Long Forgotten Fairytale, Chapter 2 (Shamrock x reader, soft yandere)
18+ MDNI | on Ao3
The other chapter
TW: canon typical violence, slavery. Here Sham and reader are literal children. There will be NSFW elements later on when they are older.
With every day that passed Shamrock was increasingly pleased and more certain in his decision to not kill his slave girl. It had been about six months and Shamrock had come to expect your presence during his daily life, not remembering what it had been like before there was always someone waiting to fulfill his every whim. He couldn’t believe he had killed so many servants before you when having someone who knew his daily routines was much more convenient. It didn’t hurt that you were a little bit pretty as well - in that raw, unpolished way that slaves sometimes were. You weren’t much to look at but you were better looking than the male slaves he had before, he supposed.
Wherever he went, you trailed along behind him like a dog and adjusted the smaller matters to his liking. But more than just anticipating his needs, you observed as he excelled in everything he set his mind to. He had even told you which window to watch out of as he sparred his opponents so you’d be able to have the best view of him when he was outside the castle. Shamrock always felt he performed better while he was sure you were watching, something in him desiring you to see him at his best. Your presence in his daily routines was irreplaceable, Shamrock decided. He liked your fastidiousness and attention to detail as you polished his armor, made his bed, and brought him refreshments, but the task he enjoyed you completing most was brushing his long hair.
He enjoyed feeling your fingers in his hair as your soft voice told him about his own exploits. One time as he watched you gently brush his red hair, his mind wandered to thoughts of his mother doing the same while he sat on her lap many years prior. He must have been much younger since he couldn’t really remember his mother’s face any longer, just the feel of her long fingers roaming through his hair, wavy like her own… Shamrock abruptly stood up and quickly shoved that memory to the back of his mind. Shamrock saw the minute flinch of your shoulders, nearly undetectable to the untrained eye, and frowned. Over the months you’d spent in his service, he had picked up on a few of your mannerisms.
“Perhaps I should cut off my hair like my br- like others do,” Shamrock said by means of apology. He wouldn’t apologize - that would be unthinkable - but he meant to show you he wasn’t upset with your actions. As he spoke, Shamrock looked over his image in the mirror. Everyone told him that he made a fine young man but whenever he saw himself he could only see his father.
“As you wish, Young Master,” was your reply. Shamrock had grown adept in understanding the true meanings behind your words in addition to your non verbal communication. “As you wish” was your method of disagreeing with him while not suggesting your real opinion.
“Speak true,” Shamrock demanded, already annoyed at the extra time it would take to get the truth out of you. He had been trying to get you to tell him your thoughts and opinions over the course of months but you were reluctant to ever speak your mind. Since the math incident and consequent tutoring, he knew you were smart and could think for yourself so it bothered him that he had to constantly dig for your opinions.
“Your hair is beyond compare, Young Master,” you said, looking at its length in the mirror while running your fingers through the section you’d just tenderly brushed. His overgrown bangs hung in his eyes, obscuring his vision, while the longer sections in the back hung in loose waves. He was the only remaining member of his family with long, wavy hair and something in his heart wanted to keep it that way.
“These front bits irritate me during battle, they fly into my eyes,” Shamrock griped, pushing his bangs back from his face. He wished you would resume your brushing but felt pathetic asking you for it directly.
“Perhaps I could style it for you, Young Master? Would you allow me the honor?” you asked in a hushed whisper. You were so fearful that someone would overhear you and slay you on the spot, Shamrock thought, as if he’d allow such a thing. No, it would be too time consuming to train another how he liked his tea, when he liked to read in the East library and where in the West, and how he liked his armor polished. It was better that you were kept alive, even if only for his own convenience.
Shamrock settled back down in the chair in front of the mirror and watched as your deft fingers braided the front section back, tying his hair into a half ponytail. His face was framed by some of the longer sections but overall the results were pleasing to the eye. He considered himself in the mirror and turned his head to the side to view the results. He shook his head vigorously but not a hair fell out of place.
“Is it to your liking, Young Master?” you asked, still hovering behind him. Shamrock noted your lips pressed together as your hands gripped the hairbrush tightly. He hadn’t struck you since the first days of your time together so he didn’t understand why you cowered so much around him.
“Yes, very good. I shall keep it this way for the time being. See to it that you style it this way for me daily,” Shamrock declared, crossing his legs. You didn’t smile at him but your face relaxed, which Shamrock supposed was good enough. Maybe one day he’d see a smile - not that he cared, he was simply tired of seeing your fear on your face. You nodded and Shamrock had worn his hair in that style since that day.
Despite the overwhelming success of his idea to keep you alive, there were some bumps in the road. At first you were living - well, he wasn’t sure exactly - but he moved you to the empty closet adjacent to his room. You had gone off to fetch him a snack one night and had taken a few minutes too long for his liking. Sighing, he left his room as a strange feeling settled over his chest. Grabbing his sword, he set off in the general direction he watched you sometimes take as you carried away his meal trays.
Walking down the shadowy hallway, Shamrock heard the tinkling of small bells. No, that wasn’t quite right, it wasn’t bells, it was something lighter - some sound Shamrock was sure he hadn’t heard before. Coming up to a turn in the hall, Shamrock peered around the corner to see what was making the happy noise. It was you, laughing into your hand as a boy slave near your own age said something close to your ear. You were carrying his food on a tray with your hands while the slave continued to sully your hearing with his words. Even though his gut burned with hatred, Shamrock made no move. He wanted to hear the sound again, the kind of sound he’d never heard you make in his presence.
The slave said something else to you, making you gasp in false outrage while a smile flitted across your face. You slapped the boy’s chest with one hand and pushed him away lightly, taking the tray in both hands once more as you moved down the hall closer to Shamrock. The boy watched you leave as his eyes looked you up and down. Shamrock made a note of his characteristic features - a missing pinky on the left hand, a birthmark on the neck - for justice to be meted out later. Shamrock stepped back into the shadows where the light of the lamps did not reach and awaited your approach. Shamrock’s frown deepened the longer he had to wait for you to pass as he replayed you touching the other slave over and over in his mind, the sound of your laugh mocking him in his memory.
You hurried along but as you passed, Shamrock’s arm shot out and grabbed your elbow, his grip unrelenting as he spun you to face him. The silver tray dropped to the stone floor with as clatter as you sucked in a breath, not calling out like he had expected you to. Your body was chilled through your thin dress, goosebumps lining your skin as Shamrock gave you an assessing look. He didn’t have to say anything as you withered beneath his gaze, pressing your hands and lips together, your body shaking with anticipation of his next actions. The silence grew heavy as Shamrock refused to speak to you while the laws dictated you could not address him. He saw beads of sweat lining your brow as you worried over the consequences of your actions.
“I should kill you both,” Shamrock hissed at you, making your shoulders visibly shake. Shamrock knew he should kill you for wasting his time, for leaving him waiting while you had fun with another slave. You didn’t answer but ducked your head, awaiting the blow that would end your life. You didn’t beg or plead, just waited until Shamrock passed his judgement over you. And yet his hand rested on the pommel of his sword rather than gripping it as displeasure washed over him. He turned on his heel and you followed, the silence between you deafening. You were safe, he wasn't going to kill you. The boy, on the other hand, Shamrock would have to think of a suitable punishment for touching what was his.
After that night Shamrock had changed your living situation. He didn’t want other slaves near you when he wasn’t witness to the interaction, pulling sounds from you he’d never heard and could not get you to replicate. It was preposterous to think that you’d have any kind of relationship with anyone else when the only person you needed to care about or for was himself. It almost felt like when one of his favored horses accepted another rider but worse, like the horse itself had selected another rider. It wasn’t a feeling Shamrock was used to and he certainly didn’t want to be accustomed to it either.
When he had told you that you’d be moving closer to his room, you had brought your meager belongings - another dress and a thin blanket - with you one morning after he’d commanded you to relocate. You stood in the middle of his empty closet, shifting your weight on your feet on the carpeting. Your face wasn't displaying any kind of emotion other than the general fear he'd long come to expect when you were faced with new situations.
“Well? Is it not enough?” Shamrock scoffed. Yes, it was a closet but it had windows and a door and even a small half bath. Surely that would be good enough for someone like you.
“It is magnificent, Young Master,” you said, clutching your things to your chest tighter.
“Have the rest of your belongings brought up by evening, I don’t want you sleeping out elsewhere again.”
“You have blessed me, thank you Young Master,” you said, moving towards him and sinking to your knees. You bowed your head to him with tears running down your face, shaking slightly with the effort to keep yourself from crying aloud. Shamrock’s face was impassive but in truth, he was confused. He closed the distance between you and extended his hand, not exactly sure what he was going to do. Perhaps pat your head like a favored dog? He’d never comforted anyone but he didn’t like the tears on your face - though he couldn’t place why. It didn’t bother him when the slaves he fought on the battlefield cried for mercy, it only annoyed him further.
You reached out with your own smaller hands and fervently kissed the back of his gloved hand, causing Shamrock to snatch it back out of shock. He had seen favored female slaves do such things before, it wasn’t completely out of the question, but he hadn’t expected the gesture from you. His heart pricked with a small pang of regret as you rocked back on your heels and hung your head. He almost extended his hand again to see if you would repeat your action but he decided against it.
The next morning, you awoke him as you normally did by opening the shades to his room. After getting him ready for the day and strapping him into his armor for his battle practice, Shamrock poked his head into the closet and was surprised to see it still empty. Turning on his heel towards you, you took a step back away from him as you avoided eye contact. He grabbed you by the upper arm but kept his fingers light to prevent further bruising. He saw bruises where he gripped you roughly the night before and he found it gauche, as if it said he ruled you by force.
“I ordered you to have the rest of your belongings brought up. Where is your bed? Your pillows and blankets? Did you defy me and sleep in the slave quarters once more?” Your eyes were wide and you shook your head furiously as Shamrock waited for your answer.
“I have no other belongings, Young Master. I stayed in the room as you commanded, I would never defy you.” Shamrock’s ire was sated but he looked at the empty closet. The thin blanket you’d brought with you was folded neatly on the floor and your change of clothing was placed next to it. Even though the floor was carpeted in the finest, plushest, ruchest carpet available in the world, you would be able to perform your duties better if you slept well. It wasn't that Shamrock cared about your needs, he only cared about how diligently you were able to work for him.
“Have a cot brought up. Pillow and thick blanket too. I shall be locking you in at night,” he decided, turning away from the closet.
Though Shamrock tolerated your presence at all times, he enjoyed most when you spoke to him in soft tones at night before he went to sleep. You told him about all the amazing things he’d done during the day, never failing to highlight the incredible way he fought or how he’d gotten difficult math problems correct after you’d explained them to him once or twice. But sometimes conversation shifted to other topics. At times you told him some mild gossip about the servants but the best was when he convinced you to share some of the fantastical stories the slaves told among themselves. He couldn’t outright demand them from you, you denied that the slaves spoke to one another at all. Instead he asked you for a story, something to relieve his mind of its burdens and after a few moments you would always acquiesce, unable to deny his requests. He wasn’t sure if they were all from other slaves or if you made up some of them yourself but he heartily enjoyed them all either way. The stories soothed him until he was able to calm his own mind, after which he locked you in your closet and fell fast asleep with the knowledge that you’d be waiting for him the following morning.
Under the glow of the candle, you sat at the end of his bed and told him story after story, each more marvelous than the last. There were bold, brave knights who fought to save beautiful maidens, dashing sword fights, self driving horse carriages, lands with no water at all, treasures, fairies, evil Kings and Queens, and monsters beyond his wildest imagination. Yes, he liked them all, but the one he favored the most was one about a cursed prince who had been turned into a hideous beast. The Beast locked away a beautiful maiden in his castle, keeping her as prisoner with him in his loneliness. In order to break the curse, the Beast had to get the maiden to fall in love with him, meanwhile the Beast’s estranged brother was planning on slaying the beast, unaware that the Beast was the transformed Prince. The two fought to the death but the maiden’s love for the Beast saved him in the end and they lived happily ever after. Shamrock had made you tell it so many times he practically knew it by heart himself, though he enjoyed it when you told him the story time and time again.
“You’ve forgotten the part about the maiden falling in love with the Beast,” Shamrock complained one night as you told him the story again at his request. You paused in your telling and looked at him. He’d gotten you to look at him, though not in the eyes of course, since it bothered him when you looked away when you spoke.
“Young Master does not favor that section of the story, you prefer the sword fights with the Beast’s brother. I do not mean to bore you, Young Master,” you said quietly. Shamrock exhaled sharply through his nose.
“I like all the parts of the story. Yes, I like when the Beast fights his brother and slashes his face with his claws but I also like when the maiden finally falls in love with him while trapped in his castle. She’s weak to his charms, enthralled by his strength and action.”
“She falls in love with his kindness for her,” you replied in a steady voice. “He shows her he isn’t a Beast like she thought, that he has no charms where she is involved. He could be cruel to her, she is at his mercy but instead he helps her. He shows her the library and lets her read at her leisure. He feeds her fine foods and values her intelligence, the feature about herself she likes most. That’s why she loves the Beast, not his battle prowess,” you said, looking back down at the floor. Shamrock was silent as he digested your words. He was almost sure you were saying something else, but the meaning was just beyond his grasp. You sat in silence, waiting for Shamrock’s next command.
“In any case, do not skip any parts of the story. I enjoy them all,” he declared, setting his hands behind his head.
“Yes, Young Master.”
Yes, Shamrock had made the right decision in not killing you. He began bringing you outside to his fighting lessons and subsequent matches, both to tend to his needs as well as to watch his prowess. The first time he had brought you, it had been a cold and windy day, the breeze nipping at him even through his many layers. The grounds were muddy from the previous day’s rain and the cold wet slop seemed to penetrate every seam and pore. In between bouts, he looked over to ensure you were watching him as he struck down his foes.
What he saw displeased him immensely - you were shivering as the wind whipped your hair out of your face, your feet covered nearly to the knee in mud. You were wearing the same thin house clothes you wore every day, and likely the same slippers as well. Your fingers were blue from cold and even though your eyes were trained on the battlefield, they were red rimmed and your cheeks shiny. You must have felt Shamrock looking over at you because you dropped your gaze to your feet.
Shamrock nearly lost his next match.
The next day you dutifully followed Shamrock outside, but this time dressed in a thick wool dress and leather boots, complete with a padded jacket and gloves. No one commented on your change in clothing - who would dare? - and Shamrock was able to concentrate on his opponents now that he didn’t have to hear your sniffling. Shamrock defeated more slaves than ever before, his sword dripping with blood by the time his matches were over.
That night, you once more appeared before Shamrock to tell him a story, but somehow you weren’t with him. You were physically there but the light had gone from your eyes, the deadened state so similar to other slaves he had seen. You told him his exploits as before but usually once you started telling you would add details and use your hands to craft the story into something fantastic that he could picture in his mind's eye. But tonight your hands sat in your lap as your dull voice told him about the slaves he had slain on the training field. After a few moments, Shamrock stopped you with a wave of his hand.
“What is the matter with you?” Shamrock rebuked you, his tone more irritated than he truly felt. He was tired from the day’s training but he couldn’t let you think that your behavior was acceptable.
“I apologize, Young Master. Please let me know the justice -”
“No, no. Speak true,” Shamrock said, wanting to cut to the heart of the matter immediately. You remained silent as you wet your lips with your tongue.
“Was I not impressive today?” Shamrock prodded. He had been proud of his techniques, it would be a shame if you didn’t think the same.
“You were amazing as always, Young Master,” you stated while picking at your nails.
“Then why are you so…small?” Shamrock couldn’t think of a word that would describe the way you were folded into yourself. Every Celestial Dragon was loud and big and proud but now you looked like a gentle breeze could carry you off into the night.
“I am a slave, Young Master.” Shamrock scoffed - you were always speaking in circles, your meaning elusive as you tried to avoid his wrath.
“Of course you are a slave, you are my slave, lest you forget. Now tell me before I anger, what is the matter with you?”
“You fought many slaves this afternoon and defeated them all, Young Master. I…I knew some of them well,” you said in a quiet voice. A single tear ran down your cheek and Shamrock impulsively reached out to touch it. You startled and jerked back, your doleful eyes brimming with tears. Shamrock was unmoved by your tears, he wasn’t upset he had killed the slaves but…
“I am done with you for the night, I am too tired to hear of my exploits. Be gone to your quarters,” Shamrock demanded, turning over to face away from you. The bed dipped as you stood up and hovered near the bed.
“Praised be your name, Young Master,” you said with a deep bow as you padded to the closet. Shamrock stood up to lock you in for the night, following behind you. Shamrock lingered by the doorway and watched you settle onto the small cot on the floor. He was about to shut the door and lock you in when a thought came to him.
“I am in need of tougher opponents on the battlefield; slaves are below my current level of ability. They are no challenge for me, I slay them too easily. I will have masters in various martial arts brought to train under instead. Tomorrow begins a new style of regimen for me and I expect your presence on the field to observe.” Shamrock did not look at your face as he shut the door and turned the key in the lock.
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