Where Our Future Lies
Knight!Beleg x female!reader
A/N: I was not expecting to get all sentimental and long with this piece, even though it’s a favourite of mine because I get to write about knight Beleg. Yay!! Hope you all enjoy this piece as much as I did writing about it.
Warnings: female reader, royalty reader, knight Beleg, angst, mutual pinning, forbidden love, talks of marriage, mentions of elopement and children, talks of alternative futures and what ifs
Words: 3.1k
Synopsis: When marriage loomed around the corner and everything became suffocating, the sudden possibilities of another life with someone else who stood in the shadows arose. What would then become the future of you two, and would it be a reality?
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The sound of birds calling fluttered through the evening air. Their songs of love and yearning for a mate reached you from where you sat against the tree bark, still garbed in an attire too formal for a forest stroll. Yet, it matched the ambience of your emotion: sombre and hopelessness. The skies were painted vivid tints and tones of oranges, pinks and reds, small blotches of blue were still present amidst the colours of love—like a small beacon of light within the turmoil. It was hard not to given into the solemnity when most of the ambience mimicked your mood. There was barely any inspiration to lift you contemplative spell.
It further drove your thoughts into the one reason you escaped the palace walls—marriage.
Duty always came first in your line of responsibility, and that was the purpose behind the agreement to marry. He was good prince. Noble, fair, and respectful. Qualities impossible to come by when most princes were swallowed by vanity, egotism and pride. It was enough to move you towards accepting the request—for the sake of your people to sleep well at night and have their bellies filled with proper food.
Spiralling into another deep pit of thoughts, before you could plummet, the wind gently tugged at your gown. The embellishment shimmered under the rays of sunlight peaking behind the clouds, enough to attract a few magpies, and distract you. Reaching into your satchel for a few pumpkin seeds, you lightly scattered them to your left for the birds to eat. Soon enough, the melodic sounds had turned into shrieks, with the addition of a few snickers from you. However, it was enough to draw your attention back to the cliffside view of the settlement below, and at how calming it was to look at your people. Not an opportunity you often got the chance to experience, and when you did, it was never alone. You had the company of one who knew the people hearts and taught you how to read them.
You exhaled. This time, more wearisome than the last.
Tomorrow changes everything. But is it necessary? Must I—
“Your Highness.”
Your heart lurched at the sound of his voice, prompting you to swivel around and come face to face with the owner.
Beleg. A knight of the Royal Guards. Your knight.
Your heart clenched at the acknowledgement and at the heartbreak.
Sitting upright and forcing your lips to stretch into a smile, he further stepped out from the shade of the forest and took three strides to stand beside you—still at arm’s length. The sounds of his armour clunking, filled the opening. Hand on the pummel, the other at his side, a loose braid fell against his temple while his hair remained neatly braided down his back, and his silver and green armour. Silvery robes bellowing behind him, adding a regal touch to a man who served the nobles. And lastly, his face—still pleasant to look at, even when a frown marred it.
“Always one to disappear on the eve of ceremonies,” he announced with a small tug of his lips to break the ice.
Exhaling with raspberry, you rolled your eyes and lightly shook your head, returning your eyes to the village below. The reminder was like stabbing you with a rusty knife. You said nothing, not trusting your voice now that he was here. His presence only brought tightness to your throat as the looming sense of betrayal threatened to fill your heart and mind.
Taking your silence and lack of motion to address his comment, remained standing—at ease—while taking in the pinching of your brows and upturn of your lips. It was out of his line of duty to question or pry, and as a man of honour of duty, he chose to follow his vows and remain silent at your side. For as long at it took, even when the sky grew darker and the star twinkled overhead, he said nothing. Even while he quietly shuffled around the opening, assembling a small fire.
It didn’t matter how many twigs crackled, the silence that filled the void was loud, blaring in your ears like an announcer at the stands during the tourneys. And with Beleg here, quiet like his oath demanded him to be, your nerves picked at you. You didn’t know how long you could maintain your composure, or was your expression not enough to warrant concern from the one person you had hope it would trouble?
Clearing your throat, you worked up the courage to speak up. “Were you not to return with me?” you managed with a small, hoarse voice.
Lifting his head, his eyes peeling away from the swirls of red and orange, to face you, his expression was…serene. As though it was a scenario he was trained to face within his line of duty. “I thought it best to grant you a moment of peace.”
“Ah,” you breathed, not knowing whether to cry at the acknowledgement or laugh at the lack of concern.
Unsure of whether to genuinely cry, you bit your lower lip and looked at the fire. Inhaling, you opened your mouth to follow with another question but found yourself hesitating. The cliff winds tugged gently at your hair, carrying the smell of the fields below—fresh dew and earth and faint smoke drifting from distance villages. For a long while you let it be. At last, the though that had been gnawing at your chest broke free yet refusing to stay unspoken.
“Beleg,” you began softly, the sound of his name almost swept away by the breeze. He shifted slightly enough to show you he was listening. You toyed with the fabric of your gown in your lap, steadying your voice before you dared to continue. “What…what would your life be, if you were not a knight?”
He stilled. A heavy pause followed, as though he had been turned to stone. For a heartbeat you assumed he might pretend not to have heard, that he would cloak himself in more silence the way he had done so many times when feelings pressed too near. His jaw tightened, his throat worked once, and still no words came.
“I mean it,” you whispered confidently, turning your face towards him, though his eyes now avoided yours. “If you had never been bound to oaths or duty, if the crown had no claim on you…what then? What would you have chosen for yourself?”
You saw the hesitation in his body—the stiffness of his posture and flaring of his nostrils. “I…have never dreamed of such a dream,” he answered. “To do so…would be to invite folly.”
“But for me,” you urged softer. “Just once. For now… For me.”
At that, his head turned, and for a fleeting moment his eyes met yours. The flakes of gold within his forest green orbs were undeniably tender, as though all the things he had never spoke balanced on the cusps of that look. Then, as softly as he met your eyes, he looked away, towards the town below.
“…I suppose…I would find some patch of land. A cottage by the trees. Nothing grand, nothing gilded. Enough space for quiet, enough roof to keep the rain off. That would be enough.”
The vision was so simple that it made your chest ache with something bittersweet. It painted more warmth than all the splendour of the palace halls and awaited marriage. A smile ghosted your lips, though it trembled at the edges.
“And me?” you continued in a hush-hush tone, almost afraid to hear his opinion. “If we were not bound as knight and princess—if we were strangers who met by chance—would you still have sought me out?”
Immediately, he closed his eyes to shut out the vision that was blossoming out of that question. It cut him too deeply to imagine an alternative life. But when he finally responded, each word was carved out of the silence with care.
“…From the first moment we met, I would have sought you out. Always.”
You didn’t know whether to laugh or weep at the certainty in his voice. Instead, you turned you face back towards to the fire, trying to soften the tremor in your chest by spinning the threat further, drawing the dream out until it felt almost real.
“And in that cottage of yours,” you whispered slowly, “what would our days look like?”
He shifted as though the very thought unsettled his armour. “I would hunt and trade the furs. Perhaps mend bows and carve weapons from the bones or teach the village boys to string them true. That is work I know.”
“And I?” you pressed, half-teasing, half-yearning. “What task would I have, in your imagined life?”
Slowly, he released a breath that might have been a laugh, though it carried more ache than mirth. “You would tend your garden. Scatter flowers about the hearth. Keep bees, chickens and ducks, perhaps. And also scold me whenever I trampled mud through the door after a long day.”
That earned a small bubble of laughter from your throat, undoing the chokehold. “Scold you? Perhaps, but I would also spoil you instead—stews and roasts rich enough to make you soft, and bread warm from the oven until you grew lazy with it.”
For the first time that evening, his mouth curved into a true smile, and the shadows dancing on his face, vanished. “Then I would grow lazy, gladly.”
His smile lingered momentarily before fading, but its memory warmed you. The fantasy felt alive now, almost tangible, and you carried it further before silence could settle again.
“And children?” you ponder, much softer with inquisitive eyes and a pounding heart. “Would we have children, in this life of ours?”
He froze as if a bolt of lightning ran through him. For a moment, he said nothing, and you feared you had pressed too far. But then his shoulders eased and his voice, though strained, found its way to you.
“…If you wished it, yes. I would want to see you cradle them.”
Slowly, you felt the tears return, prickling the corners of your eyes and gathering at the entrance of your nostrils. “How many do you think?”
He gave a quiet, strangled laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as though the very idea left his unmoored. “…One would be enough.”
“Two,” you insisted, eyes brightening with the spark of life. “A boy and a girl. The boy with your eyes, the girl with my temper.”
“God save us,” he groaned softly, shaking his head as a reluctant smile touched him again.
Tranquillity had settled against between you both, broken only by the distant rustle of the forest and the wind that sighed through the grasses below the cliff. You wrapped your arms around your knees, leaning into the rough bark behind you, eye half-closed and ready to capture this moment of stillness forever. Seeing you shivering urged him to rise from his seat, unfastened his cloak and drape it over your figure, bundling you like a babe.
Offering a smile, you patted the ground next to you for him to sit instead of the valley between you two. And begrudgingly, he caved in with a defeated smile and sat himself beside you, shoulder bumping against yours, and fingers twitching to hold you.
Once he settled down, your thoughts slipped, unbidden, into daydreams—yet not of a crown or palace. “We could wander too, you know,” you muttered softly, almost as if afraid the words might drift away with the wind. “Go where no one knows us. No guards, no courtiers, no rules. Just…us. Sleeping beneath the stars, waking with the sun. And eventually building your dream.”
The faint clink of his armour accompanying the movement echoed with the turn of his head. There was an unreadable expression, somewhere between curiosity and absurdity. “You would leave your silks for the road? To live a life not suited to a royal?”
You laughed, turning your head in his direction, yet not meeting his eyes. “Correction. I would leave to live a life with you, gladly. You think me too delicate to trade satin for rough blankets and dusty roads?”
The sound of frogs croaking and crickets chirping filled the stillness created. A few twigs crackled and owls hooting joined the choir the longer you waited for a response, glancing at his twitching fingers and fidgeting boots. “Then I’d take you north, where the pines sing louder than the birds. You would head the snow cracking beneath your boots, taste the cold on your lips. Or east, to the sea. You’ve never seen it, have you?”
The admission slipped from you with a childlike tilt of your chin. “No, not at all.”
“Then you would.” His voice grew confident as if imagining built courage in him. “I would take you to the cliffs where the waves strike so hard they turn the air to mist. You’d stand on the rocks and stretch your hands wide, and gulls would wheel above your head like a crown.”
You grinned at him—wistful, aching—and leaned into him, resting your head upon his shoulder, feeling him grow stiff. “And you’d keep me safe?”
Easing the tension in his body at the recognition of duty, he tilted his head to rest upon yours. “Always.”
His words lingered in the air, more binding than an oath spoken before kings, more intimate than a caress. You swallowed hard, realising the ache in your chest was not just sorrow—it was longing, sharp and tender, for a life painted in dreams you could never live.
“What if we left right now?” you spewed out, without a second thought.
Beleg’s head sharply jerked away from yours, his brows knitting together as he attempted to fathom your suggestion.
“What if we simply went? Right now, tonight. No more vows, no more duties—just you, me and the life you envisioned?”
“Do not tempt me so,” he choked out, voice so raspy, one would swear he was being tormented. His body felt stiff like a bowstring under your touch. The hard lines of disciple were still there—the knight’s restraint, the soldier’s control—but beneath them lay something rawer, his eyes darkening with unspoken ache.
“I am not tempting,” you reassured. “I am asking.”
Drawing in a deep breath, he shut his eyes for a moment as though the sight of you was too much to bear. His fingers flexed against his knees, curling into fists before he forced then still. “If I were only a man,” he whispered hoarsely, “I would. Without hesitation, without thought. I would carry you from these walls and never look back.” His voice finally cracked, and when he opened his eyes again, they shone in the swirls of the flames with a torment you had never seen. “Alas, I am not a man. I am your knight. I am sworn.”
The words sank heavy into you, yet you pushed anyway, your heart was desperate for the truth you already knew. “And you love me too much to let me throw away my crown.”
“…To not let you throw away comfort and a safe life, aye.”
The urge to cry welled up, but you swallowed the lump building in your throat, clinging instead to the sight of him—his broad shoulders stiff with tension, his jaw clenched against all he wanted to say and could not. For a fleeting moment you imagined yourself rising, taking his hand, and fleeing into the shadows of the forest. But you stayed rooted, because you knew he would never allow it—not for his sake, but for yours.
And that perhaps, hurt most of all.
“Beleg,” you murmured with what little confidence you gathered once more, still not enough to hide the tremble, “after tomorrow…what becomes of us?”
The question hung there, suspended between you like a blade poised above both your hearts. You heard the faint hitch in his breath, saw the way his jaw tightened before he closed his eyes for the briefest instant. “I remain,” he uttered calmly, too calmly. “At your side as I always have.”
Words that meant to reassure, cut instead. A sad laugh slipped from you, sharp and broken, because you heard all the things he would not say—I remain, though not as yours. I remain, though my heart will bleed for it. You turned your face away, unable to look at him as tears already burned at the corner of your eyes.
“Even…” you sighed, feeling the weight of your words cracking your voice, “even if it tears you apart?”
For a heartbeat, he did not answer, and you feared that your question might have crushed him into silence. Then, in the dark, his hand shifted ever so slightly that you could the feel the warmth radiating from it. “Better me than you.”
You let out another sound that was half a sob and half a laugh. “Fool of a knight,” you whispered, though the words lacked the bite. They trembled with affection, heavy with grief. “Tell me truthfully…do you think we would have been happy in that life we spoke of?”
For once he did not hesitate, nor did he allow the stillness to swallow his honesty. His answer was not drawn out or uncertain. He was positive.
“I do not think,” he answered, “I know.”
Something in you fractured at those words. You bit down hard against the rising tide in your chest, but tears slipped past regardless, catching the moonlight as they fell. Your let out a trembling breath, and when you blinked, one tear trickled down your cheek. Instinctively, his hand lifted slowly, uncertainly, as if he crossed a boundary he had sworn never to face with a tenderness so gentle, it undid you entirely.
Neither of you spoke after that. The silence that followed was loud enough with all the words you had never said, with all the possibilities that would never come to pass. Above you, the stars shone brightly with a mock to the eternal dream you had dared to weave. At last, he broke the tranquillity. “Where our future lies,” he murmured with a gaze that never left yours, “I cannot say. But wherever it is, I will be there.”
And though tomorrow loomed with the vows that would sever you from this fragile dream, you held onto his words, clutching them like a promise, like a secret, like a lifeline.
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