#echenmarch

[keebin]

Untitled cutesy thing for Echenmarch

Title: Untitled

Fandom: Echenmarch!

Words: 725

Warnings: None really, slight nsfw (but not really)

Comments: God I really really needed a break in essay-writing so I did this in Skype in like 15 or 20 minutes. I was gonna go back and edit it and polish it up but I really do not have the energy to and there's a certain kind of charm to it being more impulsive and less polished (this is not me being lazy I swear). Also inspired by Tinycrown's incredible shibari drawing here

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It's long past dark, and most of the castle is asleep as Ameil leads Maelic down to the throne room. Their footsteps echo through the empty halls: Ameil's light and purposeful, Maelic's louder and heavier and loyal, falling in time with his prince's gait. "Are you really sure we should be doing this?" Maelic asks, as Ameil drapes himself over his ceremonial seat. It's not as grand as his father's throne, but since Lisette is the heir apparent it's not his place to sit there. He wouldn't want it, anyway; his own, smaller seat is more suited to his slight frame, and that's where he arranges himself as Maelic looks on in slight trepidation. "We won't be here for long," Ameil responds, slinging his right leg over the arm of the chair. He scoots around, shifting to a more comfortable position, and beckons Maelic forward. Maelic obeys, as he always does, letting the bundle of red rope uncoil and slink to the floor. He follows the end of the rope as he kneels, looking up between Ameil's legs, hands hesitating at the left ankle pressed against the leg of the throne. "You're sure this is okay?" He asks, one more time. Ameil gives him a curt nod, and that's all the encouragement Maelic needs. He winds the rope around his Prince's ankle, tight enough to keep his leg firmly bound, but loose enough that if a late-night snack desire hit anybody, it would be easy enough to remove. Ameil's breath is steady even as Maelic finishes with his left leg and stands up. The next section of rope winds around his arms - a few times around his forearms, pinning them to his hips, and then a few times around his upper arms, so his elbows are snug against his ribs. Maelic looms over him as he ties, and in the emptiness of the room Ameil can feel his knight's breath quickening. He remains calm and complacent even as the knots tighten and the ropes are digging into his skin against the fabric of his nightshirt. Then Maelic runs the end of a rope along the inside of his thigh and Ameil squirms, a very faint blush spreading to his cheeks even as his mouth remains in a collected frown. The ropes go around his thighs and calf easily enough, tying under his knee. But the final piece of rope has nowhere to really tie to; instead, Maelic wraps it around his ankle a few times, just for the feel of the rope against his skin. He ties a slipknot around Ameil's dangling ankle, and pulls the rope up so that the prince's knee slips higher along the arm of the throne, the space between his thigh widening.  "What do you plan to do with me now that you have me here?" Ameil asks, and it comes out as a petulant purr. "I don't know," Maelic admits. It was originally Ameil's idea; Maelic had just expanded and collaborated on it. And now here they are and what should he do with the prince tied to his throne? "Maybe I'll just leave you here." "You wouldn't dare," Ameil says. He frowns some more and his eyes narrow and he gives Maelic a defiant look fron under his blond hair. "It's tempting," Maelic responds with a laugh. He pulls on the end of the rope in his hand and Ameil's legs spread a little farther and he slides down into the chair a little bit more. Maelic steps forward, rests his knee against Ameil's groin, and leans in for a kiss. Ameil obliges him, and when their lips separate Maelic leans down and engulfs the smaller frame against the hard line of his body. He sighs into his prince's neck, leans down, and undoes the rope holding the ankle to the leg of the chair. In one easy motion, Maelic picks up Ameil and carries him, ropes and all, back to their room in the tower. His footsteps fall loud and purposeful against the floors, loud enough to cover the lighter sound of a princess stepping out from the kitchen. She jots something down on a handy piece of parchment, smiles, and returns as well to her bed and lover. The end

[keebin]

More Red Prince Stuff

I can't sleep but I am exhausted so this is probably going to be pretty out of character I'm gomen

Words: 1025

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The news didn't take long to reach Lisette, but even though she'd ridden as fast as she could to the area of conflict, by the time she arrived at the small village it was already burning. For a second, Lisette paused, afraid that she'd arrived too late, but then she was springing into action, grabbing a bucket and heading to the small stream nearby. From the smell alone, she figured that this bucket was usually used as a chamber pot, but there was no time to clean it out or find a new one.

"Fetch some water! Help me put this out!" She snapped at her escort, which had just caught up. She handed the bucket off to one of the knights and ran into the village instead, a sleeve over her nose.

"Hello?" She called out, voice rising as she reached the village square. "Is there anybody here?"

A red raven cloaked in fire flew through a broken wall, cackling as he held in his talons a particularly expensive-looking ring.

"You'll find no one here, Queen of Echen," The raven said, admiring the ring. It seemed that even ravens of the fae could hardly resist the allure of something shiny.

"So the villagers have evacuated? Are any of them wounded?"

The raven cackled. "I claimed nothing of that sort. You are late, Lady Ruler, but you were late by the time you heard the news. At this point, the centaurs are simply cleaning up." He flew to a large building, perching on the edge of its burning roof. "If you wish to collect what remains of your people, you'll want to put this one out quick."

Again, the split-second of hesitation. But Lisette had little reason to distrust the raven; they had always been a very neutral species. Lisette couldn't remember ever having to settle a quarrel with the ravens, and this one in particular seemed little threatened by her presence. It had, after all, already gotten what it wanted.

"Over here!" Lisette called to her knights. "Focus on this building; there may still be people trapped inside!"

When she looked back to the raven, it had already flown off. One of the knights appeared beside her, a bucket of water in his hands. The same one that she'd handed off, actually.

"Sir Maelic," Lisette greeted him, as he threw the water into the blaze. It didn't seem to make much of a difference.

Maelic looked at the bucket, then back to the stream. A few more knights were straggling to the square with their own buckets, and the building creaked and crackled. 

"There's no time," Maelic said, setting the bucket down. He grabbed a full one from a fellow knight and charged at the door with his shoulder.

The door crumbled away easily, probably far more easily than Maelic had been expecting. He stumbled through the doorway, throwing the water in an arc in front of him as fire surged through the opening. Lisette passed his empty bucket to another knight, watching the door with vigilance. If he didn't appear soon, she was probably going to go in after him.

Which, it seemed like she was going to have to. She frowned and marched towards the door, ignoring the protests of her escort. Like Maelic, she grabbed a bucket of water to clear an entryway for herself.

Before she could walk into the building, but after having thrown the water, an armored figure stepped outside. Maelic had a grimace on his face as he carried with him a young child, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, and Lisette dropped the bucket at her feet as images of her younger brother flashed through her head.

"Ameil?" She whispered, even though she knew that at this point, he'd have to be older. Maybe only a little bit younger than Sir Maelic, himself. She would've stayed frozen there, but Maelic grabbed her around the shoulders as he passed by, pushing her to safety. Lisette's feet didn't want to work as she looked at the blonde child in Sir Maelic's grip. Somehow, she made it back outside.

Seconds later, the roof crumpled under its own weight, the supports eaten away by the flame. Lisette was hopeful, but practical: if there HAD been anyone alive that Sir Maelic left behind, there probably wasn't now.

"I'm sorry, your Grace," Maelic said, setting the boy's body down near her. Behind them, the fires still crackled and the knights were yelling to one another, and water splashed and sizzled. But to Lisette the world was a vacuum; she could barely even hear Sir Maelic. "I could only recover one body, the others were already half-burnt. They were all like this, though."

He moved the boy's arms away from his face and torso, and again Lisette saw a flash of her brother's face, petulant and angry. And then it was gone, and she was looking at the glassy stare of a village peasant. His stomach had been torn out. Almost certainly the centaurs' doing.

"Shall I seek reparations from the centaur tribe, your Grace?" Sir Maelic was asking her. Lisette shook her head. This was the third village destroyed in as many months, and it would likely not be the last. She was tired of waiting and reacting. She was tired of being late.

"We need to stop this at its source. Somebody is instigating these attacks, despite our efforts to mediate."

"Shall I send a team to investigate?"

"That won't be necessary, Sir Maelic."

Lisette leaned down and closed the dead boy's eyes. The sound was slowly draining back into the world. Over the roar of the chaos, she could hear, even from over a year ago, the rumors of a blood-mouthed diplomat with a double-edged tongue wandering the woods. She had wanted nothing more in her world of magic and fae for those stories to be wild fantasy. She hoped, even as she gave Sir Maelic his next assignment, that they were nothing but gossip.

[keebin]

Red Prince AU drabble

Words: 664

Fandom: Echenmarch, Red Prince AU

Gosh I love this AU it's so cool. *_* I have been doing a lot of self-indulgent writing recently so I want to get back into the habit of writing for people it's a lot of fun.

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Angry hooves crashed against the stone road, setting small sparks underneath the centaur leader's feet. The village elder grimaced, but did not tremble. This was not her first dealing with this clan; Sebold had been angrier before, his people more indignant. With some careful deliberation, particularly with the help of the young, frail man who had appeared in the midst of their conflict like smoke, this could be resolved peacefully.

"Did you call me out here just to justify your desecration of our sacred grounds, Lynessi?" Sebold snapped, irritable. One of his hooves scraped against the road in disdain.

"I decided the meeting place," The young man finally spoke, walking in a small circle on the road. "This is a neutral ground to settle the conflict." His voice was firm, though toneless. He reminded Lynessi of an aristocrat, maybe even of royal blood. Not the Sylveri line, though - that family was known for their silver tongues and inspiring charisma. This young man may have been commanding, but his tongue was blood-red and his words carried the weight of finality, not compromise. 

"Why are you mediating OUR dispute, anyway?" Sebold asked. "Who are you?"

"I was told that an impartial third-party was desired in order to pass the fairest judgement. I was also told that anything suggested by this village had little weight with your clan." 

Sebold let out a harrumph and an impatient trot in place. "So pass judgement, blood-mouthed human. You've heard the testimony."

Lynessi looked at the young man and wondered why she'd thought this was a good idea. This interloper had never lived in the village, and surely wouldn't understand the struggles and starvation leading to hunting in the centaur's lands. But he was still human, and surely he would have sympathy for a small village that had a rough harvest. After all, he'd managed to convince her to let him intercede in the first place.

At last, just as Sebold was about to set sparks again, the young man spoke. "The boundary lines of the holy grounds have been in place for centuries. Everyone in the village knew about this, and the trespass violated several previously-established agreements between the village and the clan."

Lynessi nodded. "Of course, we would be willing to pay reparations for the damage done. We have little livestock now, but come Spring there will be a new batch of young foals and cattle. Sebold, if you prefer crops - "

"The animals you are offering are hardly compensation for desecration, especially of a spiritual and culturally significant site." The young man interrupted. "What is the centaur punishment for killing the creatures in the holy grounds?"

Sebold gripped the spear in his hands, hooves flat against the road. "Anyone who partakes in consuming a sacred beast has their stomach removed and placed back into the earth."

Lynessi turned white, remembering how Sebold's clan, crying for blood, had barged in on the village's feast. In a community as small as theirs, nobody was denied the spoils of the hunt. The children ate first.

"You can't let them do that," she said to the young man. He looked back at her with even eyes. "You'll doom the entire village."

"That's hardly my decision," he said, in response. Behind him, Sebold was already sending a messenger back to their clan grounds. By sunset, they'd have razed the famine-weakened village.

"Please," Lynessi begged, fingers gripping the young man's cloak.

"Let go," he commanded, and her grip turned weak. The fabric slipped through her fingers. The young man turned and went back into the forest, his footsteps so light they barely left marks in the foliage. She'd thought from his movements that he was like smoke; now she realized that he was stone, solid and unwavering and logical and cold. She fell to the road and despaired as hoofbeats sent up sparks around her and wondered if he was human at all.

[wodnesse]

I FINISHED IT. transparent version too ; w ;

god i bet the full size is gonna look awful thanx tumblr

[keebin]

Ameil Likes It When People Are Cute About Him (Especially Knights)

Title: Ameil Likes It When People Are Cute About Him (Especially Knights)

Words: 984

Warnings: None

Fandom: Echenmarch!!

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Most of the other knights regarded him with a distant respect, and Ameil honestly preferred this. But there was one young knight who would snap to attention the second Ameil walked into the grounds, and that was cute. He also always had his friend near, which was even better.

The young knight's name was Brinnly; his friend, Levine. Ameil only knew this because Maelic knew this, and even though Maelic also knew exactly what Ameil had in mind he wouldn't withheld information like that. Ameil's title might have been Royal Ambassador, but he was still the prince, and Maelic was still obedient. 

"Good day, Sir Brinnly and Sir Levine," Ameil said, a smile on his face.

"Good day, Ambassador," Levine responded. He gave a small bow. Distant respect, just as it was supposed to be. Just as Ameil liked it, usually.

"Good - Good day sir!" Brinnly eventually said, straightening his back even more and staring at some point off to Ameil's left. His ears turned bright red as his face flushed. Now that, that was cute, and that was why Ameil was here.

"Sir Brinnly, are you well?" Ameil asked, a concerned look on his face. He reached up and gently placed the back of his hand on the flustered knight's cheek. "You are very flushed. Are you sick?"

Off to the side, Levine smiled as his friend's coloration turned deeper. He must have heard about this from the older knights, or perhaps one of Ameil's previous victims. No matter, the prince was having enough fun with the youth before him.

"I'm f-fine, Ambassador! Really! You don't need to - to worry about me, I'm fit as a sunny summer's day!"

Ameil arched an eyebrow, moving the back of his hand to Brinnly's forehead. "You're burning up with fever. I wouldn't want such a fine, young knight to fall ill."

"It's just, um, the temperature, Ambassador." Brinnly stammered as a bead of sweat dripped down his face. It had been a beautifully temperate day, and it was almost sundown. Even just standing out here, Ameil could feel the temperature slowly dropping.

"Hm, if you're overheating like this from mild temperatures, perhaps it is a magical effect." Ameil wiped up the sweat bead, rubbing it between his middle finger and his thumb. He squinted at it and sniffed it and made small humming sounds to himself. "Perhaps you've offended a fey of fire, and this is her revenge. Or perhaps you've accidentally eaten the petals of a Sun Lily, and you're having a bad reaction to it. Regardless, neither are good things, and you should come with me so I may diagnose and treat your ailment."

"Ambassador," Levine said, sweet concern coating his words. "if you will entertain my question, where will you be taking him? I can help him to the medbay, if his condition is severe enough."

This young knight was good, Ameil decided. And definitely in on the secret, but his friend was still baffled. Brinnly looked almost relieved at the suggestion, but no, Ameil couldn't have that.

"The medbay does not have the sufficient tools I require," Ameil said. "You would have to help him to my personal quarters. He'll have to stay the night while I find something to help him," at this point, Ameil put an arm around Levine's shoulder, drawing their faces close. "and of course, you're welcome to stay, as well."

Brinnly's face had gone from relieved to baffled to shocked by the time Ameil had finished saying "personal quarters." By the end of the sentence, he was probably about to pass out. Left to his own devices, Ameil probably would have pushed him past that point, and what was the fun in that?

It was probably a good thing that Maelic decided to walk briskly from around a corner just then. He saw the scene before him and set a frown on his face, marching to the young knights.

"Brinnly and Levine, what mischief are you two up to now?" He scolded, arms crossed.

Levine quickly extracted himself from under Ameil's hold, standing a bit straighter for the Captain of the Guard. He knew that Maelic was going to show up at some point, but regardless he still perked up and smiled brightly.

"We're up to no mischief at all, Sir Maelic!" He said, hooking an arm around Brinnly's. Brinnly, who had just gone quiet and stared at the ground, slightly ashamed.

"What have you to say for yourself, Brinnly? That expression tells me plenty."

"No, Captain!" Brinnly protested. "I, uh, I was simply, uh,"

"Remember your honor as a knight, Brinnly! This is my husband you were carrying on with!" His mouth might've been set in a frown, but Maelic's expression wasn't particularly harsh. It was hard, when he was so close to laughing.

"No! I didn't - He - "

"Sir Brinnly," Ameil said with hurt in his voice. "You wouldn't be accusing me of infidelity or seduction, would you?"

Brinnly sputtered and gave up, staring back at the ground. "I'm truly sorry, Captain, it won't happen again."

"No," Maelic responded, the smile finally breaking through. He was getting better at this; last time he barely made it to the end of his scolding. He picked Ameil up. "And I'll make sure that this little wildcat will no longer even entertain the idea of straying, if that was truly what happened."

The two younger knights looked at each other in confusion for a moment before realization dawned on what their Captain meant. This time, even Levine's face went a dark red, and Maelic couldn't help but let the laughter break through too as he slung Ameil over his shoulder and carried him back to the castle.

[keebin]

Drabble: Quiet Halls

Title: Quiet Halls

Words: 754

Fandom: Uhh... Kind of a mix of two? Echenmarch and Left's unnamed Reapers world

Warnings: Death, Suicide

Another one of those 5am drabbles so again, apologies to both Left and Tinycrown if there are characterization issues ;w;

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It's his third night on the job and Monday Evening Suicides already regrets taking it. He's surrounded by turmoil and chaos, and though none of the humans can touch him, he still feels overwhelmed as they swarm and surge against the castle doors. Across the crowd, he sees another reaper, but she looks bored and unimpressed by the display. A chill runs through him. He wonders if, someday, he will be as disconnected and aloof as she. He's not even sure who or what he's supposed to be looking for. Monday Evening Suicides wonders if his being sent here was a mistake. This looks more like a job for Tragedies of War, or maybe Tuesday Early Morning Murders. Neither his training nor his last few cases prepared him for something of this magnitude; his experience is with lost and forlorn folk in secluded areas, not with crowds and noise. Eventually he rises up above the crowd and seeks asylum within the castle. The halls are eerily quiet in comparison to the chaos outside, though he can still hear the muted cries for blood through the stone walls. He checks the bedrooms and finds most of them dark and empty. This is the environment he's accustomed to; it is here, in the dark corners of isolation and despair, that most choose to take their own lives. He hears muffled conversation from down the hall, and peeks into the room the voices are coming from. There is an older knight, past his peak of fitness but still battle-ready, talking with a regal-looking noble. They're not arguing. The noble sounds much steadier than either of them look, and eventually they embrace and head out the door. Fascinated, Monday Evening Suicides follows. From behind the balcony doors, the knight pauses. The noble's hand on the door wavers as his body shivers. Their conversation is background noise to Monday Evening Suicides. He's watching the way their bodies move, how they lean towards each other. Their foreheads touch. The knight's broad, armored shoulders begin to shake, but he maintains his composure. Monday Evening Suicides is still not sure whose spirit he will be leading tonight. The noble steps out onto the balcony and the cries below intensify. When he begins to talk, silence washes over the crowd. Again, Monday Evening Suicides isn't listening to his words, but his tone. There is determination and a calm fire. This man is not lost. He knows exactly where he wants to go and what he wants to accomplish. Monday Evening Suicides catches bits and pieces of the speech as he watches the noble's hands grip the balcony railing. If the neighboring kingdom will invade unless royal blood is shed, he has an obligation to the people and to his family. Behind him, the knight begins to cry. His tears are silent, and his breath is steady, and he's hidden out of sight from the noble and the crowd below. But Monday Evening Suicides is standing right next to him, and he bows his head and puts a hand on the knight's shoulder. He almost misses the noble's sacrifice, might not even have caught the tail ends of it if he hadn't heard the reverent cheers of the crowd below. Monday Evening Suicides feels sick as the knight collapses against the wall next to him. He wants to go back to silent rooms and lost people. He never wanted to see the grief or the joy of any one person's passing. But he does his job and extracts the noble's spirit. Tries to lead him to the records room, where his paperwork is waiting. Avoids looking at him the entire time, and would have accidentally abandoned the spirit if it wasn't for the hand on his shoulder stopping him. Monday Evening Suicides turns around to the spirit hunching over the knight, who has fallen to one knee, opening sobbing. The spirit kneels and loops his arms around the knight's frame. He tilts his head upwards and their foreheads touch. Looking away, Monday Evening Suicides curses his training; none of it prepared him for a situation like this. He thinks back to the other reaper he saw earlier, and wonders if the aloofness, the disconnection, is the only way to prevent them from falling into despair. He closes his eyes to the thought and, at least for the moment, allows himself to go against his training and share in these humans' sorrow.

[keebin]

Nearly an Hour

Title: Nearly an Hour

Words: 795

Fandom: Echenmarch!

Warnings: Really gay lmao

Nearly an hour ago Ameil might have shared some of Maelic's enthusiasm for the upcoming jousting tournament, but now as he stepped back to look over the armor one last time, his shoulders were tense. Ameil wasn't as experienced helping put on armor as the older squires, but he had a general gist of the idea; it might have taken him a bit longer, and the process was likely less comfortable, but Maelic looked pleased enough with the help and that's what mattered in the end.

"Thank you for the help, Ame," Maelic said. He flipped up the faceplate so he could smile down at his prince.

"Stop that," Ameil commanded, reaching up and sliding the faceplate back into place. He might've had to stand on his tiptoes, but Maelic had bent down a little when he noticed the hand reaching up. "You're going to lose an eye."

"I can't see anything with this in the way, anyhow." Maelic tapped the grate in front of his eyes, but he didn't remove it.

"You'll thank me later when a lance breaks on your shield and about a hundred shards of wood fly at your face," Ameil said. His words were staccato, and he jabbed his finger against Maelic's chest. "What a shame it would be if your first jousting tournament left you blind." 

Maelic was silent behind the faceplate. He might've been raising an eyebrow, but when he talked Ameil could hear the smile in his voice. "What's the matter, Ame? Are you nervous?"

"Aren't you?" Ameil shot back.

Maelic shrugged, and the sound of the armor sliding against itself echoed in the preparation room. It made Ameil's shoulders tense more. "A little, I guess. But I'm mostly excited."

Frowning, but ultimately deciding not to dampen his knight's enthusiasm, Ameil instead brought over Maelic's horse. He checked the saddle's straps twice more than was necessary before allowing Maelic to climb onto its back, and would've kept fidgeting if the horn calling for the jousting participants hadn't sounded right then.

"You should go find your sister and father," Maelic said, heading for the door. "Wish me luck!"

"Don't lose an eye," Ameil called to him. Maelic turned and lifted up the visor, gave Ameil a teasing smile and a wink, and flipped it down to ride to the arena.

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Nearly an hour ago Maelic was silent and sullen, but now that Ameil had finally managed to help him out of the armor and he was free to move around again he was stretching and smiling.

"Third place is pretty impressive for a first-time particpant," Ameil said.

Maelic nodded, lifting up his right arm to crack his shoulder. He'd been training with the lance for a while now, but this was the first time he'd wielded it for so long. Tomorrow was going to be a sore day, but there wasn't anything too strenuous planned. Everyone would be exhausted from hosting the tournament, so it'd be a good day to just rest. Maybe they'd go down to the shore; summer wouldn't be lasting for too much longer, and Maelic wanted to take advantage of the warm weather while he could.

"Next time, I'll win the tournament for you." Maelic said. He smiled and wiped the sweat from his brow, glad to be free from the armor. He liked the weight of his chain shirt, but full armor was stuffy and heavy and just all-around uncomfortable. The other knights might have been used to it, but he grew up around thick cloth and heavy linen and being completely encased in the metal he was brought up to mold was still foreign to him.

"Grandiose claims," Ameil teased. "It was just your first time; some of those knights have been jousting for as many years as you've been alive."

"I don't think so," Maelic said. "None of them were that old. Maybe for as long as YOU'VE been alive, though."

Ameil pushed him, and against Maelic's back it was just a playful, nudging pressure.

"A joke, Ame. But I'll win a tournament for you one day, just you wait."

"I'm sure you will; you're an excellent jouster." Ameil paused, then smiled as he considered his next words. "But how long am I going to have to wait? Will you have to be jousting for as long as I've been alive?"

Maelic laughed. "Then that won't be very long at all, will it?"

Scowling, Ameil pushed him again, this time with slightly more force. Maelic didn't budge from where he'd been standing, and that only made the knight laugh harder.

"I hope you lose an eye," Ameil said. He turned on his heel and left the preparation room, his knight only a few long strides behind and laughing all the while.