this is never gonna be finished, so fuck it
Dean had heard of this place, the Labyrinth of Enoch, but he’d never seen more than blurry photos. The caravan was still at least three miles away as they traversed a winding mountain path, but the city was plainly visible. There were no walls reaching for the sky to protect the people within. The protection came from the dead-ends and false paths for the first mile of the city’s outer perimeter.
From here, Dean could see trails between empty houses that suddenly cut off into nothing. Castiel had explained it. No one lived in any of the buildings at the edge of the city. Invading forces were funneled into thousands of dead-end paths. There were hundreds of miles of these empty trails surrounding the city, and out of that there were only ever four or five paths into a populated area. Those changed every few months as new walls were built to connect houses together and others were knocked down for new walking space. It was impressive, what they’d done. While Dean’s forefathers obsessed over the perfect stone to stop canons, and then guns, Castiel’s people took a much simpler route.
The path got wider near the base of the mountain, and the party went from following behind a single wagon to having five horses side by side. Castiel rode beside him, sitting tall and proud. His lips were painted a deep red, and his eyes were surrounded by gold. He was a beautiful sight. Dean looked away, back to the city that would become his home.
Tall, lush grasses filled the valley surrounding the city of Enoch. Wind coming down over the mountains kept the grass from ever being still. It moved like the ocean, waves and swirls that bent and twisted the blades. As the horses navigated it, Dean felt like he could even see ripples radiating from them. The grasses brushed his boots, coming up to the horses’ chests. When he was this close Dean could see the size of the buildings that formed the perimeter. Twice as tall as Sam, maybe three times, it made sense to him why no army had ever succeeded with an invasion. You couldn’t even climb over the buildings and try to run straight over.
The caravan turned to the right, toward the towering falls that thundered in the distance. Dean looked back at Castiel and found his new husband looking at him already. Castiel smiled, the curve of his lips glossy and wet to the point that Dean was almost shocked they weren’t dripping. He offered a smile to Castiel, then turned back to face forward.
The caravan entered the city, and Castiel kicked his leg, gesturing to a white brick once he had Dean’s attention. Dean looked for the white bricks as they wound their way through the maze of empty houses. Six white bricks, a right turn, then five and a left, four and another right, three and another right, two and a left, then one more and they turned left and poured out onto a wide road.
Hundreds of people lined the street on either side, watching them as they returned. It wasn’t as loud of a homecoming as Dean was used to. People would cheer for their returning princes back home. Here, they were as filled with love and adoration, but it was quiet. They threw flowers and grains. One young girl ran up to Dean’s horse and gave him a silk scarf dyed a deep crimson. She wore a similar one over her head. He bowed his head to her and smiled, losing sight of her as soon as the party turned again.
Castiel chuckled and extended a hand for the scarf. Dean gave it to him and watched as he ran his fingers over it, then sniffed it. If it was perfumed, Dean didn’t think he’d be able to tell. Everything here smelled of something else. Castiel gave the scarf back, and Dean laid it over his horse’s neck.
The crowd got thicker as they approached the center of the city. Merchants and wealthy elite alike poured out, hands full of presents raised above their heads. The gifts were gathered by squires, or whatever equivalent Castiel’s people had, who then placed all the gifts in any wagon that had room.
Castiel’s eyes were a weight on his skin, pressing against him starting at the knee, then lazing up his body until they reached his face. The first time they met was on the battlefield just after the war had started. Dean had thought he was riding up to Michael. Men dragged in the dead to be burned, the moaning of those who’d survived was all anyone could hear. Dean had ridden up to give Michael the new plans after the heavy losses they’d sustained. What greeted him instead was Castiel.
Dean was pulled from his thoughts when the party came to a halt. He looked at Castiel, finding him staring intently forward, and followed his gaze. The castle had no spires or towers, no high-seated battlements, no turrets, or even a gate, but there could be no mistaking that it was a palace.
Guards dressed in flowing robes with tall spears stood roughly four paces apart. Between them were open archways that lead into the sprawling royal home. It was the only building within the perimeter that Dean had yet seen with two floors. Balconies jutted out from the upper level, filled with men and women wearing loose-fitting silks with their skin covered in shimmering powders and bright pigments.
Dean turned to Castiel and tried to keep his voice quiet, “is that the royal court?”
Castiel looked at the same people Dean was observing and a grin curled his red lips, “if I told you they were prostitutes would you know the difference?”
Dean raised an eyebrow and paused, glancing back at the group, then back at his husband, “you want me to be honest?”
Castiel shook his head and laughed, his shoulders falling a bit as he relaxed into a slouch. He stopped laughing after a moment and said, “that is the royal court, yes.”
Dean nodded and looked at them more closely. They didn’t wear as much jewelry as nobles where he grew up, and definitely not as much clothing. This was his new royal court, and he was their newest prince.
