#elfhame chronicles

[thorns-ofthe-thistle]

Written in the Water [Flashback] . [Whistle]

In which Wendy arrives in the Fenlands for the first time...[takes place mid-2016]

@my-lost-darling

[cw -- references to torture, violence, servitude]

THISTLE: Thistle was glad to be putting the High Court behind them. Even if they were tailed by another carriage now, full with Wendy and her things (including a maidservant or two that the queen had sent along as “engagement presents”. No doubt they were spies. You did not have to be subtle when no one dare defy you). Even with this extra baggage, Thistle would not look back. 

The last two months had been excuse after excuse to keep Wendy and Thistle in the High Court. Gifts that needed to be given and dinners that needed to be attended. Parties to make appearances at and envoys to greet with the news. It had been a whirlwind. The worst part of which was that Wendy and Thistle had not had a moment alone. It was true, that if Thistle had tried, he could have arranged something but he found himself avoiding her. His mind was still on somehow getting out of this mess. Surely, there was a way. One that did not involve giving their True Names. The queen couldn’t seriously think that they would wed, which meant she must anticipate the alternative, which meant there was an alternative. 

The only problem was that while in the High Court, Thistle could not ask his questions. He did not want his grandmother knowing she had won so easily. This was part of the reason he was happy to be going home. 

The other reason was, of course, that it was home. In the Fenlands, the dynamic shifted. Thistle was not the pawn, but Crown Prince Thistle. He was respected, at least by those who knew him well enough (and who were not his siblings.) Many of the fae in the Fenlands were not entirely reviled by his halfling status. Plenty of fae were half-themselves and those beneath the fae were treated the same as he was within the High Fae. There was a commonality there he quite liked to capitalize on, when it suited him. 

The road to the Fenlands started out bright, but one knew when they crossed the border as the wheels of their carriages began to sink into the mud of the drylands. The stench of rotting foliage was sweet and familiar to Thistle’s nose. At the edge of the drylands, as they crossed into the Marsh, they dismounted at the stable there, returning the swamp stags to their rightful place and continuing in the long, thin boats that navigated them through the dark waters. At the front of each boat was an illuminated purple lamp, signaling to those around them that they should yield to the royal caravan. 

It was a long, quiet, dark journey. Thistle enjoyed it, relaxing back against the side of the boat, trailing his fingers in the cool water. Once or twice, he threw a pebble at this flower or that algae so that it would pulse bright colors before returning to its dark hue. 

The castle came into view through a curtain of moss. It was almost camouflaged through the gnarled trees, the whole building ancient and covered in green and brown moss and algae. There was hardly any stone that protruded and the glowing lights through the windows looked almost as if it was simply glowing like the rest of the foliage. 

When the boats docked, Thistle helped Wendy from her boat. New arrivals to the Fenlands were often sick. One of her maids looked rather pale. Wendy seemed just the same as always. 

They walked through the familiar, winding, dark hallways, less damp than one would expect and surprisingly cool, despite the oppressive humidity outside. When they reached the East wing, Thistle opened the door and stood back. 

“These are your rooms.” He looked over at her maids and then back at her. “The castle has been made aware of your arrival. You should find a closet full of clothes and a bath already drawn. Change and someone will fetch you to meet me in the library.” The Fenlands castle’s servants were mostly goblins, with large dark eyes who came up to most people’s hips and skin like toads. 

“Don’t be late, for dinner is after.” 

WENDY: Wendy was leaving the High Court, not in the way that she wanted but still in a way she had never suspected. At first Wendy thought the Queen would just keep Wendy and Thistle at the High Court, under her control and for a while the brief hope that was leaving the High Court vanished.

Thistle avoided her and the Queen held tight with excuse after excuse.

The thin bloom of hope had faded within the first week.

Yet eventually they all set off, and while the carriage was comfortable the journey was long, and uncomfortable. The Queen wouldn’t send Wendy off in anything less than a dress that glittered even in the darkness of the fenlands and she couldn’t tear the material with her servants and spies right here. Either way she still needed to appear under her control.

The smell caused Wendy’s nose to twitch and although the maids weren’t familiar with it they giggled at the human facing the fenlands for the first time, at the way she squinted and tried to adjust to the light, the way she looked concerned when it felt like they would get stuck in the mud and giggled as she stepped out of the carriage with her heavy dress and tired legs.

Getting situated in the boats was another task tucking the skirts of her dress so she fit though Wendy knew if this boat tipped there would be no rescue for her. The weight alone would drag her down and she wondered if Thistle might think the same, it would be an accident and the engagement would be over. The Queen could only be so mad about that.

Her fear however was forgotten as she let her eyes trail from everything, though her skin felt damp and the air harder to breathe there was a light that Wendy had forgotten. How curious she had been, the stories she used to tell, of made up worlds and lands you could only imagine. She felt like she was in one of those now. The Castle, unlike the one in the High Court that was covered in silvers and golds, glittered from the sun and everything looked manicured as if placed there by choice. There was nothing wild about the High Court, but the Fenlands, the castle looked to have grown with the moss and the trees. Standing tall and forcing itself within the land. The boat ride did not feel long enough to admire all that was new to her.

At first she hadn’t noticed Thistle’s hand but when she did she let her gaze drift back to him and accepted his help out of the boat trekking carefully to the castle just in case her heels were to sink into anything.

She didn’t know what to expect, what cage she wandered into when he provided her rooms and a closet but it was more than she expected. Yet her maids were still with her, arguing while she relaxed into a bath, long enough to get the sweat and grime off her body, but not long enough to be late.

It was only when she got dressed she realized why they were arguing. All the dresses in the closet weren’t anything the maids in the High Court would give her, not just in the colour palette but they were lighter, they flowed with her. They weren’t meant to drag her down and slowly the thin bloom of hope blossomed again. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as the High Court.

It wasn’t long after her hair was done that the Castle's servants guided her toward the library and Wendy followed without hesitation although with every window they passed she found herself glancing out to see as much as she could.

Eventually she was shown to the Library and the double doors closed behind her and Wendy swore her heart would beat out of her chest. Wendy didn’t want to make eye contact with Thistle but she wouldn’t fall now. This is what would set the entire tone for how she lived here.

“Prince Thistle.”  Wendy greeted stepping in closer to him.

THISTLE: The truth of the matter was, now that Wendy was here, Thistle wasn’t sure what to do with her. 

It wasn’t like they knew each other well. They had had a few moments together. Enough for the queen to get her ideas, but not enough for him to actually know her. Not that anyone actually knew each other in Elfhame. It was not like the mortal world, where everyone was so frustratingly authentic. (Even those who thought they were not.)

Now that she was actually here, that dilemma only became more pronounced. Especially as his sister sneered and his father looked on with a disapproving expression. He knew that if they had it their way, Wendy would meet with a “happy accident” and the only thing keeping this from being the case was the queen’s wrath that they would face if they got in the way of her little game.

Something about that unsettled Thistle. He knew that the other fae poked at him for being half human. That he was seen as weak for it. And, perhaps, he was. He saw how they were treated in Elfhame, at the High Court, and though he often felt superior to them...he did not believe they deserved such punishments. He had seen them in their own world, lived among them. Wendy had done nothing but be talented and defiant. 

These thoughts swirled in his head as he looked out the window into the dark marsh beyond. Nothing moved but the slightly pulsating mushrooms reflecting in the window. The library was lit in a low blue light, casting shadows along the floor. In the Fenlands, it was often hard to tell the time of day. They kept track by using the foliage outside. If the luminescent mushrooms were awake, it was nearing evening. 

The door creaked open, Thistle seeing the reflection of it’s tall form in the window. He turned as Wendy entered, moving to greet her. 

“Lady Wendy,” he greeted her with a dip of his head. The title was new and it felt strange on his tongue, but it was some protection that he could give her. After all, as his fiancee she was now part of the courts of the Fenlands. He met her eyes with his own black ones. 

“Do you find your quarters to your liking?” 

WENDY: Lady Wendy. It was not a title that fit her. Even engaged to a Prince, Wendy was lessor, she was not meant to have a title. She was not meant to have any power. (not that she did). Wendy wasn’t meant to have any freedom. The title was just something that would tie her down once more.

Wendy just needed to figure out what rules and limitations Thistle would put on her. How far was her leash and how many people here did she have to worry about. She would need to learn schedules, and who might be willing to sneak her food. Where she might sit and dream for a little bit, and if she could steal moments of fake freedom.

Wendy needed to learn and she needed to learn quick.

As kind as her dress was and her body thanked whoever was responsible for the shift in wardrobe, she couldn’t put much stock in it. Would she be a performer again, another bird in a cage? There were too many factors to consider at the moment.

“They are lovely, the fenlands are spectacular and to have a view is magnificent. As you said the closet was filled and the outfits fit for the High Court.” But so much better. So much more comfortable. “I did not think the wildlife would glow as much as it does.” Wendy offered as a conversation point her eyes drifting to the windows again.

THISTLE: Thistle was not immune to flattery. And while he held little love for certain parts of Elfhame (the High Court certainly being one of them), he did love the Fenlands. He had a certain type of pride, the same that many High Fae felt. All of them, of course, believed that their lands were the best. And, of course, they were all wrong, because there was nothing like the magical wilds of the Fenlands. So, he could not help but smile, a bit pleased that Wendy liked them. After all, she could not lie. 

He was glad to see her in something that wasn’t the horrible contraptions that the queen put her in. She already looked more free, with her shackles cut off. It was not that simple. Even Thistle had his shackles, as invisible as they were. (And some were not so invisible, like the pendants on both their breasts.) Still, although he did not quite hold affection for Wendy, he did not wish to see her suffer. And if their engagement provided her some protection, he was pleased to give it. If only to irritate his brothers, sisters, and grandmother.

His head turned to follow her gaze out the window. “Yes, those are Given mushrooms,” Thistle told her. “They provide the light that you see in the rooms here and just about anywhere you go in the Fenlands. Without the bioluminescent plants and animals here, you would not be able to see well at all. The canopy makes it impossibly dark,” he explained. It was not something he would tell just anyone, but if she was to be a Lady of this land, she should know how it worked. And there was a reverence in his voice, the same that all Fenners held for their semi-aquatic home. A gratefulness to all the plants and creatures.

“I must warn you that Fenners hold the flora and fauna here to the highest of honors. You would do well not to tread on any plant, or hurt any of the creatures here. They will be expecting you to make this mistake.” It was kinder advice than she had probably expected, but her conduct would reflect on him, and therefore, it was selfishly given. 

WENDY: Information was not given lightly and it was not something that Wendy would take lightly. Thistle could let her flounder, to anger the people of the fenlands so much her life was made a living hell. He could and he wouldn’t benefit but he wouldn’t not benefit.

So she would take it. For now knowledge was power.

The good thing while the High Court was more stone steps and marble arches than animals, nature was still revered. And Wendy knew enough to not disrespect it.

“I will take care to not insult your people.” And she would, this would be her home for now and she needed to be as safe as she could.

“Will I be allowed to access the Library? To learn more about the Fenlands.” The very thought of that was exciting. To learn and be allowed to learn more. But maybe she would never be allowed in here again, Not without Thistle at least.

THISTLE: An expression passed over Thistle’s face that not even he could necessarily identify, as it went with an uncomfortable, unfamiliar squeezing in his chest. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment, his lips twitching down. He realized that Wendy had no idea what had just happened to her. What it meant to be engaged to the Crown Prince of the seat of Shadowmoss, Prince of the Stag, Lord of the Fenlands. 

What was worse: he was going to have to explain it to her. 

“Of course,” he said and then turned on his heel slightly to gesture at an ornate, leather chair. “Sit.” He took the one across from her, putting his elbows on his knees. It was not a proper way for a prince to sit, but in the Fenlands, he could relax. There was a certain amount of impropriety allowed at the High Court, but Thistle never participated. His cousins teased him for being too stiff, too proper (well, besides Nimble, who made stiff and proper personality traits), but Thistle knew he was held to a different standard.

Here, in the Fenlands, though--he was safe. This was his home. He was the one who set the precedent. 

“You have free run of the castle and grounds, within reason,” Thistle told her. “You are my fiancée, not a servant. Not here. You will have duties, appearances to maintain and events to participate in, but otherwise, your time is your own.” 

WENDY: Wendy sat as indicated, properly, her feet crossed at the ankle even if Thistle was more informal than she had seen them. Of course it was just them and he had no reason to put on an air of superiority. He was superior to her at the moment. With or without the bells and whistles.

Her only lifeline at the moment.

But even then, with his inability to lie, his words felt as such. To have free run of the castle and grounds (within reason) was more than expected. It felt too good to be true. Perhaps she was locked up in solitary once more and dreaming of a way out. The only way out that she could see. Even as twisted as it was.

“I will do my best in those capacities.” Wendy nodded because what else could she say. She couldn’t say thank you though this was already benefiting her.

THISTLE: “You better.” This was less of a warning and more advice, but if she took it one way over another, that was her business. 

Thistle tried not to fidget. The whole conversation was awkward, the whole situation was awkward. They were to be married. The rest of their lives spent together. Or, well, the rest of Wendy’s life, anyway, which was longer than many in Elfhame might think. Several decades if she managed to survive that long, which she would, most likely, protected as a member of the royal family. Though, Thistle had the distinct feeling that the queen was not expecting things to get to that point. 

Which was all the more reason to ensure that it happened. Thistle had been so intent on beating his grandmother at her own game that he had forgotten the stakes until they were staring them in the face with two wary, but defiant green eyes. 

Honestly, now that they were here and Thistle had time to think, to put his guard down, he realized: he did not know what to do with a fiancée. With Wendy. 

“Do you have any other questions?” Thistle asked after a moment, easily concealing this discomfort as he leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over another. 

WENDY: Unlike Thistle, Wendy wasn’t worried about trying not to fidget. This wasn’t much different than being under the gaze of the Queen. Under the gaze of everyone. There wasn’t ever a second she could relax.

As much as Wendy would hate to admit it, she was at a disadvantage, her mind while trained to think the same way, they all have years, decades over her.

So even if there were many questions Wendy could ask, she could ask what he wanted, she could ask about everything about this land. She could be foolish and ask if she could actually ask people to do things for her. Which even if she could she wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be wise to act like she was in charge of anyone. She wouldn’t be asking anything else.

In the end there were still the maid servants that were sent with her that would continue to be spies and Thistle would be wise to keep her on a short leash for his own sake.

“At the moment, there’s nothing else to ask.” Wendy was too scared to ask too much, to push Thistle too far when she already had more than she could hope for. She would stay out of his way and maybe they would both survive this.

THISTLE: Thistle regarded Wendy for a moment. He knew that she probably had plenty more to ask. He could sympathize, in a way, with her experience. For he too had been taken from his home in the mortal realm and brought to Elfhame. It was different, of course, he had not been a prisoner or a pet, but he had certainly felt like one at first. He did not know the customs. He stood out like a sore thumb, rarely getting help from any around him. There had been a few that took pity on him. Who taught him what he needed to know, but for the most part, he learned through trial and error. It had been survival. 

What he could offer Wendy was better than that, because Thistle had been living here for almost a hundred years now. He knew the customs. He was respected here in the Fenlands, if not anywhere else.

And he was surprised to find that he wanted to help her. 

He could convince himself this was because any faux pas she committed would reflect poorly on him. That having an incompetent fiancee would make him even more of a laughing stock at court than he already was. And that would be partially the truth. The rest of it would be that he did not want Wendy hurt. He was not fond of her, but he had nothing against her. She was as caught up in the spokes of the wheels of their fate as he was. And, maybe, if they played their hand right. If they worked with each other, instead of against one another, they could beat the queen at her own game.

That meant, however, that Wendy was going to need to trust him.

He waited until she met his gaze and then he spoke. “I suppose I should make myself clear while we have a moment to do so: here, in the Fenlands, I am the Crown Prince. The dynamics are different than at court. I have more power here than anywhere else in the Fenlands. I could do whatever I wish to you, sans killing you.” He let that hang in the air a moment, so that it would properly contrast what he was going to say next. 

“I do not intend to harm you. I do not intend to let anyone else harm you. You are under my protection now. I will take that very seriously. I hope that you do as well. Do not fear me.” 

WENDY: There it was.

Wendy might have more freedom here. She might be allowed to read and learn. She might be allowed to act the part of a lady. But she was still under his thumb, at his will and at his mercy. Thistle may not be allowed to kill her but that didn’t mean much. People could do a great many things without killing you.

Wendy already knew that fact intimately.

Thistle’s next words barely felt true, she looked for the hidden meaning the hidden threat. He may not intend to harm her, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. But being under the protection of a Crown Prince was not to take lightly. If she was under his protection she was safe from most others. As long as she didn’t outright devastating. No one could protect her then.

Searching his face, Wendy tried to understand even as fear coursed through her. She couldn’t trust Thistle. She knew that much. But she might have to put her life in his hands. “I have been at the mercy of many Fae and of many cruel jokes.” The promise of Thistle being someone she did not have to fear was not something Wendy could trust. “However, I will do my best to not create any strain on you while I reside here.” No need for his protection, no need for him to hurt her. Wendy needed to be perfect, who knew how many more scars could be added.

THISTLE: Thistle sighed and leaned back in his chair. It was clear that Wendy didn’t trust him. Which was annoying. And annoying that it was annoying. After all, why should she trust him? He had never really done much to warrant being trustworthy. In Elfhame, no one was trustworthy. Every single being was out for itself. That was one of the first lessons you learned.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t a part of Thistle that wanted Wendy to trust him. This would be easier if she did, but Thistle also was not a patient man. If she wanted to be distrustful, fine. It would only make things more complicated for her. Wasn’t his problem. 

“Kind of you,” he said with a little scoff, his hand came up to his mouth and he pressed his lips against his finger as he looked out the window again with a little sigh. At least, despite her insistence to the contrary, he could keep her safe here. For now, that was all that mattered while he gathered a plan for retaliation on the queen.

“Dinner will be soon,” he told her, standing  in one fluid movement. “Someone will be along to fetch you. If you take a book back to your rooms, make sure to sign it out on the ledger or Leabharchoimeádaí will be cross with you and they, I cannot protect you from.” His lip twitched into a smirk before he nodded at her and left the room.

[thorns-ofthe-thistle]

Something Old, Something New [Flashback] . [Whistle]

In which Thistle takes Wendy to London and things go horribly wrong…[takes place: a few weeks before John shows up in Elfhame (2019)]

a companion to Something Borrowed, Something Blue...

@my-lost-darling

[tw – paranoia, thistle being kind of mad and scary at the end]

[read the rest of the elfhame chronicles]

[link here]

[thorns-ofthe-thistle]

Something Borrowed, Something Blue [Flashback] . [Whistle]

In which Thistle and Wendy make preparations for their wedding…[takes place: throughout 2019]

@my-lost-darling

[tw – some paranoia and thoughts of torture, kind of stalking from the queen @ wendy]

[read the rest of the elfhame chronicles]

[link here]

[thorns-ofthe-thistle]

Don’t Blame Me [Flashback] . [Whistle]

In Wendy begins to get suspicious and all of their hard work starts to unravel…[takes place: early 2018]

@my-lost-darling

[cw – references to servitude, tbh that’s it in this one good job whistle]

[read the rest of the elfhame chronicles]

WENDY: There were many things that made Wendy anxious. Even with Thistle on her side, even we having some approval in the Fenlands. Even with the Queen recognizing she was something to be wary of (This was actually something to really be anxious about). Wendy still felt like she had no control, no power.

That all of these things could be taken from her in an instance.

Especially Thistle.

The Fae Prince that felt it was necessary to disappear on Wendy, to take his sweet time going wherever he needed without her knowing. Wendy was not foolish enough to think he owed her that information.

But she had for a moment thought he might trust her enough to tell her. Especially now compared to them just a year ago.

Eyes flicked up as Thistle walked in and although there was a calmness that washed over her there was irritation that surrounded her as well.

“I expected you to be gone longer.” Wendy mused.

THISTLE: Thistle did not like to leave Elfhame for extended periods of time, but sometimes, he had to. He needed to check on his family. To resupply Hatter at the tea shoppe, keep him happy and keep him quiet. It was a delicate balance to achieve. Not making anyone too suspicious, but leaving often enough that no one questioned it. 

The engagement made things more complicated, considering he could only be gone for a week before the bond started drawing him back. 

But that didn’t matter to him, he had received word through Hatter that Florence had fallen ill. Deathly sick with pneumonia. She probably was not going to make it, was what they said. His dear sweet Flora, his cousin, who had always smiled at him so sweetly. Who was the last visage of his human life. She was all alone too. Apparently, her ungrateful daughter had barely even visited her. 

The thought of Flora, alone when she died, followed him. He was restless. And he spirited away to London every chance he’d gotten. 

This last time, he had not been gone for long, because when he arrived at the nursing home, he had been informed that her fever had finally broken after months of it rising and falling and that her breathing was much better. She had been taken off the ventilator and was starting to be on the mend. He’d stuck around long enough to make sure that was true and then alighted back to Elfhame. 

Now, he arrived home, feeling as if he would be able to sleep for a week straight. He had gone to the library to retrieve the ledgers for the days he had missed. He supposed he should have expected to see Wendy there, curled in her favorite chair.

“Is that so?” he asked casually, as he headed towards the shelves that held the ledgers. “Disappointed I am back so soon? Were you planning to get up to trouble whilst I was gone?” 

WENDY: Wendy wasn’t jealous, she had no reason to be angry so why was it that she was. Thistle owed her nothing. But the thing was, he almost did. He was the one that showed her it was okay to want more. He was the one that opened the door to give her that freedom. He was the one that allowed her into the sun. And withholding information, continuing to keep her at arms length, leaving her alone in the Fenlands.

It pissed her off.

She could try to explain it away but the more she pushed it down the more it wanted to bubble to the surface.

“More curious. These days I can never determine if I will see you or if you will disappear for days on end. I suspect you still will not tell me where you leave to so suddenly and for so long?”

THISTLE: Thistle’s brow furrowed and he cocked a hip out as he leaned against the bookshelf facing her, arms crossed. 

Was she cross with him? For leaving? The concept was almost amusing to him. Did she think that she had a right to be irritated? (Did she have a right to be irritated? What did it mean if she was? Was it only because she was scared without his protection? Or did she actually miss him? And if she did miss him—what did that mean?)

“No, I won’t,” Thistle said. He wouldn’t. He never could. 

“I will not be gone so often in the future.” Florence was on the mend, he would not have to check on her as frequently. 

“You will not have to miss me so much,” he teased because he did not like the way she was looking at him. So serious. So curious. Those sharp, intelligent, strangely bright eyes looking right at him. 

WENDY: The most irritating part of this, Thistle didn’t care, he didn’t see anything wrong. It reminded her that she had no power, he had brought her into the light, he had given her power but in the end of it all, she was still lesser than. They were never to be equals and Wendy was foolish for ever thinking it.

“I would not miss you as much, if I was privy to more information. But as you have said I will not know.” For all she knew, he was meeting with the Queen. For all Wendy knew he was regretting ever helping him and spending as much time away to save himself until she was out of the picture.

For all she knew.

Wendy knew nothing.

At least in the High Court she knew what was expected of her.

“I could help, Thistle. But it’s difficult to be your partner when I am constantly left in the dark. The Queen had tied you to me because of this and yet you continue.”

THISTLE: Thistle raised an eyebrow. 

There was a lot of information here. Wendy was not careful with her words. 

She did believe them partners. She wanted to assist them. She thought she had the right to reprimand him. 

And most importantly: she had missed them. The piece that surprised them most of all. They had not expected it and it was what saved her in the end. Thistle was royalty. Thistle was to be ruler of Elfhame. They were not used to having a partner. To owing anyone else an explanation for anything they did. The implication that they did made them bristle, made them want to remind Wendy of her place. 

But had they not told her the two of them were a team? Partners? That they needed to trust one another? 

It was only—with this, there could be no trust. With anyone. It was their most guarded secret. When in Elfhame, they kept it so hidden that they hardly thought of it themselves. 

“There is nothing to help,” they finally said. “And we won’t be having any further discussions about it. You have your secrets.” For, oh yes, they knew she did. “And I have mine. Let us leave it at that.” 

WENDY:

Wendy was being dismissed and it boiled her blood. As if her secrets were on pair with theirs. Wendy’s didn’t risk breaking what they had. It didn’t risk them being left alone and unguarded and it didn’t show him dismissal. 

“Of course. Prince Thistle.” Wendy stated standing from her chair and setting her book down. After all Thistle would be in here looking over the legers for the days they missed and Wendy didn’t want to be around him.

“How could I assume anything more than my station allows me. To step higher than I am allowed.” Wendy should leave, stop speaking and walk out the door but she wanted a fight. She wanted to prove to herself… something. She didn’t know what she was trying to prove or if she even thought they could give it.

“May I take my leave then. I would not wish to overstep.” 

THISTLE: “Oh, please.” Thistle rolled his eyes. “Don’t make this about status.”

He actually wasn’t sure what to do, exactly, with Wendy right now. She was acting the most human she ever had. Acting like she—actually cared. It wasn’t how it was done in Elfhame. You weren’t supposed to show your hand. To admit, even without admitting, that you cared. 

And by her doing so—she was forcing him to do the same. 

How else was he supposed to win this argument than by convincing her it had nothing to do with her? 

It made him shift his weight from one foot to the other, black eyes flashing in the low blue light of the library. The shadows of the fire danced around them. 

“My business is my own. It has nothing to do with you.” It had nothing to do with Wendy. Why wasn’t that enough for her? Everyone in Elfhame had secrets. That was the currency of this world. 

WENDY: Was that all this was? Wendy had made the foolish to decision to think she was a partner, an equal. Maybe she equated those things much more humanly than she should.

Were partners ever equal in Elfhame. Was that hope Wendy had foolish to think she might ever be allowed to stop playing this game.

Walk away.

Stop this now.

Return to the easy peace you had and know your place.

"Our business affects us. Your secrets affect me and mine may affect you one day. You do not need to let me in but do you recognize that fact? The fact we could be stronger together." Wasnt that what they promised. There was no point to this argument, Wendy would lose.

A stubborn Fae was a Fae unchanged.

THISTLE: Our business, she said.

Thistle scoffed and turned away, his face half in shadow as he frowned. There was a truth to her words that he wanted to deny, but he felt his magic holding his tongue. She was right. They were stronger together, but that did not mean that he could tell her about his family. It wasn’t, even, necessarily, that he didn’t trust her with it. 

He didn’t trust the queen to get it from her in some way. By torture. Or trickery. She could take a finger until Wendy told the queen everything. And how many fingers was their partnership worth to Wendy? 

His family’s staying secret and safe was worth both his hands.

She should understand that. Isn’t that why they were in this mess to begin with?

He turned back towards her, his dark eyes steady. “Do you not trust me, then?” he asked her, his voice cool and collected. 

WENDY:

Did Wendy trust him? There was part of her that did. If she hadn’t she knew that she would not be this upset. She would not be challenging him.

In the end of it all, he wouldn’t hurt her. 

But that wasn’t what trust was only about? There were many things Wendy didn’t trust about him. How could you when you grew up knowing what they were capable of. Wendy offered Thistle a means to an end. If she stopped serving that purpose…

It was why she could never be complacent. It was why she couldn’t let down her guard.

Yet she felt the magic at her tongue that stopped her from saying no, outright.  

“Would I be mistaken to?”

THISTLE: “A question for a question. Whoever could have taught you that?” he replied scathingly.

It was a common trick of the fae, of course. To avoid an honest answer, you asked a question in return. Now, it was on Thistle to determine what she meant. Did she avoid saying no, so as not to provoke his anger? (Smart.) Or avoid saying yes because--her heart felt the same way his did? Tangled in this mess in a way that would, potentially, prove lethal if either of them made the wrong step? 

There could be no real trust between them. The way their relationship was built was not meant for it. There were few people Thistle trusted. He did not, actually, think he trusted anyone.

And yet, to hear her doubt him (for no doubt she did), hurt some part of him that he was not fully aware of. He didn’t know what it meant. Nor did he care to. 

“I suppose that is my answer, then? After everything? I have given you no reason not to trust me.”   

WENDY:

Wendy’s eyes narrowed at him, did he not want a partner that was well versed in the trade of the Fae. They better go search for a human more easily manipulated if he wanted that. Another pawn in their game. Another pawn in this whole world.

Wendy was so tired of Elfhame. She just wanted to rest.

She wanted to trust, she wanted to give in. She wanted to care and be cared for.

Elfhame was not the world for that. The Prince of the Fenlands wasn’t the person for that. No matter how much her heart ached.

Dropping her shoulders, Wendy cleared her face, her eyes glaring. 

“Then that is your answer.” She replied plainly. “Trust is not easily built in Elfhame after all.” Not a lie. But it didn’t speak her truth either. She was foolish to trust them. She couldn’t and she needed to protect her heart before she got too deep.

“Goodnight My Prince.” Wendy stated, turning to take her leave, wishing now she hadn’t left some extra notes within his leger of details of the castle. She shouldn’t have gone above and beyond. That was to stop. Now.

THISTLE: No, trust was not easily built in Elfhame. They had thought…

Foolish. It was their stupid, human heart. The same one that hadn’t just killed Lysander and Florence when they’d first met them. That would have been easier. It was what anyone else in their position would do. Otherwise, they could be held against them. The mistake had been made before: Thistle also should have been killed as a child or left to their own devices, never told of their true nature. 

Having things you cared about was dangerous. The queen had used Wendy’s family against her. Thistle refused to let them be pawns in the same way. 

Wendy would understand, but Thistle couldn’t risk it. They would have to deal with her cold shoulder. Fine. They did not need to trust each other to be allies. Alliances had been built on much shakier ground than theirs in Elfhame before. 

“Goodnight, my lady,” he replied coolly, watching her go before sighing and moving to one of the desks, planning to put it out of his mind and getting lost, instead, in his duties.

[thorns-ofthe-thistle]

Hold Me in the Dark [Flashback] . [Whistle]

In which Thistle and Wendy learn to cope with their circumstances...[takes place: all of 2017]

@my-lost-darling

[cw – references to servitude, torture, violence; injury at one point]

[read the rest of the elfhame chronicles]

OCTOBER, 2016

WENDY: The Fenlands were a beautiful land, a complete contrast to the High Courts, the dark colours and humidity contrasting the light air and marbled steps. Wendy might even be able to fool herself that she was so far from the High Court there was nothing to worry about.

Anything from the High Court would sink in the fenland’s depths before it could reach her. 

Much like she would if she took the wrong step as she walked along the roots larger than she was. None of them were dry adding to a slickness but if Wendy closed her eyes she could imagine she was running alongside John and Jane where the worse that could happen was a pair of matching skinned knees.

Her hair was damp and so was the dress she wore but no one was around so Wendy took advantage of the small amounts of freedom she was allowed. Humming to herself she climbed over the roots until she reached the edge and one step more would lead her to a watery grave. 

In time with her humming, Wendy turned her attention to the splashing footsteps, her humming ended abruptly at the sight of the Swamp Stag. She had read about them briefly in her attempt to skim as much of the wildlife so she could explore like this. Plus it was hard not to know about the Swamp Stags that represented the Fenlands. This one felt as if it was twice her height but Wendy didn’t back down or run.

Reaching out Wendy extended her hand to the large creature waiting as slowly it approached her, water soon dripped into her hand but she didn’t flinch as she continued to hum waiting for anything including his snout pressing into her hand.

“I’m afraid I do not have any food for you.” Wendy mused her voice light and airy as she smiled at the creature. “You’re so beautiful.” Her free hand ran over his head at least where she could reach, staying away from his horns and the mushrooms on them. She didn’t want him to get mad at her for taking them when she didn’t even want them.

“We have stags back in the human realm, but not nearly as tall as you. I think you might just have them beat if you ever meet.” Wendy teased as if the animal could understand the joke she was making.

THISTLE: “Yes, she would,” Thistle said.

He had been watching her for a moment or two now, spotting her on the way back from one of the towns in the Midlands. Curious as to what she was doing, and protective of the swamp stags. Protective of all the animals and the fauna of the Fenlands. They were his domain, but besides that: many were valuable and others wanted to hunt them and take advantage of them. 

They were also his first friends in Elfhame.

Before he learned the language. Before he learned how to speak properly. How to twist his words. Or how to act in the society of Elfhame. He had become friends with the swamp stags and other animals. 

Now, he didn’t think that Wendy had any intention to hurt the stag but--

He felt compelled to see what she was doing anyway.

Leaning against the trunk of the tree of the root she was standing on, he gave her a little smile and then moved closer. The stag had snorted and twitched his ears, looking over at him. Thistle moved closer, reaching out to pat solidly at the stag’s neck. 

“They are much more impressive than any animal in the mortal realm.” 

WENDY: Wendy had jumped a little not realizing Thistle had snuck up behind her. Thankfully her hand on the Stag and his strength was enough to stop her from tumbling. Something she hoped he would not comment on. Her chest burned with the embarrassment of being so unaware of her surroundings. 

If this was the High Court she might be dead. Even in the Fenlands perhaps it would mean the same. Thistle’s promise echoed but her lack of trust was louder.

“I do not remember many of them.” Wendy stated softly, a slight longing in her voice though it was an admission she did not need to make, one that could bring about pity or irritation. Yet it wasn’t like she had time to learn about the mortal realm when her life would be within Elfhame. Within the Fenlands.

Maybe one day, she would have the time and trust to spend time learning about her realm.

“Do you have a favourite?” Wendy questioned instead leaving it open to either the mortal or fae realm.

THISTLE: Thistle didn’t pay any mind to her flinching. He figured it would happen. Had done it in part to try and desensitize her to it. After all, he had meant what he said when he told her she was safe around him. Harming her would only bring trouble. Or satisfaction from the queen and Thistle refused to give that to her. He would rather marry Wendy than let the queen think she had won.

Understandably, Wendy probably did not feel the same. 

He ignored the nostalgia in her voice. It would just make the hollow in his chest feel less so and he did not want that. Feeling anything at all in Elfhame was foolish. He had learned that long ago. Which was why he spent his time amongst the animals. 

Her question caught him off guard, eyebrows jumping slightly before he relaxed again. 

“No, I don’t think that I do,” Thistle said after a moment. “All animals are special.” He did not look at her as he said this. Instead, he kept stroking the stag’s neck, his hand sticky from the moss, though he did not mind. He never did.

“What about you?” 

WENDY: “Any and all types of birds.” Wendy stated as if it were simple, and she assumed that Thistle could put some of the details together. The bird on his necklace, the wish to fly free. But he would always be missing the nickname she had in the human realm.

The Wendybird that flew with her stories and adventures. The one that could never be tied down.

Those all came with the double edged sword of being a trapped bird in a cage here. But she held onto the memory as tightly as possible.

Wendy used this time to look over Thistle as he focused on the stag. Trying to get a better reading on him. Trying to understand what he was like when he was the one in power and in control. It didn’t give her much but maybe she knew she needed to find out some more.

Perhaps she could meet a new favourite animal in these lands.

THISTLE: “Birds,” Thistle repeated thoughtfully. 

It was an interesting choice. Perhaps he should have been able to guess it. He didn’t know why he had that thought. Thistle didn’t know Wendy and she had no interest in getting to know him. They would be husband and wife in name only. This was not unusual of the High Fey, their lives were long and they often took multiple partners. She was a mortal, so her life would not be long, in comparison to his. Wendy would just be the Lady of the Fenlands, well, Princess, once they had been married. And, if his father ever met his neverending end, perhaps one day Queen. 

They did not need to know each other. Though, Thistle thought there was something particularly morose about not knowing one’s partner. 

“Well, we do not have many of those here. Except for water birds. Cranes and such. A few owls. They are hard to spot as they camouflage in the shadows.” He paused. “You are welcome to take a boat out looking for them, if you would like. If you go down to the boating house, someone will take you.” 

He gave the stag’s shoulder another solid pat. “I should return. My father is waiting to speak with me.” 

WENDY: That was a phrase Wendy wasn’t sure she would ever get used to. To be welcomed to do something without a price of the transaction. Though there was still a nagging voice that told her there was always a price and just because she didn’t see it didn’t mean that it didn’t exist.

Nodding her head at Thistle, Wendy offered him a small smile. “Of course. I shall see you later, your highness.” Wendy bid her farewell with a small curtsy.

JANUARY, 2017

WENDY: Wendy was dressed in a deep purple, and although she was dressed by the fenlands she could tell the High Courts influence was placed on it. The length and the material especially but Wendy could tell the Fenland’s claim on her meant something. Even with the sneers in her direction. Even with the fact she had to sing for the Court earlier.

But now they had other entertainment and was forced to play another game, dancing when asked, speaking formally with whoever thought they could trip her up. And when she could retreat she could only retreat to her fiance, though she wished to hide in the shadows.

“We will be expected to dance together at some point tonight.”

THISTLE: Their return to court was not as triumphant as Thistle would have preferred. Wendy was still too timid. At this point, Thistle wondered if it would ever change or if he would be alone in trying to hold his head up high and best his grandmother. It was a long shot anyway, but it was the only thing that made this horrid arrangement somewhat bearable to him. 

Now that their more official duties had been completed, they were left to their own devices. Which involved Wendy looking like she was going to be sick and Thistle eying the crowd, on subtle red alert for anyone who might try something. 

Wendy’s voice interrupted his surveillance and he turned his head towards her. It was easy to raise an eyebrow, to smirk. 

“Is that a request?” he asked, in what could be considered a tease. Perhaps not the best strategy but he wanted to act as if nothing at all was wrong. He was at perfect ease. And so should she. 

WENDY: “I would have to want to dance with you first for it to be a request.” Wendy quipped with a raised eyebrow. She may have not trusted him but that didn’t mean that within the time they had together she hadn’t learned to be a little more smart with her tongue.

Just not with anyone but Thistle.

“I’m sure everyone is just waiting for us to trip.” Or for one of them to trip the other. Even now Wendy could feel their eyes but it was in a different way than before as if the games had changed.

THISTLE: Thistle almost laughed at her response. Almost. His lip quirked, just slightly, but he made no other reaction. If he knew Wendy better perhaps he would threaten her, teasingly, for such a comment. Or, maybe, he did know her well enough, and that is why he did not. 

She was as fragile as the birds she loved so much and their—relationship was even more so. If his plan to undermine his grandmother’s game was to work, then they would have to be on the same side. Perhaps, with no real affection, but a desire to fake it when necessary. 

Now was one of those times faking it would be necessary

There was no better time to practice.

He held out his hand, raising an eyebrow. “Well, then we better not trip.” 

WENDY: Wendy’s eyes glanced down at Thistle’s lips, the lip quirk something she had slowly started to pick up after having multiple conversations with him, but something she had yet to figure out if it could be good or bad.

But like many things in her life, it didn’t matter. Wendy would need to dance with him. Taking his hand Wendy curtsied to him before following him to the dance floor. 

Wendy and Thistle gilded and Wendy didn’t hide her the slight smile, she for once didn’t need to watch her feet in case her partner tripped her. Wendy could at least trust Thistle wouldn’t make them look like fools. 

She wasn’t comfortable, but she was as comfortable as someone at the High Court could be. At the tip of her lips was the very song they were dancing to.

“How many eyes on us do you count?” Wendy instead prompted.

THISTLE: They swept onto the dance floor and Thistle found he couldn’t complain about his partner, at the very least. That was a good thing. All of this would be much more difficult if she couldn’t actually dance. Thistle didn’t think he’d be able to fake having a good time with someone who was a poor dancer. 

He shrugged at her question and did smile then--though there was a flatness to it. 

“Plenty,” he told her, without glancing around. He could feel them, from the others sweeping the floor with them, as well as those milling about drinking their sweet nectars and nibbling on biscuits and fruits. Thistle only kept an eye on those closest to them, to make sure that no one tried to sabotage them. It would not surprise him if someone tried to slash at Wendy’s ankles or step on her dress. He held her close for this reason, closer than they had ever been. He had to tilt his head slightly to look at her properly. 

“Do not look at them,” he instructed. “Look at me and smile. You know how to put on a show don’t you?” 

WENDY: Wendy smiled up at Thistle, one eyebrow quirking up slightly because of course she knew how to put on a show. What a rhetorical question that was.

But her nerves still drummed because this was a position she didn’t know how to play. Now around everyone who knew her as a pet, who still saw her as a pet and would treat her as such. “If you’re looking for a show then we should give them a reason they can not look away.” Wendy whispered considering how close they were.

Wendy never attempted to show up her partner but if Thistle could match her, well maybe they would be the talk of the ball in another way than expected.

THISTLE: There was a spark.

Not the kind of romantic, cliche spark one experiences when they find themselves enchanted by someone. Though, perhaps it was not far off. 

It was a spark of surprise for Thistle. And a spark of something different for Wendy. Something Thistle had had an inkling of before, but hadn’t been sure about. Wendy had a fire in her. She was not fully broken, like many, if not all, of the other humans in the High Court. He had first thought this when she had revealed she had tricked the queen, but it ran deeper than that. Past just a deception of control. Wendy wanted to fight. 

Thank fuck. This would never work if she had given up. 

“I couldn’t agree more,” he told her, his voice warmer than it had been before. His smile spread and he did not try to control it. The best lie was the one seeded in truth. 

So, he expanded his stride, squaring his shoulders, so that they took up more space. Wendy’s dress swept across the ground. Their footwork drew more intricate with every step. She had paid attention. That was clear. Though, he supposed someone taking a knife to the back of her knees was good motivation to learn. 

By the time the song began to slow, Thistle twirled Wendy once more, then dipped her low once she returned to his arms. He was panting slightly from the effort, but he didn’t let it show, as poised as ever. 

There were no applause, but he could feel even more eyes on them than before.

“I do believe you make a fair dance partner,” he murmured to her with a tick of his eyebrow. 

WENDY: There was a warmth, a connection that Wendy had never felt before.

A potential partner in crime. Something that Wendy never had since leaving her home, not to say Thistle was trustworthy but maybe he was more so than she originally gave him credit for.

Wendy made sure the dress she was given to spread it out as much as possible, she would use their own weapons against them.

“Just fair?” Wendy questioned as they finished a slight increased rise of her chest to show she was a little out of breath but never enough to be questioned by others. Still Wendy curtsied to her partner extending her hand to him for Thistle to take her off the dance floor unless he decided to dance again. “Perhaps you will continue learning. I will make a fair partner in many things.”

FEBRUARY, 2017

THISTLE: Thistle’s birthday always passed at the end of the wet season. In his opinion, it was the perfect time, because the storms had more or less finished by that time and people were beginning to return home if they had gone abroad for the season. Or they were spending more time outside, which Thistle enjoyed much better than being cooped up in the castle for the last three months. 

Not that he hadn’t ventured out. After all, he often oversaw construction of storm shelters, usually buried in the ground, out of the sturdiest materials they could import from other countries. Or bringing supplies to those who lost everything due to a particularly bad storm. 

It wasn’t the same as going around of his own accord, but at least he got out more than most.

The season was more or less over now.

Or so everyone had thought, but a few days ago, they had gotten reports of a storm rolling through the lowlands, gathering speed and predicted to slam the midlands. It was probably the last severe storm of the season, but that meant that it would probably be the worst, as these things often went. 

Thistle had volunteered to go out to a few of the villages, to make sure that everyone had what they needed. He left with a small squadron of the Fenlands’ army, unperturbed. The storm wasn’t supposed to hit for another day and the ride from the palace was only a few hours.

The thing about the Fenlands was that while storms could often be predicted, they were not alway accurate. Their storms were beasts, just like any other creature, and had their own plans. This one slammed into the village that Thistle had been aiding, tearing the roofs from homes and flinging full grown men into the trees.

Thistle did not remember much. The winds had howled like a train and the rain had pelted down so sharply, his exposed skin was covered in the tiniest of cuts. Those who were injured, including the prince, were rushed back to the palace on stretchers as soon as the storm moved on. 

It was one of Wendy’s handmaids that heard the news first and relayed it to her. “M’lady, the prince has returned.” Her head tilted slightly and if one looked closely they might notice a small smile on her lips. “Apparently, the storm hit while they were there and he is not in good shape. They did what they could but now they must wait to see if he awakens. King Nettle has summoned you to the hospital wing.” 

WENDY: There was fear for two very different reasons when Wendy learned of Thistle being hurt. Fear for her own safety if he was killed or hurt and could not offer the protection of his name and title. If he did not wake, he could not offer any of that. But the second fear was that he wasn’t invincible and Wendy didn’t want to see him hurt or in pain. Or worse yet dead.

Wendy barely gave the handmaid a glance back as she set down the book she was reading and rushed, while still looking elegant and in control down the hallways she knew like the back of her hand. 

Wendy only paused when she reached the hospital wing to offer a curtsy to King Nettle and offer the correct pleasantries. But he did not keep her long and Wendy slipped into Thistle’s room and winced at the sight of him and his wrapped skin. 

Moving to his side, Wendy sat carefully on his bed reaching out to gently touch his cheek looking over the work they had done to make sure it was done correctly. “And you said it was just a routine visit.” Wendy let out a quiet scoff at the idea of it but she didn’t know what to do if he didn’t wake up.

THISTLE: Thistle came around in fits and starts after several hours. His focus came back slowly. First it was only sounds as he drifted, then his eyes fluttered open and the pain came. His whole body was sore, his head was pounding. He had been hurt before, in sparring matches, in games. Living in Elfhame could be hazardous, but that was simply life here. 

He felt someone touch his hand and he groaned a little, his eyes blinking into focus. The light in the hospital wing was a soft, calming blue. It pulsed gently. It smelled of sharp mint tinctures and boiled rags. 

His head turned and his blurry gaze focused on a face. 

“Lilybell,” he grunted, trying for a sloping smirk, but he didn’t know how effective it was. “You look worried. Think a storm--” he coughed a little, tasted blood in the back of his throat “--can take me?”

WENDY: Wendy sighed when Thistle started to move, his eyes trying to lock onto something, anything, she imagined. Something to prove he wasn’t in anymore danger. But maybe that was just Wendy realizing the High Fae weren’t as indestructible as she was made to believe and think.

His voice and form proved he was much more vulnerable.

“Try saying that when you’re not covered in bandages and coughing a lung.” Wendy mused standing so she could reach over and pour him a glass of water. “Can you sit up? Or did the storm hurt more than you’re acting.”

THISTLE: Thistle scowled at Wendy, but he knew she was probably right. He didn’t know the full extent of his injuries, but losing consciousness out in the countryside and waking up in the hospital wing back at the castle was not a good sign. The fae were not indestructible. Long lived? Absolutely. If they didn’t get taken out by a bloody tree.

I am fine, Thistle wanted to say, but he couldn’t. 

It is just superficial, he tried, but the words simply didn’t leave his mouth.

Instead, he just shifted on the cot, bracing himself for the groaning pain that came with pulling himself against the headboard, so that he was sitting slightly. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grunting with effort, but he managed to almost fully right himself. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest and he felt a bit lightheaded. 

The glass of water appeared in his vision and guzzled it down quickly, the water sweeping away a small bit of the exhaustion. Wendy didn’t look impressed and there was a part of him that he didn’t quite understand that wanted to comfort her. To tell her that it was alright. There was another part of him that wanted to reject her concern and the watery-wide of her eyes. 

“It was just a storm,” he scoffed when he finished off the glass. “I have survived far worse.” Poverty and plague. The things that were much more likely to kill you.

WENDY: “A storm that knocked you out and landed you in the infirmary. Perhaps you may call that just a storm but that was much worse than it should have been.” Wendy stated simply and with a sigh. Why were all the Fae so stupid and stubborn. Idiots. Shouldn’t she be the one ignorant of her mortality, jumping into danger because what else was out there. Short lives led to reckless decisions trying to live it out the best that you could.

Wendy had to get used to the dangers of the Fenlands, as much as she read about it, it was different to see how everything actually happened. The Highcourt didn’t have as dangerous weather as this. While it wasn’t always sunny, the trees didn’t try to murder you by uprooting themselves.

Taking the glass back Wendy refilled it offering it just in case he needed it. “Far worse or not, you’re the one laying in the bed at the moment.” 

THISTLE: “You could join me, if you like,” Thistle quipped. He didn’t really mean it. And he rarely said such things to Wendy. Their relationship was too…fragile for it usually. Not to mention, while Thistle was very much free with his sexual nature, the way all fae were, he also did not have any fun if no one else was having fun. Flirting included in that. 

But, she was annoying him with her mother henning. Also, he had been hit in the head with a tree branch. Not to mention: the way she was looking at him was intense. Like she really was afraid he was going to die. In her eyes, he saw his own mortality…

Also, it was kind of funny wasn’t it? Thistle chuckled at his own joke before wincing again. 

“I don’t believe it’s that bad. I will be fine.” He would be. Eventually.

WENDY: Wendy rolled her eyes though at the invitation she sat in his bed facing him. She had joined him hadn’t she? He could quip and joke all he wanted but Wendy wouldn’t be put off. How could they all be so cavalier when they were so vulnerable. Wasn’t Wendy supposed to be the most fragile in this place.

“Eventually.” Wendy inserted with a small sigh. She wasn’t here to control him, in fact she was catching the fact she was scolding him and bit her tongue. A dangerous game if he truly hated it. Even if they needed each other to survive. Thistle needing her less than she needed him and she chalked up this worry to that main fact. But there was still the fact she had allowed herself not to think about her words before she said them.

“Truly though? You will be alright?” Wendy asked her voice softer now as she glanced away from him.

THISTLE: “Would I lie to you?” Thistle snarked. 

A moment passed in which Thistle realized there was a curve to Wendy’s shoulders that had not been there before. She was actually worried. It made sense, he told himself, because he was her protection. Without him, her future was uncertain. She would probably be called back to the High Court. Back to being a servant. If she was not killed by someone in the Shadowmoss court before then. He wasn’t sure which option she was more worried about. 

Hesitantly, he reached out a hand to lay it over hers. He didn’t know how comforting it was, since it was covered in scratches and blood, but he was not able to provide her any other comfort. 

“The nurses say the outcome is positive if I’ve made it this far. As I said: I have suffered worse.”

WENDY: Wendy nodded, because there was nothing else to do, nothing else for her to do. Again she was reminded how much she relied on him and it was a heavy weight that threatened to drown her. Of course she would rather drown reliant on him, than be held down by the Queen. His hand on hers felt more of a rescue than something that would hold her down.

Even if he snarked, and sassed, he was her best option. Her safest option. And sometimes she didn’t think he was so bad.

Offering him a smile she stood from the bed. “Yes, as you have said. I’m sure the nurses have also told you that you need to rest. I’ll bring you food later and if you have anything you want brought to you, let me know.” Wendy brushed off her dress as she nodded her head to him. 

APRIL, 2017

WENDY: Wendy never could have imagined she would have the chance again to curl up with books and learn. To relax and not watch her back. Of course she was curled in a chair facing the door so no one could sneak up on her and even wrapped in a blanket and a pen in one hand as she noted a spare piece of paper of interesting facts she didn’t want to forget. 

But there was always a point of tiredness that creeped over her as the fireplace crackled. She set the pen and paper on the table beside her with the ink so she didn’t accidentally spill and make a mess and just focused on reading even as the pages blurred. It wasn’t so late, at least Wendy didn’t think it was but her body betrayed her as she rested her head against the chairs back just for a moment but that moment turned into five and into ten, the book sliding further down her lap.

THISTLE: Thistle couldn’t sleep. It was getting late and he was restless. This happened to him on occasion. Usually for no good reason. Sometimes, it was for very good reasons--assassination plots, storms that destroyed homes and whole villages, displacing people and straining the Fenlands resources. There were plenty of reasons for a crowned prince to be troubled enough to not sleep. 

Usually, when this happened, he did one of two things, both inspired by his childhood: cooked or read a book. He remembered being little, standing on a stool with his mother behind him, her hands over his as they kneaded bread. It was a faded memory, and growing more faded the longer the years stretched, but when he smelt the yeast of rising dough, it was almost like he could hear his mother laughing. And reading, well, who didn’t love to curl up with a good book?

Apparently he had not been the only one with that thought. The library door was cracked open and Thistle pushed through, the warm lavender light that lit the hallways at night flooding in and illuminating Wendy sitting in front of the fire, folded in on herself, sound asleep. 

The fire flickered shadows over her face and she looked more peaceful than he had, perhaps, ever seen her. He did not want to disturb her, so he moved to passed her, but stopped. He leaned over and gently grabbed the book that was about to slip onto the floor and marked the page before setting it on the table. He quietly chose his own book and then turned to leave.

He shouldn’t leave her alone, so exposed. The castle was safe for her--more safe than anywhere else in Elfhame, but that didn’t mean there weren’t enemies lurking in the shadows. Sighing, he moved over towards her again and stood next to the chair. Slipping his arm under her knees and around her shoulders, he gently lifted her out of the chair and into his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder. The trail of her dress brushed the floor and he was careful not to step on it as he turned back to the door and  began to make his way to her rooms. 

WENDY: Wendy should have been jostled by the sound of Thistle’s footsteps. The next morning she would be annoyed with herself that closing her eyes had turned into her falling asleep and therefore completely vulnerable.

She should have stiffened when the heat disappeared from her skin and the fire’s crackle left her ears. She should have shot awake and that was a whole other reason for her to be mad at herself tomorrow morning.

But when she did awake from the movement, her face nuzzled into his shoulder, she noted how he carried her carefully and in a very sleepy mind determined that she was not in any current danger. A slight lift of her head showed her a very familiar tail and she relaxed back into his arms. (Again she should have woken herself up and walked herself to her room. Another reason to be annoyed with herself.)

“Thistle?” Wendy questioned her voice soft and hoarse as she blinked trying to gain her bearings. 

THISTLE: At first, Thistle didn’t realize that Wendy was awake. And once he did, he paused momentarily in his steps. It was a precaution as he was quite sure that as soon as Wendy awakened fully she’d begin to thrash and demand to be put down. 

It made him realize that he had no idea what he was doing. Why he had done it and what to say about it now. Never had he envied the lying of humans more. 

Wendy didn’t try to get away from him, though. Her head still rested on his shoulder and her body was just as warm and supple as it had been when she was sleeping. Thistle didn’t know what to make of that. So, he decided to ignore it and keep walking. 

“You fell asleep,” he said softly. “I came upon you in the library.”

WENDY: It was an answer and not. It was why he had found her but it wasn’t why she was in his arms. It was a kind thing to do though. As safe as she was in this castle, she was never perfectly safe. Enemies were everywhere and some were foolish to anger the Prince of the Fenlands.

Wendy let out a hum of recognition though at the statement. It was too late, or maybe too early to call him out on his word games. Plus he was warm and at the moment he felt safe and that was a rare feeling that she didn’t want to run away from.

“Thank you.” Wendy whispered instead, as if she were in the mortal world and someone could just do something nice for another without anything in return.

THISTLE: The thank you surprised Thistle. She should be more careful. He wondered if it was because she was tired or if she was purposefully not being careful. He felt the tug of the magic as the words lifted from her lips into the air. It could be a deal, a promise, a favor, but Thistle breathed out and let the magic go. There was no need for it. 

What could Thistle want from a human anyway? 

It was not a long walk to Wendy’s chambers and he pushed the door open with his shoulder and made his way to the bed. Bending over, he laid Wendy amongst the pillows and sheets gently. There was a glowing lamp on the nightstand a servant must have left on for her and in the pale blue light, she looked rather peaceful. Her hair was dark and Thistle took a finger, moving some of it back from her face. 

“Good night,” he murmured to her before turning the lamp down and leaving her chambers, closing the door softly behind him. 

JULY, 2017

THISTLE: The plentiful season had just come to an end. A time of beautiful balls, lavish parties, and feasting. Even the farmers in their fields rejoiced. All of the Fenlands had a grand time and even the Court recognized the hard work of the land, throwing a ball there that Wendy and Thistle had been forced to attend. They had been back only a week when taxing day came upon them. 

The last year, Wendy had not been here for the tradition, but now that she was to be his princess and, eventually, his queen, it was important that she be seen by the common folk: drow, fae, mara, hobgoblins, and goblins. That she learn their traditions and understand the functioning of their economy. Perhaps, in the human realm, queens were not expected to know these things, but in Elfhame, in the Fenlands, a queen was equal to her king in everything but birthright. 

Taxing day was usually part of the final lavish party of the plentiful season. The garden surrounding the castle was filled with merchants selling their wares. There were rides for children and tourneys for people to show off their skills. 

Yet, Wendy and Thistle could participate in none of that. They sat with Prince Nettle in high backed thrones of twisted oak, dressed in lavish robes and jewels. Before them was a table, laden with scrolls. A goblin sat at the table, ticking off with a feather quill the name of the farmer as each offering that was brought forth to them. To not bring your taxes was a great slight to the crown and they had every right to take your lands, to take your family and turn them into servants at the castle. 

Thistle had long ago abandoned his seat, finding sitting on the dias rather boring. Instead, he was peering over the goblin’s shoulder curiously and chatting with different subjects as they came by. 

“Greetings, Seere,” Thistle said to a drow that he recognized as the creature stepped forward in line. “How goes Vasalas? And your youngest…Elkan? Has he left to be conscripted yet?” 

“My prince,” bowed the drow graciously. “He has not, there are another few moons before he is old enough to join your ranks. And Vasalas is well. Her tinctures are being sold at the palace now.” 

“Glad to hear it. You must send a note along with Elkan when he finally comes along. I will make sure to oversee his training myself.” 

“You are too kind, my prince.” 

WENDY: Wendy couldn’t help but be intrigued by taxing day, sometime that was would have been much more formal in the High Court, where they would present what they had with fear in their eyes. As even as a favourite the Queen was fearsome.

Yet away from them were Thistle’s subjects enjoying themselves, showing their pride in what didn’t seem to be a game. Didn’t seem to be anything other than it’s intended party. Wendy didn’t know what to make of it.

At first when Thistle abandoned the dias, Wendy had stayed, she followed him with her eyes as he conversed with others, knowing them. It was puzzling. Eventually when she thought she was allowed and could get away with it she joined Thistle with the drow smiling at them. 

How puzzling indeed, Did he remember all these names? All these subjects?

“Hello, I do not mean to interrupt.” Wendy offered “Seere was it? It’s lovely to meet you.” Wendy offered as a greeting, a gentle smile, calm and confident enough to approach Thistle.

THISTLE: Thistle had sensed Wendy’s eyes on him before he sensed her presence at his side. He didn’t know if she would get up and join them. He hadn’t offered it to her, because it would annoy his father. Prince Nettle humored his son by letting him do this, but it was not the way things usually were. Thistle found that ridiculous. It was good strategy to be good to the people who protected your lands, who fed you and clothed you. 

Perhaps it was because of his mother. He still remembered her lessons. Still remembered their humble little flat and how, when the war had started, they had all come together. Sharing rations, sharing stories and blankets and laughter, and all the things that humans needed to survive. Being kind was how you won love, not just loyalty. And Thistle had seen, in his life, how much better love was than loyalty. 

He was not overly friendly, but he knew a good word would be helpful. And that remembering faces could have a lasting impression. 

Would Wendy know that? Would Wendy care? There was a part of him that wanted her to, even if she was not obligated to. Thistle loved the Fenlands. He loved that the community was stronger than many other lands. Perhaps because of the way things were: storms that ripped through communities, bringing everyone together; a constant threat from the borderlands of Arcadia; the darkness in which light was highly valued. 

As Wendy appeared at his side, Thistle turned to her. He didn’t smile, even if he might want to. Instead, he just nodded once. 

“Lady Wendy, is it? The pleasure is all mine.” The drow bowed again. 

“You are holding up the line again, Prince Thistle,” grumped the goblin. 

Thistle chuckled and smiled at Seere. “I will see you later, hm? Keep well.”

“Keep well. Blessings upon you both.”

The next in line was a grumpy looking, hunched back old fae with a basket on her arm and a gnarled cane in her hand and gnarled antlers on her head. Thistle leaned in to Wendy. “That is Madame Jeiss,” he murmured. “She owns a frog farm in the midlands, well known for their secretions—she says they heal any wound but there are conflicting reports.” He smirked. 

“Well, if I don’t spy our prince in all his royal pompousness!”

“You are supposed to bow,” Thistle told her, though his voice was mild. 

“And whose this little human you’ve stolen for yourself, eh? She is very pale.” 

WENDY: Wendy’s lips twitched in a little bit of a smile as Thistle was chastised. Not much as he was the Prince but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t entertaining in some form. As the drow was excused, Wendy offered him a Keep Well. She couldn’t very well ignore these people. She would be their Queen. If the Queen didn’t interfere again of course and Wendy was determined to make the best of it.

She was determined to be a great Queen.

Glancing to Thistle’s description she nodded slightly. “Madame Jeiss.” Wendy said with a smile. Insult or not, Wendy was here to make a good impression. “I am Lady Wendy. I hear you’re well known for your healing concoctions?” 

THISTLE: “Mm,” grumped Madame Jeiss, her beady, dark eyes flicking from Wendy back to Thistle. “I see you’ve taught her your tricks. Well, I won’t fall for it!” 

“Madame, what have you brought?” asked the goblin with a put upon sigh. 

“Eh? Well, my healing serums, of course!” She thunked her basket down on the table and the sound of clinking glass arose. Throwing off the blanket on top of them, she pulled out several vials, all of them different colors and glowing ominously. Setting them on the table, she shoved them towards the goblin. 

“This’ll do, eh?” 

The goblin glanced at Thistle, who shrugged his shoulders slightly. “Very well.” 

“And for our new queen,” Madame Jeiss said. “A special serum for your skin that will make you more resistant to infection.” She handed Wendy a vial full of purple liquid that oozed about in its container. “Go on! Try it.” 

WENDY: Wendy accepted the container though she had no intention to try it, not without determining it was safe. And considering they were out in public if it wasn’t she would be making a horrid impression. Of course that could be the point, a test, how naive was she? How ill suited was she for the position that should not be hers. Perhaps poison so she wouldn’t ever take the position and it was easy enough to blame someone else and Thistle would be free.

“I wouldn’t want your serum to react to the products I use and give your serum an ill reputation.” Wendy instead stated with a smile at the fae. She wouldn’t get herself in trouble by promising she would try it later.

THISTLE: Thistle smirked and felt something warm in his chest. A strange feeling that some might attribute to pride. Wendy was no fool. She had grown up in Elfhame. Had been kept close to the queen. She was no ordinary mortal. And it was clear Madame Jeiss was testing her anyway. Looking to see how far she could push. To see if the Queen of the Stags would be weak-minded, or easily fooled.

Wendy was none of those things. For just a moment, Thistle could see their future. Ruling side by side, a united front against enemies. It was--a nice feeling. Made him feel stronger and steadier as he looked back at Madame Jeiss, who had thrown her head back with a laugh.

“Smart,” she said with a sharp huff. She snatched the bottle back and then gave her another, folding her hand around it. “Use this to smell as sweet as the flowers that bloom in the Drylands. Keep well.” 

“Keep well,” Thistle agreed with a nod.

As she moved off, Thistle leaned in towards Wendy. “Keep this up and they may actually like you.”  

WENDY: Wendy’s lips tipped just a bit at the laugh, she knew this world and perhaps in the human world she might be insulted that she had to go through a test but in this world she succeeded and that was a source of pride, accomplishment. Wendy’s eyes darted to Thistle just for a moment as if she was looking for his approval before turning her attention back to Madame Jeiss.

“Keep Well.” Wendy offered in return.

Tilting her head toward Thistle as he leaned toward her, Wendy smirked. “Did you ever doubt that I knew how to play these games?” Wendy taunted. “You will have no fool as a Queen.”

THISTLE: Thistle smirked again. No, he would not have a fool for a queen. He would not suffer a fool and would rather scorn his grandmother than go through with a wedding to someone who would weaken the Fenlands. He would have killed Wendy himself if he thought this of her. At the start, he had been unsure of her, but it had been nearly two years now. He knew her capabilities and whenever she surprised him, it was only in a way that pleased him. 

Much of its own accord, his hand moved, brushing once down her back, settling on the small of it. 

“I know,” he murmured in her ear. “However, we must show them that this is true.” He moved away then, his hand slipping from her back, smiling in greeting of their next subject. 

September, 2017

WENDY: Wendy was making her way back from a late night in the library when she spied the light coming from the kitchens. It could be expected she supposed, someone getting ahead on prep, making sure her and Thistle and the Royal family were fed of course. But this late? Wendy knew even if she could explain it away she wasn’t correct.

Besides you never explained anything away in this world, in this land, and especially not as a Lady.

Padding down the halls, Wendy peeked through the door, stopping in her tracks. Thistle? Cooking? Since when did you find a Prince in the kitchen? Well there was that time he had helped heal her hand and make that concoction so it couldn’t be too surprising her had more skills than her in the kitchen.

“Do you normally cook in the middle of the night?” Wendy teased her voice light as she stepped into the kitchen making her presence known.

THISTLE: “Not often,” Thistle replied casually as he paused to look up at her before continuing to crack the egg. All of the ingredients gathered on the table were from his latest trip to the mortal realm. He had just returned a few weeks ago and knew he needed to use the eggs and milk before they turned sour. (The Fenlands didn’t exactly have a way of keeping things fresh, he had bought a charm from a sorcerer before he left, but even that would wear off.)

This evening he had been restless anyway. In the morning a convoy of dignitaries from the Riverlands and Forestlands were coming to discuss borders and trade routes. While they had rather good relations with their neighbors, these meetings were always tense. Full of endless posturing and wordplay. He should be trying to rest, so he’d be sharp eyed and sharp tongued in the morning, but instead, he was making bread. 

“What are you doing prowling the corridors so late?” Wendy’s presence was not necessarily unwanted and he had meant what he’d told her when he said she had free roam of the castle, but he was surprised to see her out and about so late. He supposed he shouldn’t be. She was always curious. And, perhaps, her sense of freedom had not yet worn off. 

WENDY: Wendy’s eyes trailed down to the ingredients as she ventured closer, eyes blinked wide when she realized what exactly it was. There was no way to confuse these ingredients with ingredients in the fenlands. Reaching out cautiously a glance in Thistle’s direction to see if he would snap on her and tell her to get out of his space.

You never could trust the reaction of a fae even as they built a mutual ‘trust’.

“I was reading in the library. The light drew me to the kitchens.” And Wendy was glad that it had, considering the ingredients around her. “May I join you?”

THISTLE: Reading in the library. That shouldn’t be a shock. Wendy was often reading in the library. Not that he blamed her. He couldn’t imagine going as long as she had with a restricted reading list. Oh sure, she had probably been allowed the occasional novel or two under the queen’s watchful eye, but he doubted it was as much freedom as she had now. 

“If that is your prerogative,” he told her with a shrug as he finished kneading the dough and set it off to the side to rise. 

He went over to the large fire oven and opened it, rolling up his sleeve and reaching into the wood basket at its side to begin feeding the flames higher, so that the bread would bake properly. Thistle could feel Wendy’s questioning eyes on him, but he did not say anything. He knew she had recognized the ingredients, but he wasn’t going to explain himself. 

WENDY: Spinning the ingredients around in her hand, Wendy’s jumped up to him and followed him as if he would explain everything to her. Of course he wouldn’t but she could wish. “Are there no ingredients in all of Elfhame that could mimic these?” Wendy questioned instead. She never considered it, after all why would those style ingredients ever come into the High Court, let alone be allowed to cross Wendy’s path.

She was to be as isolated from anything human that she could recognize.

“Do you have a recipe you follow?” Do not ask too many questions Wendy, but Wendy couldn’t help it. She was so curious.

THISTLE: “No and no,” Thistle answered as he turned away from the now billowing oven. He wiped his forehead where sweat had begun to gather with his arm. 

“I brought the ingredients back with me from the mortal realm.” 

The wheat was different, the milk was different. The taste of warm, buttered bread could not be replicated. Food was one of the things that magic could not replace. Could not mimic. He was not sure why, but it was simply true. No matter how powerful he was, fresh rosemary bread would always allude him in Elfhame. 

Moving over to the rosemary, he cracked the branch between his fingers and then rolled his fingers down the spine so that the leaves would fall into the dough. He folded it again, the scent of fresh rosemary sharp in the air. 

“The recipe is my mother’s.” His human mother’s. 

He did not talk about her often. Everyone in Elfhame knew she’d died when he was young, when he appeared in Elfhame—accompanied by his father who claimed he had no mortal family. It wasn’t a lie as far as his father had known. All accounts said his uncle was in the war, most likely dead. 

WENDY: The human realm. Sometimes it felt out of reach and sometimes like this, too close. The Queen engaged her to a half human. Really not her best decision when it came to their tenacity. Even if it seemed like they would ruin one another.

Closing her eyes at the smell of rosemary, she could distinctly remember running through gardens and the smell rubbing off on her. And then subsequently getting in trouble for running in gardens in the first place. It made her smile at the very thought. 

Fluttering her eyes open, Wendy focused on his hands working the dough. The ease, the familiarity. 

“Did you ever put it onto paper?”

THISTLE: “No,” Thistle said as he began to break the dough into several pieces. “I didn’t.”

I know it by memory, he almost said. There is nothing of my mother on paper. His father had seen to that. Making sure that there would be nothing to trace her to Thistle, to the fae. It wasn’t like they had much to begin with. His mother had barely known how to read and write, had taught Thistle only the little she had known. How to write his name: Teddy Barrie. Not how to write a recipe. That she had taught him with repetition. There had been a little rosemary bush outside their kitchen window, but eggs and milk and flour had been hard to come by in the city. The war rations rarely gave them enough, but his mother always managed somehow. The bread had always tasted so sweet.

Thistle put the rolls on a sheet and put the sheet in the oven, closing the heavy iron door and remembering the heavy, iron door at his mother’s. It had not been ornate. It had been crude and simple, but it had baked bread just as well as the kitchens of the high fae.

“We made it often enough,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “When we had the ingredients.”  

WENDY: Wendy’s eyes traveled along Thistle, wondering what was behind that sentence. There was always a second line, a hidden meaning to anything, to everything. But Wendy couldn’t begin to guess especially when it came to his Mother.

“Do you make it often now? When you have the ingredients?” Wendy questioned inching forward and into Thistle’s space. She wanted to know how to make it. But she wasn’t sure if she could ask at this point. She probably would but she wanted to know so much more.

THISTLE: “When I have the ingredients,” he agreed, watching her closely. It was a wary sort of look. Unsure what this line of questioning meant. His father tolerated his human proclivities. His siblings teased him about it. Wendy was human, though. He didn’t know what she might think. Or what she should think. 

The feeling he got was odd, as if Wendy had caught him with his hand in the guts of a cadaver, not kneading at a pile of dough. There was the strange urge to explain himself further, but he held his tongue. Explaining things, telling the truth, in Elfhame gave people power over you. 

He shifted, leaning back against the large preparation table, watching the oven door. After a moment, he looked to Wendy’s face, the shadow of fire flickering over it. 

“They are not so hard to come by,” he said. “Ingredients.” He looked back at the oven. “If you would like to make a request.”

WENDY: Wendy’s eyes jumped up to Thistle’s at the offer. She would love to. But the thing was Wendy no longer remembered many ingredients to many recipes. Not enough to request them even if she had dishes that she remembered.

“I would love to be able to work with them. Whenever you have them. If you would allow me.” Wendy instead requested. Joining Thistle in the kitchen, learning how to use ingredients from her home was more powerful than anything else she could want to taste or try again.

THISTLE: Thistle eyed Wendy wondering what was going on in her mind. Wondering, maybe, which human food was her favourite. If she even remembered. She had been younger than him when she came to Elfhame. It surprised him that he wanted to find out, but he let himself feel it, let it seep through him, rising like the bread in the oven. 

He nodded, just once, slowly. “I will be sure to tell you next time,” he told her, his dark gaze finding her clear one. Without saying anything else, he moved forward, opening the oven and removing the rolls. They smelled delicious, perfectly golden brown. 

Taking one off the rack, he bounced it between his hands to cool it down before ripping it in half. He handed one half to Wendy silently, taking a bite of the other half with a little smirk. 

WENDY: Wendy should have hesitated before taking the piece of bread, but it was warm and in a way it smelled like home. Not to say they made fresh bread often. But it felt mortal. It felt like a piece of her returned.

And well Thistle proved it wasn’t poisoned considering he took a bite first and Wendy followed.

“It’s delicious Thistle. Perhaps one day I may know how to make it by memory as well.” Maybe she could share this mortal thing with her, perhaps there were more mortal things that she could share with him.

THISTLE: For maybe the first time, Thistle imagined a future with Wendy. A proper one. Bringing her gifts from the mortal realm when he left. Perhaps, one day, maybe taking her with him. And he could imagine nights baking bread. She’d be disappointed to find out he could not make much else, but maybe he could try. If only to make her smile like that again, so that she looked light. 

The thoughts surprised him, but didn’t disturb him. He felt them settle, warm in his stomach like the bread that he swallowed. 

“Perhaps,” he agreed, in the way of the fae, without promising anything at all, but, maybe, wanting to. 

November, 2017

WENDY: Engaged or not, you never escaped the Queen, she still had her grip on the lands, she still could summon you at a moment’s notice and considering she liked to hold extravagant balls, it wasn’t a surprise Wendy and Thistle were back in the High Court.

But no one could miss the way Wendy was flowing in purples and greens. Flowers woven in her hair native to the Fenlands and not the High Court. She was the lady of the Fenlands. No longer a puppet of the Court.

Her shoes were a height she could manage and the dress while heavy wasn’t heavier on purpose and Wendy stood tall, with a smile of confidence only you could have as a mortal who had bested the Queen not only once, but considering her and Thistle were getting along, they might as well have bested her another time.

“Would you care to dance?” Everyone wanted a show? They might as well put one on.

THISTLE: This was not their first ball at the High Court and it certainly wouldn’t be their last, but it had been several seasons since they had come to court together. This time, Thistle was less perturbed by the idea. Let the other courts see that the Fenlands were strong. That they may have a mortal for a future queen, but that mortal, that woman, had bested the queen and won over the future king. Let them be dazzled and, maybe, even threatened. 

Thistle wanted to relish in his difference in a way he never had before. Once, all he could see was the target that it painted on his back, but now, he thought he might’ve understood why his father had chosen him. It singled him out. Made him different. Mortals had their strengths, Thistle had realized, had learned and having a queen whose True Name was certainly a mystery was an asset that the High Queen had severely underestimated.

That had been Thistle’s whole life, though: different, underestimated. 

He chuckled low at the spark in Wendy’s eye, recognizing it. 

“You’re not planning on getting us in trouble, are you?” he asked as he held out his hand for her and pulled her onto the dance floor, his other hand going to her waist. 

WENDY: “Trouble? I would never plan for trouble.” Wendy stated with a grin putting her hand in his as he led her to the dance floor. Much like always the crowds parted for them. Not because they respected them but because they were the unknown, the unwanted, the mystery to unravel. It was them waiting for them to trip and fall.

And perhaps long ago they might have tried, and maybe Thistle or Wendy would sacrifice the other but they were so much more powerful together and Wendy liked to think the others finally realized that.

“I only wish to show off a little bit, My Prince. Do you consider that getting us into Trouble?”

THISTLE: “Mm,” Thistle hummed, as if contemplating this as they picked up the rhythm of the music and began to glide across the dance floor. 

“That depends on how much showing off we are doing, my lady.” 

There was truth to that statement. He could not say it otherwise. There was a fine line to walk here, between intriguing the courts and keeping them interested, maybe even worried--and pissing off his grandmother. Not that he worried so much about it. She had underestimated both of them, along with everyone else and Thistle got a little thrill out of being part of her weakness.

After years of being in the shadows, he was relishing stepping into the light. 

WENDY: That was always true, show off a little too much and you put a target on your back. Of course that would get one into trouble. Wendy’s smirk showed she knew very well that was an option. But that wasn’t her goal. 

All she wanted to show off was their unity. That the Fenlands were more powerful because they hadn’t broken Thistle. That Wendy would not be the weakness she had hoped her to be.

“Just enough that others are made jealous of us.” Wendy hummed as she pretended to contemplate, she didn’t even need to look down at her feet to make sure she wasn’t about to trip, She knew exactly how her dress flowed out around her and she knew how good she looked.

THISTLE: This side of Wendy was new. Certainly at court. Thistle had seen it blossoming over the last year as Wendy, too, learned that she could step out into the light. When she’d finally unfurled her wings, there had been something enchanting about her. A mortal in a realm of monsters. Thistle wondered how long it would last. He promised himself to make sure it was as long as possible.

He liked this Wendy. No longer frightened. Confident and sharp. Thistle could cut himself on her gaze, and he didn’t think he would mind. 

“I see,” Thistle replied, amused and fond. 

Perhaps these things should not be, but Thistle didn’t mind. Falling in love in the High Court of Elfhame was a dangerous game, but no more dangerous than anything else one did amongst the fae. 

His hand rose slightly, splaying against her back as he picked up the pace, spinning them once, twice around the floor which rippled like water. Wendy’s dress blurred into the purple of Thistle’s trousers, until they were a single gradient. 

“Try not to get dizzy,” he advised, or perhaps, challenged; his breathing still even, despite the pace.

WENDY: Thistle liked to challenge and Wendy found that she liked to be challenged. If you didn’t push her she sat under the radar until needed. No reason to show off if no one needed you too. Of course Wendy didn’t have that ability either way. As much as she thought she had remained strong under the Queen, it was only with Thistle that she realized she had almost been broken.

One of the mortals that couldn’t hold anyone’s gaze.

That wasn’t to be her, not with Thistle at her side and although there was fear giving in to him, there was a certain amount of power.

So twirl her Thistle. She could keep up.

“The trick is to focus on one still point as you spin. I think I’ll focus on you.” Wendy stated her breath still even as the flowed and took over the dance floor. The High Court rippling with a colour that was not her own.

THISTLE: ”Good choice,” Thistle murmured.

He had already focused on Wendy. The steps were ones he knew by heart. He had been dancing them for as long as he could remember, but never with a partner like Wendy. She intrigued him. Frustrated him. And made him feel like there was more to himself than even he knew. It was a strange sort of becoming, but one he was not afraid of. A fae prince was not afraid of anything. Especially not a mortal. 

Thistle did not know if the hush that fell over the crowd was real or simply in his own head, but the edges of the crowd blurred, leaving only Wendy in focus. Her dark hair, her pale skin, and those eyes like glass.

The song swelled and Thistle lifted Wendy by the hips, graceful, easy, and set her down again, their bodies sliding against one another’s. 

WENDY: “I thought so.” Wendy murmured as well their eyes didn’t leave one another and Wendy found she didn’t mind. Thistle always had a certain look about him mysterious and so confusing and although Wendy had thought she had pulled back some layers she wasn’t quite there. 

And every chance to admire him was a chance to try and figure him out.

She felt safe trying to figure him out and it just pulled her in further.

Further into him and away from everything else. There was nothing else. She could be in the Fenlands at this moment, she almost thought she could be in London and it wouldn’t change a thing. A dangerous thing as she was drawn into his space. Closer and closer.

“Would this create too much trouble for you?” Wendy questioned her eyes flicking down to his lips briefly.

THISTLE: It was a dare. 

Thistle knew this. That, maybe, she didn’t expect him to do it. It was just another part of the dance. The one that they had been doing before they’d even stepped on to the dance floor. A tease. A challenge. 

The only difference was: Thistle wanted to do it. 

It didn’t matter what the queen thought. Or what his cousins thought. Or any of the other fae. It would cause trouble, Thistle knew it. But Thistle liked trouble. He liked danger. And Wendy’s lips were painted the deep purple of poisonous mushrooms, the kind that made you hallucinate and drown yourself. 

And Thistle didn’t care. 

Long hanging flowers swayed gently above them—their fragrance thick and honey sweet. The stars twirled in a thick blanket above them, bright enough to light up the night. Not that it mattered. Thistle was used to the dark and he knew Wendy’s face. His eyes traced the curve of her cheeks and the long, straight line of her nose. They fell silently to her lips. 

“Not nearly enough,” he told her quietly. To him, in that moment, she was worth all that trouble and more. He dipped her backwards in the middle of the dance floor and kissed her. 

WENDY: Thistle kissed her and Wendy found herself kissing him back. She was dipped in his arms and at his mercy honestly and for a moment Wendy found herself not minding. In the back of her mind she kept playing all the situations out. Try as she may to forget she analyzed everything that could happen just from this one kiss.

Still Wendy kissed back and she wanted to kiss back. She ignored all the thoughts of everyone and with enough focus that did fade into the background.

Only when she was upright again and her eyes scanned his did she tune the world back in, listening to the little whispers around them.

“Not nearly enough? If we want more I’m sure we just need to kiss again.”

THISTLE: They kissed and Thistle knew that it was dangerous. The kiss was dangerous. The way he felt about the kiss was dangerous. It had been a long time since he’d kissed someone and felt anything besides pleasure and playfulness. He was thinking about Wendy’s fingers on his shoulders when she turned the pages of books in the library, of the scent of her perfume and how he could smell it in places she lingered, even when she wasn’t in the room. 

He was thinking about how she was his, not the queen’s. 

Her lips were soft, warm against his. For a moment, he almost got lost in it, Wendy’s kiss the dark, brackish waters of the Fenlands--enticing, but deadly, pulling you under into its current before you had a chance to fight. 

The kiss broke. This pulled back, watching Wendy carefully, wondering if this was some sort of trap. 

Or worse: a mistake.

He was glad that Wendy spoke first. For once, Thistle wasn’t sure what to say. 

Instead, he laughed and shook his head. “Always leave them wanting more,” he murmured to her. 

WENDY: Leave them wanting more, leave her wanting more. Wendy wasn’t sure which one that it was that wanted it more. Glancing to the side Wendy looked over the crowd they had drawn and the ones that had stopped to stare.

Compared to the first time, she was comfortable, as comfortable as someone at the High Court could be. At the tip of her lips was her asking if she could kiss him again, even without the crowd.

“How many eyes on us do you count?” Wendy instead prompted.

THISTLE: “Plenty,” he told her, still close, still watching her like she was going to disappear--or laugh--or pull away. He wasn’t looking at anyone else, but he could feel their gazes, hear the murmuring. 

His hand moved subtly on her back and he finally pulled his eyes from her, looking around. Most of the fae had gone back to what they were doing, but there were several watching them. And from her dias, overlooking all, the Queen was staring directly at them--her face cool and calm, a mask of perfect porcelain, but Thistle knew what that meant. 

She was furious. 

Good. 

Thistle looked back down at Wendy and smirked. “I am sure this will get us invited back to the Court again in the near future.” 

WENDY: Wendy smirked as well though she didn’t glance at the Queen, she was more confident but facing the Queen was not something that she thought she could manage or handle. Thistle could handle that piece. They had caused trouble and that was the goal.

Wendy just hoped she wouldn’t regret it. Not now, and not the next time they were invited once more.

“I look forward to causing more trouble when we are invited back.” Wendy grinned smiling up at Thistle as they finished their dance.

[thorns-ofthe-thistle]

Til Death Do Us Part [Flashback] . [Whistle]

In which, the Queen makes an arrangement for Wendy and Thistle’s futures…[takes place: early 2016]

@my-lost-darling

[cw – references to servitude, torture, violence; lil bit of blood in this one]

WENDY: Wendy had been released from her confinement but while she may have been free to leave her cage, it only adjusted with her. For most parts of her day Permission was required by the Queen, and if the Queen wasn’t available then Wendy was simply kept away from others.

But she had a bigger window, and food more regularly and she was not forgotten again.

Wendy attended parties once more, the subject of more whispers. But she did not fight them, she obeyed all orders and listened to the Queen. Giving into all of her whims. 

She would be pulled onto dance floors and spun around until she was dizzy and sang until she could not. She read stories and created them and although not too much time had passed it felt like she hadn’t stopped moving.

Even now, when Wendy had finished a dance with some Iceland Fae because the Queen ordered her to, she returned to the front of the court bowing to the Queen when she was requested.

“You’ve created such a disharmous environment lately, Sweet Wendy. I’m glad to see you focusing your priorities back where they belong.” The Queen mused with a sigh reaching out for her fan. 

“But you’ve made me think quite a bit as well. And I’ve determined the best course of action for your future. A union that will bless both your voice and skill along with the clever tongue and brilliant mind of one of my dearest High Fey.”

THISTLE: Something was happening at the High Court.

Once you had been around it long enough, you started to learn the signs. It was almost as if Thistle could sense it in the air, crackling like an oncoming storm. It made him uneasy, but he kept it to himself. Especially as he traveled to court with his father and one of his plethora of older sisters. Perhaps the oldest of all of them. Honestly, Thistle didn’t know. He didn’t like her anyway. Bramble lived up to her name and was a thorn in his side. Never one to leave something alone. She prodded at him more than any of the others.

“Grandmama certainly wants something from him,” she had said to their father as they stood at their carriage, waiting for it to be loaded with their luggage. Thistle stood at the head of the carriage, stroking the nose of one of the swamp stags. The giant creatures with their coats matted green with moss and their gnarled antlers from which grew lovely prized mushrooms were strong and sturdy and could pull through mud and muck without flinching. They always dirtied the cobblestone of the grand drive of the palace too, which amused Thistle. He was pretending to be occupied with them instead of listening into his father and sister’s conversation. 

“Then she will have it,” their father said in a voice that brokered no argument and that was the end of it. 

They had made it to the Court two nights ago. Tonight was a full moon and festivities were in full swing. He tried to ignore the looming feeling, drinking and laughing with his friends. Smiling and greeting his grandmother with a flourish. 

He was oblivious to Her Majesty’s plot, until the tinkling sound of long nails tapping on glass silenced the crowd. The Queen standing from her gilded throne. 

“Esteemed guests, you have been gathered here for an extremely special occasion.”

[outfit]

WENDY: Wendy for once had lost a bit of her spark, her shoulders slumped as she stood by the Queen, her words rang in her ears and all the worse case scenarios ran through her mind. As an entertainer Wendy was given leeway, more than she would as the wife of a high fey, there was slight fear on who she could pick because of course she wouldn’t tell Wendy who it was. She would rather let her stew in the thoughts.

Couldn’t she just let her go, now that she had stopped entertaining her. Much like that girl years ago.

Everyone’s eyes were on the Queen which meant they were looking at her and Wendy slowly adjusted her posture and held her head high as they looked.

As fearful as she was she would not give anyone the power. Especially not the Iceland Prince who looked over with an amused grin.

“I’d like to introduce the newest union for my grandson Prince Thistle of the Fenlands and my dear songbird Wendy Darling.” Quickly Wendy’s eyes widen searching out for the Prince she had spoken of.

It could be worse but she wasn’t sure it could get much better.

THISTLE: When Thistle heard his name, his gaze snapped towards his grandmother without meaning to, the burning anger in his eyes. He found her already looking at him, her expression a serene and vicious look. She knew that he had helped the little bird. Showed a preference to her. And the Queen couldn’t have that, could she? Wendy was her favourite and the Queen had never been one to share her toys.

Thistle tore his eyes away, skipping from the Queen straight to Wendy--who was staring wide-eyed at him from across the marbled hall. He didn’t know what that expression meant. Only that this union was to embarrass the Fenlands and their bastard prince. A punishment for him. A punishment for her? 

“What have you done?” his father muttered harshly to him, his black claws digging into the fabric of Thistle’s shirt. 

Bramble was tittering. “Well, go on, Tootles.” She nudged him.

Thistle swallowed and lifted his head. The crowd parted for him and he strode toward the dias with a small smile. As if he had known all about this. As if he had chosen it. No one was fooled by it, he was sure, but it helped. 

“There we are, my darling,” purred the Queen, taking his hand when he reached her throne. He bowed to kiss the back of her moon-pale hand. 

“You are generous, allowing me to wed your songbird.” It was true. After all, the Queen was a selfish thing. She did not share. 

WENDY: For a moment Wendy was sure she sure she would faint, she couldn’t process the information, her mind couldn’t find a way out. Wasn’t it Thistle who said there was always a way. She would love for him to show her the way.

His voice was jarring against the ringing in her ears. Slowly she had followed his movements until he was in front of the Queen and Wendy struggled to breath. Had she signed her life away to him, would he be worse, would he leave her alone? Would she remain here and he would galavant around the human world like he already did.

Words were not coming to her.

“You are most right my darling Thistle. It seems my little songbird is overcome with joy she had been rendered speechless.” Jeers and laughter rang out and the ringing returned.

“My apologies my Queen, to even consider marrying a Prince was never an honour I could imagine would be bestowed on me.” Wendy stated slowly, carefully. She was okay. She would be okay.

Taking Wendy’s hand the Queen pulled her toward Thistle so both of them were facing her. “We should do the engagement ceremony here! I’ve even prepared a selection of engagement necklaces for you two choose for one another. Everything is ready.” The Queen smirked her voice airy as if she was celebrating but it was less a celebration for them, as it was for her.

THISTLE: Thistle wasn’t panicking because it was not princely to panic. Besides, there were ways out of this. He’d dance with Wendy tonight and assure her that he would take care of this. Then, he would speak to his father, knowing he was not happy with this arrangement. Prince Nettle would reason with his mother and all of this would be quickly and easily forgotten. 

And then, the queen’s claws closed over his and Wendy’s hand. He realized as her talons scraped his flesh that she had no intention of letting him out of this. 

There was no escape. 

A pit opened in his stomach, yawning wide. Sucking his heart down into it. He steeled his expression, stony and cool. Nothing given away. In a moment, when he turned toward the crowd again, he would be all gracious smiles and the queen expected, but he could not hide his ire from her. Even though he knew this was what she wanted. He wished he could conceal his disgust, but it burned too hotly through him and he did not have the controlled manner of the fae. He was part human, after all. 

“Very well,” he growled at her but then leaned back as she looked at him, her eyes twinkling. He took a breath and then managed the kind of bright, lazy smile that he was known for. 

“Yes, the queen has given me a bride,” he called out to the crowd, his words smooth but carefully chosen. Given implied there was perhaps a sense of choice for Thistle. A question asked and answered. “It has been a while since we’ve had a royal wedding, no?” Several people clapped. Several others didn’t. Several more jeered at them. 

He turned to Wendy, though when he looked at her, he looked right through her. “Come, let us see what the queen has chosen for us.” 

WENDY: It was a good thing that Thistle knew the game and how to play it because Wendy wasn’t all that sure she could. It was his voice that reminded her she needed to move. Needed to do something. The Queen had been basking in her stupor so she hadn’t been paying as much attention to her. There was nothing that Wendy could do to stop this. She didn’t have the power to do so.

“Of course.” Had Wendy truly thought she would have been able to coast for the rest of her life here, as a performer. Of course she was set to have something taken away. Not that she thought she would ever be able to marry for love, that was a child-like notion she had let go a long time ago. But she hadn’t considered marriage at any of her points here.

Guided toward a jeweled display the Queen didn’t follow but that didn’t mean they were alone, the court was too busy to truly be alone and free. Spread out along a table were many necklaces ranging from different flowers to birds, anything nature related from clouds to fire to water.

“We can delay this, can we not?”

THISTLE: “No, we cannot,” Thistle murmured to her, keeping his voice low, his lips hardly moving. He still smiled, because there was nothing about a fae’s magic that said you could not lie in your expression. A smile here, a curl of a lip there. These things were all the tools a fae had. And no matter if no one believed it, Thistle needed its protection anyway. 

Wendy too. She would be a target now. If anyone wanted to mess with him, or undercut his or the Fenlands authority, they would go after Wendy. Not because he cared about her, but because if they could get to her, it would mean he was weak. The kingdom of the Fenlands weak. 

“I would suggest not bringing it up with the queen either, unless you want to make more of an enemy of her than you already have.” 

This was her fault, Thistle realized. Yes, he had been chosen because it was convenient for the queen to keep him on a shorter leash. But, it had been Wendy who had undermined her authority. Who had tricked her. Yes, this was much easier to bear when it was Wendy’s fault. 

Thistle stepped up to the table, glancing over the jewelry. Each one was nothing but earth. Metals and stone, the only magic they had was the magic in every part of this world. That would change as soon as Wendy and Thistle were bound. He fingered one that was a twisted piece of purple quartz, but did not say anything else.

WENDY: There was no ability to delay this, in theory Wendy shouldn’t be mad, she had lucked out. She could have been given to Briar and who knew what he would do, Slightly which Wendy would never survive the mountainlands, nimble who again she would never survive the icelands but also who she feared just enough whenever he visited the court.

She should be happy of all people she was paired with Thistle. Perhaps he would just leave her alone if she was lucky enough. Perhaps he would be kind enough to leave her to her own devices. Wendy doubted it but there was an inkling of hope she might have a better life.

But there was no fighting this, no need to try to fight this. There was nothing to fight.

Taking his lead Wendy walked up to the table her eyes glancing over all the jewelry. Wendy was drawn to a bird standing tall. Perhaps she was a songbird trapped in a cage here but Wendy was always nicknamed Wendybird at home for trying to fly when she obviously couldn’t. Her dreams and her stories were what let her fly. 

Lifting the piece Wendy couldn’t bare to look up at Thistle or say anything more.

“Ah Wendy you found something? How lovely, and Thistle were you as lucky?”

THISTLE: Lucky was not how Thistle would describe this situation. 

He had been tricked. Or—worse: sloppy. He had dropped his guard. Thought he would be safe as crowned prince, the way his cousins were safe. That had been foolish. The queen had always hated him. His siblings hated him. Often, he had no idea his father’s own motivations for the things he had done. Was it to make Thistle miserable? Was it because of any affection he held for Thistle’s mother? Or was Thistle simply a pawn in his father’s games?

For just a moment, Thistle had stepped outside and tried to carve his own path. Now, he was being punished. They both were. His chest burned with regret and guilt. Of course, he was well aware Wendy had the worse end of this piece of the game, but—

That didn’t make him feel as if he wanted to slink away and lick his own wounds. 

It was an easy choice. It was the choice his grandmother probably assumed he would make. Or, perhaps, she had put it there thinking he would not choose the predictable option, but there was a predictability in being unpredictable and, in this moment, Thistle did not want to give his grandmother the satisfaction of rebellion. So, he grabbed the necklace of two intricately carved thistles and turned around, presenting it to Wendy. 

At the same time, he reached out and gently took the pendant she had chosen from her. 

“A bird?” he asked quietly, his brow furrowed. 

WENDY: When Wendy thought about it, she perhaps was giving something to Thistle that she never would with someone else. A piece of her before all this. Of course she wasn’t about to explain it or even tell him it was a part of her past.

Sometimes it might just be nice to remember it on her own, or perhaps she had just started down that road of corrupting the memory.

Thistle’s choice was a little more predictable, his name sake, though she would have assumed he would do something different.

“Perhaps one day you may hear the story why.” Wendy instead offered just as quietly. If there was no delaying this engagement and eventual wedding there was a new game to play. One that included either being interesting enough that Thistle didn’t toss her aside to be destroyed, or becoming liked enough she could be tossed aside and forgotten. It was a hard line to balance.

The Queen faced the court, her smile radiant with glee. “It brings my heart such sadness to give away my lovely Wendy. Her voice and presence has been such a staple in our Court. How many nights have we been sung into dreams of splendor by my Wendy. But this is not goodbye, though my Wendy may be engaged I will have her sing for us again and I am sure it will bring my dear grandson closer to me accompanying his future wife. The High Court is her home, I do hope they visit often.” The Queen turned her attention to Thistle and Wendy holding her hand out for the dagger ornate with gems and flowers from all the courts.

Holding the pendant in her right hand the Queen took her left, the same hand with the scar from the first game Wendy met Thistle at.

“We make promises to each other when we promise ourselves to our pair. And as our couple didn’t have time to determine their promises I have created some for them. They may never be apart for more than seven days, They may never bear children until they are married, They must marry within seven years.” The Queen announced gesturing for Thistle to hold out his hand as well.

THISTLE: Thistle wasn’t expecting an answer from Wendy. He also wasn’t expecting to actually be curious. The feeling needled at him as she gave her teasing nonanswer. At least she still had a sense of humour about all this, because it certainly wasn’t funny. His gaze stayed on her face for an extra moment before turning back to look at his grandmother. 

Her words meant little to him. At least, the first part.

The second...well, that made him stiffen slightly. With each word it was clear that this was a punishment. If he could not be away from Wendy...what was he supposed to do about…

He would find a way. He had for a hundred years. He would not stop now. 

“Oh, and one more piece,” the queen murmured this quietly, so only Wendy and Thistle could hear. “If either of my dearests would like to break this engagement, they must tell each other their True Names.” Her bright white smile stretched nightmarish over her dark red lips as she leaned back again. 

Thistle’s heart squeezed and then started beating double time. It took everything in him not to reel back off the dais. 

That was what this was about. 

The queen wanted to control them both.  

His chin lifted and although his heart was beating painfully in his chest, his face was smooth as he held out his hand. The knife pierced his skin, a single drop of swirling blue blood appeared and the queen scraped it off, adding it to Wendy’s bright red. The two fused together, swirling purple as she touched them to the gems within both the pendants. 

“Now, my dearest Thistle, place this about your betrothed’s neck.” Thistle did as he was told, careful not to touch Wendy as he laid the circular necklace around her throat. He tilted his head down slightly so that she could do the same to him. The pendant was warm and he couldn’t help but reach up and touch it. 

“And soon, a wedding!”

There was a smattering of applause as their fates were sealed.

[thorns-ofthe-thistle]

The Caged Bird and the Prince [Flashback] . [Whistle]

In which, after Wendy’s betrayal to the queen, Thistle visits her in her prison...[takes place: early 2016]

@my-lost-darling

[tw -- references to servitude, torture, violence; thoughts of suicide]

THISTLE: It would be a lie if Thistle said he had forgotten about the bird in her cage. And the fae cannot lie.

This was mostly due to the fact that the queen kept making reasons for him to stay close. He had traveled home to the Fenlands only once since he had been back in Elfhame. First it was because some cousin or another was getting married, then it was the new moon, then it was the spring festival. And when the queen invited you to a party, you dare not turn down the invitation. He was getting restless. What had he done to obtain her ire? Whenever he was at court, he behaved. Much to his chagrin. He played his part as well as he was able, which was a far sight better than some of his cousins. Perhaps, because he had more to prove, or perhaps he had more to lose. Afterall, he was only half fae and therefore, only half a prince when things came right down to it. 

He knew it was true. He knew the queen felt it too. And despite that he was a favourite of his father’s, the queen found him unseemingly. At least, that was what Thistle had muddled out over the years. The queen’s lack of power over him annoyed her, his father’s doting annoyed her. Thistle’s presence annoyed her, but not as much as his lack of presence.

Though, he’d been in trouble this evening, requesting he be able to leave the Court. For whatever reason, the queen had taken offense to this and now, Thistle was quite sure she was about to tighten the reins on him even further. It was not fair. His cousins, more or less, came and went as they pleased. At least, that was his impression of it. 

Now, he was going to be stuck here in Elfhame for even longer.

Which was why he was out that night, prowling the castle in his restlessness. It was why when he passed the hall that led up toward solitary, he paused. He heard a voice. At first, he had thought someone else was awake in the castle and he considered doubling back. But, he knew that voice. It was a voice that had been rather absent from the festivities the past fortnight. 

Despite himself, Thistle climbed the stairs and stopped outside her door. There was no window on it, but a slot where, he imagined, food was shoved through. He doubted she saw much of anyone. She must have heard him approach, for she stopped singing, just as he reached her door.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he told her through the door. “Though, just so you know: your singing isn’t going to remind her to fetch you.” 

WENDY: Wendy had feared many things at the prospect of being locked up. She feared being left to rot, she feared how small the cage would be. She feared the darkness. The one thing she hadn’t expected to fear was the silence. The emptiness and the echo of that emptiness.

Sometimes she couldn’t breathe. Other times she couldn’t stand or move. Even when food was shuffled in. It would sit there for hours until Wendy could pull herself together and grab it.

Sometimes on the good moments she would sing, if she could hear her voice she could prove she was alive. That she was okay and would be okay.

It didn’t usually bring anyone her way but the sound of footsteps made her stop as she glanced to the door. Thistle’s voice was heaven just for a moment. Someone else’s sound. Standing Wendy walked toward the door.

“For once I am not singing for anyone else. I did not expect it to draw you in. In fact I did not think you were still in the castle.” Maybe it had only been a couple days and the madness she felt was what made it feel like weeks.

THISTLE: Thistle did not expect Wendy to reply. He figured he would let her know that he was there and then move along. He told himself that he did this to torture her, to draw out her loneliness only to compound it again, like compressing a billow to a flame. He told himself this, but it was not exactly the truth. 

For the halls were dark and quiet, but Thistle felt restless and alone. Perhaps he had the freedom to walk these halls, but it just meant he had a bigger cage. Not that he sympathized with her. That would be dangerous. But, he was bored and he wanted to bother someone. Perhaps to feel a regained sense of power, perhaps because he was lonely. Neither of these things he would acknowledge. 

Perhaps he just wished to sing for himself too. 

Through the door, he could not tell if her words were pointed, but he bristled slightly anyway. 

I come and go as I please, he wanted to say, but could not. For it was a lie. 

“Well, here I am,” he said instead, ignoring the implications. “And here you are. Still in your cage, as expected.” She seemed to make a point of being unexpected. He hoped the comment stung in just the same way. 

WENDY: The comment dig sting, as much as Wendy wanted to act like she was in charge of her own life. Her own destiny. She was at the whim of others. She was at the whim of the Queen. She didn’t even know how long ago it was that she had last been out.

“And you following the Queen’s orders as expected?” Wendy stated leaning her back against the door looking out to the faint light the window gave her. “I assume she didn’t call for me, or that you are playing errand boy, so what are you doing Prince Thistle? Do you wish to get caught talking to me?”

The real question for Wendy though was how much could she get from him?

THISTLE: Thistle felt himself bristle at her words. 

Several defenses for himself jumped to his lips: I am not her errand boy, I do what I wish, I am a prince and if I wish to speak to you I will do so without care for whether the queen takes pleasure in it or not.

Instead, there was a length of silence. Though, conversation with the fae were often full of these silences, which were truths in and of themselves, depending on their length. Thistle did not want to give Wendy the satisfaction of knowing she had unsettled him as he wondered if he was so easy to read. He hoped not and that instead she had, perhaps, stumbled into her knowledge like a clumsy fawn. 

“What I am doing is my business and not yours,” he finally told her, her voice a touch less friendly than before. “Nor is it the queen’s.” And whether the queen thought it was or not, Thistle felt very differently about that matter. 

“I was simply awake. I was in the corridor. I heard you singing. And now I am here. As is my right as a prince.” For even if the queen was displeased with him, it was true that his ability to wander the halls of the castle was his right as a prince and her grandson. He was not a servant.

WENDY: None of it was her business. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to know. After all humans were curious creatures. Wendy had heard that more than once and it was something that was always an insult. As a human trapped in this world you mainly saw the weaknesses of other humans, the constant insults, the need and want for freedom. It broke them. The curiosity was taken and beaten out of them.

Wendy had to balance that with things that were actually in her power and in her control.

And balance the anger that coursed in her. 

“So you’re not looking for a little bit of excitement? Perhaps breaking some rules that won’t be broken in the morning. If no one knows nothing is broken. Not to them at least.” Wendy challenged.

THISTLE: Even though Wendy couldn’t see him, Thistle cocked an eyebrow. He recognized the challenge in her voice and he could not tell how he felt about it. 

Part of him was offended. He was a prince and she should know better than to speak to him in such a manner. If he wanted, he could have her beaten. Or take a finger for himself. The queen wouldn’t mind, as long as she could still sing. Such impertinence was often met with violence. Wendy should know better. This was what the queen got for spoiling her. 

Part of him wanted to laugh. Knowing she was trying to get under his skin. She was just a servant. There was nothing about her opinion of him that mattered. He was a prince. 

But, he did not want her beaten and he did care what she thought, if only because he cared enough what anyone thought. The half-prince, the runaway prince, the human prince—the court’s rumors and whispers had many names for him. He had been aware of them since he was young. And despite his outward appearance of unaffected airs, he always felt as if he was working twice as hard. It was why he preferred the mortal world. It was why he so resented his grandmother keeping him here. As if she was punishing him for his father’s impertinence of claiming him and giving him a title. He had not grown up with these politics, even if he had lived in the shadow of them the last ninety years. 

“You may be willing to risk the ire of the queen, but I know that such an action is unwise.” He knew it was unwise. That didn’t meant he didn’t itch for it too, finding part of her egging tempting. 

WENDY: “Everyone knows that action is unwise, and yet we all do it. In different ways of course. Your love of the human world? I may be just an ornament to the Queen but that does tend to mean she doesn’t mind speaking around me.” What would a poor human do with that information. Up until two weeks ago, everyone had thought Wendy was nothing but a insignificant mortal. One that could do nothing no matter the information given.

She was dumb, and foolish, naive and ignorant. And maybe she was once those things. But sometimes she felt like she was more of a Fae than she was a Human now.

Wendy could play the games, twist the words to get what she wanted. And she had many days in here to think about how she could. 

“If you’re here not there you might as well have some fun while you’re stuck.”

THISTLE: It was bait. Thistle knew it was bait. Wendy probably did not know that Thistle knew this, but he did. 

The game Wendy was trying to play was obvious. This did not mean it wasn’t also tempting. He could understand why she wanted her freedom, it was what he wanted too. For decades he’d been trapped under his grandmother’s thumb and it had always grated. 

Maybe, if he caused enough trouble, she would see it was not worth it to keep him around. 

With that thought in mind, Thistle turned the key in the lock and opened the door. He reached in and grabbed Wendy by her upper arm, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that she couldn’t break free. Her dress was dirty at the hem and frayed after days of wear, but the silk of it was still beautiful and it rustled under the moonlight. 

“Come along then,” he told her, his lips near her ear before he tugged her out of the cell and down the hallway, closing the door quietly behind them. He turned left and opened another door and began ascending the stairs it revealed. 

WENDY: That worked?

Thistle moved before Wendy could even consider the implications that it had worked. All she wanted was to be outside, she might have even given her life just for a moment of freedom from that room. The stone walls were maddening. 

Even with his grip Wendy struggled to keep up. She may have attempted to move around and stretch as much as she could but it was still two weeks with limited movement and some of her joints hurt at the sudden movement. But she would complain, nor would she make a sound when it would be just as easy for him to throw her back in and pretend this never happened.

The moment the door opened to the roof Wendy took in a deep breath of the cool air. Nothing like the stale and constricting air she had been subject to.

“Is your plan to push me off the roof then? May I at least request a few moments of freedom?” Wendy questioned raising an eyebrow at him.

THISTLE: Thistle loved the view from the roof. It was crafted as lovely as the rest of the building. The slates on the roof a shining, golden metal. There was a little path to walk along, with curling golden railing full of filigree. It extended beyond the gardens, beyond the lake surrounding the palace. From here, he could see the Mountainlands towering in the distance and the beginning of sparkling rivers. The constraints seemed to slip off of him and he could breathe. 

It was a place often untouched, though not off limits for the High Fey. Many just didn’t see the need for reprieve the way Thistle always had. 

Which meant Wendy’s question caught him off guard. 

He thought she might appreciate the freedom too—and seemingly she did—but apparently she could not shake her gaunt outlook. 

It made him laugh, despite himself. He leaned against the railing facing her, his elbows tucked between crafted leaves, vines he recognized from his own home. 

“If you behave,” he told her noncommittally. Though, in truth, he had no intention of pushing her off the roof. It would leave an awful mess behind. And as much as he wanted his freedom, he knew pissing off his grandmother by killing her favorite pet was not the way to earn it. 

WENDY: Good enough for her, and to be honest if she died here, at least she died with a little bit of freedom in this bird’s cage. Walking up the railing Wendy leaned against it closing her eyes against the darkened sky. The air was cool to the touch. It wasn’t stale the way everything in that room felt.

A tear was quick to fall from her eyes but Wendy wiped it away without a second thought. It would garner no sympathy and instead show that she is weak. For all the games she had played to be bested time and time again, Wendy was tired.

So tired. Part of her wished to push herself over the railing but her goal had always been to hopefully return and see her brothers again. She couldn’t do that if she was dead.

“How long can you spare?”

THISTLE: “Impatient to return to your cage?” he asked her, still lounging casually, clearly having no intention to move. 

She was looking out over the gardens, which gave Thistle the opportunity to enjoy the view. After all, the fae coveted beautiful things and Wendy was a beautiful thing. Two weeks in a prison had greased her hair, but that just made it look darker, like an oil spill in the moonlight. Her skin pale, as if it was drinking in that light. She was slight and tall and reminded him of a flower from the Fenlands with its pale steam and petals so red they almost looked black. 

Even in tatters, her dress was still lovely, the wind catching pieces of it. 

The only ugly thing about her was the roll of her shoulders and the way her head hung with exhaustion. No one in the court ever allowed their tired to weigh on them like that. Just looking at it made Thistle uncomfortable, restless. 

He moved his gaze toward the sky. The stars in Elfhame were bright blues and yellows, unlike Earth’s pale white. The sky was ink black. The moon, however, was just the same. 

The silence stretched but that was alright with Thistle. If there was nothing to say, then there was no point filling the silence with meaningless words. 

WENDY: “Does that sound as impatience to return?” It was Wendy trying to protect herself as much as possible. Trying to savour every moment because she did. As tired as she was, she would never take for granted the freedom to walk around again.

To feel the air against her skin or to have the sky so expansive above her. Perhaps this was the wrong idea. To experience this freedom and know how valuable it is, only to be stripped from her again.

Wendy could fall asleep here in this peace, finally feeling safe though she was sure that would change the moment Thistle moved an inch. After all even though her eyes were on everything taken from her, you couldn’t stop the paranoia of paying attention to any possible threat.

THISTLE: The answer to her question was, obviously, no. 

He knew that she was enjoying her freedom. And though he would never admit it, he enjoyed giving it to her. If one was to ask him why (which they wouldn’t, because he would never admit it), he would not have an answer for them. It was hard to say. Perhaps he saw something of himself in the little bird. Both trapped. Both protecting someone.

Or maybe it was just because he, like everyone else at court, loved to covet beautiful things. There was no denying that Wendy Darling was a beautiful thing. 

The time trailed on, the stars moving across the sky. Eventually, it was time to voluntarily go back to their cave. Thistle’s bigger and more luxurious, but a cage just the same. He moved away from the railing and opened the door, holding it out for Wendy.

“It is time to return,” he said to her solemnly. Their gazes held for a moment. He wondered if she was thinking of trying to see if she could fly with a running start off the roof. There was something there in her gaze that he couldn’t quite read, but then she nodded and moved past him. 

Thistle closed the door firmly behind them.

[thorns-ofthe-thistle]

What’s in a Name? [Flashback] . [Whistle]

In which the Queen, and the High Court of Elfhame, learn a secret about Wendy Darling...[takes place: early 2016]

@my-lost-darling

[tw -- violence, abuse, talk of torture, just high court fey things]

WENDY: Wendy was never quite sure how the Fae never seemed to tire. Parties and dances dragged into the night and although her wits wish to fade away into sleep she sat at the Queen’s side as the rest danced for her entertainment.

Wendy did not have a choice to drift off, not this close to the Queen, not as she continued to mention Earth and who would be going. While Wendy would never be sent off to the other realm she wondered if one day the Queen would take pity on her and let her visit.

Unlikely.

“Thistle, Love. Tell me since we’ve just gotten you back. How is the human world these days? Anyone interesting? We could always use another entertainer.” 

Wendy’s heart quickened at the very thought but she knew that was the Queen’s purpose as well considering she just patted her head.

“Don’t worry Wendy, My Darling. You’re still my favourite little bird.”

THISTLE: Once again, Thistle was back at court. It had been a long time since he’d be in Elfhame last. Several months, if not longer. He had been fetched back by his brother, much to both their chagrins. It meant that the Queen was planning something. And either he was a pawn in it, or he was to witness it. 

Whatever it was, he wasn’t interested. 

His grandmother was a cruel woman. And it was not that Thistle was not a cruel man, but he appreciated his freedom and his independence. Ever since he’d been a child, he’d had it. When he had come to Elfhame, he had had to answer to someone else for the first time in his life and though he was fabulously wealthy and respected by the lesser fae, he resented that control. The way his whole family bowed to the queen’s every whim.

He was well aware, by this point, that his constant resistance only made the queen want to dig her claws deeper, but he was too prideful to stop now.

“Anyone? No, not necessarily. No one who is good enough for you, Your Majesty,” he told her, hoping that would appease her.  

WENDY: The Queen grinned her patting on Wendy's hair turning more into a small tug.

"You wouldn't be wrong Thistle Dear." Humming as if she was thinking of a plan though Wendy could only imagine her plan was already made. The Queen after all was all for Theatrics. 

"I've been thinking of expanding my collection of Little Darlings." 

Wendy snapped her head toward the Queen, a hiss on her tongue but the Queen was quick to grab onto her hair and hold her in place. Keeping Wendy silent for the moment.

"Your little brother would all be grown up now wouldn't he? Wendy?" There was a warning on the Queen's lips that Wendy would be a fool to miss. But the reason she stayed, the reason she played nice was for her brothers to be safe. If they weren't Wendy had no reason to play nice.

"He would, Near 15 at this time."

"Older than you when you choose to live with us. Perhaps we should give him the same choice." Releasing Wendy's hair the Queen stood.

"Who would like to seek out the Darlings? Ask them if they would like to see their big sister? It could be a gift to our Darling Wendy."

THISTLE: Thistle tried not to look too long at Wendy. He had seen her only a few times since their first meeting. He had not gone out of his way to speak to her. He barely even acknowledged her, because he did not want to give the queen any ideas. But, sometimes, he did think about her when he attended these parties. Especially if he heard her voice drifting through the crowds, rising above them all. She had not been like the other humans in Elfhame. So subdued. Almost husks of people, broken by their lack of free will. She reminded him more of the humans out in the mortal realm. 

But, as his grandmother spoke, her voice was soft. Deceitfully so. He knew that she was planning something. 

His eyes drifted down to Wendy and he could see the fury etched into her face. Thistle would not claim to know the girl at all, but it was plain for anyone to see. Several others had noticed the tension too and had broken off their conversations to watch the exchange. 

So, when the queen spoke, she already had a rapt audience. Several fae hooted, or whistled loudly in their assent. There was nothing that many of them would like more than a jaunt to the human world. Or win favour with the queen.

Thistle stayed silent, simply watching. He raised his golden goblet to his lips and took a brief sip of sweetest nectar.  

WENDY: Wendy’s teeth clenched at the very thought, she wanted nothing gifted from the Queen. Nothing from the other Fae that would think she owed them just because they gave her a gift that she didn’t want.

Standing Wendy couldn’t care less about the expression on her face. You could kill her before she would willingly let one of them gift her, her brother.

“We had a deal, you leave me brothers alone and I stayed.” Wendy hissed ignoring all the Fae that watched her, that leaned in closer and those that leaned away waiting for the violence.

“A deal my darling to let your Brothers leave and you stayed. There was no promise of them not being welcomed back and besides it would be their choice.” The Queen stated her voice dropping, dripping with a threat. How dare her little bird talk back, fight back. Stepping toward her the Queen grabbed her chin.

“Wendy Moira Darling. Sit.” The Queen hissed under her breath just enough for those close enough to hear and Wendy gritted her teeth as she sat back down looking up at the Queen as she fought to regain her composure.

“Well it seems like my pet isn’t worthy of a gift after all.” A sigh left the Queen as she turned to face her court again, her shoulders relaxed as everything ended up in her control once again. The little human could fight but she wasn’t anything special. Not with her name in the Queen’s grasp.

“A punishment instead. Wendy, why don’t you give me their names.” Wendy didn’t miss the fact it wasn’t her full name, and it wasn’t spoken in a way she couldn’t talk her way out of. But Wendy also knew the Queen was giving her an opportunity to play nice, to get back in her good graces. To serve her like the good little pet she was.

And for a moment Wendy thought about answering. If she could get back into the Queen’s graces she could have a good life. It wasn’t great but she could survive.

“Johnathon and Michael Darling.” Wendy offered, taking that breath and sitting up straight. She may need to sit but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hold all the air of standing up to the Queen. Wendy would not win this fight angry but the fire burned brightly in her chest threatening to swallow anything she tried to speak, truth or not.

“Their true names, Wendy. I want their true names.” The Queen spun on her heel the golden lace twisted around her. But no one dared to approach to fix it. The light of the candles burning red glittering off the gems and jewels she wore. Matching the calm fury on her face. The Queen wasn’t a fool. Most mortals had that middle name that just made things a little harder for them.

One more chance for Wendy. And barely a chance at all.

And for a moment Wendy thought about answering. There was a chance they would never find her brothers. And Wendy could avoid some pain if she gave the information. Cut it off now and maybe Wendy could still survive in their world.

“I will not give you their true names.” Wendy promised.

The Queen didn’t hesitate with her next command stalking up to Wendy. “Wendy Moira Darling. Give me your Brothers’ true names.” Her ‘true’ name, loud enough the whole Court could hear. The intention is clear. Anyone could control her now. 

But still for a moment Wendy thought about answering. She was conditioned to do whatever it was after hearing those names strung together. But she would be signing her brother’s lives away if she gave in. For what? Some form of security? To be continually played around like a toy.

There was no returning to the Wendy that sang sweetly for her. If the Queen had control of her Wendy could only imagine just how much pain was in her future.

“I refuse.” Wendy stated, her hand finally played.

THISTLE: Thistle was in the unfortunate position of being close enough to hear the entire conversation. Though it was second nature to eavesdrop, Thistle was uninterested in what Wendy had to say. She was just like all the other humans in this realm: obedient, unable to be anything else. In a word: haunting. They were less people and more zombies. Thistle knew what humans were like--in all their brilliant boldness. Going from the mortal realm to this one was always a shock to the system in that way.

And, there was a part of him--the human part--that looked at them and saw what he could become too. If the Queen so chose. She did not know his true name, but if she had a mind to find it out, he was sure there was little he could do to stop her. 

It kept him in check, as it kept them all in check.

Except, apparently, for one little bird.

I will not give you their true names. The certainty with which she said it intrigued Thistle. Didn’t she know that she had no choice? That to refuse would only mean one thing--

Wendy Moira Darling, give me your brothers’ true names.

All the fae in the area waited with bated breath for what would inevitably come next. The divulge of information, magically pulled from Wendy’s lips, like the golden threads that held together the queen’s dazzling jewels. To most of the high fey, it was a tantalizing prospect, but to Thistle, it was just expected. He had seen every beat of this, from the moment Wendy had opened her stupid, defiant lips, painted deep red to match the queen’s dazzling jewels.

I refuse.

Except for that. 

He felt his own eyebrows twitch upwards on his forehead as a shout rose up from the crowd.

“She can’t do that!” called someone.

“How did she do that?” 

“Dirty little human, let me slit her throat for you, your majesty.” 

Thistle just watched, as if viewing something wretched that he could not look away from. 

WENDY: Wendy felt the slap before she could even prepare for the impact. Her head moving to the side she reached up setting her hand against the skin, as foolish as she was to defy the Queen she was not foolish enough to stand and fight her anymore.

“I can continue to be your little songbird but I will not give you power over my brothers.” Wendy spoke softly trying to disarm the Queen as much as possible.

Her fury was something Wendy had never needed to face head on.

“And yet you will not give me your true name.” The Queen hissed yanking on Wendy’s hair dragging her up and for a second she let go only to grab Wendy’s neck and holding tight. As Wendy gasped for air the Queen settled on tossing her into the middle of everyone. 

“No, I will not.” 

Silence echoed from the Queen as she brushed her hair back, settling back into her heels but unlike before there was no new calm washing over her. The Queen’s posture was taut and dangerously close to snapping. One wrong move from anyone and her fingers itched to be around their throat.

Wendy only lifted her head off the ground but still bowed her head to the Queen.

“Someone take her to solitary confinement.” The Queen waved her hand collapsing into her throne. “Anything that happens on the way doesn’t need to be spoke of. Short of taking her life.” The Queen commanded, checking her talons of nails as if she was bored by Wendy and didn’t want to dirty her hands anymore. The tips were already stained red from where she had gripped at Wendy’s neck.

“And bring me actual entertainment.” Any entertainment was fair game and any mortal was at risk of dying tonight. “Someone that actually listens.”

THISTLE: It all happened quickly after that. 

No one defied the queen. Even the Mountainlands knew not to cross her. She held power more ancient than any could remember and she had become queen for a reason. Her influence ran deep. For every dissenter, there were scores of others clambering for her praise and favor. 

Thistle did not flinch when the queen slapped Wendy, nor when she dragged her forward by the throat. He was more intrigued than anything. (At least, that is what he’d told himself.) He had never seen the queen so riled, so caught off guard. It almost made him want to laugh. She had been angry at him plenty of times before, but it was always a cold anger. Controlled. 

Seeing her without that control was immensely satisfying. 

Perhaps that is why he stepped forward when the queen dismissed Wendy. He saw the leers of the crowd and he knew if anyone else got their hands on her—well, she would not be singing pretty any time soon. 

And someone with the power to fuel the queen’s rage was a valuable ally. 

He moved the few steps towards the human, crouching down next to her and grabbing her arm, though not harshly. “Get up,” he hissed at her, rising to his full height and pulling her up with him. Once she was steady enough on her feet, he turned and started to lead her through the crowds, back toward the castle looming in the distance, the full moon peeking between its parapets. 

WENDY: It was Thistle that had stepped up but Wendy hadn’t known that until he grabbed and yanked her up. Any movement from her that was not requested or commanded was asking for the Queen to take back her command. To let someone kill her.

Wendy scrambled to her feet as best she could the fabric twisted around her making it more difficult but Thistle’s grip was unforgiving and Wendy knew she was getting up and walking away one way or another. Hopefully remaining in one piece if she was lucky.

Gathering the material of her dress Wendy followed with her eyes downcasted away from the taunts, the whistles from others.

Questions of what Thistle would do to her.

Her chest tightened and she wished she could yank her arm back and run. Run as far as she could for as long as she could, maybe she would survive just a little longer out in the wild than if she was in the High Court.

But she didn’t. Not as the voices grew quieter, or as they stepped inside the castle her heels clicking along tiles compared to the stone steps outside.

Wendy waited to see what he would do, and if she had a chance at all to protect herself.

THISTLE: Thistle was, frankly, annoyed that he had found himself in this situation again. 

Helping Wendy. Pissing off the queen. 

He had no idea what had possessed him to step forward. Thistle had witnessed much worse over the years. Has been involved in much worse. He had no stake in Wendy’s fate. If she wanted to be an idiot and get herself assaulted or killed, that was her business. He shouldn’t be bothered.

Except that he was. 

It wasn’t Wendy, exactly. It was her brothers. It was the queen using them as leverage. Something about that struck a cord in Thistle and he remembered decades ago, when he had been a wily, angry thing—forced to live in Elfhame, forced to do the queen’s biding. She had kept him in line, just the same: with a threat. His mother. And though she was long dead now, Thistle still had human family. Family that he cared about, even if he never spoke of them, nor visited. Family that the queen knew about. 

So, maybe it had been stupid to step forward, but at the very least, most of the court would just assume it was his human side. Soft for another human. And they would sneer at him all the more. Well, let them sneer. He could still best most of them in combat. 

They walked silently along the corridor. Thistle really had no qualms about throwing Wendy in solitary. She had been stupid. He had no thoughts of betraying the queen’s instructions. The last thing he wanted to do was make his own situation worse. 

“You’ve anything to say for yourself?” He finally asked her. “That was incredibly stupid.”

WENDY: Thistle wasn’t wrong. It was stupid. But what was she to do? Should she sacrifice her brothers’ life so she could continue to live her life safe as a caged bird? She would hate herself every day to watch her brothers be reduced to anything remotely resembling what Wendy dealt with.

“I stand by my decision to not tell her. I can not lie, the same as anyone here, so revealing the fact that no one knows my true name was my only option.” What if it wasn’t. What if there was a way out that she hadn’t thought about? She tried to think it through. Every possible combination of words.

But they all required her to say their true names. She wouldn’t be able to lie her way out of it and it was days like today she regretted taking the gift of her voice. She didn’t know the downside, the limitations of it. Why would she? The Queen had made it seem as if it was only a benefit to her. 

A curse in a gift. In the end the Queen explained they could now trust her in ways they couldn’t before so of course it was only a benefit to her. Wendy just hadn’t learned. But she did learn, She grew and she studied so she wouldn’t be taken advantage of. Not again. Not without her having some power at least.

Wendy had more power than the Queen ever wanted her to have and that was very dangerous.

THISTLE: The fact was, very bluntly: Wendy was probably right.

Thistle had almost a hundred years of deception on her, even if time moved very differently in Elfhame, it seemed a very long time. He had been in the court, dealing with the queen for far longer. His mind was swift and agile and he could think a hundred steps ahead, seeing the game playing out in a multitude of ways. 

And Wendy’s only option was to reveal herself, because regardless of whether or not she could be commanded, she could not lie. And to refuse the command would be to reveal herself. And to obey the command would mean to tell the queen what she wanted to know. 

For a few seconds, Thistle was silent as they walked.

“There is always another way,” he finally said and he did believe it too. Maybe he could not think of one, but one always existed. “Best remember that for next time. If there is a next time.” 

Thistle wasn’t so sure. Either the queen would leave Wendy in solitary to rot or she would devise an even crueler punishment for her later. 

They arrived at the door and Thistle opened it, gesturing like a footman helping a woman into a carriage. “Your rooms, madame.” 

WENDY: Wendy already knew the other way. It would have not been reacting so heavily in the beginning. That was the moment of her downfall. If she had been able to hold it together another moment longer then this wouldn’t be her future.

There is always another way and she blocked herself into the path without another option. 

Standing in front of the room Wendy hesitated only for a moment. She was lucky enough that Thistle was the one that had brought her unharmed. But that didn’t mean she could steal any more moments outside. 

“Have a Goodnight Prince Thistle.” Wendy nodded as she stepped in with her head held high. She could only hope she wouldn’t be in here too long, and when she was let out she had a plan to get back on the Queen’s good side. There was a small window too high for Wendy to reach and a small bed in the corner. Enough to sleep uncomfortably and be driven crazy by the lack of light.

The door clanged behind her and Wendy jumped at the noise and the finality of it. 

But she didn’t hesitate this time. Afterall there was nowhere else to go. No other moves to make.  There was no one to manipulate to get her way. Afterall Thistle would head back to the party and the Queen would probably question him. Moving Further in Wendy ripped off layers of her dress until she was somewhat more comfortable and could lay on the bed.

Just for a moment Wendy looked at the excess strips of fabric and up at the ceiling she couldn’t reach.

Shame.