“She never has visitors. She rarely leaves her chambers.”
Where else could I go? The grand hall?
There’s a pause and you let your eyes fall closed, succumbing to the exhaustion that’s crept up on you again.
Finally, the doctor replies, “Then perhaps a social call is in order, Your Majesty. Rest will do her well, but a companion would lift her spirits. Judging by the nature of her activities, I believe this ailment is not only physical in nature.”
You try once more to roll over, and this time neither man stops you. You curl up under the blankets in the center of your bed with your back to them, letting their conversation wash harmlessly over you.
What can they truly do to make me feel better? A friend would not revive the ancient arts within me. Rest will do nothing but allow Samuel to harass me further.
You drift off to sleep as they talk. When you wake, it’s to the world rocking back and forth beneath you. Slowly, you open your eyes and grip the blankets, trying to steady yourself. You’re no longer in your bed, and your reflexes catch up before your brain does. Your fingers curl over the edge of the narrow cushion you’re laying on, using the hard surface beneath the fabric to keep you from rolling over the side.
“You’re awake. Good, we’re almost there.”
Blinking, you stare up at Sam, willing your vision to focus and your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You’re in a carriage, and though the blankets and furs around you are plenty, your breath appears as a white cloud, as does his. He’s dressed in a thick brown cloak with a fur collar. The hood is pulled up, hiding his long hair and the circlet he wears on every outing, regardless of destination. Your own cloak, identical to his except in color, is wrapped around you.
You sit up. With the hand that’s not keeping you from tumbling onto the carriage floor, you adjust the clasp so it’s no longer digging into your neck. Your fingers brush over the white fur. A small part of you mourns the loss of the beautiful creature it had once been, but you’re grateful for its warmth, and you send up a silent prayer of thanks in Aldrinian.
“Where?” you ask, your voice barely audible over the wheels of the carriage bumping across rocky ground. You slowly sit up. Thankfully, your vision has cleared since the doctor’s visit, and the world around you appears almost normal again.
“The mountains.”
You’ve never been up a mountain. Your home is known for its forests, rivers, plains, and springs. Lawrence, however, has a mountain range that threads its way through the center of the kingdom, and you read a book on them while preparing for your new life. The farther up the mountain you get, the colder it becomes. The air thins, too, which explains why your mouth feels so dry and why your lungs feel like they can’t keep up. It’s a different feeling than before, when you’d simply felt like your lungs were too big for your body. Now, they feel too small.
“I thought you might enjoy some time away from the castle,” Sam says. “You’ll adjust to the altitude soon enough.”
You eye him warily. He’s been less than generous with you. You’re fully aware that he will likely still expect you to show him your abilities even while you’re away from the castle. You’re also aware that you’re now further away from Aldrinia, which is likely to make you even more ill, even if he hasn’t made that connection yet.
Sam turns his head to look out the windows of the carriage. The glass is foggy and frosted in places, but the heavy curtains have been pulled back to allow you to see the snowy landscape outside. You peer out of them, watching as gray rocks topped with a layer of fresh white snow pass by. Evergreen trees stand in a sturdy line a short distance back from the road, creating a definitive barrier between nature and man.
Oh, how I wish I could run through the forest again.
The idea of running barefoot through the trees is exhilarating, but then you shiver, remembering that the ground here is covered with ice, and rocks, and snow. It’s nothing like the forests of your childhood.
“Are you cold?” Sam asks.
You drag your gaze back to him. “No. Thank you,” you add after a moment. It’s not a lie. Between the warm cloak and the shared body heat in the small carriage, you’re plenty warm.
“When we arrive,” he begins, almost hesitantly, “You should go straight to your chambers to rest. I’ll have the servants bring up your dinner.”
Truthfully, you’re not hungry for anything but the chance to breathe in the fresh air and sunshine, but you nod anyway and look back out the window. It’s easier to agree. Sam falls silent after that, letting you ride the rest of the way to the stone manor listening only to the sound of the carriage wheels on the snow and hoofbeats coming from the horses pulling you up the mountain.
He climbs out first, then offers you a hand. You take it with only a little bit of trepidation. As you stand and climb out, you realize that you’re much weaker than you’d realized. Your legs almost give out beneath you and your bones ache when the cold hits your body. Sam’s arm wraps around your waist to support you, underneath the cloak. He doesn’t let go once you’re on solid ground, but he does pause as you take in your surroundings. You crowd close to him as you look around.
It’s still daytime, but only just. The sun is dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow. It’s been cleared in places to make several paths, but for the most part, the ground is completely untouched and covered in white. It sparkles where the setting sun hits, glittering like piles of diamonds. It’s almost difficult to look at because it’s so bright, but you can’t stop yourself. Everything feels fresh and clean, and when you breathe in, the air feels sharp. You cough a little as your lungs adjust.
The manor is made of gray stone similar to the castle, but with only three floors, it’s much shorter, and the building is much smaller to begin with. A cloud of white smoke coming from the chimney makes it feel warm and welcoming. As you approach, the front door swings open and you’re greeted with a face you thought you’d never see again.
“Jade!” Your chest tightens as desperate tears well up in your eyes. You want to run to her, but you know that Sam is the one keeping you upright.
Your friend and former handmaiden runs to you instead, her skirts and green wool cloak flying out behind her. Sam smoothly slips his arm away from your waist as she approaches, but he doesn’t immediately step away. He only moves from your side once Jade has you wrapped tightly in her arms.
“Jade, uel naod ashmil!” A sob rips through you as you cling to her. Your hands fist in her cloak. The wool smells like the forest outside your childhood home and the soap that the Aldrinian laundresses use in the castle. She’s crying too, her shoulders shaking as you both sniffle and weep against the other.
“I’ve missed you! I never thought I’d see you again. How…?”
She pulls away enough to look at you, though she still supports your weight. Her warm brown eyes are watery and she blinks a few times, forcing tears out. Her breath is a white fog, as is yours, and her cheeks are flushed from the cold.
“His Majesty sent a letter to your father requesting for me to visit you.”
“What?” You’re certain you’ve misunderstood her. Samuel would never send such a thing. “What letter?”
“Lord Winchester delivered it two moons ago. He arrived a carriage for me yesterday, along with a message saying you’d fallen ill.”
Confused, you look over at Sam, who’s standing a few feet away beside a tall knight with black hair. The two men had been speaking quietly, but they stop when you meet Sam’s eyes.
“Yesterday?” you question. “How long was I asleep?”
“You needed rest,” he tells you. “The doctor thought it wise that we allow you to sleep undisturbed. No one tried to wake you. You clearly needed the rest more than any of us realized.”
I slept through all of yesterday and last night? And then even more today, until I woke up in the carriage?
“I don’t even remember getting up for anything.” You shake your head. “I would’ve had to dress, and walk to the carriage…”
“Rose assisted you with the more… personal matters of our journey. I carried you from your chambers to our carriage this morning. The doctor assured me again before we left that the rest would be beneficial to you, as would a friend.”
At the mention of Jade, you hug her again, squeezing as hard as you can, which isn’t very hard at all given your condition. She murmurs to you in Aldrinian and you have to close your eyes against the second onslaught of tears. It’s been so long since you’ve heard your native tongue. The words are the best you’ve ever heard.
“Come,” Sam says. “The servants have already lit the fires inside. You should not be out in the cold for so long.”
You nod and breathe in deeply, tipping your head back. A breeze blows by and the rush of cold air stings your face. It’s even colder where your tears have dried and left streaks down your cheeks. The cold here is more pleasant than you would’ve thought, especially after being cooped up in the castle for so long. You know that the fresh air would do you more good than staying close to the hearth, but you can’t bring yourself to argue with Sam, not after he’s reunited you with your only true friend. It’s an olive branch, at least on the surface. You want to enjoy it while you can.
Jade adjusts her arm around you waist, and the two of you walk together through the manor’s front door. Once inside, she speaks quietly as you climb a set of stone steps, telling you in Aldrinian about your father, the priestesses, and everyone else you’d left behind. Though your life has been permanently altered since leaving home, life in Aldrinia has changed very little for the people still living there.
You’re so preoccupied with her news that you don’t notice when you finally come to a stop outside another door, this one made of dark wood and iron.
“Your chambers,” announces Jade, smiling.
The door swings open, as if on its own, revealing a large room with high ceilings. The furniture is hewn from heavy, carved logs, and every piece has retained its natural appearance, unlike typical Lawrencian furniture, which is smooth and sanded down until it resembles nothing like its source. This furniture reminds you of the forests outside your childhood home, as well as the forests outside the manor.
Three windows directly across from you are framed by long curtains the same brown color as the kingdom’s crest. You notice, however, that the curtains creating the canopy around the bed are Aldrinian green.
Frowning, you step into the room and look around. The decor is much less polished than your chambers in the castle. Every fabric is either brown or green, and the fire reveals gold thread that glitters wherever a border or hem has been sewn. You can’t imagine Sam choosing this himself, but you wonder if all the rooms are like this or if it’s just yours that holds the touches of familiarity that you’ve longed for the past six months. It would be unusual for a king to have another kingdom’s colors in his own home.
Jade steps in front of you and helps you unclasp the cloak. It slides from your shoulders and she catches it, draping it over a wooden stand near the door of your chambers.
You start to ask where her own cloak is hung, but you freeze when you see a table near one of the windows. Plants cover almost every square inch of its surface. Slowly, and with Jade only a few feet behind, you cross the room, your hands trembling as you reach out to brush your fingers over the leaves of one of the pots on the edge of the table. The long vines drape over it, stopping only a few centimeters above the stone floor. You haven’t seen these plants for months, and a small part of you is afraid that if you show just how important they are to you, Sam will have them taken away.
“Rose told me that your plants are dead. She says that you’ve let them die,” murmurs Jade, and you look up at her sharply, surprised that Rose has been so observant. You’re not surprised that she’s been so forthcoming with details about your personal life, but you thought you’d masked your anguish over the plants. When the last one had died, you’d asked Rose to throw them out. She hadn’t hesitated, nor had she argued. It had been a simple exchange, though you’d cried that night after she’d left your chambers for the final time. The only thing left behind are the empty pots that she’d pushed against the wall to make room on the table.
You stare at Jade for several moments, gauging how much you should tell her. Eventually, you decide that she, of all people, deserves your honesty.
“Samuel is very interested in the ancient arts. I believe he wishes to exploit them.”
She frowns. “But you have none. I am not a priestess, and yet even I can see that they’ve left you. How could he know of your past abilities if you haven’t done anything to maintain them?”
“I used them on the journey over, to calm the border river and to say goodbye to the western forest. He understood the magnitude of my gifts without any explanation, but he refuses to believe that the little magic I brought with me is gone, and that it would be no use to him even if it was here.”
Jade is silent. She looks you over, then turns to the table, beginning to pluck the leaves from the closest plants.
“I will teach Rose what to do,” she tells you as she works. “You may not be able to have the arts at your call, but the priestesses have warned me that your body needs Aldrinia to survive. It’s a miracle you weren’t ill before now—your body was once entangled with the very life source of our people, and to rip you away from it…” She shakes her head. “The tonic will have to do. It’s not truly enough, not on its own and not without someone to perform the ritual, but it’s your only option.”
You reach for her hands, grabbing them and stopping her from pinching off any more herbs. Fear claws at the inside of your chest. You glance over your shoulder at the door. It remains closed, and the hall outside is silent. No one’s there, but it feels like the door could swing open and reveal Samuel at any moment.
“If he suspects that this is important to me, he will take it away.”
The thought makes you sick.
“His Majesty does not seem all that unkind…”
“He wasn’t at first. This…” You look around your temporary bedchambers. Her presence and the trip are gifts, at least on the surface. “This generosity is new. I’m not certain I trust it. I haven’t been allowed to do very much until now, and now that I’m beginning to heal, I don’t know how long it will be until I’m locked up again.”
She searches your face, then nods gravely. “Very well. I can make the tonic and you can take it privately. I will not tell Rose about it, not until you’re certain it’s safe.”
“We’ll have to hide all traces of your work. You’ll need to find more plants that aren’t for the tonic, so that these don’t seem to be serving a purpose,” you warn her, and Jade nods again.
Exhaling heavily, you squeeze her hands once before releasing them. She offers you a small, reassuring smile and then returns to pinching leaves off the plants, adding them to a stone mortar you hadn’t noticed before. A silver chalice sits beside it.
Though you shouldn’t be, you’re exhausted from walking from the carriage to your chambers, and you slump down on a nearby couch. The dress that Rose chose for your journey is unusually close to what you would have chosen to wear before coming to Lawrence. It’s comfortable, and there’s no stiff boning preventing you from moving around, so you curl up, bringing your legs and skirts up beside you on the cushion.
A few minutes later, Jade is shaking you awake. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but you open your eyes and force yourself upright so that she can press the cup to your lips. The taste is infinitely more bitter than you remember, but it’s welcome, and you drink the tonic quickly. You tilt the chalice as far back as it will go, ensuring that none of it goes to waste.
“Thank you,” you sigh. Your eyes are already drooping again as she takes the chalice with one hand and cups your elbow with the other.
“Here you go,” coaxes Jade, and you stand, feeling like a newborn foal as you let her guide you to the bed on clumsy legs. It’s not the first time that she’s assisted you in this way, and you desperately hope that it won’t be the last.
After helping you remove your outer layers of clothing, Jade draws a blanket up over you, humming a familiar lullaby as you adjust the pillow and close your eyes. It makes your heart ache to hear it again—you’d given up singing it altogether after your first week in Sam’s castle. Though she’s not a priestess, the lullaby seems to have magic again and it settles over you like a second set of covers. It doesn’t take you long to drift off to dreams of your homeland and landscapes of sparkling snow.
When you open your eyes again, your room is dark, though a fire still crackles in the hearth and candles sit around the room. They cast a faint golden glow over the furniture of your temporary chambers and you slowly push yourself up to sit against the headboard.
“How are you feeling?”
You flinch at the sound of Sam’s voice, hitting your head against the wood, but then you quickly remember your predicament and you pull the blankets up to your shoulders. You’re dressed only in your undergarments, and you’re still unwed.
Sam has discarded his cloak since you last saw him. His shirt is dark and his trousers are only a few shades lighter, though it’s hard to tell what color they are in the shadows of your bedroom. He’s watching you from a chair beside the couch where you'd fallen asleep earlier, but the chair has been turned to face the bed.
“Your Majesty,” you greet, voice scratchy with sleep. You search the room for a sign that your friend is near—that anyone is near. “What are you doing in here? Where is Jade? And Rose?”
How long has he been in here while I’ve been asleep?
He stands and in the dim candlelight, you’re able to track him as he walks to stand near the plant table. Your breath catches in your throat when he fingers a few of the leaves on a plant near the center. Your heart is pounding in your chest.
“I had no idea you enjoyed horticulture.”
“I— I love all parts of nature. This should not surprise you. My King, if you would call for Rose—“
Sam ignores you and picks one of the leaves. He holds it to his face and breathes in, then looks over at you. His eyes flash in the light from the nearest flame. You can’t read the rest of his expression.
“These are herbs. The leaves have been picked recently. What for?”
You shift under the blankets, your hips aching from the pressure of your position. Inwardly, you curse him for discovering this tiny secret so quickly, though you’ve learned he’s much smarter and sharper than any man you’ve met prior to Lawrence.
“A tonic. Jade thought it would make me feel better. It’s one that was given to me as a child. If you call for her, she can tell you more about it. I am certain that she—”
“Were you ill often?” he interrupts.
You blink, surprised at the question. Sam has never asked you about your childhood.
“I was not sickly, no,” you begin, giving up on asking for your friends, “but when the days grew shorter and I was outside less, I got sick more often. It was hard for me to be kept away from nature for so long. It wasn’t until older that I stopped needing such a strong remedy. A simple tonic in the evening was enough.”
He considers your answer, then replies, “The plants in your chambers in the castle died.”
Yawning, you shift again, allowing yourself to slide down a little in the bed while still remaining mostly upright. You can’t let down your guard, but sleep is lingering on the edges of your mind, ready to pull you back in. The warmth from the blankets is comforting and surrounds you completely.
“I saw no point in continuing the tonic. It used to revive me after short periods of confinement, but as I am barred from leaving your castle and have left Aldrinia permanently, what good could it do? It would be like trying to stop a wildfire with a single drop of water.”
A beat of silence passes, then another. Your eyes droop.
“You are ill because you have been far from Aldrinian soil for too long,” Sam concludes, and you sigh.
“I believe so, my King.”
“Then why the tonic now?”
Go away. Let me sleep.
“Jade believes it will sustain me, at least in part.”
“Sustain you?” he asks.
You don’t answer. You close your eyes and wait for him to leave.
“My Queen.”
“What?” you snap. You have no remorse—you’re tired, and he’s intruded into your chambers. If anything, he should feel bad. He knows that you’re ill and exhausted.
“We will be wed as soon as we return to Lawrence.”
Opening your eyes, you stare at him in shock. All traces of drowsiness have disappeared. He looks serious, and he sounds serious, but he can’t possibly be. He’s already told you several times during several breakfasts that he will not marry you until you showed him your arts. It’s a dangling carrot that you’ve never bothered to reach for, especially knowing that you’d never be able to fulfill his request. Eventually, you’d figured, he’d kick you out of the castle. An unmarried princess living as a permanent guest would start rumors about your reputation, and he could never marry a woman who was thought to be anything other than pure, even if the rumors were entirely unfounded and started by his own petty actions.
“Your Majesty…” You sit up again, ignoring the blankets when they fall to your lap and reveal your thin shift.
He holds up a hand to stop you. “It is decided.”
“But… Why?”
Sam picks up a candle on the table. The flame flickers as he moves, but it allows you to see his face better. There’s a softness in his expression that makes you pause. It reminds you of the first day you’d met. Suddenly, the space between you feels smaller, and you’re back in the carriage together, you in the dress he’d picked and him in plainclothes with the golden circlet atop his head. He doesn’t look like the man who’s demanded something impossible from you for months. He looks like the man who’d left his kingdom unattended for your comfort and peace of mind. You fidget with the blankets under his steady gaze.
“You’ll become the queen of Lawrence after our wedding and your coronation. You’ll be Lawrencian then in every way that matters. Surely then Aldrinia will have no claim over your health.”
His logic is sound. His intentions, for the first time in a long time, seem entirely pure. It pains you to admit that he’s right, but even more so that you’re giving up your last and final tie to your home—your name and title.
Although, you think, no one has regarded me as the Princess of Aldrinia in a very long time.
“Very well,” you quietly agree. Though a small part of you isn’t entirely convinced that Samuel isn’t just acting kind to get his way, you’re too tired to argue or test his word. Right now, all that matters is that if you become the queen, you’ll at least be granted access to the rest of the castle grounds. No servant could deny you. Even if his plan doesn’t revive you, at least you can be ill surrounded by nature.
Sam bows his head. “I shall let you rest,” he says. “Sleep well, my Queen.”
The words send a strange thrill through you. You hope it’s not reflected on your face as you murmur your farewell and watch him leave, taking the candle with him. The room is darker without it, and it feels strangely empty.
Slowly, you slip out of bed and cross to the table of plants by the window. The floor is cold beneath your feet, but you ignore it as you inspect the plants for signs of damage. When you’re certain there’s nothing wrong with them, you let out a heavy breath and step back toward the bed. You pause. A plate of food sits on the table. It’s hidden slightly by the leaves of bushy herb that smells like the forest surrounding the Aldrinian stronghold, but a curl of steam ascends beyond the plant’s reach.
Did Sam bring this for me?
You look over at the door. The crack beneath the wood reveals nothing of the dark corridor outside your room, and the sound of Sam’s footsteps has completely disappeared.
With one hand, you pull apart the bread on the plate. It’s soft and warm, collapsing between your pinched fingers, and it melts in your mouth as you take a bite. You grab the rest and take it to the window, where the chill is stronger. The warm bread in your hand makes it easy to ignore.
Crystals of frost are climbing up the glass panes, but you can still see the starry sky outside. Here, away from the village and the fires in the guard towers, you can see a million more stars. Their light, along with the moon’s, makes the snow sparkle. You hadn’t seen the view from your room earlier, during the sunset, but you can still see a frozen lake in the distance, and more mountain peaks even further.
Sam has brought you someplace beautiful. You’re still weak, but after a moment, you decide you’re strong enough to venture out for some fresh air, however cold it might be.
You light a candle the fire and shelter the flame as it catches. Once it’s strong and steady, you take your cloak from by the door and wrap it around your shoulders once more.
You’re careful to keep your steps quiet and movements small as you sneak out of your chambers, taking small bites of the bread as you go. You’d barely paid attention to the route Jade had led you from the manor’s front door earlier in the day, but somehow you manage to find your way back to it. There are no servants or guards in the hallways here, which is strange. Even in Aldrinia, the royal guard was posted at the entrance and exit to every stairway and at every royal chamber. It wouldn’t be uncommon for servants to be working through the night, taking shifts to make sure the castle ran smoothly.
I suppose the mountain manor is smaller in size. Perhaps Sam doesn’t need as many servants here.
The door is unlocked, and unguarded. You open it slowly, checking one last time to make sure no one has followed you before slipping out into the cold night.
Freshly fallen snow crunches and squeaks under your feet. You want to laugh at the sound, but you restrain yourself. Instead, you grin and marvel at the white puffs of air that come from you every time you breathe as you walk further away from the manor. The only sound is your footsteps. There are no crickets or birds here, and the world feels entirely still. It’s peaceful in a way that you’ve never experienced. Even at home, the world is never this calm.
When you reach the forest’s edge, you stop and look up at the sky. The stars twinkle down at you. It’s a familiar sight, and you can’t help yourself.
“Adiocua dfas, jakl adoif,” you murmur. Please answer me.
You stand still, listening. A breeze picks up, fluttering your dress and cloak around your legs, but there is no answer on the wind. Your heart sinks a little.
Even here I am disconnected.
Turning your eyes back to the earth, you inspect the darkness between the trees. No animals roam this late at night, not even wolves, and you’re confident in your solitude as you venture further into the woods. The manor grows far away very quickly. Though you’re in the mountains, the terrain here is flat, making it relatively easy for you to walk. The snow slows you down, but not as much as you would have imagined.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
You jump and look over your shoulder, surprised to see Sam standing a few feet away. He’s still in his clothes from earlier, though with his own cloak clasped at his collarbone. His sword is strapped to his hip, and he rests one hand on the hilt. You hadn’t heard him behind you, which you know immediately is a testament to the skills he would have learned from his father’s knights as a young boy.
“I am not alone,” you answer. “The trees are here. The animals are here too, though I won’t wake their slumber just for company.”
He watches you from his place between the trees before approaching. The snow, deep as it is, reaches only halfway up to his knees. He trudges through it with enviable ease, though you chalk it up to his frequent visits to the mountains. You’re not truly sure if that’s the truth, but it soothes the spiteful comment that sprouts up as he stops in front of you.
“Allow me to accompany you back to the manor,” Sam says, holding out his arm for you to take.
You don’t. “I shall return when I am ready, my King.” Turning back to the path you’ve been forging, you place your hands on a fallen log as you prepare to climb over it. His hand on your elbow stops you.
“You’ve been ill,” he tries again. “You need to rest.”
“Release me.”
“Y/N.”
You freeze and look over at him. He hasn’t called you by your name in months. You’d almost convinced yourself that he’d forgotten it.
“I neglected to care for you as I should have for a long time. I won’t shirk that duty any longer. Come back to the manor with me.”
You inspect him in the moonlight. His face, just as in your chambers, is sincere.
“Why?” you question. “What has changed so much that you are forced to alter the manner in which you treat me?”
“Because you are to be my wife, and the queen of my people.”
You shake your head and let your foot rest back on the ground. The snow has soaked into your dress and it clings to your legs. A spark of anger ignites inside of you, despite the cold. It invigorates you, pushing away any wisp of weakness that your ailment has brought with it.
“No. That cannot be the truth. Why are you suddenly acting so kindly toward me? For months now you have demanded I give over to you the only part of my homeland I was allowed to take with me, however it meager it be. That part of me is gone now, forever. Is that why you care? Because I am no longer a tool to be used?”
His expression fractures and you catch a glimpse of a splinter of hurt in his eyes before it disappears.
“You were never a tool,” murmurs Sam. “I… There is no excuse for how I have treated you, my Queen. I will spend this eternity and the next repenting and attempting to earn back your trust.”
“Yes, you will.”
“I can only offer you my sincerest and humblest apologies.” Sam bows his head. His hair falls in front of his face. He’s not wearing his circlet.
You narrow your eyes at him. “You can offer me a lot more than that, Your Majesty.”
He looks away. The forest is silent again, just for a moment. “The doors,” he finally replies.
“The doors aren’t the only thing you’ve taken from me.”
Sam seems to shrink at the ice in your tone. The cold wind blows your hood down and stings your exposed face, but you don’t move to put it back. Your hair whips away from your forehead and cheeks when another gust blows through.
“What can I offer you?”
“An explanation.”
He frowns. “For what?”
You scoff, though you know it’s unladylike. “For the way you’ve treated me! I am your betrothed, and yet you’ve treated me like a prisoner.”
“I keep no prisoners,” Sam argues.
“You could’ve fooled me,” you reply dryly, then continue, “I have seen very little of my new home. I have done nothing but defend my decision not to exercise my nonexistent arts for your pleasure. This is not the life I agreed to when I accepted your hand.”
“I am certain your father would disagree. When he accepted my offer for your hand—“
“I accepted your offer!” you interject, and he immediately stops talking.
“My father had nothing to do with the matter!”
Sam turns his head, his gaze focused on something deep within the forest and his hand gripping the hilt of his sword a little tighter for just a moment before he looks back at you. You can see that he’s shocked by your confession, and for good reason. Your father’s actions are unusual. Most kings hand their daughters over to the first suitor that comes calling, but yours gave you the ability to make your own choice.
“You accepted my offer?”
And a poor choice it has been, you think.
“Yes.”
The wind picks up again, lifting the edges of both your cloaks. Sam allows his to flutter to one side but you pull yours closer around you to block out the cold. Your dress, now heavy from the water it’s absorbed, is doing very little to keep you warm, and you’re realizing that you’ve severely misjudged your ability to enjoy the mountains on your own.
“Let us head back inside,” you say, and Sam meets your eyes.
“Why?”
You frown. “You said it yourself, Samuel. I should be resting.”
He shakes his head and steps closer. His eyebrows furrow together as he searches your face. “Why did you accept my hand?”
The question isn’t surprising—you’d prepared for it long before you’d left Aldrinia—but you still find yourself stressed over your answer.
“Lawrence is close to Aldrinia,” you begin, “We have always had good relations with each other, and compared to the others, your reputation as a king was much more… neutral.”
“Neutral?” He squints a little.
“You are not known for mistreating your people.”
“But I’m also not known for treating them very well?” Sam guesses, and you nod.
“I did not want to leave my kingdom. My people,” you add. “But I knew that if I were to stay close to Aldrinia and potentially visit them one day, it would need to be with someone who wouldn’t treat me poorly, but also kept their distance.”
“So you chose me.”
You nod. “Yes.”
“I have not kept my distance. I have been watching you ever since you arrived for signs of your arts.”
You nod again. “Yes, my King.”
Sam closes his eyes and presses his lips together, shaking his head just a little. He looks pained and you hesitate, then reach out your hand to touch his arm. Your fingers tremble and you silently blame it on the cold night air, though you know that’s not entirely true. Your heart is pounding inside of your chest. This encounter in the forest is far more pressing than any other moment or conversation that you’ve shared together.
“Please… don’t call me that,” he says after a moment, his voice strained. He opens his eyes again.
“It’s the truth. You are my King,” you tell him, frowning.
“And you are my Queen, but I wish for us to be more than that.”
“More than a king and queen? What more is there? You are the sovereign of your kingdom, and I will join you once we are wed.”
“Not just our titles.” He takes your hand in his. His, like yours, are cold. After a moment, he envelops both of them between his palms. He bends down and exhales near your joined hands, warming them with the heat of his breath. It’s intimate, moreso than anything else he’s done to or around you, and a shiver runs down your spine.
“I don’t understand.” You frown at him, your mouth gaping just a little as repeats the action. “What do you mean?”
Carefully, Sam adjusts his grip so instead of holding your hands, he’s taken your arm. He steps to the side and gestures for you to walk the way you’d come. You don’t argue—the cold has chilled you to the bone, and you can feel yourself shivering beneath your cloak.
It’s clear after a few wobbly steps in the snow that you’ve expended your strength. Sam murmurs something before shifting one of your hands to his shoulder. You look up at him, then gasp when he reaches down and scoops you up into his arms. Immediately, your other hand moves to grasp at him. You end up wrapping your arms around his neck. Your head rests against the front of his shoulder, just above his heart.
Snowflakes begin to drift down from the sky as you reach the outer edge of the forest. You blink to clear them from your lashes, but then resolve yourself to closing your eyes against them.
It’s because of the snow, you think as Sam continues to carry you through the clearing and toward the manor’s front door. Not because I’m tired. I’ll open them once we’re inside.
“Sweet dreams,” Sam murmurs, and you blink up at him, frowning slightly. The sky above you is gone, replaced with Aldrinian green. The room is dark and warm, and it takes you a second to realize that you’re back in your chambers. Sam’s set you down onto the bed.
“I fell asleep,” you mumble. Clumsily, you unclasp your cloak and then grab the blanket when he pulls it up over you. You shove your cloak out from underneath you, letting it bunch up under the covers on the other side of the bed. The wet skirt of your dress clings to your legs, but it’s far too late to call Jade to help you change without arousing suspicion, and you don’t want to explain to her what you’ve been up to, nor do you want to tell her that Sam was there, too.
“You did.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
Yawning, you squint in the darkness, trying to see him better. He’s mostly hidden by shadow, but the fire on the other side of the room and the moonlight from the window is enough to illuminate one side of his face.
“I know.” Sam pauses, then pulls something small from the pocket of his trousers and places it on the table beside your bed. “I hope you will find me to be a suitable companion, even after all the pain I have caused you.”
You don’t answer. You don’t know what to say. He hasn’t apologized again, but you’re not sure if you can trust him, even after your encounter in the forest and the promise he’s made to treat you better and to marry you once you return to the castle at the heart of Lawrence.
“Good night, Sam,” you murmur. You let your eyes close for a second or two before opening them again. He’s almost to the door when you add, “Sleep well.”
Sam pauses in the doorway to look back at you, then leaves and closes it behind him.
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Summary: After arriving in Lawrence, Y/N once again tries to convince Sam that her magic is useless outside of her childhood home.
A/N: This is a continuation of the story “Homeland". If you have not read that, you should definitely do that before reading this one. There will be a third and possibly a fourth continuation. As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. I hope you enjoy!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
One | Three | Series Masterlist
As soon as you arrive in Lawrence, you’re immediately ushered into the castle and to your quarters. They’re separate from Sam’s, and once you’re finally alone, you collapse to the floor. It’s smooth and polished clean, unlike the rough stone you’re used to, and it’s enough to send you into a flight of tears.
“Oh my!” A black skirt pools beside yours and you feel gentle hands hovering over you, hesitant in their touch. “Your Highness, are you alright?”
An attendant, your mind helpfully provides as you look up and peer at her through tear-laden lashes. The woman is blurry and you blink a few times, then wipe your eyes to clear your vision.
“Yes, I’m quite well, thank you,” you reply, sniffling as you try to get your lower lip to stop trembling. You stand with her help and rearrange your skirt, then take several slow breaths in another attempt to calm yourself. Swallowing thickly, you take in the room.
Sam has given you a large bedchamber with north-facing windows. They offer a view of the village at the foot of the castle. It’s beautiful, even if it isn’t home. You’d only briefly seen it while driving through; the streets had been crowded with people cheering and throwing flowers at the carriage. They’d hit the sides in a barrage and you’d closed your eyes to stave off the low-simmering panic and nausea.
“My name is Rose. I’m to be your main attendant, if that pleases you.” The woman curtsies and you tear your gaze away from the windows to look her over. She’s young, younger than even Jade, with a slim figure and wispy red hair tied back at the nape of her neck with a black cord. When she looks up at you, her eyes are bright and clear, though filled with an innocence you’ve never seen before.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you finally say after a beat. “You can call me Y/N.”
Eyes suddenly wide, Rose frantically shakes her head. “No, Your Highness. I cannot. It is against the wishes of His Majesty that I address you as anything other than your title.” She bows her head again and you frown.
“But why? You and I will spend many hours together. It’s only right that we call each other by name. Surely the King would forgive that if it’s what I asked…”
“His Majesty is a kind and forgiving king,” Rose replies. “But he also is not one to change his mind. He never hastens into a choice.”
Her words make your stomach churn. If Sam never changes his mind, then you have no hope of convincing him that your magic isn’t worth pursuing. You’ll be forced to show him what you can do, therefore using up the last of your powers just for his amusement. Your last remaining tie to your homeland will disappear less than a day after arriving in Lawrence.
“I see,” you murmur. You force back the second wave of tears and stand a little straighter in an attempt to keep your composure. “Thank you, Rose. I’d like to rest for a while. It was a long journey.”
The girl nods. “I’ll be back to help you dress for dinner, Your Highness.” With that, she disappears through the servant’s door in the wall opposite your bed.
As the door closes behind her, you slump down onto one of the enormous chairs and pull your legs up, wrapping your arms around them. Everything in Lawrence is different from your homeland, from the floor to the furniture, from the village to the trees. Nothing here feels like home and though you know that Sam will expect you to be at his side, you want nothing more than to curl up and hide away from the foreign world around you.
You close your eyes, shifting until you’re leaning against the side of the chair and cradled by the cushion beneath you. The journey hadn’t been long, but the whirlwind of emotions has worn you out. The overwhelming loss makes your limbs feel heavy as the warmth from the fire reaches you even from across the room.
Just a brief rest, you tell yourself as you get comfortable. Rose will wake me if I’m still asleep when she comes to help me dress.
Sleep is a blessed reprieve from the stress of the day, and you groan when you feel yourself being shaken awake.
“Uthribcialen,” you grumble, squinting at the shadowed figure standing over you.
“Not exactly sure if that’s the nicest greeting you can give me, but I’ll take it,” replies the stranger.
The new voice sets off warning bells in your head and you quickly sit up. You’re wide awake now, but the strange man doesn’t seem fazed by your sudden alertness. He stands completely at ease in your chambers.
A long brown coat trimmed with golden embroidery and lines of matching buttons along the center hems accentuates his frame. If not for the coat, his appearance is plain, and you regard him carefully.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” you tell him. You muster up as much pomp as you can, hoping it will be enough of a facade to scare him away. You sit up slowly as you continue, “I’m the Queen and I did not grant you entry. I suggest you leave before I call for the guards.”
Not that I actually know if they’ll answer me.
The man smiles a little and amusement dances in his green eyes. There’s something familiar about him, though you can’t place your finger on what.
“You’re not the Queen just yet,” he replies. “My brother has yet to marry you.”
You frown. “Brother?”
He nods and steps away from the chair, looking around your chambers. He runs a hand over the mantle of the fireplace and inspects his fingers.
“Yes. Sam is my younger brother.”
“Younger brother?” You stand from your seat, resisting the urge to stretch like a cat. This strange man can’t see you as anything but composed, not until you know who he truly is. “Samuel is the King. He is the eldest.”
Chuckling, the man shakes his head and glances at you, then looks down at the fire crackling in the hearth. It’s almost down to embers, and you briefly wonder why Rose or another one of the attendants hasn’t come to stoke it back up again.
“Sam is the king, yes, but only because I gave up the throne. I did not want the responsibility of it on my shoulders, nor did I want to be forced to take a wife before I was ready.”
Your stomach drops. “Oh.”
What am I supposed to say to that? I thought Sam was searching for a wife because he wanted one. Is he being forced to marry me against his will?
You look down at your hands, fidgeting with the gold ring you’d been gifted several years ago. It had been your mother’s. When she’d passed on to the afterlife, you’d only been a child, but she’d been able to give your father instructions for when you grew older. The ring had been a gift as you’d entered marrying age. It was something she’d been given by her mother, and that her mother had received from hers. You’re the fifth daughter of Aldrinia. It’s a title you’ve always worn proudly, and the ring is a symbol of your pride and love for the place in which you’d grown up. You’ll never depart from that love.
“He’s a good person. You don’t need to be afraid.”
“If someone is good, they don’t need others to proclaim their goodness,” you instantly reply, looking up at the man.
He sighs. “You’ve had a long day. I promised Sam I’d escort you to dinner. It’s a big castle and you could get lost.”
“He couldn’t escort me himself?”
Not that I want him to, you bitterly add in your head.
“He had a meeting with his advisors. It was an urgent matter and he may not dine with us. He did not want you to wait any longer than you had to after your journey.”
His mention of the trip from Aldrinia reminds you of the long carriage ride and your strange interaction with Rose. You cross your arms over your chest, slightly lifting your chin.
“I don’t even know your name,” you argue. “Why should I go with you?”
“Dean Winchester, Lord High Constable, Captain of the Royal Armies and Master of the Horse,” he replies. He gives you a slight bow, and when he tilts his head, you notice the golden circlet nestled into his hair. It’s thinner than Sam’s, and the arrangement of his hair hides it well. You wonder briefly if that’s on purpose or by command of the king.
You try another tactic. “I’m not dressed for dinner.”
Dean sighs again. “Very well. I’ll wait for you outside your chambers.” He pulls a thick golden rope beside the fireplace and nods politely in your direction, then heads towards the door that leads into the hallway.
Just as he closes it behind himself, Rose emerges from the servant’s door with a smile. “Your Highness,” she greets. She curtsies before walking past you to the armoire on the far side of the room. “What would you like to wear for dinner? We did not want to wake you by unpacking your trunks, but His Majesty prepared several gowns for you in case you were in need when you arrived. Would you like me to lay them all out for you?”
Still resentful over his recent decisions, you bite back a retort about Sam making assumptions on your behalf and instead nod. Rose smiles back and begins to lay the dresses out on the large bed. Each one is more beautiful than the next, ranging from simpler than the dress you’d worn for the journey to more elaborate than some of the court dresses the wealthiest kingdoms wore. Clearly he knows nothing of your taste, because as your handmaiden pulled them out, you grow more and more disgusted with the fashions.
The gown from this morning must’ve been a lucky guess.
Finally, you hold up a hand and shake your head. “Enough. Please.”
Rose falters, pausing with a gaudy blue and green dress in her hands. She glances between the armoire and the bed that’s already so laden with gowns that you can’t see the rich velvet blankets.
“Your Highness? Are you alright?” she asks, her voice so hesitant that you almost feel bad. “I’m sorry if I’m upset you. She seems… afraid of you. For a moment, you wonder if you already have a reputation or if her and the other servants have had bad experiences with other women in the castle.
“I’m fine. I don’t think I’ll be changing for dinner tonight.”
“Not change for dinner?” The poor handmaiden doesn’t seem to grasp the concept because she lays the dress in her hands on top of the pile. “Do you not like the dresses I’ve laid out? There are several more that I can show you if that’s—” She steps back in the direction of the armoire.
“The dresses are fine. You have done nothing wrong, Rose,” you quickly reassure before she can jump to any further conclusions. “The journey was more taxing than I’d realized. I’d like to eat in my chambers. Please tell Dean that I will not be accompanying him.”
She doesn’t respond right away, almost for so long that you begin to grow concerned. You watch as Rose looks between you and the door once, then twice, before finally she answers in a tremulous voice, “I do not wish to overstep, Your Highness, but I do not think it wise for you to eat alone, not so soon after arriving in Lawrence. We have certain customs and traditions, and His Majesty will expect Lord Winchester to teach them to you. If he’s requested your presence for the evening meal—”
“Dean is to be my tutor?” You frown. You’d expected an advisor to teach you Lawrencian customs, but you’d expected it to be one of the women in the royal court, not your husband-to-be’s older brother.
“Of sorts,” she confirms. “Your tutor, your guard, and your escort, whenever His Majesty is unavailable. If His Majesty sends Lord Winchester to escort you someplace, then you will be expected to go.”
You don’t really want to hear the answer, but suddenly, it feels important that you know. “And if I don’t go?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I’ve only seen His Majesty twice, and they were both from afar. He has never spoken to me, but I have heard stories from the other handmaidens.”
“And?”
“His word is final. There are consequences for those who do not follow it.”
You look over at the door to the hallway. Dean is likely standing right outside. You have no way to tell if he’s listening, and while Rose is proving to be a vital source of information, you have no way to verify if everything she says is truthful and if she’s as trustworthy as Jade.
A pang of homesickness makes you want to cry and you look up to quell the tears before they can well up in your eyes.
“Your Highness?”
Taking a deep breath, you look back at Rose. “I will dine with the king. Could you find the simplest of the dresses, please? And I need my trunks unpacked while I’m away. It’s urgent that I have something from them before I go to sleep.”
Rose nods again and hurries to help you dress. The gown she chooses is similar in style to the one you’ve been wearing all day, but it’s deeper in hue and has a lower neckline. There’s a train, too, and it drags behind you on the floor in an altogether familiar way. Nobody in Aldrinia would wear such a dress—it would only be caught on forest brambles and weigh heavily with water from the puddles left by the afternoon rains.
You open your chamber doors and Dean straightens from where he’d been leaning against the smooth stone wall of the castle hallway. He nods politely and holds out his arm. You take it in silence, letting him lead you through the winding halls and down two staircases. Sam’s castle is dizzying and there are no artifacts to help you find your way. Every hallway looks the same, whereas your childhood home has windows of colored glass, creeping vines, and vases filled with ever-changing bouquets of flora and fauna. There had been ornate rugs to cushion the rough stone floors and portraits of your ancestors decorating the walls. Lawrence has none of these, and your heart sinks at the sterile feel of your new home. Nonetheless, you take careful note of the route as you walk, knowing that being able to venture out on your own will be of the utmost importance soon enough.
“Do you have a portrait gallery?” you ask, hoping to stir up a conversation with your new brother-in-law. If he is to be someone you spend a lot of time with, you want to become as familiar as customs allows.
He glances over at you, eyebrows slightly raised. If you weren’t so attuned to the human spirit, you would’ve missed the subtle change in his expression. He, like many other royals you’ve met, has been well trained in keeping his face schooled and steady.
“Not here,” he replies as he leads you around a corner. “I believe the northern manor has one, but Sam and I don’t spend much time there.”
“Why not? I find that portraits give one the opportunity to reflect. Do you not enjoy the presence and quiet guidance of your ancestors?”
Again, Dean’s expression stays carefully neutral, but you can tell by the way his lips pressed together for a split-second that he’s uncomfortable with the conversation. Regardless, you press on and wait for him to respond.
“We spend most of our time thinking about the future. Sam is very concerned with how our people will fare, and he always tries to make the years to come better than the last.”
It’s a diplomatic answer, one that you expected. Dean doesn’t know you well, at least not yet, and he’s making it clear that you’re not fully trusted. You hum quietly in response and return to walking in silence.
You and Dean turn another corner, and at the end of the hall stands a set of doors that stretch up further than anything you’ve seen in the castle since arriving. The doors are made of dark wood, and as you near them, you recognize something for the first time since arriving in Lawrence.
"These were a gift from my father!” you exclaim, recalling the times you’d visited the castle woodcarvers during their creation. They’d spent almost a year on them, with four master carvers assigned to each door.
You release Dean’s arm and stride forward, reaching out to run your fingers over the elaborate carvings in the wood. The guards standing on either side seem bewildered by your outburst, and the one that had been ready to open the doors for you now quickly backs away to keep a respectable distance from you.
“Were they?” Dean doesn’t look impressed, or even fazed, by the beauty of the doors.
You exhale slowly and smile as you tilted your head back to take in the story permanently etched into the surface. It’s a tale your mother told you time and time again as a child, and one you hope to tell your own children. The heroine is your namesake. She’s a part of you, as is her story, and you always feel a sense of pride at the end of the tale.
You will be strong and brave and smart, just as she is. Your mother always reminded you of that whenever she recalled the ending and tucked you under the covers. One day, you will face a monster, too, my love. It will take great effort, but you will defeat it. You will cut off its head, and you will remember this story. You will remember that you can be kind, but you can also be strong and brave. You can be humble, but you can also be smart. You can be beautiful, but you can also hold great depth.
“What did you say?”
You blink and look over, then slowly step away from the door and drop your hands back down to your sides. Dean is watching you carefully, his eyebrows furrowed. Had you truly spoken aloud?
“Nothing,” you answer. “It was nothing.”
He presses his lips together and watches you for a second more, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not to ask you again, but finally he steps back from the door as well. Dean gestures for the guards to open the heavy entrance.
He lifts his arm to lead you through to the hall. You can see Sam is already seated at the head of a long table, and as you take Dean’s arm, you try to calm the sudden flight of nerves in your chest. Your other hand fists in the side of your dress until you force yourself to release the fabric and keep your hand flat against your skirt.
“Dean?” you murmur.
He continues guiding you forward and keeps his eyes on the table, even as he replies, “Yes?”
“Can I trust you to take care of me? Or will you only follow orders from your brother?”
It’s a bold question. You shouldn’t ask it, but you can’t help yourself. With each passing minute, your marriage to Samuel Winchester seems a darker future than any other, and you need a friend. You need an ally. Rose is employed by the king, which leaves you with Dean.
This time, he glances over at you, but only for a moment. “I am loyal to my brother,” he says slowly, his voice quiet as you near the seat on Sam’s right. “But I am also a free man. I am here in Lawrence because I want to be, not because it is required. Sam does not question when I leave or where I go, nor does he expect me to return.”
You sit when Dean pulls out the chair, and you force a smile when Sam turns your way.
“Y/N,” he greets. “How are you finding your chambers?”
“They’re suitable, thank you,” you reply. You wait until Dean takes the seat opposite yours to look over the food. Plates heavy with meat, vegetables, and dishes you don’t recognize cover almost half the table. “Are there others joining us?”
Sam shakes his head. “No. I did not know what you would enjoy eating, so I had the kitchens prepare many dishes for our first meal together.” He pauses. “We will dine with others soon enough. I wanted to see your magic for myself before I invited my council.”
Your stomach drops and you avert your gaze. You look down at your hands, twisting the golden ring. “My King…”
“You may still call me Sam, even when I have ordered you to do something.”
“You ordered her?” Dean interjects. He sounds genuinely surprised at his brother’s actions.
You close your eyes, trying to will yourself away. Causing a rift between the king and his most trusted relative on the day of your arrival is not a good sign for your marriage.
“You’ve heard the rumors of magic in Aldrinia?” Sam asks him. Dean gives no verbal reply, but Sam continues, “I’ve seen it for myself. Y/N controls that magic. She insists that it is of no use, but anything that is kept hidden from outsiders must be useful to some degree.”
“Or maybe it’s dangerous.”
It’s neither, you think. It’s simply mine.
“All the more reason to learn more about it. The more I understand the danger of her magic, the more I can control it,” Sam says.
You lift your head, a sudden anger burning in your chest. “Control it? You mean to control me—the deepest, most intimate part of me—even after I told you that using my magic for your whims would make it fade away even faster? You wish to rip away the only part of me that connects me to my homeland for your own selfish desires?”
Sam’s stare is level and he regards you with a neutral expression. In his eyes, the cold, calculating nature you’d caught a glimpse of in the carriage reflects back at you, almost hidden by the multitude of colors that glimmer in the candlelight.
“I do not mean to control you,” he explains, as if speaking to a child. “I mean to learn about your magic and how I can prevent it from causing undue harm.”
You scoff and shake your head, then stand and push away from the table. Dean stands as well, but Sam remains seated. He leans back in his chair as you snap, “I will not use the ancient arts just to appease you!”
“You don’t have a choice.”
Dean’s jaw clenches. “Sam…”
Holding up one hand to silence his brother, Sam rises to his full height. You push away the cold sliver of fear that creeps up your spine and lift your chin to glare at him.
“I am your husband, and I am also your king. If you do not show me your magic, you will be punished.”
“Punished?” you grind out. “I am not an animal, nor am I a child.”
“Perhaps,” Sam coolly replies, “we’ll start by removing the doors you are so fond of.”
It’s as if his words have picked up a knife from the table and stabbed you in the heart, and you swallow thickly. You know that your emotions are plain on your face. He’s found a chink in the armor you’ve tried desperately to construct since he showed you his true colors.
“Sam…”
“Have you changed your mind so quickly?”
You shake your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “My King, I cannot use the ancient arts without purpose. I beg of you, please do not—”
“Castiel!” Sam shouts, and you flinch, dropping your eyes to the table in an attempt to hide your tears. You can feel Dean’s gaze on you, but you don’t dare look over at him.
The sound of footsteps against the carefully polished floor echoes in the otherwise empty hall. You continue to stare at Dean’s empty plate, your jaw clenched and tears spilling down your cheeks as you struggle to control your anger and grief. You can feel the warmth of your magic rising up inside of you, begging to be released as your emotions swell, but you stubbornly push it away. An outburst now will not save you.
“Your Majesty?” a man replies. “Have the servants replace the doors from Aldrinia with their predecessors. The Queen would like them removed. Permanently,” he adds after a second.
“Very well, Your Majesty.”
The three of you stand in silence around the table as the man leaves the hall, until finally you can’t take it any longer.
“I am tired. I wish to retire."
Sam sighs beside you. “Very well. Dean will escort you to your chambers. Sleep well, my Queen.”
Though you want to spit in his face, to scream and shout and call him every horrid name and curse you can muster in your Aldrinian tongue, you hold back. Instead, you lift your gaze to meet Sam’s eyes, fury burning inside of you.
“And you, my King. I shall see you come morning.”
You turn on your heel and march toward the heavy doors. You don’t slow to take in their beauty, and the knowledge that it will be the last time you see them makes your exit all the more heart-wrenching. You long to trace the carvings one final time and to murmur the stories that remain closely linked with your mother’s memory.
Dean has to hurry to catch up with you, but you ignore him as you sweep down the halls of the castle. The cold bites through the thin dress Sam has gifted you.
Yet another thing to thank him for, you inwardly scoff.
When you reach the doors to your chambers, you turn to face Dean. He almost bumps into you, but he catches himself and steps away to give you space. His expression is pained and he clears his throat before saying,
“I will come collect you in the morning.” He pauses, then adds, “My brother has requested that you dine with us until you’re adjusted, and then you can take your morning meal in your chambers, should you prefer. I… expect that his requests will have changed after tonight. Either I or your handmaid—”
“Your brother makes a lot of requests,” you snap, interrupting him, and he sighs. “I had heard he was a kind king. You yourself told me that he was a good king. A forgiving king. And yet,”—you shove open the door to your chambers, your tone sharpening with each word—“I have yet to see any of those qualities since we’ve arrived.”
Dean shakes his head and for a moment, his eyes grow sad. You play it off as a trick of the flickering light. Candles can only illuminate so much, and the moon does not seem to reach Lawrence. It saves its shining glory for Aldrinian nights.
“My brother is… lost. He is afraid.”
"Of what?” you scoff.
“Of you.”
You lift your chin and regard him carefully, unsure if he’s being truthful. “I am nothing to fear, sir.”
“Sam seems to believe you are,” answers Dean. “We know little of magic here, and rumors often hold a grain of truth. If Sam is so fervently demanding that you show him what you can do, it’s best that you obey.”
Clenching the doorknob in your fist, you huff, “I do not obey! I am not a dog!”
“I did not mean—”
"Then what did you mean? Answer me carefully, sir. You and your brother seem to have very certain ideas of what and who I am, and I am not fond of any of them.”
A beat passes before Dean replies, his words hesitant, “You will be our Queen. You will rule over us, even over me,” he adds. “I know my brother well. We grew up as siblings and friends, and we share many memories together. Sam is... afraid to share his people and his home with someone who could trick him. He has been hurt in the past. You are not the first princess to grace our hallways, and he needs to put the health of people before his feelings.”
Though you don’t know the woman to which he refers, a shiver runs down your spine. It’s slowly dawning on you that the impressions you’d had of Sam and Lawrence when the marriage proposal was accepted are much different than reality.
“Are you saying I’ve been lied to? That Sam is not unmarried, like I was told? Am I to be one in a line of many queens here? Am I to be tricked time and time again, and treated like a fool?”
He shakes his head. “No, my lady! You would be the first, and his only. Sam would only marry someone if he was entirely sure. He came close several years ago, and we have suffered until now. I believe he wishes to protect our people—and his own self—from the same pain.”
“What are you trying to say?” you ask, dropping your hand down to your side. You glance down the hallway. It remains empty. “Please tell me, what happened? Who was here?”
Dean shakes his head again and takes a step back, bowing slightly. “I’ve said too much already. It is not my right to tell my brother’s story, and it would be better if you heard the whole truth from him. I can speak with him on your behalf, if you wish. Maybe the sun will bring a new perspective for us all.”
After a moment, you nod and take a slow, deep breath to calm your temper. For someone so far from Aldrinian soil, he shares the same wisdom as many men there. The sun will shed light on the truth, as it always does.
“Thank you. I was unsure if I had an ally in you, Dean, but I hope that we can learn to trust each other. I bring no ill intent with my magic. I cannot help with war or make your crops prosper. I do not even think I could heal a simple chill. Truly, I can do very little in Lawrence, and the longer I am away from my home, the more my abilities will fade.”
His eyes seem sad again. “I hope that someday you can feel at home here, Y/N.”
“Please do not resent me when I say that Lawrence will never be my home, but I hope that it may someday feel closer to it. Goodnight, Dean.”
You bow your head before stepping into your chambers and closing the door behind you, then closing your eyes. Dean’s footsteps fade away as he heads back down the hall, leaving you alone.
The candles in your room already flicker, their flames dancing in harmony with the fire in the fireplace. You will not need extra covers tonight, so you discard your dress and crawl into bed, intent on falling asleep. You don’t bother calling for Rose. She will only want to brush your hair out like Jade always did, and that will be one heartbreak too many. You tell yourself that can also look for the herbs and young plants packed for you in the morning. One more night without them will do little to change the fact that your abilities will certainly fade with time and distance.
Quietly, so as not to be overheard by the servants, you hum the lullaby from your childhood, hoping it will soothe your soul. Its magic can’t reach you here, however, and you fall asleep with tears in your eyes and an ache in your chest that even a good night’s rest can’t heal.
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Y/N is the princess of Aldrinia, a beautiful, magical kingdom that borders Lawrence. When she leaves her childhood home to marry King Samuel, she finds herself trapped between her husband-to-be's expectations and her fading ties to her homeland.
Warnings: Weddings, marrying (third) cousins, awful exes and their families, kissing, fluff, slight angst
Summary: You’re going to a wedding, but you don’t want to go alone. Not when your ex is the groom, and not when your best friend is always up to be your plus one.
A/N: I watch too many rom-coms. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading. 🥰 Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Your chest expands on a shaky inhale, then shudders as you breathe out. Your reflection hasn’t changed since you first looked in the mirror a few moments ago, but you still stare at yourself in dismay. Plucking at the fabric of your dress doesn’t fix what’s bothering you, and neither does adjusting your hair.
“I can do this. It’s just a wedding,” you say, though you don’t believe it. You wait for the courage to come. If life were a movie, it would well up inside of you at this very moment and you would charge out the door, climb into your waiting Uber, and have a grand time all by yourself.
But life isn’t a movie, you think, and you glance down at your phone when it chimes. The Uber driver’s texting you again. After a second, you grab your phone and cancel the ride, texting a quick apology before opening the phone app and jamming your thumb against the contact at the top of your favorites list.
Sam picks up immediately. “Hey. Are you on your way to the church?”
A lump grows in your throat at the sound of his voice and you stare pointedly up at the ceiling, willing tears away. If you cry, you’ll have to do your makeup all over again.
“Y/N?”
“Um, I know I said I could do this on my own, but…” Your voice breaks and you suck in a breath to try and calm yourself. It doesn’t work.
“I’ll be ready in ten. Do you want me to pick you up?” Sam asks.
You swallow hard and let out a sigh of relief. Your shoulders slump and the ball of anxiety in your stomach loosens for the first time all day.
“Yes. Please.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
You end the call and look back up at the mirror. Your appearance is… suitable. The outfit you’d agonized over all morning is nice, but not too nice. Your hair is neat and your makeup is enough for a wedding, but not too much that it looks like you’re trying to find a date. Your goal for this afternoon is to blend in.
Plopping yourself down on the couch, you attempt to distract yourself by scrolling until Sam arrives. You only succeed for a few minutes before you’re back up again, pacing the length of the hallway. When he texts that he’s downstairs, you grab your bag and hurry down to his car.
He’s parked in a fire lane with his hazards on. You shout an apology at your nosy neighbor, just like you always do, and climb into the passenger seat. As soon as the door’s shut, Sam pulls out into traffic.
“You’re gonna get a ticket one of these days,” you laugh, catching Sam’s eye. “I swear, that man lives to call the cops on people. He’s always standing outside, just waiting for someone to mess up.”
He’s grinning. He’s combed his hair and it’s freshly cut. The ends brush the collar of his navy suit.
“I wasn’t sure what you were wearing,” Sam tells you. He stops at the intersection, the one at the end of your street that you swear has the longest red light in Wichita, and grabs something from the cupholder between you. “Which one?”
It’s three ties, all slightly crumpled in his fist. You take them and gingerly smooth them out in your lap. Miraculously, one of them is a perfect match. The others would have been perfect with your second and third choice outfits.
He really does know me too well.
You toss the extras onto the backseat before laying your choice over the center console.
“Thanks again for doing this. I don’t know if I could face him all by myself. I mean, I could barely get out of bed this morning.” You cross your arms over your chest, feeling a little self-conscious at the admission.
Sam glances over at you. He’s leaning back in his seat, his grip on the wheel relaxed as he navigates the tight city streets and weekend traffic.
“What are friends for?” he asks. “I wouldn’t make you face this on your own. He was a jerk to end things when he did, but then to invite you to his wedding less than a year later?” Sam scoffs.
“He’s not a bad guy.”
The excuse falls flat, and you both know it.
“Thank you,” you say again. “I mean it.”
“Anytime.”
The rest of the drive is silent. At the third light, Sam puts on the tie, straightening it in the rearview mirror. You people watch out the window, occasionally pointing out interesting things to him, but for the most part, you try not to overthink.
It’s just a wedding, you tell yourself. People go to their ex’s weddings all the time. It’s perfectly normal.
Sam parks down the street from the church. He has to parallel park. You start to tell him it’s okay if you walk from the lot they’d mentioned on the invitation—the one that’s almost a mile away—but he’s backing into the spot with little hesitation before you can even get a word out. You have to admit, you’re impressed. After all these years, you wonder how you’ve never seen him parallel park, and you wonder further how he manages to be so effortlessly good at it.
After pulling the keys from the ignition, he climbs out of the driver’s seat without a word, then walks around the front of the car to open your door for you.
“What is this? Special treatment?” you tease as you climb out, and he laughs.
“For a special occasion.” He offers you his arm, which you take, and you walk together to the entrance. “You sure you’re okay?”
You nod and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Yeah. I think so. I will be, at least, now that you’re here.”
He smiles a little and opens the door for you. You take one of the wedding programs, ignoring the whispers coming from a group of your Trevor’s extended family. You’d met them last year at a family reunion. Being the girlfriend of four years, you’d been included in the festivities. If you’d known that only a month later you’d be single again, you wouldn’t have gone.
Sam leads you into the church sanctuary and you sit in the second to last pew. The stained glass is beautiful in the afternoon light and while a string quartet at the front plays through Pachelbel’s greatest hits, you read through the program.
“You didn’t tell me that she was his cousin,” Sam hisses in your ear.
You flinch and turn to look at him with wide eyes. “Keep it down!”
He’s staring at you with barely contained horror, and you grab his wrist. The jacket crumples under your grip and you pull him down, hunching over in the pew so you can whisper.
“I only just found out this morning, from Instagram,” you tell him, glancing around to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “I think they’re like… third cousins. Once removed, or something like that. I googled it—technically in Kansas, it’s legal.”
Sam’s face screws up in disgust and he sits up as an usher guides in an older woman entirely clad in Pepto-Bismol pink. You try not to stare, instead forcing yourself to look back at the program.
You’re reading the back when the organ blasts out a chord so loud that you jump. Sam steadies you with a hand on your thigh, and you glance at him once before your attention is caught by Trevor’s grandparents walking down the aisle together. Another older couple follows them in time to the music.
Sinking down in your seat, you have the sudden urge to run out one of the side doors of the church sanctuary. It’s only Sam’s hand on your leg that’s keeping you in place. You consider it again, however, when Trevor’s mom—the same woman who’d persistently brought up your lack of an engagement ring at the reunion—looks over and makes eye contact with you before she begins her walk to the front of the room. A few beats later, Trevor appears. He glances over at you, but his expression betrays nothing. You try not to feel disappointed, but your stomach still sinks and you bounce your leg in place. Your mind is already trying to pull you into another spiral as he takes his place near the altar.
What did I expect? For him to stop the wedding and tell me that he was wrong? That he shouldn’t have broken things off and that I should be marrying him today?
Sam’s hand finds yours. He laces your fingers together and you take a shaky breath, squeezing back when he squeezes once. His hand is warm. It’s a stark contrast to your own fingers, which have been freezing ever since your anxiety about coming to the wedding flared this morning.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs, leaning closer so that only you can hear him. “I’ve got you.”
You nod and take another breath. You force your shoulders to relax and your leg to be still as the first bridesmaid and groomsmen enter the sanctuary. As the second pair enters, Sam’s thumb slowly rubs back and forth over yours, not quite in time with the march being played on the organ. You stare down at where your joined hands are resting on the faded blue cushion between you.
You’ve held hands plenty of times before. When you were kids, you held hands for games at recess and when you played after school. As you grew older, you held hands when you needed to navigate crowds together at baseball games and concerts. Sam would hold your hand at the airport too, making it easier to get to your gate for your trips home during college. A few times, he’d held your hand on the way to class or to your dorm, but that had been short-lived. You’d never asked why he’d started, and you never asked why he stopped. Now, it feels weird to hold his hand solely for comfort, but not in a bad way. You wonder why you’ve never done it before.
Sam stands and you quickly follow his lead, realizing that you’d zoned out. The bride enters in a dress that looks like it came straight off the runway. It suits her well, but you can’t help but wonder if your Trevor’s mom would have pushed you to choose a similar dress. Every single aspect of the wedding that you’ve seen so far is exactly how she’d described your potential wedding while at the reunion.
You sit when everyone else does, and you zone out again during the ceremony. It isn’t very long. By the time your thoughts have looped back around to, “I can’t believe he’s marrying his cousin,” the newlywed couple is walking back down the aisle. You’re certain that you imagine the triumphant look the bride sends you as she passes your pew.
“Bag,” Sam says. You blink and then he’s reaching over you to grab your purse from the seat. “You ready to go to the reception? Or did you want to use the bathroom first?”
“I’m fine,” you reply, but he raises an eyebrow at you. “What?”
“You’re anxious. You’ve been anxious all day. You always have to pee more when you’re anxious.”
It’s true, you do. If you’d actually stopped to think for a second before replying, you would’ve realized that you do, in fact, have to pee.
“Fine,” you relent, albeit reluctantly. You take your purse when he holds it out for you. “I’ll meet you out front?”
“I’ll wait for you at the doors.” Sam leads you out of the pew, then steps aside so you can exit the sanctuary first.
A handwritten sign attached to a gold stand points you in the direction of the bathrooms. You join the line, and after only a few minutes, you’re finished and washing up at the sinks. You pause to check your makeup, and it’s while you’re brushing away a stray eyelash that Trevor’s sister comes up beside you.
“What are you doing?” she asks. Her words drip with venom and disgust and you freeze for a moment before your self-preservation skills kick in.
“Fixing my makeup,” you coolly answer. You look back at your reflection and rub your thumb along the corner of your lip to make sure your lipstick hasn’t smudged.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she pushes. “Nobody wants you here.”
You smile at her, keeping it sweet. As much as you want to get the day over with, you can’t stand the idea of her talking down to you. Her brother had broken up with you, not vice versa.
“Trevor invited me, so clearly, somebody does.”
Her face turns an unnatural shade of red. “You’re lying.”
You’re not, but you don’t care enough to argue with her. “It was nice to see you again,” you say, and then you turn and leave the bathroom before she can reply.
Sam is waiting for you by the doors, just like he’d promised. He takes your purse once you’re within arm’s reach, and with his free hand, he holds open the door.
“Very chivalrous,” you point out, and he laughs.
“My mom would have my head if she found out I wasn’t on my best behavior at a wedding.”
You laugh and take his hand as you walk, almost without even thinking about it. Almost. If you were being honest, you had to psych yourself up in the bathroom stall. Now that the idea of holding his hand for something other than practicality has crossed your mind, you can’t stop thinking about it.
“That she would. Mary Winchester doesn’t play around when it comes to manners.”
“No she doesn’t,” Sam laughs.
The car unlocks with a beep, and he opens the door for you. You’re a little surprised at how natural it seems for him. Not once has he faltered, nor has he seemed awkward about opening doors for you, holding your hand, and even holding your purse.
Why should it be awkward? He’s done plenty of other things for me, you think. You buckle your seatbelt, thinking of all the times Sam carried your books for you in high school and college, or your backpack when it got heavy. He’s brought you food and coffee too many times to count, and he’s carried groceries up the stairs to your apartment so you didn’t have to. When you were in a car accident last year, he dropped everything to come pick you up and deal with the tow truck and your insurance, then the mechanic, and then the rental car company.
The realization isn’t a sudden one, or a life-changing one. It feels like fitting the last piece into a puzzle and finally seeing the big picture. It feels like settling into bed at night and realizing that you’ve found the best, most comfortable position. It’s natural.
“Sam?” you ask, turning in your seat to look at him as he maneuvers the car out of the parallel spot and back onto the road. He hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t look at you.
“Are you being extra nice to me today because you know I’ve been anxious all day?”
“No.”
“Is it because we’re going to my ex’s wedding?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why are you being so nice to me? Why have you always been so nice to me?”
You can see a flush of pink climbing up his neck, but Sam laughs off your questions.
“What are you talking about? You’re my best friend, of course I’m nice to you.”
The light turns red and Sam stops behind a semi. He doesn’t look at you, though, so you chance it and reach over to grab his hand. You pull his fingers from the gear shift and lace them together with yours.
“Sam.”
This time, he meets your eyes, smiling. You know the smile, though, and it’s not his most genuine. He’s not telling you the whole truth.
“What, Y/N?”
“We’re friends. Best friends.”
“Yeah…”
“We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
He glances at the light. “Right.”
“So you’ll always tell me the truth? Even if it’s hard or awkward?”
He chuckles nervously, shifting his gaze between you and the stopped traffic. “Where are you going with this?”
“Do you like me?”
His ears are pink. So is his neck. “I don’t typically call people I don’t like my best friend, Y/N. What are you getting at?”
“You’re the lawyer, you tell me,” you say. You search his face, unsure if he’s purposefully avoiding the question or if he genuinely doesn’t understand. When his smile falters, you get your answer. “Sam…”
The semi starts to move and Sam looks forward again, slowly inching the car toward the intersection and then speeding up as traffic begins moving faster. He doesn’t let go of your hand, though. He settles them on the center console. His arm rests on his arm rest and thankfully, so does yours, but the angle is still a little uncomfortable. Neither of you is used to this.
“I’ve liked you for a long time,” says Sam, after a few moments. He doesn’t look at you while he drives. His voice is quieter, almost like he’s confessing something. You don’t reply, giving him space to think and speak.
“You’re my best friend. I don’t want to ruin that by pushing you into something more, especially if you’re not ready for it. Trevor… Trevor was a jerk, and after he broke up with you, I realized that I never want to put you in the same position he did. I never want you to feel like that again. I never want to make you feel like that ever again.”
“You won’t,” you assure him. You rub your thumb over his, just like he had during the ceremony. “You won’t, Sam.”
“How do you know that?” he asks.
“I just do. I trust you.”
His throat bobs as he swallows. He lets go of your hand before turning into the parking lot of the reception hall and parking the car in the third row from the door, up against the edge of the lot. A couple in the car beside yours climbs out. They’re arguing loud enough that you can hear them through the windows until they’re closer to the row of cars behind you.
“Sam…”
“We should go in, we don’t want to be late.”
Smiling wide, you take his hand again. “I love you. I think I have for a long time, even before Trevor broke up with me.”
He turns his head and you laugh a little, unable to control the giddiness that the revelation has brought you. Sam looks utterly bewildered, but the slow smile growing on his face makes you want to jump and dance and shout for joy.
“I love you, Sam. Did you hear me?” You squeeze his hand.
“I heard you,” he replies. “I’m just… processing. Are you sure?”
You nod. “I’m positive. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything in my life. You’re my best friend. I can’t imagine my life without you. I want… I want more.”
“More?”
“Than just friends.”
He smiles then, and with his free hand, he unbuckles his seatbelt. You unbuckles yours, turning further in the passenger seat. Before you can say anything else, Sam’s hand is cupping your face. He pulls his other hand from yours to brush hair out of your eyes.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
You nod, staring at him. You’re still bursting with joy—the butterflies are swooping around in your stomach, flying in loops so wide that you’re not quite certain you’ll ever breathe right again—but the stillness of the moment makes you hold your breath.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” murmurs Sam, “if that’s okay with you.”
You nod again, and then you close your eyes when Sam’s lips press against yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped, but you want to memorize this moment. For a second, you’re still, but then you inhale through your nose and kiss him back, one hand clutching his sleeve and the other propping yourself up on the center console. The armrest digs into your abdomen but you don’t care, as long as Sam keeps kissing you.
His breath is hot against your mouth when he pulls away. You have the distinct thought that he’s going to have to clean lipstick off his face when you’re done, and then he’s kissing you again.
It’s short and sweet the second time. When you separate, you let your hand drop from his arm.
“Sam…”
“I’m going to get carried away if we don’t stop,” he tells you, searching your face.
You nod, a little dumbstruck. Sam’s only had a few girlfriends, and none in recent years.
“You haven’t dated since college,” you say. He nods in response, his eyebrows furrowing slightly at the strange statement. “How’d you get that good at kissing?”
For a moment, Sam stares at you, but then he smiles wide. His eyes light up and he laughs, snorting once before you join in.
“That’s not what I thought you’d say!”
You laugh and bring your hand up to rub at the lipstick bordering his chapped lips with your thumb. You don’t get any off. In fact, you only succeed in making it worse. Sam looks like he just spent a week in the Yukon without chapstick. His mouth is swollen and pink all around, and you can only imagine that you look even worse.
“Let’s go home,” you say, smiling wide.
“You sure? We could go in, grab some cake before we ditch.”
“I’m sure. The last thing I want to do right now is see my ex kiss his cousin again.”
The car is still running. Sam reaches across you and in one smooth motion, grabs your seatbelt and buckles you in. You sit back against the seat and watch him, grinning as he buckles his one seatbelt once more, glances in the rearview mirror, and reverses the car out of the spot. When you’re back on the road, Sam heads the direction of your apartment with ease. He’s a good navigator—he got the lay of the land pretty quickly after the two of you moved to Wichita after college—and even though it’s been years, you truly have no idea how to get back through the city to your place from the reception hall. He seems to know already, though, so you sit back and enjoy the ride.
Sam grabs your hand to hold, just like he had before. You people watch again, too. Every once in a while, you glance over at him. He’s smiling while he drives. Knowing that you’re the one who made him this happy makes you feel giddy and light inside.
“Should we stop and get cake on the way home?” Sam suddenly asks, and you start laughing all over again.
Your cheeks ache from smiling. “I knew there was a reason I liked you!”
He holds your hand at the store, too. You can’t help but enjoy it.
Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.
I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.
If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi!
Warnings: Weddings, marrying (third) cousins, awful exes and their families, kissing, fluff, slight angst
Summary: You’re going to a wedding, but you don’t want to go alone. Not when your ex is the groom, and not when your best friend is always up to be your plus one.
A/N: I watch too many rom-coms. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading. 🥰 Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Your chest expands on a shaky inhale, then shudders as you breathe out. Your reflection hasn’t changed since you first looked in the mirror a few moments ago, but you still stare at yourself in dismay. Plucking at the fabric of your dress doesn’t fix what’s bothering you, and neither does adjusting your hair.
“I can do this. It’s just a wedding,” you say, though you don’t believe it. You wait for the courage to come. If life were a movie, it would well up inside of you at this very moment and you would charge out the door, climb into your waiting Uber, and have a grand time all by yourself.
But life isn’t a movie, you think, and you glance down at your phone when it chimes. The Uber driver’s texting you again. After a second, you grab your phone and cancel the ride, texting a quick apology before opening the phone app and jamming your thumb against the contact at the top of your favorites list.
Sam picks up immediately. “Hey. Are you on your way to the church?”
A lump grows in your throat at the sound of his voice and you stare pointedly up at the ceiling, willing tears away. If you cry, you’ll have to do your makeup all over again.
“Y/N?”
“Um, I know I said I could do this on my own, but…” Your voice breaks and you suck in a breath to try and calm yourself. It doesn’t work.
“I’ll be ready in ten. Do you want me to pick you up?” Sam asks.
You swallow hard and let out a sigh of relief. Your shoulders slump and the ball of anxiety in your stomach loosens for the first time all day.
“Yes. Please.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
You end the call and look back up at the mirror. Your appearance is… suitable. The outfit you’d agonized over all morning is nice, but not too nice. Your hair is neat and your makeup is enough for a wedding, but not too much that it looks like you’re trying to find a date. Your goal for this afternoon is to blend in.
Plopping yourself down on the couch, you attempt to distract yourself by scrolling until Sam arrives. You only succeed for a few minutes before you’re back up again, pacing the length of the hallway. When he texts that he’s downstairs, you grab your bag and hurry down to his car.
He’s parked in a fire lane with his hazards on. You shout an apology at your nosy neighbor, just like you always do, and climb into the passenger seat. As soon as the door’s shut, Sam pulls out into traffic.
“You’re gonna get a ticket one of these days,” you laugh, catching Sam’s eye. “I swear, that man lives to call the cops on people. He’s always standing outside, just waiting for someone to mess up.”
He’s grinning. He’s combed his hair and it’s freshly cut. The ends brush the collar of his navy suit.
“I wasn’t sure what you were wearing,” Sam tells you. He stops at the intersection, the one at the end of your street that you swear has the longest red light in Wichita, and grabs something from the cupholder between you. “Which one?”
It’s three ties, all slightly crumpled in his fist. You take them and gingerly smooth them out in your lap. Miraculously, one of them is a perfect match. The others would have been perfect with your second and third choice outfits.
He really does know me too well.
You toss the extras onto the backseat before laying your choice over the center console.
“Thanks again for doing this. I don’t know if I could face him all by myself. I mean, I could barely get out of bed this morning.” You cross your arms over your chest, feeling a little self-conscious at the admission.
Sam glances over at you. He’s leaning back in his seat, his grip on the wheel relaxed as he navigates the tight city streets and weekend traffic.
“What are friends for?” he asks. “I wouldn’t make you face this on your own. He was a jerk to end things when he did, but then to invite you to his wedding less than a year later?” Sam scoffs.
“He’s not a bad guy.”
The excuse falls flat, and you both know it.
“Thank you,” you say again. “I mean it.”
“Anytime.”
The rest of the drive is silent. At the third light, Sam puts on the tie, straightening it in the rearview mirror. You people watch out the window, occasionally pointing out interesting things to him, but for the most part, you try not to overthink.
It’s just a wedding, you tell yourself. People go to their ex’s weddings all the time. It’s perfectly normal.
Sam parks down the street from the church. He has to parallel park. You start to tell him it’s okay if you walk from the lot they’d mentioned on the invitation—the one that’s almost a mile away—but he’s backing into the spot with little hesitation before you can even get a word out. You have to admit, you’re impressed. After all these years, you wonder how you’ve never seen him parallel park, and you wonder further how he manages to be so effortlessly good at it.
After pulling the keys from the ignition, he climbs out of the driver’s seat without a word, then walks around the front of the car to open your door for you.
“What is this? Special treatment?” you tease as you climb out, and he laughs.
“For a special occasion.” He offers you his arm, which you take, and you walk together to the entrance. “You sure you’re okay?”
You nod and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Yeah. I think so. I will be, at least, now that you’re here.”
He smiles a little and opens the door for you. You take one of the wedding programs, ignoring the whispers coming from a group of your Trevor’s extended family. You’d met them last year at a family reunion. Being the girlfriend of four years, you’d been included in the festivities. If you’d known that only a month later you’d be single again, you wouldn’t have gone.
Sam leads you into the church sanctuary and you sit in the second to last pew. The stained glass is beautiful in the afternoon light and while a string quartet at the front plays through Pachelbel’s greatest hits, you read through the program.
“You didn’t tell me that she was his cousin,” Sam hisses in your ear.
You flinch and turn to look at him with wide eyes. “Keep it down!”
He’s staring at you with barely contained horror, and you grab his wrist. The jacket crumples under your grip and you pull him down, hunching over in the pew so you can whisper.
“I only just found out this morning, from Instagram,” you tell him, glancing around to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “I think they’re like… third cousins. Once removed, or something like that. I googled it—technically in Kansas, it’s legal.”
Sam’s face screws up in disgust and he sits up as an usher guides in an older woman entirely clad in Pepto-Bismol pink. You try not to stare, instead forcing yourself to look back at the program.
You’re reading the back when the organ blasts out a chord so loud that you jump. Sam steadies you with a hand on your thigh, and you glance at him once before your attention is caught by Trevor’s grandparents walking down the aisle together. Another older couple follows them in time to the music.
Sinking down in your seat, you have the sudden urge to run out one of the side doors of the church sanctuary. It’s only Sam’s hand on your leg that’s keeping you in place. You consider it again, however, when Trevor’s mom—the same woman who’d persistently brought up your lack of an engagement ring at the reunion—looks over and makes eye contact with you before she begins her walk to the front of the room. A few beats later, Trevor appears. He glances over at you, but his expression betrays nothing. You try not to feel disappointed, but your stomach still sinks and you bounce your leg in place. Your mind is already trying to pull you into another spiral as he takes his place near the altar.
What did I expect? For him to stop the wedding and tell me that he was wrong? That he shouldn’t have broken things off and that I should be marrying him today?
Sam’s hand finds yours. He laces your fingers together and you take a shaky breath, squeezing back when he squeezes once. His hand is warm. It’s a stark contrast to your own fingers, which have been freezing ever since your anxiety about coming to the wedding flared this morning.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs, leaning closer so that only you can hear him. “I’ve got you.”
You nod and take another breath. You force your shoulders to relax and your leg to be still as the first bridesmaid and groomsmen enter the sanctuary. As the second pair enters, Sam’s thumb slowly rubs back and forth over yours, not quite in time with the march being played on the organ. You stare down at where your joined hands are resting on the faded blue cushion between you.
You’ve held hands plenty of times before. When you were kids, you held hands for games at recess and when you played after school. As you grew older, you held hands when you needed to navigate crowds together at baseball games and concerts. Sam would hold your hand at the airport too, making it easier to get to your gate for your trips home during college. A few times, he’d held your hand on the way to class or to your dorm, but that had been short-lived. You’d never asked why he’d started, and you never asked why he stopped. Now, it feels weird to hold his hand solely for comfort, but not in a bad way. You wonder why you’ve never done it before.
Sam stands and you quickly follow his lead, realizing that you’d zoned out. The bride enters in a dress that looks like it came straight off the runway. It suits her well, but you can’t help but wonder if your Trevor’s mom would have pushed you to choose a similar dress. Every single aspect of the wedding that you’ve seen so far is exactly how she’d described your potential wedding while at the reunion.
You sit when everyone else does, and you zone out again during the ceremony. It isn’t very long. By the time your thoughts have looped back around to, “I can’t believe he’s marrying his cousin,” the newlywed couple is walking back down the aisle. You’re certain that you imagine the triumphant look the bride sends you as she passes your pew.
“Bag,” Sam says. You blink and then he’s reaching over you to grab your purse from the seat. “You ready to go to the reception? Or did you want to use the bathroom first?”
“I’m fine,” you reply, but he raises an eyebrow at you. “What?”
“You’re anxious. You’ve been anxious all day. You always have to pee more when you’re anxious.”
It’s true, you do. If you’d actually stopped to think for a second before replying, you would’ve realized that you do, in fact, have to pee.
“Fine,” you relent, albeit reluctantly. You take your purse when he holds it out for you. “I’ll meet you out front?”
“I’ll wait for you at the doors.” Sam leads you out of the pew, then steps aside so you can exit the sanctuary first.
A handwritten sign attached to a gold stand points you in the direction of the bathrooms. You join the line, and after only a few minutes, you’re finished and washing up at the sinks. You pause to check your makeup, and it’s while you’re brushing away a stray eyelash that Trevor’s sister comes up beside you.
“What are you doing?” she asks. Her words drip with venom and disgust and you freeze for a moment before your self-preservation skills kick in.
“Fixing my makeup,” you coolly answer. You look back at your reflection and rub your thumb along the corner of your lip to make sure your lipstick hasn’t smudged.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she pushes. “Nobody wants you here.”
You smile at her, keeping it sweet. As much as you want to get the day over with, you can’t stand the idea of her talking down to you. Her brother had broken up with you, not vice versa.
“Trevor invited me, so clearly, somebody does.”
Her face turns an unnatural shade of red. “You’re lying.”
You’re not, but you don’t care enough to argue with her. “It was nice to see you again,” you say, and then you turn and leave the bathroom before she can reply.
Sam is waiting for you by the doors, just like he’d promised. He takes your purse once you’re within arm’s reach, and with his free hand, he holds open the door.
“Very chivalrous,” you point out, and he laughs.
“My mom would have my head if she found out I wasn’t on my best behavior at a wedding.”
You laugh and take his hand as you walk, almost without even thinking about it. Almost. If you were being honest, you had to psych yourself up in the bathroom stall. Now that the idea of holding his hand for something other than practicality has crossed your mind, you can’t stop thinking about it.
“That she would. Mary Winchester doesn’t play around when it comes to manners.”
“No she doesn’t,” Sam laughs.
The car unlocks with a beep, and he opens the door for you. You’re a little surprised at how natural it seems for him. Not once has he faltered, nor has he seemed awkward about opening doors for you, holding your hand, and even holding your purse.
Why should it be awkward? He’s done plenty of other things for me, you think. You buckle your seatbelt, thinking of all the times Sam carried your books for you in high school and college, or your backpack when it got heavy. He’s brought you food and coffee too many times to count, and he’s carried groceries up the stairs to your apartment so you didn’t have to. When you were in a car accident last year, he dropped everything to come pick you up and deal with the tow truck and your insurance, then the mechanic, and then the rental car company.
The realization isn’t a sudden one, or a life-changing one. It feels like fitting the last piece into a puzzle and finally seeing the big picture. It feels like settling into bed at night and realizing that you’ve found the best, most comfortable position. It’s natural.
“Sam?” you ask, turning in your seat to look at him as he maneuvers the car out of the parallel spot and back onto the road. He hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t look at you.
“Are you being extra nice to me today because you know I’ve been anxious all day?”
“No.”
“Is it because we’re going to my ex’s wedding?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why are you being so nice to me? Why have you always been so nice to me?”
You can see a flush of pink climbing up his neck, but Sam laughs off your questions.
“What are you talking about? You’re my best friend, of course I’m nice to you.”
The light turns red and Sam stops behind a semi. He doesn’t look at you, though, so you chance it and reach over to grab his hand. You pull his fingers from the gear shift and lace them together with yours.
“Sam.”
This time, he meets your eyes, smiling. You know the smile, though, and it’s not his most genuine. He’s not telling you the whole truth.
“What, Y/N?”
“We’re friends. Best friends.”
“Yeah…”
“We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
He glances at the light. “Right.”
“So you’ll always tell me the truth? Even if it’s hard or awkward?”
He chuckles nervously, shifting his gaze between you and the stopped traffic. “Where are you going with this?”
“Do you like me?”
His ears are pink. So is his neck. “I don’t typically call people I don’t like my best friend, Y/N. What are you getting at?”
“You’re the lawyer, you tell me,” you say. You search his face, unsure if he’s purposefully avoiding the question or if he genuinely doesn’t understand. When his smile falters, you get your answer. “Sam…”
The semi starts to move and Sam looks forward again, slowly inching the car toward the intersection and then speeding up as traffic begins moving faster. He doesn’t let go of your hand, though. He settles them on the center console. His arm rests on his arm rest and thankfully, so does yours, but the angle is still a little uncomfortable. Neither of you is used to this.
“I’ve liked you for a long time,” says Sam, after a few moments. He doesn’t look at you while he drives. His voice is quieter, almost like he’s confessing something. You don’t reply, giving him space to think and speak.
“You’re my best friend. I don’t want to ruin that by pushing you into something more, especially if you’re not ready for it. Trevor… Trevor was a jerk, and after he broke up with you, I realized that I never want to put you in the same position he did. I never want you to feel like that again. I never want to make you feel like that ever again.”
“You won’t,” you assure him. You rub your thumb over his, just like he had during the ceremony. “You won’t, Sam.”
“How do you know that?” he asks.
“I just do. I trust you.”
His throat bobs as he swallows. He lets go of your hand before turning into the parking lot of the reception hall and parking the car in the third row from the door, up against the edge of the lot. A couple in the car beside yours climbs out. They’re arguing loud enough that you can hear them through the windows until they’re closer to the row of cars behind you.
“Sam…”
“We should go in, we don’t want to be late.”
Smiling wide, you take his hand again. “I love you. I think I have for a long time, even before Trevor broke up with me.”
He turns his head and you laugh a little, unable to control the giddiness that the revelation has brought you. Sam looks utterly bewildered, but the slow smile growing on his face makes you want to jump and dance and shout for joy.
“I love you, Sam. Did you hear me?” You squeeze his hand.
“I heard you,” he replies. “I’m just… processing. Are you sure?”
You nod. “I’m positive. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything in my life. You’re my best friend. I can’t imagine my life without you. I want… I want more.”
“More?”
“Than just friends.”
He smiles then, and with his free hand, he unbuckles his seatbelt. You unbuckles yours, turning further in the passenger seat. Before you can say anything else, Sam’s hand is cupping your face. He pulls his other hand from yours to brush hair out of your eyes.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
You nod, staring at him. You’re still bursting with joy—the butterflies are swooping around in your stomach, flying in loops so wide that you’re not quite certain you’ll ever breathe right again—but the stillness of the moment makes you hold your breath.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” murmurs Sam, “if that’s okay with you.”
You nod again, and then you close your eyes when Sam’s lips press against yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped, but you want to memorize this moment. For a second, you’re still, but then you inhale through your nose and kiss him back, one hand clutching his sleeve and the other propping yourself up on the center console. The armrest digs into your abdomen but you don’t care, as long as Sam keeps kissing you.
His breath is hot against your mouth when he pulls away. You have the distinct thought that he’s going to have to clean lipstick off his face when you’re done, and then he’s kissing you again.
It’s short and sweet the second time. When you separate, you let your hand drop from his arm.
“Sam…”
“I’m going to get carried away if we don’t stop,” he tells you, searching your face.
You nod, a little dumbstruck. Sam’s only had a few girlfriends, and none in recent years.
“You haven’t dated since college,” you say. He nods in response, his eyebrows furrowing slightly at the strange statement. “How’d you get that good at kissing?”
For a moment, Sam stares at you, but then he smiles wide. His eyes light up and he laughs, snorting once before you join in.
“That’s not what I thought you’d say!”
You laugh and bring your hand up to rub at the lipstick bordering his chapped lips with your thumb. You don’t get any off. In fact, you only succeed in making it worse. Sam looks like he just spent a week in the Yukon without chapstick. His mouth is swollen and pink all around, and you can only imagine that you look even worse.
“Let’s go home,” you say, smiling wide.
“You sure? We could go in, grab some cake before we ditch.”
“I’m sure. The last thing I want to do right now is see my ex kiss his cousin again.”
The car is still running. Sam reaches across you and in one smooth motion, grabs your seatbelt and buckles you in. You sit back against the seat and watch him, grinning as he buckles his one seatbelt once more, glances in the rearview mirror, and reverses the car out of the spot. When you’re back on the road, Sam heads the direction of your apartment with ease. He’s a good navigator—he got the lay of the land pretty quickly after the two of you moved to Wichita after college—and even though it’s been years, you truly have no idea how to get back through the city to your place from the reception hall. He seems to know already, though, so you sit back and enjoy the ride.
Sam grabs your hand to hold, just like he had before. You people watch again, too. Every once in a while, you glance over at him. He’s smiling while he drives. Knowing that you’re the one who made him this happy makes you feel giddy and light inside.
“Should we stop and get cake on the way home?” Sam suddenly asks, and you start laughing all over again.
Your cheeks ache from smiling. “I knew there was a reason I liked you!”
He holds your hand at the store, too. You can’t help but enjoy it.
Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.
I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.
If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi!
Warnings: Weddings, marrying (third) cousins, awful exes and their families, kissing, fluff, slight angst
Summary: You’re going to a wedding, but you don’t want to go alone. Not when your ex is the groom, and not when your best friend is always up to be your plus one.
A/N: I watch too many rom-coms. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading. 🥰 Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Your chest expands on a shaky inhale, then shudders as you breathe out. Your reflection hasn’t changed since you first looked in the mirror a few moments ago, but you still stare at yourself in dismay. Plucking at the fabric of your dress doesn’t fix what’s bothering you, and neither does adjusting your hair.
“I can do this. It’s just a wedding,” you say, though you don’t believe it. You wait for the courage to come. If life were a movie, it would well up inside of you at this very moment and you would charge out the door, climb into your waiting Uber, and have a grand time all by yourself.
But life isn’t a movie, you think, and you glance down at your phone when it chimes. The Uber driver’s texting you again. After a second, you grab your phone and cancel the ride, texting a quick apology before opening the phone app and jamming your thumb against the contact at the top of your favorites list.
Sam picks up immediately. “Hey. Are you on your way to the church?”
A lump grows in your throat at the sound of his voice and you stare pointedly up at the ceiling, willing tears away. If you cry, you’ll have to do your makeup all over again.
“Y/N?”
“Um, I know I said I could do this on my own, but…” Your voice breaks and you suck in a breath to try and calm yourself. It doesn’t work.
“I’ll be ready in ten. Do you want me to pick you up?” Sam asks.
You swallow hard and let out a sigh of relief. Your shoulders slump and the ball of anxiety in your stomach loosens for the first time all day.
“Yes. Please.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
You end the call and look back up at the mirror. Your appearance is… suitable. The outfit you’d agonized over all morning is nice, but not too nice. Your hair is neat and your makeup is enough for a wedding, but not too much that it looks like you’re trying to find a date. Your goal for this afternoon is to blend in.
Plopping yourself down on the couch, you attempt to distract yourself by scrolling until Sam arrives. You only succeed for a few minutes before you’re back up again, pacing the length of the hallway. When he texts that he’s downstairs, you grab your bag and hurry down to his car.
He’s parked in a fire lane with his hazards on. You shout an apology at your nosy neighbor, just like you always do, and climb into the passenger seat. As soon as the door’s shut, Sam pulls out into traffic.
“You’re gonna get a ticket one of these days,” you laugh, catching Sam’s eye. “I swear, that man lives to call the cops on people. He’s always standing outside, just waiting for someone to mess up.”
He’s grinning. He’s combed his hair and it’s freshly cut. The ends brush the collar of his navy suit.
“I wasn’t sure what you were wearing,” Sam tells you. He stops at the intersection, the one at the end of your street that you swear has the longest red light in Wichita, and grabs something from the cupholder between you. “Which one?”
It’s three ties, all slightly crumpled in his fist. You take them and gingerly smooth them out in your lap. Miraculously, one of them is a perfect match. The others would have been perfect with your second and third choice outfits.
He really does know me too well.
You toss the extras onto the backseat before laying your choice over the center console.
“Thanks again for doing this. I don’t know if I could face him all by myself. I mean, I could barely get out of bed this morning.” You cross your arms over your chest, feeling a little self-conscious at the admission.
Sam glances over at you. He’s leaning back in his seat, his grip on the wheel relaxed as he navigates the tight city streets and weekend traffic.
“What are friends for?” he asks. “I wouldn’t make you face this on your own. He was a jerk to end things when he did, but then to invite you to his wedding less than a year later?” Sam scoffs.
“He’s not a bad guy.”
The excuse falls flat, and you both know it.
“Thank you,” you say again. “I mean it.”
“Anytime.”
The rest of the drive is silent. At the third light, Sam puts on the tie, straightening it in the rearview mirror. You people watch out the window, occasionally pointing out interesting things to him, but for the most part, you try not to overthink.
It’s just a wedding, you tell yourself. People go to their ex’s weddings all the time. It’s perfectly normal.
Sam parks down the street from the church. He has to parallel park. You start to tell him it’s okay if you walk from the lot they’d mentioned on the invitation—the one that’s almost a mile away—but he’s backing into the spot with little hesitation before you can even get a word out. You have to admit, you’re impressed. After all these years, you wonder how you’ve never seen him parallel park, and you wonder further how he manages to be so effortlessly good at it.
After pulling the keys from the ignition, he climbs out of the driver’s seat without a word, then walks around the front of the car to open your door for you.
“What is this? Special treatment?” you tease as you climb out, and he laughs.
“For a special occasion.” He offers you his arm, which you take, and you walk together to the entrance. “You sure you’re okay?”
You nod and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Yeah. I think so. I will be, at least, now that you’re here.”
He smiles a little and opens the door for you. You take one of the wedding programs, ignoring the whispers coming from a group of your Trevor’s extended family. You’d met them last year at a family reunion. Being the girlfriend of four years, you’d been included in the festivities. If you’d known that only a month later you’d be single again, you wouldn’t have gone.
Sam leads you into the church sanctuary and you sit in the second to last pew. The stained glass is beautiful in the afternoon light and while a string quartet at the front plays through Pachelbel’s greatest hits, you read through the program.
“You didn’t tell me that she was his cousin,” Sam hisses in your ear.
You flinch and turn to look at him with wide eyes. “Keep it down!”
He’s staring at you with barely contained horror, and you grab his wrist. The jacket crumples under your grip and you pull him down, hunching over in the pew so you can whisper.
“I only just found out this morning, from Instagram,” you tell him, glancing around to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “I think they’re like… third cousins. Once removed, or something like that. I googled it—technically in Kansas, it’s legal.”
Sam’s face screws up in disgust and he sits up as an usher guides in an older woman entirely clad in Pepto-Bismol pink. You try not to stare, instead forcing yourself to look back at the program.
You’re reading the back when the organ blasts out a chord so loud that you jump. Sam steadies you with a hand on your thigh, and you glance at him once before your attention is caught by Trevor’s grandparents walking down the aisle together. Another older couple follows them in time to the music.
Sinking down in your seat, you have the sudden urge to run out one of the side doors of the church sanctuary. It’s only Sam’s hand on your leg that’s keeping you in place. You consider it again, however, when Trevor’s mom—the same woman who’d persistently brought up your lack of an engagement ring at the reunion—looks over and makes eye contact with you before she begins her walk to the front of the room. A few beats later, Trevor appears. He glances over at you, but his expression betrays nothing. You try not to feel disappointed, but your stomach still sinks and you bounce your leg in place. Your mind is already trying to pull you into another spiral as he takes his place near the altar.
What did I expect? For him to stop the wedding and tell me that he was wrong? That he shouldn’t have broken things off and that I should be marrying him today?
Sam’s hand finds yours. He laces your fingers together and you take a shaky breath, squeezing back when he squeezes once. His hand is warm. It’s a stark contrast to your own fingers, which have been freezing ever since your anxiety about coming to the wedding flared this morning.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs, leaning closer so that only you can hear him. “I’ve got you.”
You nod and take another breath. You force your shoulders to relax and your leg to be still as the first bridesmaid and groomsmen enter the sanctuary. As the second pair enters, Sam’s thumb slowly rubs back and forth over yours, not quite in time with the march being played on the organ. You stare down at where your joined hands are resting on the faded blue cushion between you.
You’ve held hands plenty of times before. When you were kids, you held hands for games at recess and when you played after school. As you grew older, you held hands when you needed to navigate crowds together at baseball games and concerts. Sam would hold your hand at the airport too, making it easier to get to your gate for your trips home during college. A few times, he’d held your hand on the way to class or to your dorm, but that had been short-lived. You’d never asked why he’d started, and you never asked why he stopped. Now, it feels weird to hold his hand solely for comfort, but not in a bad way. You wonder why you’ve never done it before.
Sam stands and you quickly follow his lead, realizing that you’d zoned out. The bride enters in a dress that looks like it came straight off the runway. It suits her well, but you can’t help but wonder if your Trevor’s mom would have pushed you to choose a similar dress. Every single aspect of the wedding that you’ve seen so far is exactly how she’d described your potential wedding while at the reunion.
You sit when everyone else does, and you zone out again during the ceremony. It isn’t very long. By the time your thoughts have looped back around to, “I can’t believe he’s marrying his cousin,” the newlywed couple is walking back down the aisle. You’re certain that you imagine the triumphant look the bride sends you as she passes your pew.
“Bag,” Sam says. You blink and then he’s reaching over you to grab your purse from the seat. “You ready to go to the reception? Or did you want to use the bathroom first?”
“I’m fine,” you reply, but he raises an eyebrow at you. “What?”
“You’re anxious. You’ve been anxious all day. You always have to pee more when you’re anxious.”
It’s true, you do. If you’d actually stopped to think for a second before replying, you would’ve realized that you do, in fact, have to pee.
“Fine,” you relent, albeit reluctantly. You take your purse when he holds it out for you. “I’ll meet you out front?”
“I’ll wait for you at the doors.” Sam leads you out of the pew, then steps aside so you can exit the sanctuary first.
A handwritten sign attached to a gold stand points you in the direction of the bathrooms. You join the line, and after only a few minutes, you’re finished and washing up at the sinks. You pause to check your makeup, and it’s while you’re brushing away a stray eyelash that Trevor’s sister comes up beside you.
“What are you doing?” she asks. Her words drip with venom and disgust and you freeze for a moment before your self-preservation skills kick in.
“Fixing my makeup,” you coolly answer. You look back at your reflection and rub your thumb along the corner of your lip to make sure your lipstick hasn’t smudged.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she pushes. “Nobody wants you here.”
You smile at her, keeping it sweet. As much as you want to get the day over with, you can’t stand the idea of her talking down to you. Her brother had broken up with you, not vice versa.
“Trevor invited me, so clearly, somebody does.”
Her face turns an unnatural shade of red. “You’re lying.”
You’re not, but you don’t care enough to argue with her. “It was nice to see you again,” you say, and then you turn and leave the bathroom before she can reply.
Sam is waiting for you by the doors, just like he’d promised. He takes your purse once you’re within arm’s reach, and with his free hand, he holds open the door.
“Very chivalrous,” you point out, and he laughs.
“My mom would have my head if she found out I wasn’t on my best behavior at a wedding.”
You laugh and take his hand as you walk, almost without even thinking about it. Almost. If you were being honest, you had to psych yourself up in the bathroom stall. Now that the idea of holding his hand for something other than practicality has crossed your mind, you can’t stop thinking about it.
“That she would. Mary Winchester doesn’t play around when it comes to manners.”
“No she doesn’t,” Sam laughs.
The car unlocks with a beep, and he opens the door for you. You’re a little surprised at how natural it seems for him. Not once has he faltered, nor has he seemed awkward about opening doors for you, holding your hand, and even holding your purse.
Why should it be awkward? He’s done plenty of other things for me, you think. You buckle your seatbelt, thinking of all the times Sam carried your books for you in high school and college, or your backpack when it got heavy. He’s brought you food and coffee too many times to count, and he’s carried groceries up the stairs to your apartment so you didn’t have to. When you were in a car accident last year, he dropped everything to come pick you up and deal with the tow truck and your insurance, then the mechanic, and then the rental car company.
The realization isn’t a sudden one, or a life-changing one. It feels like fitting the last piece into a puzzle and finally seeing the big picture. It feels like settling into bed at night and realizing that you’ve found the best, most comfortable position. It’s natural.
“Sam?” you ask, turning in your seat to look at him as he maneuvers the car out of the parallel spot and back onto the road. He hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t look at you.
“Are you being extra nice to me today because you know I’ve been anxious all day?”
“No.”
“Is it because we’re going to my ex’s wedding?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why are you being so nice to me? Why have you always been so nice to me?”
You can see a flush of pink climbing up his neck, but Sam laughs off your questions.
“What are you talking about? You’re my best friend, of course I’m nice to you.”
The light turns red and Sam stops behind a semi. He doesn’t look at you, though, so you chance it and reach over to grab his hand. You pull his fingers from the gear shift and lace them together with yours.
“Sam.”
This time, he meets your eyes, smiling. You know the smile, though, and it’s not his most genuine. He’s not telling you the whole truth.
“What, Y/N?”
“We’re friends. Best friends.”
“Yeah…”
“We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
He glances at the light. “Right.”
“So you’ll always tell me the truth? Even if it’s hard or awkward?”
He chuckles nervously, shifting his gaze between you and the stopped traffic. “Where are you going with this?”
“Do you like me?”
His ears are pink. So is his neck. “I don’t typically call people I don’t like my best friend, Y/N. What are you getting at?”
“You’re the lawyer, you tell me,” you say. You search his face, unsure if he’s purposefully avoiding the question or if he genuinely doesn’t understand. When his smile falters, you get your answer. “Sam…”
The semi starts to move and Sam looks forward again, slowly inching the car toward the intersection and then speeding up as traffic begins moving faster. He doesn’t let go of your hand, though. He settles them on the center console. His arm rests on his arm rest and thankfully, so does yours, but the angle is still a little uncomfortable. Neither of you is used to this.
“I’ve liked you for a long time,” says Sam, after a few moments. He doesn’t look at you while he drives. His voice is quieter, almost like he’s confessing something. You don’t reply, giving him space to think and speak.
“You’re my best friend. I don’t want to ruin that by pushing you into something more, especially if you’re not ready for it. Trevor… Trevor was a jerk, and after he broke up with you, I realized that I never want to put you in the same position he did. I never want you to feel like that again. I never want to make you feel like that ever again.”
“You won’t,” you assure him. You rub your thumb over his, just like he had during the ceremony. “You won’t, Sam.”
“How do you know that?” he asks.
“I just do. I trust you.”
His throat bobs as he swallows. He lets go of your hand before turning into the parking lot of the reception hall and parking the car in the third row from the door, up against the edge of the lot. A couple in the car beside yours climbs out. They’re arguing loud enough that you can hear them through the windows until they’re closer to the row of cars behind you.
“Sam…”
“We should go in, we don’t want to be late.”
Smiling wide, you take his hand again. “I love you. I think I have for a long time, even before Trevor broke up with me.”
He turns his head and you laugh a little, unable to control the giddiness that the revelation has brought you. Sam looks utterly bewildered, but the slow smile growing on his face makes you want to jump and dance and shout for joy.
“I love you, Sam. Did you hear me?” You squeeze his hand.
“I heard you,” he replies. “I’m just… processing. Are you sure?”
You nod. “I’m positive. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything in my life. You’re my best friend. I can’t imagine my life without you. I want… I want more.”
“More?”
“Than just friends.”
He smiles then, and with his free hand, he unbuckles his seatbelt. You unbuckles yours, turning further in the passenger seat. Before you can say anything else, Sam’s hand is cupping your face. He pulls his other hand from yours to brush hair out of your eyes.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
You nod, staring at him. You’re still bursting with joy—the butterflies are swooping around in your stomach, flying in loops so wide that you’re not quite certain you’ll ever breathe right again—but the stillness of the moment makes you hold your breath.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” murmurs Sam, “if that’s okay with you.”
You nod again, and then you close your eyes when Sam’s lips press against yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped, but you want to memorize this moment. For a second, you’re still, but then you inhale through your nose and kiss him back, one hand clutching his sleeve and the other propping yourself up on the center console. The armrest digs into your abdomen but you don’t care, as long as Sam keeps kissing you.
His breath is hot against your mouth when he pulls away. You have the distinct thought that he’s going to have to clean lipstick off his face when you’re done, and then he’s kissing you again.
It’s short and sweet the second time. When you separate, you let your hand drop from his arm.
“Sam…”
“I’m going to get carried away if we don’t stop,” he tells you, searching your face.
You nod, a little dumbstruck. Sam’s only had a few girlfriends, and none in recent years.
“You haven’t dated since college,” you say. He nods in response, his eyebrows furrowing slightly at the strange statement. “How’d you get that good at kissing?”
For a moment, Sam stares at you, but then he smiles wide. His eyes light up and he laughs, snorting once before you join in.
“That’s not what I thought you’d say!”
You laugh and bring your hand up to rub at the lipstick bordering his chapped lips with your thumb. You don’t get any off. In fact, you only succeed in making it worse. Sam looks like he just spent a week in the Yukon without chapstick. His mouth is swollen and pink all around, and you can only imagine that you look even worse.
“Let’s go home,” you say, smiling wide.
“You sure? We could go in, grab some cake before we ditch.”
“I’m sure. The last thing I want to do right now is see my ex kiss his cousin again.”
The car is still running. Sam reaches across you and in one smooth motion, grabs your seatbelt and buckles you in. You sit back against the seat and watch him, grinning as he buckles his one seatbelt once more, glances in the rearview mirror, and reverses the car out of the spot. When you’re back on the road, Sam heads the direction of your apartment with ease. He’s a good navigator—he got the lay of the land pretty quickly after the two of you moved to Wichita after college—and even though it’s been years, you truly have no idea how to get back through the city to your place from the reception hall. He seems to know already, though, so you sit back and enjoy the ride.
Sam grabs your hand to hold, just like he had before. You people watch again, too. Every once in a while, you glance over at him. He’s smiling while he drives. Knowing that you’re the one who made him this happy makes you feel giddy and light inside.
“Should we stop and get cake on the way home?” Sam suddenly asks, and you start laughing all over again.
Your cheeks ache from smiling. “I knew there was a reason I liked you!”
He holds your hand at the store, too. You can’t help but enjoy it.
Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.
I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.
If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi!
Summary: Dean and Y/N became fast friends after she started visiting his bakery every afternoon, and a spur-of-the-moment idea turns into something more.
A/N: This is a submission for the 2021-2022 SPN AU Bingo (@spnaubingo). Please let me know what you think, and enjoy! Dividers are by @firefly-graphics
The smell of Paradise Bakery always lifted your spirits after a long day, and as such, you’d spent most of your afternoons perched at one of the pine tables situated near the windows since it opened last February. The owner, Dean, had become one of your closest friends, and he always had a cup of tea and a muffin waiting for you. If he wasn’t around to hand it to you personally, he would leave it on the counter with whoever was tending the counter.
Above the door, the bell jingled as you slipped inside, your coat collar pulled high to shield your neck from the wicked winter wind. Dean chuckled behind the register as he watched you tramp the snow from your boots, each stomp bringing you closer to him. His smile warmed you from the inside out.
Warnings: Hospitals, injuries, mentions of vehicle accident
Prompt: “You got me flowers?” from this list
Summary: While in the hospital after an accident, Y/N has an unexpected visitor.
A/N: I am slowly but surely making my way through this list of prompts. As always, thank you for reading and supporting my work. I hope you enjoy this sweet little Sam story!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
The steady beep of the heart rate monitor has replaced the steady white noise from the fan you normally fall asleep to. After four days and three nights in the hospital, however, you’re aching to be in your own bed in your own room with your own fan pointed straight at you. The little battery operated fan one of the younger nurses brought you on the second night just isn’t cutting it.
You’re on the verge of a midday nap, the fan pointed at your face as if the weak stream of air will actually reach you, when there’s a knock at the door. Slowly, you blink your eyes open and shift in the bed, expecting the doctor to be back with the results of your CT scan. When your vision finally focuses, you realize that the tall man standing in the door with a plastic-wrapped bouquet of sunflowers isn’t any of the doctors you’ve met.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice just above a whisper. “I didn’t realize you were sleeping.”
You shake your head and inhale deeply through your nose, then very carefully push yourself up a little bit. The pain in your abdomen has lessened with each day, but it’s still there if you move too much. You grope with one hand for the remote that controls the angle of your bed until you find it. The bed squeaks as you grumble,
“It’s okay. I probably shouldn’t nap anyway. I won’t sleep tonight if I do.” You rub your eyes and yawn once you’re settled.
He nods awkwardly and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He’s barely in your room, and he looks as if he might bolt at any second.
“Do I know you?” you finally ask, not wanting to avoid the elephant in the room any longer. His face is familiar, but only just barely, and he’s not wearing anything affiliated with the hospital. His dress pants do look impressively pressed, as does the white button-up he has rolled up at his elbows, but neither of those scream “doctor”.
“No. I, uh, I was at the scene, after, you know…”
You do know. The accident is fresh in your mind, and it’s one of the reasons you haven’t been sleeping well, as well as why you’re in the hospital.
“Right,” you say, clearing the lump in your throat. You stare at him for a second longer before you drop your eyes down to the flowers in his hand. “You brought me flowers?”
He looks down at them, as if he’s surprise to see that he has, in fact, brought you flowers.
“Sunflowers,” he so helpfully replies, and you have to suppress a smile. Stating the obvious seems to be one of his talents. “I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
“They’re great. Thank you.”
No one else has brought you flowers, or anything, for that matter. In fact, no one else has even bothered to come visit. The hospital room has been bare since you arrived, both of people and of the traditional “get well” gifts. Your family all lives out of state, and they’ve either use all of their PTO or they’re unwilling to use it to come visit you while you’re down and out. Your friends have all texted you to let you know that you’re in their thoughts and prayers, but that they’re too busy to stop by and make sure you’re doing alright. Neither of these things are surprising.
“Should I… put them over here?” The man enters the room now, crossing in front of your bed to hold the flowers above the ledge by the window. When you nod, he gingerly sets them down, then peers out at the city.
“It looks like it’s going to rain,” you offer after a few seconds, making him look back at you.
“Yeah, those clouds are getting pretty dark.”
The two of you sit in silence, staring at each other for another second, before you both look away. He looks back at the window, and you stare at the whiteboard on the wall where the latest nurse has written her name in orange marker. It smudged a little bit on the last letter, but she hadn’t bothered to fix it before leaving.
“I’m sorry,” you say, unable to take it any longer, “But who exactly are you? I mean, why are you here? I’m a total stranger.”
He winces a little at your brusque tone, then stands straighter and looks you in the eye. “Right. I’m Sam Winchester. I’m an attorney downtown at Winchester and Winchester.”
You raise your eyebrows. “An attorney? So… what? You’re here to serve me papers or something?”
Shaking his head, Sam quickly answers, “No, not at all. I just… wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“You want to see if I want to sue the guy who hit me, don’t you?”
He shakes his head again. “No. That’s not my style. I’m not in the business of convincing people to sue, especially not when I don’t think they’d win the case.”
“So you think I’d lose?”
Sam runs a hand over his face and takes a deep breath. “That’s not— That’s not what I’m trying to say. What I’m trying to say is that I was there after the accident, you seemed pretty banged up, and I just… felt like I should check on you. That’s all. I don’t even really have a good reason.”
You vaguely recollect the people who leaned over you after you’d been hit by the bus. They’d crouched in the crosswalk, blocking out the hot summer sun that made it even harder to see. One man, the one you now recognized as Sam, had held your hand and spoke to you as everyone waited for the ambulance to arrive.
“So you’re literally just here to check on a total stranger?” you ask, squinting at him a little. What was this guy’s deal? Nobody came to visit someone they didn’t know unless they had a good reason.
“I guess.” He shrugs and then shoves his hands in his pocket. His eyes drift to the hospital bed. Your cast is covered by the blanket, but if he had been at the scene before the ambulance arrived, there’s no doubt he’d seen the injury already.
“The doctors said I’m healing well, but it’ll be a long recovery. I’m going home tomorrow, I think.”
He nods. “Was it broken?”
“In three places. They said I was lucky it wasn’t four. It’ll be hard enough to get up to my apartment.”
He presses his lips together, still staring at your covered leg, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not to say anything else. After a few moments, though, he asks,
“Was there anything else?”
“Internal bleeding and a concussion. My liver was punctured and I broke a rib. I was pretty scraped up, too.” You hold out your bandaged arm as proof.
Sam runs his fingers through his hair, muttering a surprised curse. You nod in agreement.
“That’s pretty much what I had to say about it, yeah.”
You watch him carefully, taking in the soft curve of his brown hair as it falls back into place. Dark lashes frame his eyes, and his height would make him stand out in the crowd, both figuratively and literally. He’s an attractive guy, that’s for sure. Before you can catch yourself, your gaze falls to his left hand, where there’s no ring.
“So what are you going to do now?” you ask him.
Sam frowns a little at the question. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you checked on the stranger, and she’s doing alright. She’d be better if she hadn’t literally been hit by a bus, but she’ll recover. The city’s covering a big chunk of the medical bills, so that helps. What are you going to do now that you’ve finished checking on her?”
He glances at the open door to the hallway as the meal cart rolls by, then looks back at you. He stays silent for a few more moments, searching your face with bright, attentive eyes. You suddenly feel shy under his gaze, and though you want to look away from him, it’s like your body is stuck, and your eyes stay fixed on him.
Sam smiles. It’s charming, and your stomach swoops a little. “I’m gonna leave her my card.”
You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. He looks a little offended at first, but when you throw your head back against the pillow and clutch your side, he starts to laugh, too. It’s painful to laugh, though, and you wince and reel yourself in, taking slow breaths to calm yourself and get through the stabbing pain in your abdomen.
“Don’t make me laugh,” you chide, though you’re still smiling. “It hurts.”
“Sorry.” He’s still smiling, too.
You rest your head against the pillows and consider him. He hasn’t moved away from the window. He’s standing with hands in his pockets like a high schooler standing by his crush’s locker, hoping she’ll say hi. It’s a bit endearing, if you’re being honest.
“Do people actually still have business cards?” you genuinely ask. “Is that really still a thing?”
With a sheepish smile on his face, Sam pulls a white card from his pocket and holds it up so you can see. You take it from him when he steps within arm’s reach.
The card is thick and sturdy. One side is completely white with a pair of navy, interlocking Ws in the center. The other side of the card is the same shade of navy. White text in neat little lines spell out Sam’s email, office number, his position within the company, and his degrees.
You flick your eyes from the card up to his face. “You’re a partner? Are you Winchester or are you Winchester?”
That earns you a chuckle. “The first one. The other is my brother, and my son is an associate, but he works hard. He might take over one day, if he keeps it up.”
“You have a son that works for a law firm? But you…” You stop yourself before you can say that he doesn’t look old enough for that. You also don’t want to bring up the fact that you’ve already checked to see if he has a wedding ring.
“I adopted Jack when I was in law school. He was only thirteen at the time, but he’s a smart kid. He got into college at sixteen.”
“You adopted him all on your own?” you ask. Sam nods. He glances around and pulls over a chair to sit at the side of your bed as you continue, “But why? I mean, I can’t imagine a single law student taking care of a teenage boy.”
“My brother helped a lot. I met Jack through a volunteering program when I was a sophomore in college, and he was in a bad situation. By the time I was ready to graduate, it had gotten even worse. Dean and I had already decided that we’d do everything we could to get him out when we were able, but it couldn’t wait any longer.”
The way he talks about meeting Jack makes it clear that he’d truly meant what he said—he’d done everything he could, and he still would.
Softly, you say, “Sounds like Jack has a lot to be thankful for.”
“I’m thankful for him,” Sam replies. “I don’t know if I would have worked as hard as I did if I didn’t have him to take care of. I was pretty burnt out after I got my degree, but I remember this one time that Jack and I were in the car, and we were talking about—“
He stops when he sees you yawn. “I’m sorry, I know I’m not the most exciting per—“
“No, no, no!” you quickly interrupt, and you sit up a little more, wincing. “I’m just tired from all the physical therapy and the pain meds. It’s okay, tell about when you were in the car.”
Sam watches you, searching your face for any sign that you’re lying to make him feel better. When you offer him an encouraging nod, he nods back and continues with the story.
At some point, you fall asleep. You open your eyes again to find that the sun has gone down outside, and Sam is no longer in your room. For a second, you think that you’ve imagined his presence altogether. The sunflowers, however, are still on the ledge, and someone’s put them in one of the hospital’s plastic water pitchers. You spot a familiar rectangular card on the rolling tray table to your right. When you pull the tray closer, there’s a small note written around the capital Ws on the white side of the card.
It was nice to meet you. Call me if you need anything. I’d like to see you again.
A phone number is scrawled in tiny font at the very bottom of the card, with an arrow beside it. You flip the card over to find another note telling you that the handwritten number is his cell phone.
Smiling, you find your phone still attached to the charger beside the bed and unlock it. You input Sam’s number and send him a message, apologizing for falling asleep during his story. He texts back almost immediately.
I don’t mind. It’s a good excuse for me to see you again… Maybe with coffee so you don’t fall asleep this time.
You smile a little wider. While you’re not happy to have been in an accident, maybe fate has something nice lined up for you to make up for it.
Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.
I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.
If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi!
Warnings: Hospitals, injuries, mentions of vehicle accident
Prompt: “You got me flowers?” from this list
Summary: While in the hospital after an accident, Y/N has an unexpected visitor.
A/N: I am slowly but surely making my way through this list of prompts. As always, thank you for reading and supporting my work. I hope you enjoy this sweet little Sam story!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
The steady beep of the heart rate monitor has replaced the steady white noise from the fan you normally fall asleep to. After four days and three nights in the hospital, however, you’re aching to be in your own bed in your own room with your own fan pointed straight at you. The little battery operated fan one of the younger nurses brought you on the second night just isn’t cutting it.
You’re on the verge of a midday nap, the fan pointed at your face as if the weak stream of air will actually reach you, when there’s a knock at the door. Slowly, you blink your eyes open and shift in the bed, expecting the doctor to be back with the results of your CT scan. When your vision finally focuses, you realize that the tall man standing in the door with a plastic-wrapped bouquet of sunflowers isn’t any of the doctors you’ve met.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice just above a whisper. “I didn’t realize you were sleeping.”
You shake your head and inhale deeply through your nose, then very carefully push yourself up a little bit. The pain in your abdomen has lessened with each day, but it’s still there if you move too much. You grope with one hand for the remote that controls the angle of your bed until you find it. The bed squeaks as you grumble,
“It’s okay. I probably shouldn’t nap anyway. I won’t sleep tonight if I do.” You rub your eyes and yawn once you’re settled.
He nods awkwardly and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He’s barely in your room, and he looks as if he might bolt at any second.
“Do I know you?” you finally ask, not wanting to avoid the elephant in the room any longer. His face is familiar, but only just barely, and he’s not wearing anything affiliated with the hospital. His dress pants do look impressively pressed, as does the white button-up he has rolled up at his elbows, but neither of those scream “doctor”.
“No. I, uh, I was at the scene, after, you know…”
You do know. The accident is fresh in your mind, and it’s one of the reasons you haven’t been sleeping well, as well as why you’re in the hospital.
“Right,” you say, clearing the lump in your throat. You stare at him for a second longer before you drop your eyes down to the flowers in his hand. “You brought me flowers?”
He looks down at them, as if he’s surprise to see that he has, in fact, brought you flowers.
“Sunflowers,” he so helpfully replies, and you have to suppress a smile. Stating the obvious seems to be one of his talents. “I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
“They’re great. Thank you.”
No one else has brought you flowers, or anything, for that matter. In fact, no one else has even bothered to come visit. The hospital room has been bare since you arrived, both of people and of the traditional “get well” gifts. Your family all lives out of state, and they’ve either use all of their PTO or they’re unwilling to use it to come visit you while you’re down and out. Your friends have all texted you to let you know that you’re in their thoughts and prayers, but that they’re too busy to stop by and make sure you’re doing alright. Neither of these things are surprising.
“Should I… put them over here?” The man enters the room now, crossing in front of your bed to hold the flowers above the ledge by the window. When you nod, he gingerly sets them down, then peers out at the city.
“It looks like it’s going to rain,” you offer after a few seconds, making him look back at you.
“Yeah, those clouds are getting pretty dark.”
The two of you sit in silence, staring at each other for another second, before you both look away. He looks back at the window, and you stare at the whiteboard on the wall where the latest nurse has written her name in orange marker. It smudged a little bit on the last letter, but she hadn’t bothered to fix it before leaving.
“I’m sorry,” you say, unable to take it any longer, “But who exactly are you? I mean, why are you here? I’m a total stranger.”
He winces a little at your brusque tone, then stands straighter and looks you in the eye. “Right. I’m Sam Winchester. I’m an attorney downtown at Winchester and Winchester.”
You raise your eyebrows. “An attorney? So… what? You’re here to serve me papers or something?”
Shaking his head, Sam quickly answers, “No, not at all. I just… wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“You want to see if I want to sue the guy who hit me, don’t you?”
He shakes his head again. “No. That’s not my style. I’m not in the business of convincing people to sue, especially not when I don’t think they’d win the case.”
“So you think I’d lose?”
Sam runs a hand over his face and takes a deep breath. “That’s not— That’s not what I’m trying to say. What I’m trying to say is that I was there after the accident, you seemed pretty banged up, and I just… felt like I should check on you. That’s all. I don’t even really have a good reason.”
You vaguely recollect the people who leaned over you after you’d been hit by the bus. They’d crouched in the crosswalk, blocking out the hot summer sun that made it even harder to see. One man, the one you now recognized as Sam, had held your hand and spoke to you as everyone waited for the ambulance to arrive.
“So you’re literally just here to check on a total stranger?” you ask, squinting at him a little. What was this guy’s deal? Nobody came to visit someone they didn’t know unless they had a good reason.
“I guess.” He shrugs and then shoves his hands in his pocket. His eyes drift to the hospital bed. Your cast is covered by the blanket, but if he had been at the scene before the ambulance arrived, there’s no doubt he’d seen the injury already.
“The doctors said I’m healing well, but it’ll be a long recovery. I’m going home tomorrow, I think.”
He nods. “Was it broken?”
“In three places. They said I was lucky it wasn’t four. It’ll be hard enough to get up to my apartment.”
He presses his lips together, still staring at your covered leg, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not to say anything else. After a few moments, though, he asks,
“Was there anything else?”
“Internal bleeding and a concussion. My liver was punctured and I broke a rib. I was pretty scraped up, too.” You hold out your bandaged arm as proof.
Sam runs his fingers through his hair, muttering a surprised curse. You nod in agreement.
“That’s pretty much what I had to say about it, yeah.”
You watch him carefully, taking in the soft curve of his brown hair as it falls back into place. Dark lashes frame his eyes, and his height would make him stand out in the crowd, both figuratively and literally. He’s an attractive guy, that’s for sure. Before you can catch yourself, your gaze falls to his left hand, where there’s no ring.
“So what are you going to do now?” you ask him.
Sam frowns a little at the question. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you checked on the stranger, and she’s doing alright. She’d be better if she hadn’t literally been hit by a bus, but she’ll recover. The city’s covering a big chunk of the medical bills, so that helps. What are you going to do now that you’ve finished checking on her?”
He glances at the open door to the hallway as the meal cart rolls by, then looks back at you. He stays silent for a few more moments, searching your face with bright, attentive eyes. You suddenly feel shy under his gaze, and though you want to look away from him, it’s like your body is stuck, and your eyes stay fixed on him.
Sam smiles. It’s charming, and your stomach swoops a little. “I’m gonna leave her my card.”
You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. He looks a little offended at first, but when you throw your head back against the pillow and clutch your side, he starts to laugh, too. It’s painful to laugh, though, and you wince and reel yourself in, taking slow breaths to calm yourself and get through the stabbing pain in your abdomen.
“Don’t make me laugh,” you chide, though you’re still smiling. “It hurts.”
“Sorry.” He’s still smiling, too.
You rest your head against the pillows and consider him. He hasn’t moved away from the window. He’s standing with hands in his pockets like a high schooler standing by his crush’s locker, hoping she’ll say hi. It’s a bit endearing, if you’re being honest.
“Do people actually still have business cards?” you genuinely ask. “Is that really still a thing?”
With a sheepish smile on his face, Sam pulls a white card from his pocket and holds it up so you can see. You take it from him when he steps within arm’s reach.
The card is thick and sturdy. One side is completely white with a pair of navy, interlocking Ws in the center. The other side of the card is the same shade of navy. White text in neat little lines spell out Sam’s email, office number, his position within the company, and his degrees.
You flick your eyes from the card up to his face. “You’re a partner? Are you Winchester or are you Winchester?”
That earns you a chuckle. “The first one. The other is my brother, and my son is an associate, but he works hard. He might take over one day, if he keeps it up.”
“You have a son that works for a law firm? But you…” You stop yourself before you can say that he doesn’t look old enough for that. You also don’t want to bring up the fact that you’ve already checked to see if he has a wedding ring.
“I adopted Jack when I was in law school. He was only thirteen at the time, but he’s a smart kid. He got into college at sixteen.”
“You adopted him all on your own?” you ask. Sam nods. He glances around and pulls over a chair to sit at the side of your bed as you continue, “But why? I mean, I can’t imagine a single law student taking care of a teenage boy.”
“My brother helped a lot. I met Jack through a volunteering program when I was a sophomore in college, and he was in a bad situation. By the time I was ready to graduate, it had gotten even worse. Dean and I had already decided that we’d do everything we could to get him out when we were able, but it couldn’t wait any longer.”
The way he talks about meeting Jack makes it clear that he’d truly meant what he said—he’d done everything he could, and he still would.
Softly, you say, “Sounds like Jack has a lot to be thankful for.”
“I’m thankful for him,” Sam replies. “I don’t know if I would have worked as hard as I did if I didn’t have him to take care of. I was pretty burnt out after I got my degree, but I remember this one time that Jack and I were in the car, and we were talking about—“
He stops when he sees you yawn. “I’m sorry, I know I’m not the most exciting per—“
“No, no, no!” you quickly interrupt, and you sit up a little more, wincing. “I’m just tired from all the physical therapy and the pain meds. It’s okay, tell about when you were in the car.”
Sam watches you, searching your face for any sign that you’re lying to make him feel better. When you offer him an encouraging nod, he nods back and continues with the story.
At some point, you fall asleep. You open your eyes again to find that the sun has gone down outside, and Sam is no longer in your room. For a second, you think that you’ve imagined his presence altogether. The sunflowers, however, are still on the ledge, and someone’s put them in one of the hospital’s plastic water pitchers. You spot a familiar rectangular card on the rolling tray table to your right. When you pull the tray closer, there’s a small note written around the capital Ws on the white side of the card.
It was nice to meet you. Call me if you need anything. I’d like to see you again.
A phone number is scrawled in tiny font at the very bottom of the card, with an arrow beside it. You flip the card over to find another note telling you that the handwritten number is his cell phone.
Smiling, you find your phone still attached to the charger beside the bed and unlock it. You input Sam’s number and send him a message, apologizing for falling asleep during his story. He texts back almost immediately.
I don’t mind. It’s a good excuse for me to see you again… Maybe with coffee so you don’t fall asleep this time.
You smile a little wider. While you’re not happy to have been in an accident, maybe fate has something nice lined up for you to make up for it.
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Summary: Y/N is a castle kitchen maid in Lawrence, where Prince Samuel is scheduled to ascend to the throne on Christmas Eve. The extra work takes a heavy toll on her, but there’s something—or someone—else making it an even more eventful season for her.
A/N: This is a submission for the 2022 SPN Christmas Bingo (@spnchristmasbingo). As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, and supporting me in so many ways. I hope everyone has a safe, happy, and healthy holiday season with their loved ones! Dividers by @firefly-graphics
The village always bustled with activity as you neared the winter solstice, but this year even more so. The prince’s coronation was scheduled for Christmas Eve, which meant in addition to the usual preparations, everyone was getting ready for what was promised to be the grandest event the castle had ever had. Even you were mildly excited for what was to come, and normally you hated your job in the kitchens.
“Y/N! Where did you put those eggs, girl?”
You sighed as you kneaded the dough on the table in front of you. The head baker had given you the task of making the braided loaves for the castle’s coronation feast. They were one of the traditional dishes that the prince had requested, so they had to be perfect. You’d been mixing, kneading, braiding, and baking from sunup to sundown most days, and when you weren’t working by the ovens, you were out gathering more supplies. She’d sent you to get eggs from Farmer Mills that morning and for milk from Farmer Singer the morning prior. No matter what you did, no matter how hard you worked, it never seemed to be enough. It felt like she’d been harping on you and critiquing your baking every second of every day. You were deciding between throwing something at her or crying. Maybe both.
“They’re with the butter, ma’am,” you called back, holding in the retort you wanted to tack onto the end. Her shrill voice was like a knife and you’d been on the verge of a blinding headache for three hours now. It wouldn’t be long before you’d need to beg her to send you home to rest. She probably wouldn’t agree.
“Are you daft? Come here!”
You winced, pausing mid-knead. That wasn’t a good sign. Slowly, you wiped your hands on the apron tied over your shift and made your way around the other long table. The head baker was in the back room, and as you passed by the other kitchen girls, they all gave you pitying looks of various degrees. You were the newest in the castle, having just started a few months ago after seeking refuge from a neighboring kingdom, which meant you got the brunt of all her anger and stress. Unfortunately for you, her anger and stress were at an all-time high given the upcoming feasts.
Warnings: Amnesia, brief description of car accident
Bingo Square Filled: Amnesia
25 Days of Tropes Prompt: Temporary Amnesia
Summary: The reader is recovering from a car accident that caused her to temporarily lose most of her memory. She’s on her way home just in time for Christmas with her husband, whom she’s hoping will answer some of her questions.
A/N: I realize that it’s December 27th, but this is part of the 25 Days of Tropes series/collection and is also a submission for the 2020 SPN Christmas Bingo ( @spnchristmasbingo)! In this, the reader is not American but her ethnicity is not specified.
25 Days of Tropes Masterlist
2020 Christmas Bingo Masterlist
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“I’m sorry,” you murmured, and the man who’d barely left your side since arriving at the hospital two days ago—your husband, you reminded yourself—let out his umpteenth sigh of the hour.
“It’s not your fault, Y/N. It’s okay.”
“I know, I know, but—”
“Y/N,” your husband interrupted, his voice firm. “It’s okay.”
You looked down at your lap. The man continued to lace up your boots for you in silence and you only lifted your head when the nurse came in with the wheelchair you were supposed to ride down to the car.
“Are you almost ready, Mrs. Winchester?” she asked and you nodded when she gave you a kind smile. Thankfully, she didn’t seem as nervous around you as the other nurses and doctors seemed to be, and you appreciated that she was calling you by your name. The others had just referred to you as “ma’am”, which was oddly formal, even if they were just trying to be respectful.
Your husband stood and grabbed your bag from the end of the hospital bed before you could, shaking his head at you. “I got it,” he said. “Doctor said you should take it easy.”
Scowling a little, you got to your feet and went over to the wheelchair, allowing the nurse to help you sit again. “I only hit my head. I’m not helpless.”
The nurse gave you another good-natured smile and squeezed your shoulder. “Everyone’s like this when their loved ones are recovering, sweetheart. Cut him a little slack,” she quietly told you.
The three of you left the room after that, and you noticed that you didn’t head towards the elevators you’d seen all the other released patients use to get down to the lobby. Instead, the nurse wheeled you to a smaller, staff-only elevator on the other end of the hallway.
Warnings: Arranged marriage, Christmas, threats, angst, fluff, and mentions of death, wounds, war, violence, and sex (nothing happens)
Summary: Y/N’s kingdom has been at war for a long time, and when King John offers her respite in his castle for Christmas, she eagerly agrees.
A/N: This fulfills trope #21 on my 25 Days of Tropes list! It was honestly going to be a short one shot, but it got away from me and now I think it’s the longest thing I’ve written all year. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy and that you had a safe and happy holiday season!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Your muscles ache from weeks of fighting with the knights in your first garrison, and the dried blood in your hair is not likely to come out on its own, but for the first time in a long time, you’re relaxed. The carriage is driving through safe territory—the safest you’ve been in since Crowley invaded your kingdom and declared war on you and your people. There’s no fear of being ambushed here.
When King John sent a messenger to your war camp, you had been surprised. He isn’t known for reaching out, and to send a personal, royal messenger straight into war territory is a dangerous move. Nonetheless, the King of Ashela had invited you for a short respite in his castle, just in time for Christmas. You’d accepted after much consultation with your closest advisor, Sir Robert.
You begin traveling east to Ashela four days before Christmas Eve. Your armies travel west, back to Athos. Newer, freshly trained knights had arrived a few hours before your departure to relieve your weary soldiers and allow them rest of their own, though Sir Robert had carefully selected four of them to travel with you as your personal guard for the journey. They ride horseback outside the carriage, and Sir Robert is in the second carriage with the gifts you’ve brought for the royal family.
Charlie is resting across the carriage from you. She’s abandoned the formal dress that you know King John will expect of her as your lady-in-waiting, but you don’t blame her, nor do you correct her. Wearing trousers is easier nowadays, and you’ve done the same. You’ve gotten into the habit of wearing the traditional captain’s uniform, or even a soldier’s armor, rather than the gowns you used to wear before the war. Even as the horses carry you down the tidy forest road that leads to Ashela, you’ve donned your armor. It's a habit to put it on each morning, and you wanted to display your strength and empathy for your men even as you left them behind on the battlefield.
You let out a restless sigh and shift in your seat, and your armor clanks as you move. You wince when something bumps into a bruise on your back. A small part of you wishes you’d chosen to wear something else, but there’s no point in stopping to take the armor off when you’re already so far into the journey.
“Do you think I’ve made the right choice?” you ask when Charlie looks over at you, no doubt checking if there’s something she can do to ease your discomfort. She’s a good friend, and you’re often grateful that you chose her to be your closest lady-in-waiting. “Do you think that leaving my men during this time is the right thing to do?”
In response, Charlie offers you a tired smile. She’d journeyed overnight to your castle—Eryas Court—then back to the war camp, in order to collect the gifts for John Winchester and his two sons. Even if they were inviting you for respite during a war, you didn’t dare show up empty-handed.
“My lady, you can only do so much. You may be a queen, but you are also just a woman,” she replies.
You sigh again and look out the window at the stars as you mull over the most recent battle plans your captains had shown you before you’d left the camp. The Elciums have been encroaching slowly upon the village that surrounds Eryas Court, but you’ve been able to keep them at bay since winter began. You’ve even managed to take back some of the territory they’d taken over the hot summer months.
The carriage falls back into silence, except for the clatter of the wheels and the constant rhythm of the horses’ hooves against the packed dirt. After a while, you find yourself nodding off with your head against the sturdy carriage wall. You don’t fight it, and you let yourself be lulled to sleep for the remainder of the journey.
Charlie’s hand over yours wakes you. You startle, and she sits back in her seat as the carriage rocks with your movement. Your hand immediately flies to where your sword would be, but you’ve unstrapped it from your side for the journey. Sir Robert had said it wouldn’t be proper for you to show up dressed for battle, so you’d met him halfway. He would keep hold of your sword, at least for the trip to Ashela. Once you arrive, he’s to return it directly to you for safekeeping. It was your father’s sword before it became yours, and you don’t trust many with it.
“It’s okay,” Charlie soothes, and you stare wide-eyed at her, gasping slightly for air. “We’ve arrived in Ashela. You slept all night, and for most of the morning.”
Nodding, you close your eyes. It’s shocking that you weren’t plagued with nightmares. The last time you left the war camp, you struggled to sleep, even in the chambers where you’d spent every night since birth, at least until the Elciums invaded.
Your mouth is dry and you swallow a few times to try and get the sandy feeling to abate. You wish you had some water, or at least something to drink. There’s a knock on the carriage window and you flinch away, sliding toward the center of the bench.
You sense Charlie shifting in her seat. “It’s one of the guards,” she says a moment later. “Are you ready to meet King John?”
You’ve never been to Ashela before, nor have you met John and his sons. They’ve been fine neighbors, however, and you have no complaints. You hear what others say about them—the Winchester sons are strong soldiers and scholars, and King John is exacting in everything he does. They’d be formidable foes, and you’re here to make sure that your kingdoms are allied, if only informally.
You nod again, and you open your eyes as Charlie pushes open the carriage door. You lift your chin as the sun immediately floods in through the opening.
Charlie exits first, and she helps clear a path for your exit. A strong hand is offered and you use it to climb from the carriage. Your legs are stiff from sitting so long, especially after months of fighting, and you have to bite back a groan as your muscles stretch.
“Your Majesty,” a deep voice greets.
The winter sun is practically blinding and it takes you a second to get your wits about you. Tall, lush evergreens stand in clusters around the castle, reaching toward the bright blue sky. They’re interspersed by dark green bushes and several boulders. A forest continues behind the clearing you stand in, and the trees grow so closely that light can’t reach through their branches. The darkness this creates is both intriguing and a bit terrifying.
Snow covers the grounds and all the trees surrounding it, except for a gray stone path that has been cleared for you. King John and his entourage stand on a larger patch of gray stone a few feet away, and you bow politely in his direction. He returns the gesture.
“King John,” you say. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”
“You’re very welcome, Queen Y/N. I expect your journey was a pleasant one?”
“As pleasant as can be expected.”
You can feel everyone’s eyes on you as Charlie adjusts the chainmail hood you’ve let fall from your head, revealing the blood caked in your hair and the healing cut that follows your hairline. There’s a sizable bruise on your temple as well, from when an Elcium knight hit you with his shield.
The man to John’s right clears his throat and steps forward with a small bow. “Your Majesty, I’m Prince Dean, head of Ashela’s royal guard. Please allow me to provide you with new armor while we repair yours, and your knights’,” he adds, gesturing to the four men standing near you.
Each man stands with one hand at his side and the other resting on the hilt of his sword, and though they hold their heads high, you recognize the weariness in their stance and in their taut expressions.
“That’s very generous, Prince Dean. Thank you.” You answer with a bow of your own, and he smiles kindly before you turn your eyes to the man on the other side of the king.
He’s tall, taller than any of the men in the King’s entourage and in your guard, and his hair just barely brushes over the collar of his jacket. It’s almost chestnut in the light. When he smiles at you, the urge to smile back is so strong that you can’t fight it. You meet his eyes, and you smile for the first time in a while.
“Prince Samuel, Your Majesty,” he says. He bows, short and sweet. “If you’re ready, I can show you and your lady to your chambers. I’m sure you’re eager to rest.”
You bow back, still smiling. “Thank you, Your Highness.” You nod politely to the King and to Prince Dean, then follow Prince Samuel toward the stone castle at the end of the cleared path. Two of your men travel with you, and Charlie is close behind you to the right, but the other two knights stay with Sir Robert. You realize only as you enter the castle that you’ve left your sword behind.
Samuel leads you through the halls of his home, explaining the history of various paintings and rooms, but you only catch bits and pieces. He walks quickly, and while your armor is protective, it’s made to help you fight on horseback, not take extensive walking tours through beautiful castles.
“Here are your chambers,” Samuel finally says, and you clatter to a stop.
Charlie bumps into you, and she grabs your arm for stability. You catch Samuel’s eyes flickering down to her hands on your arm before he collects himself. Your time on the battlefield has caused your decorum to slip just enough that you know you’re being much too informal for the occasion. Suddenly very conscious of your mistakes, you clear your throat and straighten your posture, fixing him with the most composed, diplomatic look you can muster.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” You allow one of the guards to enter after Samuel opens the door, leaving you feeling a little more exposed. You’ve grown used to being surrounded by people fighting for your kingdom—fighting for you. “Your father was very kind to invite me here. We’ve brought gifts for him, and for you and Prince Dean.” You gesture back the way you’d come. “I’m sure that Sir Robert, my advisor, has already passed them along.”
Samuel dips his head in thanks, smiling. “We’re happy to have you. We’ve been trying to show more diplomacy than in the past.”
You raise an eyebrow. Most kingdoms are not so open about their goals, at least in your experience.
The guard exits and nods his approval of the chambers you’ve been given, and Charlie takes that as a sign to enter and make sure the room is prepared to her standards as well. You don’t move.
“Ashela has always been diplomatic,” you carefully reply. You’re not sure what to make of his disclosure.
“But not always welcoming. I’m trying to change that.”
“You? Not your father?”
Samuel lifts his chin slightly at the question. There’s a hint of pride in his expression, but none in his voice as he answers, “My father has put me in charge of our relationships with neighboring kingdoms. This is one of many steps I’m— we’re taking,” he corrects, “to strengthen those bonds.”
“I see.”
You glance through the open doorway, where Charlie is instructing a chambermaid how warm you like your rooms and how often to tend to the fire. Mentally, you file away the information that Sam has just given you, then turn your focus on more concrete matters.
“I suppose there are festivities I should like to attend?”
He nods, and you can feel his gaze still on your face, even as you watch your friend peek out the windows to see the view from your chambers. “Indeed. There’s a feast tonight, shortly after sundown. I can instruct someone to fetch you.”
“I would like that very much, Prince Samuel,” you say.
You turn back to him, and he takes that as a cue to take your hand and kiss the back of your knuckles, where the skin is rough and scarred from so much fighting. The gesture is simple, but it surprises you nonetheless. Prince Samuel is gentle and chivalrous. It’s been a long time since you’ve been treated that way. Your hand seems to tremble as you pull away, and your breath catches over a lump in your throat.
“Very well. I will see you tonight, Ma’am,” Samuel says. He bows low. It’s a sign of respect he’s not obligated to, and it makes you want to cry. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep over the past few weeks or maybe it’s something else, but to be treated like a queen—not just a captain—is something you didn’t know you’d missed.
“No need for titles,” you find yourself saying, your voice thick with sudden emotion. “You may call me Y/N, if you wish.”
If Sir Robert were here, he’d be interrupting and excusing away your brash actions, but you’re practically alone and the only remaining guard won’t speak up, even if he wanted to. It’s up to Sam to respond, and he only stops and stares at you for a long moment. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you wait, desperately hoping he won’t be cruel.
“Sam,” he finally replies. He offers you a small smile. “You may call me Sam.”
You nod and smile wide, glossy-eyed as Sam turns and heads further down the hallway, opposite the direction he’d first brought you. Once he’s around the corner, you step into the warmly lit chambers, where Charlie has moved onto the wardrobe of clothes that has been prepared for you. Clearly, they hadn’t expected you to show up with all of your finery, and you’re thankful that they had the forethought to provide something for you.
The other guard exits and closes the door behind him, allowing you privacy as the two knights take their places in the hallway. You stay close to the door, where you can see the whole space.
“The Prince seems very polite,” Charlie says after a few moments. Her back is to you as she sorts through the dresses.
“Very.” You don’t say anything more.
“And handsome, too,” she prods.
“Charlie,” you warn. “I have other, more important matters than a polite and handsome prince.”
She sighs and you can picture her rolling her eyes at you. Finally, she pulls a plain dress in your favorite color from the wardrobe, then turns and holds it up for you.
“This will do for now,” she decides. “But I’ll have to find you something else for the feast.”
You glance at her, not bothering to ask how she already knows about the feast, before turning in a circle to take in the enormous room that has been given to you for your respite. It’s bigger than the counsel tent at the war camp. The bed itself could fit the entire map table, and the size of the fireplace reminds you of the enormous bonfire that the men use to cook their meals. The walls and floor are made of the same tan stone as the rest of the castle, but the stone is so smooth that it reflects the light from the flickering flames. There’s a dark wood door in the corner, which you guess leads to a room for Charlie, if Ashelan castles are built like your own.
Everywhere you look, there are lavish curtains, tapestries, and paintings framed in gold. There’s a mound of pillows to lounge on by the fire, and several dark wood chairs standing behind them in a semicircle. Their carvings are so elaborate that you hesitate to sit in them. The bed is draped with soft, plush fabrics in deep greens, reds, and a creamy white that reminds you of the milk your nursemaid brought for you as a young girl. Evergreen boughs are wound around the posts of the bed, though they’re partially hidden by the fabric curtains that have been fastened against the wood. The whole room has been decorated with more sweet-smelling pine branches, as well as clumps of red berries that glisten in the light from the fire and the candles in the window. It’s amazing to you that the candles are already lit, given that it’s only midday, but Ashela has many customs that you’ve always found strange. For instance, Prince Dean was married several years ago in an arranged marriage. Your father had explained the ancient custom to you, explaining the benefits to each kingdom. You still remember that conversation so clearly, and even though your father has long since passed, his words are forever imprinted in your memory.
“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”
“It’s too much,” you murmur, and you escape back out into the hallway, leaving the door to your chambers wide open as you flee. Your heart is racing again and it feels like the walls are starting to close in around you. The panic is irrational. You know it is, but you can’t stop it as it pushes you forward down the hallway.
The guards give you worried looks, but you ignore them as you hurry around the corner where Sam had disappeared. You walk quickly, following the sound of loud voices until you reach an open-air chamber where Sam and his brother are lounging at a table. Two gold goblets sit in front of them, and a candlelit tree has been placed in the corner of the room. An enormous dark fur blankets the floor. The fireplace here is as big as the one in your guest chambers, if not bigger.
Both men stand as soon as they see you.
“Your Majesty,” Dean greets, and he frowns slightly when he looks at you properly. “Is everything alright?”
You clear your throat in an attempt to compose yourself. “I desire a moment alone,” and then you add, “With Sam.”
Dean raises an eyebrow and glances at his brother, who nods slightly but doesn’t say a word.
“Very well,” Dean says. He picks up his goblet and drinks the last of its contents, tilting his head back to get the last drops. “I’ll be in my study.” He nods politely at you before leaving through a passageway just to the right of the tree.
Sam waits until the sound of his brother’s footsteps has disappeared completely before he speaks up.
“Is everything alright?” he asks, and you shake your head.
“I apologize, but I must ask for new chambers.” Sam’s face twists in confusion and, predictably, he opens his mouth to ask why. You continue before he has the chance. “I have been fighting with my men for many moons, and the rooms you have given me are much too lavish. I’m afraid I simply won’t be comfortable in something so big, as foolish as it sounds.”
Though your words are composed and formal, you wring your hands in front of you, hoping Sam will ignore the way you can’t stop fidgeting. You feel so flighty that it makes you irritated even with yourself.
His expression turns sympathetic. “I see. There must be something I can do to convince you to stay, Y/N. Those chambers have been carefully prepared for you by some of our most trusted servants. If I were to request the change, I’m afraid they might take offense.”
“You care deeply for them,” you say, quieter now. Something about him and the sound of his voice calms you, and the anxiety you’d felt only moments before has started to diminish.
“I do,” he answers. “They work hard, and they deserve to be treated with respect.”
“I agree.” You nod and fall silent, looking down at your hands. Suddenly, you feel very foolish to have searched him out to ask for something so trivial. You’re a queen, after all. You should be used to nicer things than this. You shouldn’t be so overwhelmed by a room so similar to the ones from your childhood.
“It wouldn’t be offensive, however,” Sam begins, and you look up at him, holding your breath, “to only have one Ashelan maid to assist you.”
You exhale a small sigh of relief, as small as you can manage without being completely obvious. “I suppose one would be sufficient. She could help Charlie. Lady Charlie, I mean.”
He smiles. “I’m sure Lady Charlie will grow accustomed to our castle soon enough. She seems very intelligent.”
“Oh?” You can’t help but ask what he means. Charlie is smart, there’s no denying it, but many men have mistaken her for a frail, unassuming creature before. Sam would be one of the first to correctly identify her.
“She has the same look in her eyes as you. You are not one to be underestimated. I’ve heard about the way you fight on the battlefield.”
Before you can respond, there’s a noise in the hallway and you look over your shoulder to see what it is. One of your guards in the entrance. Your stomach sinks, knowing that he’s most likely been sent to retrieve you.
“I should allow you to get settled,” Sam says. He nods politely at the guard before looking back at you. “Though I hope you will tell us about your traditions in Athos at the feast. I am eager to learn more.”
You watch him for a moment, judging if he’s earnest in his request, and then you nod. Offering him a small smile, you follow the guard back to your guest chambers, where Charlie is waiting patiently for you, a warm bath already drawn.
The night is hard. After your bath and a meal brought up by the Ashelan maid, you try to rest before the feast, but the nightmares come quickly this time. You toss and turn, and you wake up screaming. The guards burst into your room as Charlie rushes to you from where she’s been inspecting your armor for what needs the most care and attention.
Once it’s determined that you aren’t in any danger, she convinces the guards to withdraw. She holds you then, letting you cry in her arms as you tremble, remembering the horrors of the dream and the reality that shapes them. You cry yourself to sleep, and you’re certain that you only stay asleep because Charlie decides to stay with you. She tucks you back under the heavy blankets and drags one of the carved chairs over to your bedside. There, she curls up with one hand holding yours and the other propping her head up so she can rest as well. You have minimal nightmares after that, though her presence beside you is reassuring enough that the few times you do wake, you aren’t too afraid to fall back asleep.
You sleep through the feast, much to your dismay. John, Sam, and Dean are waiting for you when you enter the Great Hall to break your fast with them the next morning, however.
“I trust you slept well,” Dean says to you once you’re settled in the seat across from him. Charlie sits beside you, and Sir Robert is on your right, across from Prince Sam. John is at the head of the table. There’s another man across the table, opposite Charlie, and another on her left. You don’t recognize them, but you suspect that they’re friends of Sam and Dean, or that they’re the lords-in-waiting. John doesn’t seem to have an advisor with him, but there’s an empty seat at the far end of the table.
“As well as can be expected,” you reply. Your smile is strained, but you offer it anyway, then move your hands out of the way of the servant who comes to bring you your meal. “I apologize for missing the feast. I so badly wanted to come, but it was best that I stayed in my chambers last night.”
“We understand completely,” John tells you. “We are not strangers to war.”
You nod, and everyone goes back to eating. The Great Hall is silent. It’s a complete change from your meals in your tent at the war camp. Though you always dined with just Charlie and Sir Robert, you’d always been able to hear what was happening outside the tent walls. There’d be shouting and laughter, songs and teasing. Sometimes there was crying and men groaning through their injuries, but you ate those meals quickly.
As you eat, you look around the room. The Great Hall is decorated similarly to your chambers, with evergreen boughs, red berries, and candles that burn even in daylight, but there’s also an enormous tree at the far end of the hall. It’s lit with candles, just like the one you’d seen when you’d searched out Sam the day before. The tree stretches dozens of feet up, and you wonder how old it must be to have grown so tall.
“We do not decorate like this in Athos,” you say, and all three Winchesters look at you in mild surprise. A bit embarrassed by their eyes on you, you falter slightly, but the interest on Sam’s face when you don’t continue spurs you on.
“You use plants here.” You gesture to the tree. “But we decorate with wooden carvings of our ancestors, and woven tapestries that we hang beside every door and window.”
“What are the tapestries?” Sam asks. His father and brother have gone back to eating, even though they still watch and listen, but he’s set down his fork and is now giving you his full attention.
“They’re different for each family. My family has tapestries that show the beginnings of our kingdom and the first king of Athos, and over the years, I have created many simple ones as gifts.”
“I’m sure they were wonderful,” Sam says. He holds your gaze for a moment before he smiles, and you smile back.
There’s a fluttering in your stomach. The clinking of John’s fork on the table makes you look away. There’s heat in your cheeks, much to your chagrin, and you exhale shakily. It’s strange to be so rattled. You’re not even sure why the conversation is affecting you so much. You’ve talked about Athoan traditions countless times before today with countless royals and monarchs. Something about Sam simply shakes you to your core.
John sips from his goblet, then gestures at Sam with the cup before he sets it back on the long table. “Samuel will show you the grounds today. I’m sure he can answer any questions you have about Ashela.”
Somewhat surprised that the King doesn’t plan to meet with you himself, you nod. It’s not atypical for kings to pass you off to one of their advisors, but you don’t mind it in this instance. You’re still weary from battle, and Sam is excellent company.
“Very well,” you reply, dipping your head just a little. You pick up your own goblet to take a sip. The drink is warm, thick, and rich, and you frown a little before peering inside the cup.
“Is everything alright?” Dean asks.
You nod and glance over at Lady Charlie. She picks up her own goblet and takes a sip as you set down yours. She pauses for a moment, her cup paused in midair, then smiles.
“Hot chocolate,” she murmurs. “It’s a traditional drink here.”
Raising an eyebrow at her, you whisper, “How do you know that?”
She gives you a sly smile and shakes her head. You know the look—she’ll tell you later.
You sit back in your seat and turn your attention to Dean, who’s still watching you. His father and Sam are both watching you now too, and Sam is frowning with obvious concern.
“Everything is fine,” you reassure them. “I’ve never had hot chocolate before. It’s delicious, John. You have fine cooks here in Ashela.”
He nods in response and stands. You stand as well, as does the rest of the table, and you watch as the King leaves through a door on one side of the Great Hall.
Dean clears his throat. “I have duties to attend to, brother.” He claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Remember that Father said—”
Sam cuts him off. “I remember. Thank you, Dean.”
A moment later, Dean excuses himself, and you watch him leave, too. Sir Robert mumbles some excuse and bows to Sam before leaving as well, no doubt to study policies and look over ledgers in his own guest chambers. He’s always been a bit of a recluse, and there’s little privacy at the war camp. You suspect he’ll spend most of his time hidden away while you’re on respite.
You turn to Charlie. “You should rest,” you quietly tell her. “I know that you did not sleep much last night—”
“I’m fine,” she replies.
Shaking your head, you grab her hands and squeeze. “Please. I’ll feel better, even if you just relax by the fire. I feel awful that I’ve kept you up.”
Charlie nods, though you can tell she’s reluctant to leave you by the way her eyes cut to Sam. He’s pointedly staring at the candlelit evergreen and sipping his hot chocolate, giving you the semblance of privacy even though he’s mere feet away.
You squeeze her hands again and offer her an earnest smile. “I’m okay. I don’t mind being with him,” you say, soft enough that you’re certain Sam can’t hear from across the table. “He’s… nice.”
This makes her smile wide, and you can practically see all the possibilities she’s conjuring up in her head.
“Nice?” Charlie teases.
You playfully scoff and drop her hands, smoothing your skirt. Turning to Sam, you say, “I’m finished eating, if you’re ready to begin.”
Sam hums and sets his goblet down. “Will Lady Charlie be joining us?”
She takes that as her cue to shake her head and curtsy. After years of practice, the action is smooth, despite the fact that she hasn’t worn a formal gown in almost a year. She’d complained in private to you that morning that she wished the two of you could continue wearing trousers, and you’d agreed. The dresses that have been provided for you in Ashela are all too big, and you’d spent part of your morning being poked and prodded by the castle seamstress as she frantically altered the bodice to fit you. They might’ve fit before the war, but the fighting has given you more lean muscle than anything. Your own dresses back at Eryas Court will likely need altering when you finally return home.
“I have other things that require my attention, my Queen,” Charlie says, and she gracefully exits the Great Hall, though not before throwing you a meaningful look before the doors close behind her.
“Shall we?” Sam asks.
You jump, surprised to find that he’s come around to your side of the table and stopped alongside you while you watched your friend depart. He offers his arm and after a very brief moment of hesitation, you take it.
You and Sam traverse the grounds on foot, and he shows you the snow-covered gardens, the stables, the knights’ training field, and the arboretum where his mother is buried. Finally, he leads you to a frozen lake set far back from the castle. It’s surrounded by the same pine trees that seem to be everywhere in Ashela, and there’s a small wooden hut sheltered by the two largest. From inside, Sam pulls out sharpened blades with leather straps. It takes you a moment to realize that they’re for skating on the ice.
“Would you like to skate?” he asks.
“I’ve never been skating before,” you admit, and you look at the lake. It’s smooth and glossy, with few imperfections on its icy surface. You can’t help but wonder if it’s actually safe. Though ice skating has grown popular in Athos since the start of your reign, you’ve never allowed your court to participate. You’ve heard too many tales of the ice breaking under the skater’s weight. A small girl in the village had drowned just last winter.
“I’ll keep you safe, Y/N. You have my word.”
Scanning Sam’s face, you try to determine whether or not you can trust him, not just to lead you around and show you the castle grounds, but with your life.
You place your hand in his after a long moment of deliberation. “You’ll have to show me how.”
He smiles, and it’s almost as bright as the sun on the snow. You let him lead you by the hand to the edge of the lake, where a downed tree has been positioned lengthwise. Sam helps you to sit, and then he very carefully kneels in the fresh, powdery snow to help attach the blades to your boots. The knees of his trousers are soaked with snow when he stands, but he doesn’t seem to care as he sits beside you and attaches the blades to his own boots. He helps you up with both hands, encouraging you as you wobble and sway in his grip.
“Move slowly,” he advises as he steps onto the lake, leading you onto the ice as he skates backwards.
It takes all your effort and concentration to stay upright at first, but with Sam’s encouragement and gentle guidance, you quickly get your bearings. You’re able to skate around the lake on your own after only an hour’s practice.
“You’re a natural!” Sam says as he skates beside you. His pace is surely slower than it would be on his own, and you smile over at him.
“Your assistance was a great help,” you tell him. “Thank you.”
He shakes his head a little. “I have the feeling that you would have been fine on your own.”
You fall into silence as you skate side by side, but a quarter hour later, you carefully stop a few feet away from the fallen tree. Sam stops as well and he holds his hands out to help you just in case something is wrong.
“Y/N?” he asks.
“You’ve been skating for a long time, haven’t you? For several years, at least?”
Though he seems confused by your sudden question, Sam nods. “Since I was a young boy.”
Smiling, you gesture with one hand toward the open expanse of the lake. “Show me what you can do, then. You must be very skilled.”
“I don’t know if “skilled” is the correct term…” He rubs the back of his neck with his dark green mittens, and you chuckle. His nose is pink, as are his ears from where they peek out from his furry hat.
“I’m not your queen, so I can’t command you, but I am your guest. Please show me?” you ask.
He’s smiling again. “Very well. Do you want to sit?” He gestures towards the tree, the other hand already reaching for your elbow.
You shake your head. “I will stand, thank you. Now go!” You shove at him, not enough to put him off-balance, but enough that he laughs and ducks his head before he skates away.
Sam is skilled. It only takes you a minute to figure out that he had been telling the truth—he’d been skating a long, long time. He moves with great ease over the ice, and you marvel at his speed. He flies by you three times before he slows, then stops sharply. A shower of ice flies up into the air before it rains down again. His breath comes out in heavy white puffs of fog and his chest heaves with exertion, but you’re smiling wide, giddy from the show.
You clap for him. “You underestimate yourself! You’re very fast!”
He laughs as he catches his breath. “Dean and I would race as children.” He points toward the far edge of the lake, where there’s a large gap between two trees. “There’s a river there, and we’d race from here to where it meets the forest road.” He pants for a second before looking back at you. “We should return. We’ve been out in the cold for a long time.”
Nodding in agreement, you let Sam lead you off the ice and back to the log, where you clumsily unstrap your skates. He takes them and puts them away while you fix your skirts, hat, and boots. When he returns, you stand and take his arm, and the two of you head back to the castle.
You eat a small meal when you return—mostly bread, cheese, and sausage—and it’s while you’re eating that you ask Sam for a second tour of the castle. He’s more than happy to oblige.
“All of these paintings,” you say as he escorts you down a long, decorated hallway, “They have similar styles, but the others you’ve shown me do not. Who painted these?”
“I did,” Sam replies.
You stop to stare at him. “You did?” You can’t hide your surprise, though you know it’s rude. “You painted them? All of them?” There must be at least two dozen in the hall.
He nods, and his cheeks are a little pink, though the castle is much too warm for it to be from the cold. “Yes, all of them.”
Turning back to the landscape he’d just named, you marvel at it. The colors are vibrant, matching the rest of the castle, and the gold details glimmer in the candlelight. Though the sun is going down outside and there’s little light coming in from the windows, you can still see everything clearly.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Would you like to see where I paint them?” he asks.
You look away from the painting to nod. “I would like that very much, yes.”
Sam smiles and offers you his arm again, and he begins to lead you down a narrow hallway that you hadn’t noticed before. You would have labeled it a servant’s passage had the lush carpet not continued down its length. There are wooden doors every few feet, but Sam ignores them and keeps walking.
After several minutes of walking, you come to the end of the hall and the last door, which is slightly higher than the rest. There are two steps leading up to it, but Sam needs neither to step into the room. You opt to take them, and he places a hand over your head so you don’t hit it against the wooden beams that border the opening.
Though the door is smaller than normal, the room is not. The ceiling stretches high up into one of the castle’s towers, and windows let light in even from high above. The wooden floor is swept clean, and an easel is set up near the largest of three windows at eye level. It’s big enough that you could sit in it and let your legs dangle outside of the tower. The window faces the arboretum, and if you squint, you can see the frozen lake in the distance.
A table with paints and brushes is set up beside the easel. Sam approaches it so naturally that you’re sure he must spend a lot of time in this room.
“It reminds me of my study back home,” you quietly say, and Sam looks over at you as he picks up a brush and dips it into one of the pots of pigment.
“Do you like to paint?”
You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s not one of my talents. But I like to look at art. My castle is full of paintings, tapestries, and carvings.” You pause and watch as he adds brushstrokes to the painting on the easel, easily picking up where he’d left off. “You must paint something for my castle before I leave.”
“What would you like?” he asks.
You pause and look around the room as you think. There are several paintings leaning up against the rounded walls, along with piles of supplies that look like they might topple over any second.
“Could you paint the lake? In winter?” you finally request.
The room is quiet for a moment as Sam paints. When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him. He’s staring at the canvas in front of him with his brush in mid-air, but then he turns and meets your eyes, as if he can feel you watching him.
“Why not in summer, when the grass is green and the sunlight makes the water glow? Or in spring, when the wildflowers are blooming? Or in autumn, when the wind blows clouds through the sky?”
He describes the seasons so well that you can picture the paintings in your mind, but you shake your head, not looking away.
“No. I want the lake in winter, so I can remember skating for the first time,” you explain.
He stares at you, and you stare back. Your heart feels like it’s out of control and you have to force yourself to break eye contact. All the while, your thoughts are scattered and though you know in your head that you should be more composed and that you shouldn’t be alone with him in such a remote part of the castle where there are no guards, Sam makes you feel safe.
“We should prepare for dinner,” he finally murmurs, breaking the spell that had fallen over the room.
You glance up at the windows to find that the sun has disappeared from the horizon. Darkness is creeping in, and shadows are stretching across the floor of Sam’s tower. Have you truly been so distracted that the time flew by that quickly?
Nodding in agreement, you step back out into the hallway and make your way down the narrow passage. Once in the main hall, Sam escorts you to your room in silence. Charlie is waiting for you there, and she helps you change into a more formal gown for dinner. She doesn’t utter a single word about the strange expression on your face, nor does she mention the fact that you’ve been without a guard all day.
The dinner is less formal than you were anticipating, and you fall into comfortable conversation with the King. He knew your father before you were born, though the last time they’d met was when you were a young girl. He tells you story after story of their times together, and you’re learning about their last visit when one of the Ashelan guards posted outside the Great Hall bursts in.
“Your Majesty,” he greets, hurriedly bowing to the King. “A messenger has just arrived for Queen Y/N. It’s an urgent matter.”
“Send them in,” John replies. He gestures toward the door and you stand as a haggard soldier in your colors staggers through. He’s supported on one side by another Ashelan guard, and your blood runs cold at the frantic look in your soldier’s eyes.
“Your Majesty.” He starts to bow but loses his balance. He only remains upright thanks to the guard beside him. He’s gasping for air.
“Peace, soldier,” you tell him, though you feel anything but. Your heart is pounding in your chest again and your hand trembles as you place it on the back of your chair. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you. “What news do you bring me?”
“A m— message from King Crowley, Ma’am. He says that if you do not surrender by Christmas, he will take Eryas Court.”
You stare at him for a moment, then scoff. “He cannot so boldly assume I will surrender! Have our armies held the camp?” you ask.
“No, Ma’am,” the soldier replies, and it feels like the floor has fallen out from underneath you. Your stomach twists as the soldier continues, “His men slaughtered our armies, and they have infiltrated the village. They have surrounded Eryas. The men returning to their families are at the keep, and are holding it as best as they are able, but they are tired, Ma’am.”
Lady Charlie gasps beside you, and you lift your chin, silently sending up a prayer. Crowley has caught you off guard, but you can’t show it.
You turn to look at John. “Is there a room I can use to speak with Sir Robert and send word to my captains?”
John nods and stands, directing his attention to the first guard. “Prepare my study for Queen Y/N and Sir Robert. Escort them there once it is ready, and have one of the servants available to fulfill any requests she might have,” he orders.
The guard nods and bows before hurrying back out into the hallway.
“And you,” John continues, looking at the guard supporting your weary soldier. “Take him to see the doctor. Get him a meal and fresh clothes, and prepare him a place to sleep.”
The soldier still has his eyes on you, and you quickly cross to him before the Ashelan guard can take him away. His entire body is covered with blood, sweat, and grime, and he smells like the worst parts of the battlefield. His legs shake when he struggles to stand straighter as you approach.
“You can trust the people here,” you gently tell the man. “Thank you for what you have done. You have brought your people great honor. Now, rest.”
The man salutes you and you bow your head, then watch in silence as the guard leads him out of the Great Hall and towards the servant’s door you’d passed earlier that day on your tour. Once he’s out of sight, you turn and face Sir Robert, who has moved to stand at the end of the table closest to you.
“I apologize for cutting our dinner short, John,” you say. He nods once. “Can I ask that Lady Charlie be escorted back to my chambers once she is finished dining?”
Charlie stands from her seat. “I’m already finished, my Queen, and if it pleases you, I shall stay to assist you.”
You could cry at the loyalty and care from your friend, and you almost do. You catch yourself, however, and you swallow the lump that forms in your throat. John and Dean are talking in hushed tones, but Sam is watching you. His eyes are sad and you have to look away as soon as you notice. You’re barely holding it together as is, and you’re sure that he can tell.
The guard assigned by King John to escort you to his study appears in the doorway, and you quickly follow after him. He leads you down the main hallway and up a set of stairs to a dark wooden door that you’d glimpsed earlier. He opens it in silence, then closes it once you, Sir Robert, and Charlie are inside.
Almost immediately, you brace your hands on the large table in the center of the room and hang your head. A sob escapes you and Charlie places a comforting hand on your back as you let out a few more. The tears run across your cheeks to the bridge of your nose, then drip onto the table beneath you as you cry.
Sir Robert stands in silence until you’re able to compose yourself a few minutes later. He’s watching the flames flicker in the fireplace with his back to you.
“How many men have we lost today?” you ask, dabbing at your face with the handkerchief Charlie has somehow produced.
“ There were 6,000 in the garrison when we left,” he answers. There’s no emotion in his voice and a small part of you feels ashamed for crying, but you push that thought away before it can fester.
“And how many do you think are defending the keep right now?”
Sir Robert turns. His expression is grave and the light and shadows from the fire deepen the wrinkles on his face.
“Less than 5,000, if I had to guess.”
You sigh heavily and look back down at the table, then straighten until you’re standing tall again. You cross the room to stare out the window. From the King’s study, you can see the gardens, which means you’re on the opposite side of the castle from the tower where Sam paints. Silently, you start to pace the length of the large fur covering the floor between two shelves of ancient books. Lady Charlie sits at the table while Sir Robert remains by the fireplace, and both of them watch as you walk back and forth.
Nobody speaks until you stop, but there’s a knock at the door right before you can admit that you have no solution that won’t end in a sorrowful amount of bloodshed. You turn to look as the door opens, revealing King John.
“Y/N,” he greets. “I may have something that will assist you.”
You turn to face him fully. “What is it?”
He walks to an elaborately carved chest on the mantle and carefully removes a rolled parchment. It’s sealed with wax, but there are two seals. Curious, you meet John at the table. Charlie stands to make room for the two of you. It only takes a second for you to recognize the crests imprinted into the seals.
“What is this? Why does this hold my family’s crest?” you question.
“And mine,” he adds. “This decree was created and signed by your father and I during our last visit together. I promised to keep it safe until the right time had come.”
“The right time had come? For what, John? How come I’ve never heard of this?”
He glances at you, then breaks the seals and unrolls the parchment. It’s yellowed with time, but the words are written in black ink and they’re as clear as day.
“Let it be known that on this day, Y/N Y/L/N of Athos and Samuel Winchester of Ashela are betrothed in marriage. Upon agreement from both parties or in time of need, they shall be wed and the marriage shall be consummated within a fortnight,” John reads, and you feel yourself falter. Charlie places a hand on your back to help keep you upright.
“Athos shall be ruled by Y/N as the heir apparent, and any heirs produced by Y/N and Samuel shall become the next heirs. An alliance shall be formed between Athos and Ashela at the time of marriage. This betrothal can only be broken by death or upon act of God.”
At the bottom of the parchment, there are two signatures. Only one is familiar to you, and the world tilts around you for a moment when you see it.
“I beg your pardon,” you say, your mouth suddenly very dry. “But this cannot be true. I would know if I were already betrothed.”
John places the parchment on the table and it rolls up again. “Nonetheless, your father has signed it and stamped it with his royal seal. You are betrothed to my son, and in agreement with the decree, our kingdoms will be allied after your marriage is consummated.”
A dark shadow in the doorway makes you look up. Sam ducks into the room, his eyes immediately scanning the people in the study. When he sees the distress on your face, he frowns, but he answers to his father first.
“You called for me, Father?” he asks.
“I did.”
John picks up the parchment again and hands it to Sam, who unrolls it and reads it over. You watch his eyes scan the words once, twice, then three times before he looks up. He glances at you for a split-second.
“This must be false,” Sam finally says. “I would know if I was betrothed! You would have told me a long time ago!”
“Why do you think I never pressured you to marry, as I did your brother?” John asks.
Sam clearly doesn’t have an answer because he turns his attention to where you’re standing behind his father. “Did you know about this?” he asks.
You shake your head, hands clasped in front of you. “I did not. I’m just as shocked as you are.”
“I can’t believe that you are treating Y/N like this! She is in the middle of trying to save her people and you’re scheming!” Sam accuses. He’s glowering down at his father, even though he’s only a few inches taller.
John scoffs. “Samuel—”
“You say that this was created when we were children? And yet it has remained hidden from us until now? Why wouldn’t my father have told me about my own betrothal?” you ask, relieved that Sam is just as angry and surprised as you. It stings a little that he seems disinterested in marrying you, but you have more important problems than your feelings.
Sir Robert speaks up from where he still stands by the fireplace, and you whirl to face him when he says, “The betrothal is real. I witnessed the decree when it was written.” His expression softens when you meet his eyes, shocked at his revelation. “I had just been appointed as your father’s advisor. It was the first decree I helped him create.”
You can’t help but feel betrayed. “You helped him? All this time, you knew about this, and yet you never said a word?”
He nods, and there seems to be genuine regret in his eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Why now?” Sam questions. “Of all the times, Father, why would you tell us now?”
John gestures to the parchment in Sam’s hands. “You’re to marry whenever you agree there’s an opportune time, or if there’s ever a time of great need. If you marry, an alliance will be formed between our kingdoms. I can send our armies to help defeat Elcium and save Y/N’s people. Your people, once the marriage is consummated. Your enemies will become my enemies.”
Torn between a mix of anger and humiliation, you turn your back on the men, taking a few steps away from the table to stare out the window. Has it really come to this? Will you really have to marry to save your people?
There’s a shuffling of papers behind you, and the crackle of the fire, but nobody dares to speak. You know that they’re all waiting for you to make the decision. Though you’ve only known him for a few days, you’re certain that Sam would never force you to marry him and follow through with the decree.
“Would you form an alliance without marriage?” you finally ask, without turning around.
A beat passes, and then John answers, “Think over what I’ve said, Y/N. I will be in the Great Hall, awaiting news.”
He leaves after that, and you hear Sir Robert and Charlie excuse themselves as well, which leaves you alone with Sam. He keeps his distance from you as you continue to stare out the window with your arms wrapped around yourself. Despite the fire, you’re cold all the way down to your bones, and you shiver.
“What are you thinking?” Sam finally asks. His voice is gentle, hesitant even, in the silence of the study.
“I don’t know.” You shake your head. “This isn’t…”
“Did you dream of marrying someday?”
Surprised at the question, you have to stay quiet and mull it over. Then, after a few moments, you nod. “Yes,” you tell him, quieter than before. “Someday. I knew it was probably expected of me too, but then Crowley invaded…”
“And you had to put the needs of your people before your own desires,” Sam guesses.
“It’s my duty as queen.”
Your father’s words return to your head, ringing loud and clear as a bell.
“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”
Turning around, you smooth your skirt and meet Sam’s gaze. “As is marrying you,” you say.
“You’re not going to oppose the decree?” he asks. Sam sounds genuinely surprised, and he steps closer. He’s still in his dinner clothes, though you know he had time to change.
“I don’t have a choice,” you admit. “If I don’t marry you, your father won’t aid my men, and my people will die. My kingdom will be taken and I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison or as a servant to Crowley, unless he decides to kill me, which is unlikely. Crowley is a ruthless king, and he tortures for sport.”
Something hardens in Sam’s eyes, and his jaw clenches. “You can stay here indefinitely as my guest. I wouldn’t let him do that to you.”
“And I wouldn’t live in hiding while my people suffer,” you counter. Closing the distance between you, you reach out and grasp Sam’s hands in yours. “I will understand if you choose not to marry me. It is your choice, and I will live with whatever decision is made.”
“Why wouldn’t I marry you?” he asks.
“I don’t wish to force you—”
“You wouldn’t be,” Sam says, cutting you off. “Though I haven’t known you long, Y/N, I find you wonderful company. You’re kind, intelligent, brave, and you care deeply for your people. I could not ask for more in a wife, though I hope we can become friends first.”
You duck your head, caught off guard by his praise. Sam crooks one finger underneath your chin and lifts it until your eyes meet his again.
“You’re beautiful, too,” he murmurs. “Far more so than any woman I’ve ever met.”
“I… Don’t know what to say,” you admit. After months of fighting and living in the war camp, the tenderness in Sam’s voice and his touch is foreign to you.
“Say that you’ll marry me. Say that we’ll save your people before any more harm can be done.”
Silently, you nod. You don’t look away as Sam smiles wide, his eyes full of a joy so complete that it makes your chest ache just from witnessing it. He pulls you close, crushing you against him as he hugs you tightly, and you gasp in surprise.
“I’ll tell my father to make the necessary arrangements,” Sam says as he pulls away. “The sooner we are married, the sooner we can rescue your men.”
You nod again, a bit numb as Sam kisses you on the forehead, narrowly missing the bruise, and hurries out into the hallway. His footsteps are quick and the sound fades before you can even recognize that he’s truly left you alone in the study.
“Y/N?”
Charlie appears in the doorway and you turn to her, trembling hands clasped in front of you.
“Are you well?” she asks. She steps into the room and you can immediately tell that she’d heard the whole conversation between you and Sam. The walls and doors are thick here, but Charlie is an expert at eavesdropping.
“I— I’m getting married,” is all you can reply.
She gives you a knowing look and then carefully guides you to sit in one of the high-backed chairs near the fire. The warmth helps to soothe the shock from finding out your kingdom was most certainly doomed, then from finding out it would be safe once you were married. Your world is changing so quickly that you can hardly keep up.
“He’s a good man,” she tells you.
“I know he is,” you reply, staring at the fire. It makes your eyes water but you can’t look away. If you do, you might cry for real for the second time today. Your emotions have been twisted by so many things and people today that you’re unsure of how to feel.
“It’s okay to be scared.”
You turn your head just enough to show that you’re listening, but you don’t look away from the fire.
“You’ve been through so much, Y/N, and I know you believe that queens should not show their weakness, but you forget that you are also just a woman,” Charlie continues.
This time, you turn to look at her. “But I am not just a woman, Charlie.”
She gives you a gentle smile, then reaches out with one hand to squeeze yours. “When you’re with Prince Samuel, you are.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admit, your voice breaking. You clutch her hand with both of yours when she moves to pull away, turning in your seat so you can better face her. “What if he expects me to spend more time being a wife than being a queen? I cannot afford to give up who I am because of a man.”
Charlie considers your question for several long moments before she sighs and collects your hands completely in hers. She holds your gaze as she says, “You are brave for doing this. I cannot tell you what to expect, but I can tell you that I have heard many things from the ladies and the servants here in Ashela. All of them, every single one, has told me that Prince Samuel is as wonderful as he seems. I do not think that you have very much to fear, but I will be by your side no matter what you face.”
You inhale deeply, closing your eyes, and then breathe out. Charlie waits patiently as you try to collect yourself, and her presence is enough reassurance that it doesn’t take you very long.
Finally, you nod and stand.
She does the same, dropping your hands. “Now, I need to get you ready!”
“Ready?” you ask, and Charlie laughs. She guides you out of the study and into the hallway.
“For your wedding! I can’t give you the prettiest dress, but I’ve asked around and we’ve come up with something that I think will work.”
A spark of excitement grows inside of you as she chatters on about her plans for the impromptu wedding. It’s amazing to you that she’s managed to work so quickly, but you don’t question it. Charlie has many ways of doing many things, some of which are better left unsaid.
Soon, you find yourself back in your guest chambers. Charlie helps you into a plain ivory dress, then fixes your hair. You sit quietly as she works, and when a handful of Ashelan maids and ladies start to swarm around you, you simply close your eyes. It’s been a long day, and exhaustion is starting to creep in.
“The Queen needs to rest before the ceremony,” Charlie announces, and you open your eyes just enough to see the women leaving. She starts to blow out the extra candles, until there’s only one remaining beside your bed.
“You only have an hour,” she murmurs as you carefully climb under the covers. She helps you arrange your dress so that it won’t become wrinkled.
Nodding tiredly, you rest your head back against the pillow she props up for you. “Thank you, Charlie. For everything.”
She smooths a hand over your hair and sits in the chair beside you, closing her eyes as well. She doesn’t have to say anything for you to know that she’s staying close to help you sleep.
The ceremony is simple. You don’t expect much, but John rouses enough servants for there to be an arch of evergreen placed at the end of the Great Hall, and there’s a bouquet of branches and berries for you, as well. Sam dons his royal robes and a thin crown with vibrant gemstones that sparkle in the candlelight from the nearby tree. John and Dean change clothes too, and somehow Charlie finds a new dress just in the nick of time. Only you aren’t wearing something elaborate. It stings a little—you’d once imagined your wedding day as an occasion to remember, but now you could simply melt away into the background and it’s quite possible that nobody would even notice. It gives you a miserable feeling in the pit of your stomach, and when you pass by a mirror on the way to the Great Hall, you have to look away. Tears prick at your eyes before you can stop them.
A priest marries you with little grandeur, and in only a few words, you find yourself bound to Sam in marriage. It’s not even dawn on Christmas Eve when he leads you by the arm back out of the Great Hall. Charlie stays behind with Sir Robert to help prepare the carriages for travel while he advises John on where to send his armies, and when you arrive at Sam's chambers, they’re empty. You’re alone with him for the first time as husband and wife.
“We should leave for Athos immediately,” Sam says, and you nod in silence. He lets go of your arm once the door shuts behind you, then hurries into a separate, adjoining room. You set your bouquet down on a nearby table.
Through the curtained archway, you can see a bed similar to the one in your guest chambers, as well as a writing desk and another easel. Sam’s sword is propped up against the wall near the fireplace, and a bow and arrow are laid haphazardly on a nearby dining table. The room is decorated for Christmas, just like the rest of the castle, though the greenery here is minimal. Where you would expect to see much of his personal belongings, there are empty spaces that leave you feeling strangely out of place. His chambers are practically bare except the furniture and the decorations.
Sam goes behind a dressing screen and you look away, heat in your cheeks at the thought of being alone with him while he undresses. It’s not the first time you’ve been alone with a man in a similar state of dress—you’ve lived in a camp full of soldiers, many of whom are careless—but it’s the first time where something could be expected of you.
“Sam?” you call out, staring at the candle on the window ledge nearest to you. Outside, the sun is just barely beginning to rise. Its rays are slowly stretching over the snowy landscape, revealing the hundreds of pine trees and the lake whose frozen surface glitters in the light.
“Yes?” You hear him pause and the room falls silent. When you don’t immediately answer, you hear some quick shuffling, and then he’s coming out from behind the screen and approaching you.
“Y/N?” he asks.
You turn, and Sam is standing before you in plain clothes. There’s no trace of the robes or the crown. The only thing that would give away his royal status is the signet ring on his left pinky. There’s a plain gold ring on the finger beside it, which matches the one he’d given you during the ceremony.
“Your father said our kingdoms would only be allied once our marriage was… consummated,” you say, deciding to use the same language as John, though you know there are easier ways to say what you mean.
“I do not expect anything of you,” Sam gently replies.
“But your father—”
Sam shakes his head. “He does not need to know what’s between you and I.”
You’re holding your breath; you can’t breathe a sigh of relief until you’re absolutely sure Sam will go along with the ruse. “You will lie to your own father? Your king?”
He’s quiet for only a moment before he answers, “He is not my king any longer. I am married to you. I am your husband, and you are my queen. I will tell him whatever I must to ensure that your people are safe.”
You gingerly take his hand and allow yourself to breathe again. “Our people, Sam.” You pause to look up at him, offering him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”
He nods and leans in to kiss you on the cheek. “We should leave. I am ready, if you are.”
“Don’t you want your things?” you ask, glancing around his chambers.
Sam lets go of your hand, then walks around his room. He gathers his sword, a book from beside the bed, and a small wooden case from near the easel before he returns to your side. You take the book and the case from him so he can strap the sword around his waist, then hand them back to him.
“The servants have already brought many of my things to the carriage. The rest can be brought another time.”
Nodding, you take Sam’s arm and let him lead you out of his chambers, through the castle, and to the waiting carriages. There are three of them, two of which belong to you, and another that is clearly Ashelan. It rocks as the occupants move around.
John, Dean, and two of your guards are waiting at the open door of the middle carriage when you arrive. As you walk the gray stone path leading away from the castle, you catch a glimpse of Sir Robert as he climbs into the carriage at the front of the line.
“Y/N,” John greets. He nods politely to you, then to Sam. “My men are already on the way to Athos. Sir Robert has been helpful in ensuring they will be of sufficient help to you. I have also sent word to Crowley to inform him of our newly formed alliance. I suppose everything went well after you retired to Sam’s chambers?”
He raises an eyebrow at his son, who nods once. The implications of his words weigh heavily in the winter air, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to look nervous or uncomfortable. You cannot give away the lie.
“All is well,” Sam replies. He smiles a little and places a hand over where yours rests on his arm. “She is ready to travel now.”
Dean hugs his brother goodbye, then leads you toward the carriage. He stops a few feet away and holds his hand out to one of your guards, who produces a familiar sword.
“I believe this is yours?” Dean asks.
You smile, relieved that you’re once reunited with your father’s blade. “Yes, thank you.”
Taking the sword, you fasten it around your waist. The weight is comfortable, and it bumps against your thigh as Dean helps you into the carriage.
Meanwhile, Sam talks quietly with John. You’re too anxious to eavesdrop once you’re alone, so you sit back on the seat and try to keep your breathing even as Sam finally climbs into the carriage and the door shuts behind him. He sits opposite you, where Charlie would normally sit. It feels strange to not travel with her by your side, but you remind yourself that she’s in the next carriage, and that you’ll see her again when you arrive in Athos.
Moments later, the horses lurch forward. You sway with the movement, and Sam reaches out to place a steadying hand on your arm. You offer him a small smile before you sit back once more.
The sun rises as you journey to Athos, just like it does every day, and you cling to that normalcy. Even as you wring your hands, your mind whirling with every possible outcome of the coming battle, the sun continues on its path. You find yourself glancing out the window at it more often than usual. The snow outside is beginning to melt and drip from the tree branches as the temperature warms from the light, and as the horses carry you closer to home, the snow starts to disappear entirely, replaced with mud and trampled grass left in the wake of tired soldiers and weary knights.
Suddenly, Sam shifts to sit beside you, and he takes your hand without a word. You stare at him, baffled by his strange actions, but he doesn’t say anything, nor does he look at you. Finally, you look back out the window. His thumb rubs over the dry, scarred skin of your hand, and though it’s foreign to hold hands with a man you barely know, there’s something comforting about his presence. It’s soothing enough that you doze off for a while, grasping at what little rest you’re allowed during the journey. He holds your hand the entire time.
After the half-day ride, the carriages arrive in the village that surrounds Eryas Court. You release Sam’s hand and sit forward on the bench to give yourself a better view through the window.
The houses and shops that you’ve grown up around have been burnt and destroyed, and there’s rubble lining the cobblestone paths. Wooden stalls and stables have been smashed into splinters, and stone buildings have begun to cave in on themselves. Your breath hitches when you see blood staining a wall.
“Where are the people?” you ask, your voice cracking. “Where are my people?” The question is desperate, meant for nobody but the world, and you feel Sam pulling you away from the window a few seconds later.
“Let me go!” you bark at him.
He pulls you back a second time, and you twist in your seat, angry and aching with grief, but you stop when you see him.
Sam’s expression is grave. “We don’t know who’s out there. You are not dressed in your armor, and you are giving Crowley’s archers an easy shot. Until we know what’s happening, you need to stay hidden,” he advises.
You stare at him for a moment, then nod mutely. All the anger drains out of you, because he’s right, and you’re no use to your people if you’re dead.
While leaning back against the wall of the carriage, you can still see enough through the window to tell that the destruction starts to lessen as you near the keep. The pressure in your chest starts to ease when the noise of villagers and soldiers talking reaches you, and you exhale shakily when you hear someone call out,
“Make way! The Queen is here!”
There’s a commotion outside the carriage. Cheering erupts as soon as the first person spies you through the windows. Sam’s hand finds yours again. He squeezes, and you squeeze back even harder, clutching his hand as the carriage moves through the crowd and into the guarded castle.
When the carriage stops, you and Sam wait until the door is opened by guard. They help Sam out first, then you. You don’t know what to expect as you exit, but you’re relieved to find that most of your castle is still intact.
“Eryas Court lives on, Your Majesty,” someone says, and you turn to find Sir Robert walking from his own carriage. Charlie is close behind, and you start to smile.
“Indeed, Sir Robert,” you tell him. “It seems the battle was over before we even arrived.”
After a moment, you laugh and pull him into a hug. It’s improper, but you find tears brimming in your eyes when he murmurs in your ear, reminding you that your father would be proud of how you’d handled the invasion.
“Welcome to Athos, Your Majesty,” Charlie says.
You release Sir Robert and turn to where Sam and Charlie stand off to one side. He gives her a short bow as she dips into a curtsy. An Ashelan man is standing on the other side of Sam. You recognize him as one of the men from your breakfast the day before. There are several Ashelan servants helping yours unload the carriages, as well.
“It’s a beautiful kingdom,” Sam says to you. “How long has Eryas Court been standing?”
“Four generations,” you proudly reply. “Would you like a tour?”
He opens his mouth to answer, but the conversation is put to a halt when the captain of the guard approaches and bows in your direction.
“Your Majesty,” he greets. He does the same for Sam before turning back to you. “I bring word from the fields.”
“How are my men?” you ask. Your expression grows serious as you focus on the matter at hand. Sam stays silent, allowing you to do your job without interference.
“We have lost many, but we have made it through the darkest nights. Elcium has retreated, and they have dropped their banners. They stand with white flags now.”
You raise your eyebrows, unable to keep your expression neutral. “They have surrendered?”
He nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“That’s very good news, Captain,” you tell him, smiling. “Tell them that we will negotiate terms after Christmas. I will expect a full report then, but I have other matters to attend to tonight. I will also expect to see your wounded, and I would like a full list of the dead. Please ensure that any news about the Ashelan soldiers is sent to King John, and also reported to King Sam.” You gesture to Sam without looking his way.
Your captain bows to both of you, then heads back the way he had come. Satisfied with the news, you turn back to Sam with a wide smile.
“Let me show you my home.”
Sam smiles back at you, then offers you his arm. Before you leave with him, you instruct Charlie to make sure everything is in order after the maids unpack your and Sam’s belongings in your chambers. She agrees with a smile brighter than you’d seen on her in a long time.
You and Sam walk the castle grounds most of the afternoon, stopping only to have tea. You show him your favorite spots, tell him stories of your childhood, and you show him the study you’d abandoned after inheriting your father’s. The windows there overlook the wildflower fields, and the river beyond. Though there’s no flowers in bloom now, he assures you that the frozen river is subject enough for his paintings.
As the sun begins to set, you and Sam retire to your chambers. They’re smaller than you remember, and it feels cramped as the two of you prepare for sleep. You’d never opted to take on your father’s chambers when he passed, instead choosing to stay in the rooms you’d had your whole life.
Charlie helps you change into a sleeping gown, and behind an opposite dressing screen, you hear Sam and the Ashelan lord—Castiel—talking quietly. When the two of you emerge, you share nervous smiles as Castiel and Charlie leave to go to their own quarters.
“I’m not quite ready to sleep,” you say after the door finally closes behind them. You keep your distance, unsure of how to act now that you’re alone.
Sam nods. “I’ll try to keep to myself, so there’s room when you are ready to retire.”
You glance at the bed, then back at him. “Perhaps I will go to bed early then.”
He frowns a little and searches your face for something, clearly trying to figure out why you’ve changed your plans. Truthfully, you don’t want him to have to try and make himself small. You’re already feeling too many emotions; you don’t want to add guilt into the mix.
You smile as if you don’t know what he’s thinking, then head to the bed and climb under the covers on one side. Charlie has warmed the heavy blankets with irons, and the furs from last year’s hunts still provide you with plenty of warmth.
Sam watches, still standing in place, until finally you let out a sigh.
“I’m perfectly okay sharing a bed with you,” you tell him. “We are husband and wife. If we don’t lie together, it will raise suspicions.”
“And I am prepared to face them.”
“Do you really not want to share a bed with me?” you ask, a little hurt by his resistance.
His eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head. “I do not want you to be afraid of me, nor of expectation that I might—”
“I am not afraid of you.” You sit up in the bed, suddenly aware of the nighttime chill in your chambers as the blankets fall from your chest. “I have fought in many battles, and I have seen many horrible things. Sharing a bed with a kind, gentle man who is now my husband is not a fear that I possess, Sam Winchester. Even so, I am capable of much more than you may realize, and I am not afraid of anything you could possibly do to me.”
He stares at you for a moment, and then a small smile appears on his face. “Very well.”
You lay back as Sam crosses the room and climbs into bed beside you. Both of you lay on your backs, staring up at the fabric canopy. You want to talk—you feel like you should, anyway—but the events of the past few days start to catch up with you, and you find your thoughts beginning to wander as Sam’s breathing grows slower on the other side of the bed. He falls asleep before you, but not by much.
When you wake, there’s a heavy weight over your waist and hot breath against the back of your neck. Your legs are intertwined with Sam’s and your back is pressed up against his chest. It’s not uncomfortable, but you lie and stare at the wall, trying to figure out how you and Sam have become so entangled. Surely, you would have kicked him during your nightmares.
“Are you awake?”
His question is barely a whisper, but then Sam shifts and you feel him raise himself up on his elbow to look down at you. He’s checking to see if you’re asleep, you realize.
You turn your head to meet his eyes in the darkness. “Yes,” you answer. “I’m awake.”
He sighs softly and lays back down, resuming the close contact from before. You wonder if you should push away. Is it improper to sleep like this if you don’t know each other, even if you’re married? Does it matter?
“Can I ask…” You finally begin, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room again. “When we went to sleep, we were not touching.”
“No,” Sam answers. His breath tickles the hairs at the nape of your neck and you fidget under the covers, but you don’t pull away. “You were dreaming. It was a nightmare.”
“Oh.”
You can imagine why he’s pulled you close now. Without Charlie sitting by your bedside, there had been some anxiety over if you’d sleep through the night, but Sam’s comforting touch seems to have soothed you. For the first time in weeks, you feel well-rested.
“It’s Christmas,” you say after another minute has passed.
Sam yawns and his thumb strokes against your stomach. His voice is drowsy in your ear.
“So it is,” he replies.
“Merry Christmas, Sam.”
“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”
You turn in his arms until you’re facing him, and you carefully place one hand on his chest. It feels natural to be this close and to lean against him, and Sam watches you with half-mast eyes as you get comfortable. When you do, however, you don’t know what to say. You stare at each other, listening to the castle stir awake. Finally, you lay your head down on him. He helps you get comfortable, and then you close your eyes. You can hear Sam’s heartbeat.
“We’re married,” you murmur.
He hums. “So we are.”
“What do we do now?”
“Celebrate Christmas, I suppose.”
You move your hand, unconsciously fidgeting with the tie on Sam’s sleep shirt. “Can we stay here for a while first?”
Sam presses a kiss to the top of your head and you smile to yourself, even though you know he could probably see.
“Yes, Y/N. We certainly can,” he answers.
Read the sequel to this story, "Anniversary" -->
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This is the mobile masterlist for all Christmas/Winter-related one shots and gif imagines, regardless of pairing. Anything marked with an asteric (*) is more winter-related than Christmas-related.
Graphic created by @lipstickandwhiskey
Divider by @firefly-graphics
One Shots
Almost Christmas (Marine!Sam x Reader)
Christmas Fair (Dad!Sam x Deaf!Reader) (Edited 12-22-17)
Christmas Past (Ghost!Sam x Reader Friendship, Past Sam x Jessica)
A Collapsible Crutch Christmas (Dean x Reader)
Crowned (Prince!Sam x Reader)
Eleven Days (Gadreel x Reader) * (Hanukkah)
First Christmas (Dean x Reader)
Gentle and King (Prince!Sam x Queen!Reader)
Hot Cocoa Cuddling (Sam x Reader)
New Year’s Eve (Sam x Reader)
No Man’s Land (Dean x Reader)
Snowflake (Photographer!Cas x Photographer!Reader)
Whatever Makes You Happy (Dean x Reader)
What You Always Asked For (Sam x Elf!Reader)
White Christmas (Cas x Reader)
Your Heart (Cas x Reader)
Imagines
Imagine Dean Being Excited to Give You His Gift
Imagine Convincing the Winchester to Spend Christmas Someplace Warm
Imagine Decorating Your House For Christmas With Sam
Imagine Getting Snowed In During Your Honeymoon With Dean *
Imagine Growing Up Spending Christmases With the Winchesters
Imagine Having an Extended Christmas Vacation With Sam
Imagine Putting Up Last-Minute Decorations With Sam and Dean
Imagine Spending a Snowy Day at the Bunker With Dean *
Imagine Spending Your First Christmas as a Family With Dean
Imagine Spending Your First Christmas With Gadreel and Your Daughter
Summary: A hunt takes longer than you’d thought and you missed Hanukkah, but thankfully, Gadreel has a solution.
A/N: This is based off a Winter prompt given to me by @becaamm. Enjoy, and please leave feedback! Please know that I’m not Jewish in the slightest so I did a lot of research. Hopefully I didn’t get anything wrong, but please let me know if I did!
X
Winter/Christmas Masterlist
Your name: submit What is this?
_______________
You’d missed it. How you managed to miss the entirety of Hanukkah without even noticing, you’d never know, but you’d missed it nonetheless.
“Y/N, are you alright?”
Gadreel’s kind voice broke you out of your reverie and you blinked, looking away from the flickering candle on your computer screen so you could meet his eyes.
“Huh?”
He frowned slightly, and repeated, “I asked if you were well. You have not spoken in a while and I was beginning to grow concerned…”
You smiled a little at Gadreel’s concern for you. He’d always been the one to watch out for you, though Cas and the Winchesters did their part as well.
“I’m alright,” you answered, closing your laptop so the animated Facebook post couldn’t mock you any further. “I’m just upset about something, but it’s nothing that can’t be forgiven, I suppose.”
Prompt: “I knew you would be here.” from this list
Summary: Two and a half years after their marriage, Sam and Y/N spend a spring day at Eryas Court, though not exactly together.
A/N: This is a drabble based in the “Gentle and Kind” universe. If you haven’t read it, I would suggest doing that before you read this. As always, thank you for reading and supporting my work in all the ways you do. I hope you enjoy this fic! Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Gentle and Kind
You’ve searched the entirety of Eryas Court for your husband, and yet he remains hidden. When you’d agreed to play a game at midday—something you regretted the instant the words left your mouth—you hadn’t thought it would be such a childish one.
Grumbling to yourself, you head back in the direction of your shared chambers.
“Hide-and-seek? This is ridiculous! He’ll just have to stay there all night then. See if I care,” you mutter. Your skirt snags on the sharp edge of a stone when you turn a corner and when you hear the rip, you immediately look over your shoulder and let out a frustrated huff. Adding another ripped skirt to your tally of grievances for the day makes you want to scream, but you know that will only attracted unwanted attention and stir up worry among the servants and guards.
You gather up your skirts and practically stomp to your chambers. As soon as you get there, you completely disregard the guard’s courteous bow, slam the door behind you, and go directly to your writing desk at the window. You flop down into the seat and pull closer the records book you were supposed to finish earlier today. You typically keep the books in your study, but you’d had Charlie deliver it to your room earlier, when you’d been planning to spend most of the day in its sanctuary.
Slowly, your mind shifting gears from frustration to duty, you pore over the pages, reading each line diligently to make sure that nothing has been missed. Sir Robert is a careful man, and you find no mistakes. By the time you’ve finished, however, your shoulders ache from hunching over the leather-bound book and your stomach is starting to growl.
You look up at the window. The sun is setting over the village and you pause for a moment, listening to the silence in your chambers as golden light filters over your peoples’ homes. The buildings that had been destroyed in the attack three years ago have since been rebuilt even stronger than before, and from your desk, you can see the people milling about in the streets, enjoying the last bit of daylight before they retire.
Pushing back your chair, you stand, intent on finding Charlie so you can have her tell the kitchen maids that you’ll have your evening meal at the table in your chambers. You put the records book back in its place as you push the chair back from the desk, but then your eyes land on a small scrap of paper you hadn’t seen before. It’s neatly tucked under the edge of the candle holder. Frowning, you lift the candle and pick up the paper, inspecting it closely.
The creamy white paper has been torn from a larger one, leaving ragged edges. It’s thick, and the majority of the paper has been painted. It’s stiff and dry to the touch, too, and you wonder how long it’s been on your desk without you noticing. You’d just written letters to a good friend after breakfast, meaning that it had to have been placed since then.
You smile to yourself as you leave your chambers and walk toward the eastern halls of the castle with the giddiness of victory fluttering in your chest. You’ve walked this path countless times since your childhood, but during the war with Elcium, the battlefield had become your home. Coming back to live at Eryas Court felt strange at first, but it grew more and more natural with each passing day, and now it’s one of your favorite places to be.
The hall containing your study is lined with paintings, each one framed in a hand-carved frame created especially for it. Most of them are new, with frames so fresh that you can smell the scent of sawdust and curls of wood mixed with the smell of the fields that wafted in through open windows and doors.
The paintings’ subjects vary widely, from portraits to landscapes, but each one is just as beautiful as the last. Your favorite painting sits beside the door to your study. The portrait was painted by the same man who painted your parents shortly after their wedding. This painting, however, is of you and Samuel, only weeks after you’d had your own impromptu wedding in Ashela. You stop for a moment as you pass and admire it, just as you always do. No matter how many times you see it—no matter how many times you see him—the way the light is captured in Samuel’s eyes is your favorite part of the work. There is so much joy, patience, and love reflected in the brushstrokes that it almost feels impossible, especially when you know it was captured so soon after your marriage.
A guard is standing beside the door next to your study, and he bows his head as you approach. You smile and nod back at him before opening the door to your old study, then stepping inside and quietly closing the door behind you. Castiel murmurs a greeting when he sees you enter, but you barely look at him as you watch Samuel from the doorway.
He’s standing on the long wooden platform that had been constructed to give him the best view of the wildflower fields and the river. It’s a singular step above the rest of the room, and only big enough for his easel, a stool, and a table to holds his paints and brushes. The rest of the room reminds you of his painting room back in Ashela, though it also holds remnants of your own work before you’d moved to your father’s old study. Bookcases line the walls. Some of them are filled with books, while others hold art supplies, small canvases, and artifacts from Sam’s travels. King John had sent them shortly after repairs had begun in the village. You’ve spent hours upon hours inspecting the trinkets and gifts Sam has collected over the years, and listening to the stories he has for each and every one.
“I knew you would be here,” you say after a few seconds. You hold the painted scrap of paper in one hand as you approach the platform, then take your usual seat nearby.
The painting on the easel is half-finished. Sam’s been working on it for weeks now, and as Castiel finishes lighting the last few candles in the room, you admire the white froth he adds at the base of the waterfall centered on the canvas.
Sam pauses and considers his work, his brush paused in mid-air, before he sets it down in the wooden cup filled with water beside him. He turns his head to look at you, a small smile on his face. His eyes are full of mischief, and the flickering light of the candles makes him look even more merry.
"Did you?” he teases, knowing well that his study would have been the first place you’d checked during the game of hide-and-seek. He’d been nowhere to be found when you’d checked, meaning that he’d been moving, rather than hiding in one place. Clearly, you’d both followed different rules.
“I did,” you protest. You lift your chin a little in defiance, but you can’t help the small smile that breaks through your stubborn expression. “But you cheated.”
He grins now. “I did no such thing.” Sam pushes down the sleeves of his tunic as he steps down off the platform and approaches you. He stops within arm’s reach.
“I have proof,” you tell him. You hold up the scrap of paper. “This matches the paints you are using today, good sir, and I found it on my writing desk. It wasn’t there this morning, which means you—” you pause to poke a finger at him “—left wherever you were hiding to put it there, then come here.”
“And how do you know that it was me that painted it? Perhaps you have a secret admirer.”
“I would recognize your brushstrokes anywhere.”
His smile softens from amusement to fondness as he takes your free hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. His thumb runs over the back of your hand as he answers,
“I declare you the winner, then. You found me before dinner.”
Castiel leaves as Sam takes a seat beside you on the settee. He leans back against it with a sigh and stretches his legs out in front of him, fully relaxing. After a moment, you lean toward him to rest your head on his shoulder.
“Tomorrow begins spring,” Sam murmurs after you’ve sat in silence for a few minutes. He takes your hand and squeezes it.
You hum softly. “Yes.” You pause, then continue, “It will be three years since Elcium attacked our people.”
“Athos is stronger than it was then,” Sam says, and you lift your head to look at him. His head is tilted back, resting on the top edge of the settee’s high, cushioned back, and his eyes are closed.
“Why do you say that?”
“You had a nightmare last night,” he quietly replies. “You went back to sleep shortly after.”
You frown at him, then look down at the floor as you wrack your brain for the memory. “I don’t remember that. I haven’t had a nightmare in… months. Surely, I would remember…”
“You’ve been working so hard lately, I’m not surprised that you don’t remember. You fell back asleep after you told me what it was about, and after I reassured you that I was still there.”
You frown even more, and you shift in your seat, turning sideways so you can face him. Sam keeps his eyes closed.
“Was I afraid you wouldn’t be?” you ask him.
He opens his eyes and meets your gaze. “Yes. You were afraid that the Elciums had come back, and that they had taken me.”
Something in the back of your mind recognizes that thought. It’s a fear you’ve held closely over the past few months, as you near the anniversary of King Crowley’s attack. You didn’t realize just how much you’ve feared them returning, though you know it’s nothing more than the culmination of all the anxiety this time of year brings. You, like many others in Athos, suffer from wounds far deeper than doctors can heal.
“I’m sorry,” you murmur, looking away. “I must have woken you—“
Sam catches your chin in the crook of his finger, then guides you to look back at him. His expression is earnest, so much so that you want to look away almost immediately. It’s the same expression from the painting outside your study.
“I love you,” he says firmly. “You do not need to apologize. I have had many dreams just like yours.”
“You have?”
He nods. “Losing you is my greatest fear.” He squeezes your hand. “I would ride into a thousand battles for you, beloved.”
You squeeze his hand in return. “As would I.” You pause, then glance over your shoulder toward the windows that overlook the meadows.
“Something is still on your mind.”
Reluctantly, you look back at him and sigh. “You don’t think…”
“There are extra guards patrolling the villages, and along the eastern wall. They will take shifts for the next few days so that there is no moment left unwatched,” Sam reports.
“What?”
“You’re worried that they’ll come back, are you not?” he asks.
“I… Yes,” you admit. You hate that he’s read you so easily, though it’s truly one of the things you love most about him.
“They will not, Y/N, because they know that you will do anything to protect your people, and I know that you won’t rest until you know that they’re safe. I requested the guards on your behalf. It’s also why I searched you out today. The game was to help keep your mind off of the most distant possibilities.”
You close your eyes and lean forward, resting your forehead against Sam’s shoulder. His hand immediately comes to cradle the back of your head, and he gently strokes the hair there.
“Thank you,” you murmur, your shoulders sagging with relief. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been worrying about a potential attack until Sam mentioned the nightmare, but instead of just knowing about your fear, he’d taken care of it.
Sam strokes your hair until you lift your head again. The sun has long since set and you glance back at the windows, then squeeze the hand you’re still holding.
“Come, my love. We should eat,” you tell him, and he nods in response. You both stand, and you let Sam lead you out into the hallway, then to your shared chambers. You hadn’t requested the meal to be taken there, but when you open the door to find the small table laden with freshly cooked food, you’re not surprised. Sam is taking care of you, and the warmth that fills you at the thought is more satisfying than any meal could ever be.
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If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi!
Prompt: “I knew you would be here.” from this list
Summary: Two and a half years after their marriage, Sam and Y/N spend a spring day at Eryas Court, though not exactly together.
A/N: This is a drabble based in the “Gentle and Kind” universe. If you haven’t read it, I would suggest doing that before you read this. As always, thank you for reading and supporting my work in all the ways you do. I hope you enjoy this fic! Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Gentle and Kind
You’ve searched the entirety of Eryas Court for your husband, and yet he remains hidden. When you’d agreed to play a game at midday—something you regretted the instant the words left your mouth—you hadn’t thought it would be such a childish one.
Grumbling to yourself, you head back in the direction of your shared chambers.
“Hide-and-seek? This is ridiculous! He’ll just have to stay there all night then. See if I care,” you mutter. Your skirt snags on the sharp edge of a stone when you turn a corner and when you hear the rip, you immediately look over your shoulder and let out a frustrated huff. Adding another ripped skirt to your tally of grievances for the day makes you want to scream, but you know that will only attracted unwanted attention and stir up worry among the servants and guards.
You gather up your skirts and practically stomp to your chambers. As soon as you get there, you completely disregard the guard’s courteous bow, slam the door behind you, and go directly to your writing desk at the window. You flop down into the seat and pull closer the records book you were supposed to finish earlier today. You typically keep the books in your study, but you’d had Charlie deliver it to your room earlier, when you’d been planning to spend most of the day in its sanctuary.
Slowly, your mind shifting gears from frustration to duty, you pore over the pages, reading each line diligently to make sure that nothing has been missed. Sir Robert is a careful man, and you find no mistakes. By the time you’ve finished, however, your shoulders ache from hunching over the leather-bound book and your stomach is starting to growl.
You look up at the window. The sun is setting over the village and you pause for a moment, listening to the silence in your chambers as golden light filters over your peoples’ homes. The buildings that had been destroyed in the attack three years ago have since been rebuilt even stronger than before, and from your desk, you can see the people milling about in the streets, enjoying the last bit of daylight before they retire.
Pushing back your chair, you stand, intent on finding Charlie so you can have her tell the kitchen maids that you’ll have your evening meal at the table in your chambers. You put the records book back in its place as you push the chair back from the desk, but then your eyes land on a small scrap of paper you hadn’t seen before. It’s neatly tucked under the edge of the candle holder. Frowning, you lift the candle and pick up the paper, inspecting it closely.
The creamy white paper has been torn from a larger one, leaving ragged edges. It’s thick, and the majority of the paper has been painted. It’s stiff and dry to the touch, too, and you wonder how long it’s been on your desk without you noticing. You’d just written letters to a good friend after breakfast, meaning that it had to have been placed since then.
You smile to yourself as you leave your chambers and walk toward the eastern halls of the castle with the giddiness of victory fluttering in your chest. You’ve walked this path countless times since your childhood, but during the war with Elcium, the battlefield had become your home. Coming back to live at Eryas Court felt strange at first, but it grew more and more natural with each passing day, and now it’s one of your favorite places to be.
The hall containing your study is lined with paintings, each one framed in a hand-carved frame created especially for it. Most of them are new, with frames so fresh that you can smell the scent of sawdust and curls of wood mixed with the smell of the fields that wafted in through open windows and doors.
The paintings’ subjects vary widely, from portraits to landscapes, but each one is just as beautiful as the last. Your favorite painting sits beside the door to your study. The portrait was painted by the same man who painted your parents shortly after their wedding. This painting, however, is of you and Samuel, only weeks after you’d had your own impromptu wedding in Ashela. You stop for a moment as you pass and admire it, just as you always do. No matter how many times you see it—no matter how many times you see him—the way the light is captured in Samuel’s eyes is your favorite part of the work. There is so much joy, patience, and love reflected in the brushstrokes that it almost feels impossible, especially when you know it was captured so soon after your marriage.
A guard is standing beside the door next to your study, and he bows his head as you approach. You smile and nod back at him before opening the door to your old study, then stepping inside and quietly closing the door behind you. Castiel murmurs a greeting when he sees you enter, but you barely look at him as you watch Samuel from the doorway.
He’s standing on the long wooden platform that had been constructed to give him the best view of the wildflower fields and the river. It’s a singular step above the rest of the room, and only big enough for his easel, a stool, and a table to holds his paints and brushes. The rest of the room reminds you of his painting room back in Ashela, though it also holds remnants of your own work before you’d moved to your father’s old study. Bookcases line the walls. Some of them are filled with books, while others hold art supplies, small canvases, and artifacts from Sam’s travels. King John had sent them shortly after repairs had begun in the village. You’ve spent hours upon hours inspecting the trinkets and gifts Sam has collected over the years, and listening to the stories he has for each and every one.
“I knew you would be here,” you say after a few seconds. You hold the painted scrap of paper in one hand as you approach the platform, then take your usual seat nearby.
The painting on the easel is half-finished. Sam’s been working on it for weeks now, and as Castiel finishes lighting the last few candles in the room, you admire the white froth he adds at the base of the waterfall centered on the canvas.
Sam pauses and considers his work, his brush paused in mid-air, before he sets it down in the wooden cup filled with water beside him. He turns his head to look at you, a small smile on his face. His eyes are full of mischief, and the flickering light of the candles makes him look even more merry.
"Did you?” he teases, knowing well that his study would have been the first place you’d checked during the game of hide-and-seek. He’d been nowhere to be found when you’d checked, meaning that he’d been moving, rather than hiding in one place. Clearly, you’d both followed different rules.
“I did,” you protest. You lift your chin a little in defiance, but you can’t help the small smile that breaks through your stubborn expression. “But you cheated.”
He grins now. “I did no such thing.” Sam pushes down the sleeves of his tunic as he steps down off the platform and approaches you. He stops within arm’s reach.
“I have proof,” you tell him. You hold up the scrap of paper. “This matches the paints you are using today, good sir, and I found it on my writing desk. It wasn’t there this morning, which means you—” you pause to poke a finger at him “—left wherever you were hiding to put it there, then come here.”
“And how do you know that it was me that painted it? Perhaps you have a secret admirer.”
“I would recognize your brushstrokes anywhere.”
His smile softens from amusement to fondness as he takes your free hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. His thumb runs over the back of your hand as he answers,
“I declare you the winner, then. You found me before dinner.”
Castiel leaves as Sam takes a seat beside you on the settee. He leans back against it with a sigh and stretches his legs out in front of him, fully relaxing. After a moment, you lean toward him to rest your head on his shoulder.
“Tomorrow begins spring,” Sam murmurs after you’ve sat in silence for a few minutes. He takes your hand and squeezes it.
You hum softly. “Yes.” You pause, then continue, “It will be three years since Elcium attacked our people.”
“Athos is stronger than it was then,” Sam says, and you lift your head to look at him. His head is tilted back, resting on the top edge of the settee’s high, cushioned back, and his eyes are closed.
“Why do you say that?”
“You had a nightmare last night,” he quietly replies. “You went back to sleep shortly after.”
You frown at him, then look down at the floor as you wrack your brain for the memory. “I don’t remember that. I haven’t had a nightmare in… months. Surely, I would remember…”
“You’ve been working so hard lately, I’m not surprised that you don’t remember. You fell back asleep after you told me what it was about, and after I reassured you that I was still there.”
You frown even more, and you shift in your seat, turning sideways so you can face him. Sam keeps his eyes closed.
“Was I afraid you wouldn’t be?” you ask him.
He opens his eyes and meets your gaze. “Yes. You were afraid that the Elciums had come back, and that they had taken me.”
Something in the back of your mind recognizes that thought. It’s a fear you’ve held closely over the past few months, as you near the anniversary of King Crowley’s attack. You didn’t realize just how much you’ve feared them returning, though you know it’s nothing more than the culmination of all the anxiety this time of year brings. You, like many others in Athos, suffer from wounds far deeper than doctors can heal.
“I’m sorry,” you murmur, looking away. “I must have woken you—“
Sam catches your chin in the crook of his finger, then guides you to look back at him. His expression is earnest, so much so that you want to look away almost immediately. It’s the same expression from the painting outside your study.
“I love you,” he says firmly. “You do not need to apologize. I have had many dreams just like yours.”
“You have?”
He nods. “Losing you is my greatest fear.” He squeezes your hand. “I would ride into a thousand battles for you, beloved.”
You squeeze his hand in return. “As would I.” You pause, then glance over your shoulder toward the windows that overlook the meadows.
“Something is still on your mind.”
Reluctantly, you look back at him and sigh. “You don’t think…”
“There are extra guards patrolling the villages, and along the eastern wall. They will take shifts for the next few days so that there is no moment left unwatched,” Sam reports.
“What?”
“You’re worried that they’ll come back, are you not?” he asks.
“I… Yes,” you admit. You hate that he’s read you so easily, though it’s truly one of the things you love most about him.
“They will not, Y/N, because they know that you will do anything to protect your people, and I know that you won’t rest until you know that they’re safe. I requested the guards on your behalf. It’s also why I searched you out today. The game was to help keep your mind off of the most distant possibilities.”
You close your eyes and lean forward, resting your forehead against Sam’s shoulder. His hand immediately comes to cradle the back of your head, and he gently strokes the hair there.
“Thank you,” you murmur, your shoulders sagging with relief. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been worrying about a potential attack until Sam mentioned the nightmare, but instead of just knowing about your fear, he’d taken care of it.
Sam strokes your hair until you lift your head again. The sun has long since set and you glance back at the windows, then squeeze the hand you’re still holding.
“Come, my love. We should eat,” you tell him, and he nods in response. You both stand, and you let Sam lead you out into the hallway, then to your shared chambers. You hadn’t requested the meal to be taken there, but when you open the door to find the small table laden with freshly cooked food, you’re not surprised. Sam is taking care of you, and the warmth that fills you at the thought is more satisfying than any meal could ever be.
Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.
I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.
If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi!
