An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
An A/B/O Royalty AU arranged marriage fic for @thecryoftheseagulls (sorry it’s so late!) written for the Handers Exchange 2021 run by @handers-time!
Title: SOMEDAY MY PRINCE WILL COME
Rating: Explicit
Pairings: Garrett Hawke/Anders, Background Bethany/Sebastian, Background Carver/Merrill
Tags: A/B/O, Omegaverse, Royalty AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Mage-Templar Dynamics, Implied Rape/Non-con, Bethany and Carver Hawke Live, Arranged Marriage, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Explicit Consent, Smutty Ending, No Mpreg, Fluffy Ending
Length: 16,697 words
A/B/O Royalty AU. The King of the Anderfels’ latest attempt to keep his unruly omega son in line involves marrying him off to a suitable alpha – to one Prince Garrett Hawke, soon-to-be ruler of Kirkwall – purely for political reasons. Prince Anders is decidedly reluctant to carry out his royal duties… at first.
Anders had lived all his life in a tower.
He might have been a Prince of the Anderfels – but he was also a youngest son; and that fact alone meant that his life was never his own, constrained by the bounds of his royal family and the dictates of the Crown, even if he hadn’t been born an omega mage. The moment his magic had manifested at age twelve, however, his authoritarian father immediately sent him from the dreamy, castellated towers of the royal castle to the looming, isolated tower of Kinloch Hold, an island fortress on Lake Calenhad housing the Fereldan Circle of Magi.
The Circles often had a terrible reputation: while they proclaimed to have been instituted for the care, training and oversight of omega mages, the Templar Order in some Circles flaunted and abused their powers with impunity. The Fereldan Circle was one of the better ones – Anders considered himself lucky that he had never been beaten (or worse, given how many alphas became templars) – but that didn’t stop him missing home… even a home run by his distant yet controlling royal patriarch.
The fact that the King deemed it best that his youngest son – neither the heir nor the spare, nor even the spare’s spare – would be banished so far from his kingdom, and away from local fears of magic (for the King was very image-conscious) in any Circle at all, was something that rankled with Anders from boy to man. Seven escape attempts followed; and it was on this latest shot at freedom that the largest complement of templars was sent to recapture the blond prince.
When they found him, Anders was spitting feathers. Figuratively, for he was furious at being caught, again – and literally, for the feathers on the shoulders of his outfit had ended up in his mouth from their tussle.
‘I am not going back there,’ Anders declared to the helmeted templar who had grabbed him by the shoulder and inadvertently ruffled feathers into his face. Some blond tendrils of hair had shaken loose from his ponytail, and Anders shook them out of his face – being Silenced and handcuffed with his hands behind his back meant he couldn’t simply brush them out of his eyes. ‘Get your hands off me. You messing up the pauldrons on these robes is far more criminal than me running away from that blasted tower prison.’
