Synopsis: You've been alone your whole life. Life is uneventful and you like it that way. That is until David, your family lawyer comes to see you with news that you're the descendent of a nomadic royal family. This revelation wouldn't matter if it didn't mean that you're obligated to meet with Thor, King of Asgard as he searches for a queen. With so many other options, better options, what are the odds he'll pick you?
I didn’t want to let this day go by without sending a note of thanks to the fanfic writers out there. I hope everyone is doing well and taking care of themselves. As a reader, I have been a little bit up-and-down this year. Every year I set up goals for my reading. Sometimes I reach them and sometimes not so much. I’ve been overly critical of myself and how I reblog this year. Sometimes I send really long messages in my reblogs and I feel like I can’t keep that same pace. Especially when I’m reading a series. Other times I feel that I’m not being original with my wording and struggle to find what I want to say without being repetitive. While I second-guess what I’m doing, I have actually lost some fics I’ve meant to reblog. I have followed more people and sometimes I worry I miss out on some of your great writing. I try to go through my list from time to time to see what I might have missed and to re-read fics that meet some kind of need or just resonate with me. Even though I don’t know you, I am always astounded by your willingness to share your works and your lives with us. You put yourselves out there for us and it never fails that somebody has to say something completely uncalled for or rude. Every time I read that, my heart hurts for you. We’ve lost a lot of good writers this year because of this nonsense. I hope you all know that there are so many more of us that support you. We all understand the need to take a break sometimes and care for yourselves. Whether or not I say it, I worry about you when you are quiet and hope all is well. This year I am hoping to not be as cautious. I want to reblog the things I like, no matter the content or subject. Also, I think I’m going to try to send more asks to show my appreciation. My hope is for you to find inspiration to write what you like and what moves you. I also hope that you find success, peace and happiness in all that you do. 
I always worry about who I do and do not tag in this kind of post. This is certainly not an exhaustive list but I wanted to acknowledge a few writers that have made my day a little brighter.
Thank you for taking the time to write and post your works 💜
Note: I did end up being late as far as when the writers would be notified with this post. I have been tagging writer blogs in my reblogs so on those days I just wanted to quickly find a story it might be easier since I can’t figure out how to make a masterlist despite being given great directions. So…I used # instead of @ 😬 And that just falls in line with how everything has gone in the past year or so and why blog names didn’t pop up like they were supposed to 🤦♀️😂
I follow you because you were one of the first people that welcome me into this fandom with open arms when I was just a nobody writer putting my first Thor fic out. You're always nice and you stand up for what you believe in and I respect that. ❤
Aww, likewise babe! You’re one of the first I met in this fandom and you’ve always been super supportive.
Because you've been hounded by a shit person abusing the anon feature to hide behind it because they're cowards and can't talk shit where we can properly respond, I wanna say that you are an amazing and talented writer. Your fics are engaging and your Social Media AUs are like my new favorite thing to read before bed.❤ Keep doing you!
Is something up with your Masterlist? I tried to click it and it just took me back to your main dash. Just a heads up, the link might be broken.
Huh weird! (But also not at all surprising...) The link works fine for me on my computer and my phone, but that really doesn’t reassure me... Could someone else do a test run and see if my masterlist link is behaving? Thanks xoxo
I just wanted to let you know (because reblogged from you) that there was no truth to that post about Steve and Natasha seeing each other. I just finished the commentary and heard nothing of the like. 👀
Thanks fam! You never know what’s true and what isn’t on the internet anymore. I mentioned something too about that theory people had floating around about Nat holding her stomach after Thanos snapped his finger in IW and, because I didn’t remember a scene from AOU about her talking about not being able to get pregnant, people CAME FOR ME in my asks. like calm yourselves people, it’s not that deep.
A/N: The end. 😭 I hope you’ve enjoyed it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo
Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other sites or blogs. REBLOGS are always welcome.
*pictures relay only style of clothing and not physical appearance/race
Silken sheets that are cool to the touch. A roaring fire. The heartbreaking smell of peony blossoms.
A wooden bucket—your wooden bucket—full of ice-cold water.
A chill warmed by a feverish heat wrapped around your back.
All of these thoughts-no. They’re more like memories.
All of them have come to you over the course of a year.
They grow more elusive as they come.
Before you thought you could almost see a garden with an ocean of pink peonies in varying shades of blush to wine.
Now, after months of having these strange visions, they have become condensed into single colors at random. The most frequent is a shade of gold. A circle of blue.
You think these memories might be important but you cannot grasp onto them long enough to make any sense of them.
There’s also the fact that you know they cannot possibly be memories.
You have never seen a garden of peonies.
You’ve had plenty of chill in your life but a warmth like the one you’d recalled at the beginning of the year when the winter cold had been at its worst is as unfamiliar to you as the looming manor on the hill above the village.
With a small groan, you stop and set the bucket down. Your arms are strong enough to carry it but after so harsh a winter, you’d be a fool not to take care.
You’d only just managed to make it out alive after devoting so much time to your little one.
You suppose the golden hue you keep remembering is similar to your baby’s hair. Just a shade or two off. Just as beautiful.
The estate sits looming at the peak of a hill that sits almost a mile away from the village.
The manor itself, you can see, has been expanded. It has the appearance of a small castle now with towers and battlements. The parapet walls that now surround the structure offer crenels to whatever guard the now small castle may need.
It had sat there abandoned for so long, the lord once given task to watch over it and Bright Rise as well as several other small villages in this part of the kingdom having left.t
With the primary building made of wood, the added masonry has really given the old place new life.
What magnificent furnishings must it have? Gilded and ornate probably. Chairs worth more than everything you own.
What type of person has taken residence there? Is it someone you’d know?
Someone beautiful probably. A handsome lord and his gorgeous lady. Both of them probably members of his Majesty King Anthony’s court.
Do they have children? A young little lord or lady running around causing mischief.
You find yourself smiling, made happy by the image you paint in your head.
It makes you only a little sad that you picture yourself there. Your baby in your arms. Your husband…
My husband?
Silly…You don’t have a husband.
But you yearn for something you very nearly miss. Something you know you should have. Something…precious.
“Hello there, little mouse.”
You gasp, startled out of your daydreams and turn on your heel in search of the horrible voice.
With a stuttering heart you spot Phin, standing with his grimy hands in his tattered pockets.
“What do you want?” You ask him, voice cold but wavering as you grow wary.
Already you’re searching with a quick glance for the nearest route of escape.
You hunch over, grabbing your bucket and attempt and fail to stifle your groan of effort.
Phin lunges forward, his hand thrown out towards you. It makes you flinch. You keep your eyes shut as you wait for the blow.
It never comes.
Slowly you peek, searching for Phin's extended hand and find it wrapped around the rope handle of your bucket.
“What are you doing?” You ask, confused and fearful. “Let go.”
“I can treat you right, little mouse. I can give you proper protection. I’ll even pretend that bastard brat of yours is mine.
“I’ve been patient. I may not be able to wait much longer.” His voice is like sludge, creeping down your spine raising chills of terror as it goes.
You yank on the handle, urging him to release it. You meet his gaze, matching his threat with your own angry stubbornness.
You will not give in to him. Not now. Not ever. Even with your little one…you can’t.
He keeps holding it, refusing to let go until you feel like you’d rather drop the water and come back for more later.
He drops the rope and you stumble back a step, not having realized how much you were actually pulling on the bucket.
Some water spills but you’re just thankful to be free of Phin and you rush away to be even further. A glance back when you’re close to your small home shows you Phin still standing where you left him.
He’s watching you.
You hate him.
Getting inside, you shut the rickety door tight, resting your forehead against the splintered wood as you wait for your heart to stop pounding.
From behind you a sudden “goo" chases the tension and fear from your body. Your shoulders relax.
With a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, you turn in search of the cooing source.
Nestled into a bed of hay, covered with a thick blanket of navy fabric, is your little one.
A hair of golden hair and eyes as blue as the deepest ocean have enraptured you. Stolen your heart and changed your world.
“Are you finally awake?” You gush, moving to place your bucket by the crumbling and unlit fireplace before you make your way to him.
His chubby little legs kick away his tunic. A plain brown piece of linen you’d stitched together to keep him clothed.
At six months, he’s nearly outgrown it.
When you offer your arms, he throws his weight to his left until he can roll onto his stomach and then reaches for pivots towards you.
Sliding your hands underneath his arms, he grabs you and you lift him up then place several kisses to his chubby baby cheeks.
He's gorgeous, your baby boy. His smile is sun bright and the gleam in his eyes is sharp and observant.
The expressions he wears on his little face are familiar. They pull and tug at something too but you can’t focus on it long enough to care.
Your boy is your world and that’s all you need to know.
“Is my sweet boy hungry?” You wonder while moving for the bucket of water you’d lugged into the hut.
You dip your hand in and for a moment relish in the feel of the water on your hand. A sudden desire to be submerged in steaming hot water that smells like a spring garden overcomes you, but it’s gone by the time you gently swipe across your little one's face.
He protests you cleaning his face. Whining a little and twisting in your arms until you’re done and wait with both arms supporting him for his sputtering to stop.
He looks at you and after taking another moment to overcome his displeasure, he smiles again.
You chuckle and move to grab the swaddling blanket you’ve set aside for his use alone and sit with it in your lap as you lean back a little to expose your breast to feed him.
A song you feel you almost dreamt slips from your lips in a soothing hum. With your eyes shut you can almost see a beautiful gown sweep around your feet.
Strong arms hold you close as they lead you around a crowded room.
The image is like a dream too, part of the song you’re humming. You’ve never been in so vast a hall, tables laden with food and the satin gown you wear is softer than any rag you’ve ever worn.
No. You’ve never been bathed in such luxury.
This hovel is your home with its mostly dirt floor, loose cobblestones shoved around in spots you’d set aside to keep dry.
No windows. A door that hangs off its hinges. A straw bed. A patched roof.
As your son feeds and you allow your mind to put away the dream of nice things, you assess the hut you’ve made your home.
You’re almost certain that you’d had it in better condition before. The door had hung straight, the rickety fireplace had been sturdy and homely.
The floor had been more even. Your straw bed had been less lumpy.
You’d had another small shelf with your plates and cups. Your sewing kit safely stored in the cupboard below.
Your home had not been grand but it had been comfortable. It had been yours and you’d cared for it delicately and made it a sanctuary.
When had it changed so much?
As you attempt to remember when this place fell apart your mind is forced to confront several other unanswered questions that you seem to think on often but always forget.
It’s almost as if the thoughts are pushed from your mind until they are brought to the surface once more.
The one question that started it all…the one that had made you pause. You still remember the miller’s wife, staring at you at the small grocer's shop while you waited to pay for your bushel of potatoes.
“Oi, orphan. How much longer ‘til you have the babe?” She'd asked, her eyes narrowed as she considered your swollen belly.
You'd stroked it, smiling fondly at the little life growing within you.
“A fortnight.” You’d answered, happy and content despite your poor living.
“Ah, and who's the father?” She'd asked, then waited as your smile slowly fell.
You’d stood there for a few minutes, waiting your turn but lost in thought at the question that had never once occurred to you in the seven months since your belly began to grow.
“I…I don’t know.” You’d admitted to her and her eyes filled with a solemn worry.
“Looks like they finally cornered you. Didn’t get a look at ‘is face?” She'd wondered and it was then that you realized what she thought.
Your precious baby, your little growing bean, was the product of one of the village men forcing himself on you.
But it wasn’t true!
As you sit with your son in your arms, rocking him back and forth as he eats, you know without a doubt in your mind that your son was made with love.
You can feel it within your very soul. There was passion and love and devotion in his making.
A golden aura, warm and encompassing that gave you your own little ray of sunshine. But even though you know this you cannot see his father.
There is no father. Only your Joseph.
He stirs in your arms. You find him smiling, finished with his meal. And just like that, your thoughts are lost to his special allure.
“All done?” You ask him and he yawns.
You begin to wrap him up in the blanket you’d made for him and bring a basket from the corner of your hut.
It’s a decent size with straps sewn into the wicker so that you may put it on your back.
You place it before you, balanced between your legs and gently lay Joseph within. You make certain he's wrapped up tight and kiss his cheek before you fit a domed lid on top.
The lid covers his head and keeps him safe from the summer heat.
“We'll check the traps and then come right back.” You promise him and lift the basket onto your shoulders, listening as he coos long baby words that say nothing.
It’s like he’s talking to you, the quiver of his voice moving up and down with inflection as if he knows what he’s doing.
He takes a breath and then starts again, “Oooh-awhhhh-wahhhhhh-ooooohhhhhhh…”
You can’t help but smile, your skin greeted by scorching sun as you start your trek into the trees behind your home.
“Let's check the traps by the pond first, then we'll check the bog by the road.” Joseph coos along with you.
~~~~~~~~~~
The view is spectacular.
It’s downright scenic from up here so high on the hill. Even if the beautiful valley is slightly tarnished by the village below.
It’s part of the reason he decided to keep the purchase.
Several months ago, Steve had found the deed to the manor on Sunbright Hill.
He'd sat for nearly an hour while he'd considered the paperwork, trying to remember why he’d made the purchase of such a dilapidated plot.
The lord that had once resided here had apparently vacated when he'd married a lady of considerable wealth but she preferred the Capital city to Bright Rise below so, they’d left and never come back.
Slowly the manor began to rot and the village, without its caretaker, had also fallen into poverty and corruption.
The farms were all but dead. Only two were still in use and had the season failed once in the past few years, the village would have surely fallen.
“Steve?” Bucky sighs, moving into the renovated den.
Steve stands by the large arched windows behind his massive oak desk.
The chair is angled towards the glass, distracted as he's been lately, he can’t seem to get any work done.
“Steve?” Bucky says louder.
Steve blinks, pulled from his brooding to notice his friend. He turns and waits, saying nothing.
“She's here.” Bucky smiles.
Steve’s heart gives an eager stutter as his own bearded face breaks into a wide smile.
“Where?” He asks, moving towards his oldest friend.
“She’s with Nat in the dining room. She was hungry.”
Steve is already out the door, stomping with wide steps down the hallway, then another and another, down a staircase then to the east side of the manor towards the dining room.
It’s a long room, a table long enough to sit at least forty people takes up most of the center space.
Each wall has been adorned with tapestries and paintings, an iron chandelier with sixty candles hangs at the center of the room, currently unlit.
Instead, windows on both sides of the room sit open, a cool breeze blowing in to cool the manor from the summer heat.
As Steve thrusts the doors open, he spots a grouping of his closest friends. Sam, Wanda, Pietro, Peter who is actually squatting beside the chair they are all surrounding, and Natasha in the one beside it.
In the chair is a cherub. An angel. A literal princess dressed in pale pink. Her golden hair, a shade darker than Steve’s is pinned back on one side with clasp of small and ornate white peony blossoms.
“Maggie!” Steve calls, the honey in his deep voice soft and flowing as his heart swells in his chest.
The toddler turns her head, searching aimlessly as his voice echoes around the room. Her right hand full of jelly and toast as she’d sat munching, she now opens and holds her fingers wide as she isn’t coordinated enough to recognize when the food has fallen from her tiny grasp.
Everyone is watching her, despite the presence of their King and Steve cannot blame them. Her eyes find him and she releases a high squeal of excitement before she turns in her seat to take hold of the arm.
“Wait, Maggie, your hands are a mess.” Nat says, her voice full of amusement.
But little Maggie has no patience for cleanliness with her papa so close.
“Papa!” She screams, turning to look at him as she stands on the chair.
Her lips wrap around the name with a slur, her talking improving but still just beginning.
Nat continues to wipe her hands as Steve laughs and moves for her, arms extended.
Maggie bounces on her feet excitedly. Her pink dress swishing with every move.
As he reaches her, she allows herself to fall into his arms and he catches her, spinning her once as he presses a long kiss to her cheek.
Maggie laughs, her hands wrapped around Steve’s head so tightly that Steve wonders if her strength is increasing or it’s just his imagination.
“She has been asking about you all week.” Nat says, rising and then turning to Bucky as he approaches her to give her a kiss.
“We'll give you some space.” Wanda offers then moves around the chair towards the exit.
Steve stops his turning to watch her go, Pietro following.
“Will you be going back to Broklin?” He wonders, wondering if the twins only came to escort Maggie.
“No. We'll visit with Tony.” Pietro nods, then both of them stop at the door and bow before heading off at what must be Pietro’s run.
“How was the journey?” Steve worries, turning his eyes on Nat.
“It was fine. She was a little fussy last night but as soon as I explained that we were coming to see her papa, she converted her energy to enthusiastic impatience.” Nat chuckles. “She really has been asking for you. ‘Papa where?’, ‘Where Papa?’, ‘Papa, Papa, Papa…’. It’s almost as if it’s the only word she knows.”
“She’s never been away from him for so long.” Bucky observes, both he and Nat watching as Maggie places her little hands on Steve’s cheeks, her fingers exploring the edges of his beard while Steve admires her little face.
“I’m sorry, my treasure. I just wanted to make sure the manor would be ready when you arrived.” He tells her.
She seems to understand as she tilts her head to one side and throws her hand up, bent at the elbow as she babbles a string of words only she understands.
“Do you forgive me?” Steve begs.
Maggie giggles sleepily then leans forward to lay her head on his shoulder.
Steve strokes her tiny back, caressing her hair a bit as her eyes begin to close.
“How long will you stay, Nat?” Steve asks, his voice dropping a bit in volume to respect his sleeping toddler.
“Long enough for you and Sam to go and come back. Bucky and Peter will help me with Maggie.” She nods, looking for her faithful friend and Knight.
She spots him in another seat, head in hand, elbow on the table as he dozes lightly.
“He's been doting on her.” Nat explains. “Too much, perhaps?”
Sam huffs a laugh as he crosses his arms across his hard chest, tugging on the crimson tunic he’d quickly dressed himself in this morning.
“He’ll be angry we went to visit Morgana without him.” Sam observes and Steve can’t find it in him to deny it.
The romance that had bloomed between them had seemed to come out of nowhere for him.
In the back of his mind when he’s been laying in bed with Maggie beside him, he can almost remember a conversation about their eventual marriage. When he brought it up to Nat—he was fairly certain the topic had been discussed with a woman—she admitted to the thought never even crossing her mind.
She’d praised the match and teased Peter afterwards, but it has left Steve with another unanswered question.
So many…so many strings that he’s tried to pull on only to find the way blocked.
Maggie coos in his arm, another bout of baby babble in her sleep that pulls him from his pondering.
“We’ll head out in a few hours.” He tells Sam who straightens up and nods. “I would like to go now, but I want to spend a bit of time with Maggie before I leave her again.”
~~~~~~~~~~
A few hours with Maggie turned into thirty minutes.
The longer Steve sat with her in his arms, the more eager he was for her to wake.
He’s missed her but knows that she’s tired so in an effort to get the visit over with and return to his smiling princess, he tucks her into her crib in his bedroom then hands her care over to Nat who sits by the window while Bucky sees them out.
“How long will you be, your Majesty?” Bucky wonders, keeping pace with Steve’s quick and long stride.
“Not long. I’ve only to invite him to the ball in two weeks and we’ll return. I’m certain we’ll be back before dinner.” Steve assures him. “I hear you and Natasha are considering adopting a child?”
Bucky smiles. “There is another option, one that Natasha is most eager to try but I think I’ve convinced her to reconsider.”
Steve regards his friend skeptically.
“Truly, I think I have. She met with a witch a few weeks ago and apparently there is a way for Natasha to regain her ability to have a child.” Bucky explains, his expression a little darker.
Steve’s confusion is evident in the narrow of his brow. Despite his curiosity, he keeps his eyes fixed ahead as they move along the south hall to the stables.
The fall of their shoes echoes along the empty corridor, still only half decorated as it was only finished a few days ago. Steve can still smell the fresh clay between the stones underneath their feet.
He’ll have carpets put in to quell the sound.
“Isn’t that what you both want?” He wonders.
Bucky shakes his head. “I want her to be happy. She thinks I want a child of my own. Naturally my own. But I don’t care if the child is mine by blood. I just want to love her.”
“Magic like that of which she speaks comes with a hefty price.”
“That’s why I refuse to accept it.” Bucky sighs, the worries of his world evident on his shoulders.
“The price is too high?” Steve wonders, finally looking to his friend.
“We would be granted the ability to have our own child, but the mother would have to relinquish years of her own life. Five is what the witch told her. So, if it were Nat’s fate to die at the age of sixty, five years would be taken from that and she would die that much sooner.” Bucky laments, shaking his head in denial. “I cannot condone it.”
Steve sees his friend thinking things through, biting his lip as he wonders if he should speak what has consumed his mind aloud.
He gives in, “I know that it’s her choice. If she should want to do it, I only have some say in it. If having a child truly born of us both is what would make her happy then I would have no choice but to comply, but I would rather adopt a child who we will both love as our own anyway and have my wife for five years longer.”
Steve’s heart gives a painful ache.
Something in Bucky’s words makes him sad and breaks his heart.
My wife…Steve repeats in his head, the memory of feeling proud at that very thought overtaking his senses.
“Is it Margaret again?” Bucky wonders, stopping as they reach the end of the hall. “You’ve got that look on your face again.”
Steve reaches up to stroke the spot on his chest where he can feel his heart beating. Every thump it gives sends more agony into the pit of his stomach making his head hurt.
Is it Margaret? Steve doesn’t think so.
The first time someone had asked him if it was Margaret he was mourning he admitted it was because it was easier than to tell his friends that no, it wasn’t his dead wife he was thinking of. In fact, he wasn’t sure who it was he was thinking of.
He shuts his eyes now, overcome with the sweet scent of oils. Lilac and juniper. Peonies. Fields of them. A garden full, just like back home.
A smile flitters past his sense. The image nearly chokes him. A laugh. A pout. A tear stained face made blurry as he can’t recall its beauty.
Maggie in womanly arms, pressed gently to her breast.
These elusive images that skim his mind are not Margaret. Everyone seems to ignore that Maggie is too young to be Margaret’s or perhaps they simply don’t care?
It’s almost a silent agreement that Maggie’s mother is not Margaret but who exactly she is, no one cares. No one will think on the possibility long enough for it to matter.
Even Steve loses focus after a few second of torment.
Even now, as his heart breaks painfully, Bucky puts his hand on his shoulder and gives him a shake.
Just like that, the images that pained him only moments ago are gone.
Steve smiles, breathing in deep before exhaling in a huff.
“I’ll be quick. I want to be back before it’s too dark.” With a nod from Bucky, Steve hastens his way into the stable.
Sam already has his horse saddled and waiting.
He hops on, adjusting his posture as he takes the reigns then turns to give Bucky one final wave.
“Keep my daughter happy until I return.” He orders.
Bucky waves them off and watches until they clear the large gate.
~~~~~~~~~~
Your hands are shaking with rage. Yet another night with nothing caught.
All of your snares are in fact, broken. A deliberate cut made to the wire you’d spent so much money on.
You think you know exactly who it was that came out to ruin your work. There’s only one person who would benefit from sabotaging your efforts to feed yourself and your boy.
The image of Phin standing across the field from your home, staring at you is burned into your mind.
If it weren’t for Joseph, you would happily starve before you accept Phin’s hand in marriage.
As it is, it isn’t only you. In order to feed your son, you must eat. With no one coming to you for mending—which you are also sure is thanks to Phin’s interference as it has only been happening the past few weeks—you have no money to buy anything. No grain. No bread. No meat.
If you do not eat, your son will starve.
You clutch the broken snare in your hand, squeezing so tight you can feel the wire dig into the palms of your hand.
Were they not so rough, you may have cut yourself.
You take a quick peek at the basket carefully nestled between the rough trunk of tree and large berry bush. Your little one still dozing peacefully and safely covered by the basket’s lid.
While he sleeps, you know you must be quick with the snares by the bog. It isn’t too far so you decide to let him sleep in the shade and make your way through the trees to the road’s edge.
It’s a very short walk. Should he cry you’ll hear him perfectly and be able to run back to him in less than ten seconds.
The sun beats down on the road here and the bog is nearly dried over from the heat of the summer sun.
Normally the mud within is a thick sticky paste that one can easily be caked in. You even remember fetching a purse for the old woman who used to care for you when you were little.
As you stop by its edge, you wonder where the old woman has gone. You attempt to recall the last time you’d seen her but the last memory you have is fetching her purse from the mud pit.
Forcing her from your mind, you look to the two snares you’d set up between two trees and right at the edge of the bog.
The one at the edge has also been cut. You kick it angrily before you move to the other and find that it has also been tampered with.
“Fuck!” You mutter, hating Phin with every fiber of your being.
You try to picture him beside you, laying claim over you as his wife. You think on the life you will live, trapped in your home, and expected to fulfill his every whim, wish, and desire. He will rule you with a heavy hand, command you to obey, and take what he wants from you with violence if need be.
Terror roots you to that spot between the trees, hunched over as your hands shake with anger at the lack of options for you and Joseph.
There is the other choice, the one you’ve refused to make because where might you go? Here in Bright Rise you at least have a roof over your head.
Soon fall will come, then winter after that. If you choose to leave, you might be condemning yourself and your son to a death by freeze and you can’t do that. You can’t make such a reckless choice with him so little still.
You gather as much of the wire as you can, carefully wrapping it around an empty spool you’d kept just in case, hoping to keep your anger from shifting into sorrow.
As you work, you can hear the sound of hooves behind you. Two horses at most. Perhaps three? The sound of shifting gravel too close.
There’s the clearing of a throat before a steady voice speaks. “Excuse me, might I trouble you, miss for some directions? My guard and I seem to have become lost in these backroads by the village.”
You sigh, still consumed with rage with Phin, but rise and turn to face the man who addresses you.
He’s godly, this man with golden hair and a beard to match. His eyes are piercing. Storm blue as they stare you down and you fidget with the spool in your hand as your heart does a sudden and unexpected dip into your belly where it explodes into a flurry of butterflies.
Voice choked in your throat, you look away from the beautiful man and tried to clear your head.
“His Majesty, King Steven has asked you a question, miss.” His guard says, shocking your system into an automatic curtsy as you intentionally avoid their gaze now.
“I’m sorry!” You gasp, worried you might have given offense.
“Sam, it’s alright.” King Steven says, his voice soft and coaxing.
You take a quick peek at his guard, another handsome man with deep umber skin and a soft bronze glow. His gaze is a little sterner but kind all the same.
“We did not mean to startle you.” King Steven says, the gentility in his voice luring you into taking another look at him.
When your eyes meet, you find that you can’t look away.
“I-I was checking my traps.” You relay, feeling stupid suddenly for giving him information that he has not asked for.
“I can see that.” King Steven nods, a small smile tugging up half of his full pink lips.
He’s exquisite. His dress is fine, luxurious satin and silk. His tunic is a royal blue, a silver stitching along every seam in what looks to be a small wavy pattern.
It looks familiar and your hand absentmindedly moves with the pattern of the stitch as if it remembers how to make it though you’ve never sewn on anything so fine in your life.
King Steven’s eyes notice the movement and he watches your hand before you remember yourself and speak again.
“Forgive me, your Majesty, you asked me a question.” You gasp, dropping the spool at your feet and moving around the mud pit to stand at the edge of the road, much closer to where he and his guard tarry.
King Steven smiles again, sending your heart into a pitter patter.
“If you head down this road, you will reach a fork with three smaller roads. You’ll want to take the Eastern most road for nearly four miles before you reach a second fork of two roads. Take the left and follow that road and do not stray. You will reach the Capital before noon.” You say, pointing as you give instruction.
As you finish you drop your arm and bring your hand to tug at the worn leather of your belt.
King Steven stares at you, smiling for so long that you look down at your feet and are suddenly aghast by the state of your shoes and skirts.
You’re so dirty that you’re ashamed to be seen by them. With a bite to your lip, you turn and hurry back around the mud pit to pick up your spool.
“Thank you.” King Steve says, his wide shoulders relaxed. “Might I pay you for your assistance? What is the customary amount? Five silver pieces?”
You throw out your hand to stop him, embarrassed to take payment for so small a favor. “No!”
Gasping you watch as the spool flies out of your hand. It hits the front of his horse then topples onto the road where it rolls along further down the rocky path.
King Steven dismounts as you rush forward in chase of the wire.
Both of you reach it at the same time but King Steven is first to bend over and take it.
“Oh, please…” You gasp, worried about the dirt and muck that must be caked on the tool. “You’ll dirty your hands.”
As King Steven stands upright, he dusts it off then offers it to you. “A little dirt never killed anyone.”
Your senses are assaulted by him and for a moment all you can do is stare at his hand as he waits for you to take your wire.
He smells like evergreen woods and oranges. No…limes…You’re not sure! It’s a citrus of some sort and it overwhelms your mind. His voice is deep and smooth. It works its way into your bones and nearly turns them into jelly.
“Will you not take it?” He asks, shaking the spool a little.
You look up to meet his gaze but find that his smile has disappeared. In its place is a look of severe concentration.
Is he angry with you? Have you insulted him by waiting so long to take your property?
The look in his eyes is intense. He looks almost as if he’s trying to recall an elusive memory.
You know the feeling…
Quickly you take the spool, ignoring the moment your hand brushes his. He must notice how rough your hands are. He must mix with ladies whose hands had never once known the strife of physical labor.
“Thank you, your Majesty.” You curtsy quickly, avoiding his gaze and move around him.
A hot, vice-like grip takes hold around your wrist.
You stop, turning to look at his hand then up to meet his gaze.
Gone is the look of confusion, replaced by a furrowed brow and what can only be hopeful searching within his storm blue eyes.
“Steve?” His guard warns, confused by the moment almost as much as you are.
“What are-” You whisper, voice so weak you’re surprised you can manage to speak at all.
You clear your throat and search for the courage to say your piece.
You don’t like this. The way his presence almost consumes you. His touch is burning, and you’re not sure why you feel as if you’ve also been waiting a lifetime for it.
“Unhand me.” You plead, twisting your wrist in his hand but refusing to look away from his slowly shifting expression.
He smiles and your heart stutters, fear of what it might mean making you yank a little harder, but King Steven uses the momentum of your pull to step towards you. He wraps his free arm around your waist, dipping his head down as he presses fevered lips against your own.
You’re frozen in his arms, wide eyes staring at his own now shut. His lips are fierce, his kiss is hard. It hurts a little and it takes you a moment to feel the warmth of their touch.
He drops your wrist and wraps his other arm around you, hand pressed to the back of your head as he tilts his own to one side and coaxes your lips open with a gentle swipe of his tongue.
The taste of him stuns you, your body freezing as your mind is assaulted with images all blurred together into one precious life that you’d most assuredly lost and now found again.
Your eyes grow blurry, tears flooding from the corners as your lips finally respond to Steve’s kiss.
With a gasp you pull away, sobbing once as you gobble up the sight of him.
Steve’s hands caress the sides of your face, stroking your hair and cheeks as he also devours your visage.
“I found you.” He whispers, throat tick with emotion.
You sob once more, arms pulling him towards you as you give in to the shocking relief you feel to be in his arms once more.
Your heart breaks as you clutch him close. Over a year of lost time with not only him but…
“Maggie!” You exclaim, voice barely above a whisper.
“She’s perfect,” Steve assures you, pulling back to meet your gaze once more. “She’s growing bigger every day. She has your sweetness, your love of jams and jellies.”
Steve laughs, so happy that his own tears fall too. “She calls me Papa, and she calls Sam birb.”
You laugh, shaking your head already knowing that Bucky’s to blame for that.
“I don’t think it’s that funny.” Sam suddenly says, pulling both your gazes towards him.
“Sam…” You smile.
“I’ve kept watch over her, just as I promised.” The recognition in his eyes is heavenly.
“How did this happen?” Steve asks, continuing the caress of your cheeks. “How did we lose each other.”
You sigh, licking your lips as you prepare to explain when your heart suddenly drops, and you remember another pair of storm blue waiting in a basket. “Steve…”
Without warning you turn and race into the trees, running as fast as you can to make sure that he wasn’t a dream.
You find the basket where you left it and pull it away from its hiding spot before you remove the lid, happy to find your little boy still fast asleep.
“Y/N!” Steve calls, racing up behind you where he skids to a stop. “What is it, my flower? What’s the matter?”
He sighs heavily when he finds you, moving to place his hands on your shoulders, needing to feel you it seems.
“Don’t run away from me like that…” He pleads, and your heart aches for him but this is much more important.
“Steve,” You begin, and turn to reveal the six-month-old baby in your arms. “You have a son.”
The step back he takes you attribute to shock. The heartbreak and confusion on his face you have only yourself to blame for.
“How-?” He asks, shaking his head as he stares at the tiny prince in your arms.
“Steve…” You begin, suddenly fearful of what he might say when you confess the deal you’d made with grandmother.
“No.” Steve cuts you off, reaching out to trace the shape of your arms through the dingy dress you wear. “Not here. Let’s go home.”
“To Broklin?” You wonder, relieved that he’s eager to resume your lives together.
“No, I-do you remember when I asked you if I should purchase your little hut?” Despite speaking to you, his eyes are still trained on your son.
Slowly, as he speaks, his hand skates across your arms until he can stroke Joseph’s little cheek with one tentative finger.
“Yes.” You frown, disapproving of the purchase as it isn’t your land to begin with.
“Well, when you forbade me from buying it, I bought the manor on the hill instead.” He confesses, finally meeting your gaze.
“Oh.” You’re stunned.
“I thought that it would be nice to have somewhere in Malibia to call our own. Visiting your family is something that I wanted you to feel free to do. I wanted to give you a space you could come to, somewhere near your home.” He explains sweetly sending your heart into a tizzy.
“Steve…” You reach up, pressing your palm to his warm bearded cheek while keeping a firm hold of your little one with the other.
“Come on.” Steve urges you, leaning down quickly to kiss you then pulls away slowly almost as if he doesn’t want to. “Our princess is waiting.”
~~~~~~~~~~
She’s as beautiful as the night you’d held her close, memorizing the little wheeze in her breath as she’d drifted to sleep.
She’s bigger. She’s walking, unsteadily but moving. She’s talking, indeed saying ‘Papa’ but she says other things that you’ve already picked up on.
Her little chubby limbs have stretched a bit and you can’t believe you’ve lost so much time with her.
Tears are still streaming down your cheeks while you sit here, staring at her sleeping face.
Steve’s hands support her little back as he holds her to his chest, his back resting against the ornate wooden headboard of your bed.
“She’ll know you soon enough.” Steve assures you as you nod and quickly wipe the tears from your eyes. “She was so little.”
“I know.” You reach out, caressing her little head before you look down at the even smaller boy between you both. He’s chewing on his fist, little legs up in the air as he quietly plays by himself.
He’s so good at just being alone, you feel terrible about it because you know that it’s your fault. You’ve needed him to be independent as you worked hard to earn money for both of you.
When he meets your eyes, he coos those long wordless streams of vowel. He’s talking to you, probably relishing in the plush mattress all four of you lay on.
“Shh, my sweet boy. Your sister is sleeping.” You stroke his little chest and he takes hold of your hand as he kicks his legs in excitement.
“Y/N…” Steve begins, and you know it’s finally time.
“I’m ready now.” You sniffle, meeting his look of somber confusion. “I’ll tell you what happened.”
It takes you less than five minutes to explain. Grandmother’s vision. Her actions to see it in greater detail. The truth of his imminent death. You tell him that you begged for his life and that night when Grandmother had interrupted your sleep, she’d come to tell you that she’d found a solution.
“She said the magic would ask for payment. Something that only I could give.” You hope that he doesn’t hate you, his expression unreadable as he watches you with his brooding brow all scrunched and focused. “I thought that it would be my ability to see or walk. My hearing perhaps? Or being able to speak…I never thought that it would take you and Maggie from me.
“My life perhaps? But not my memories of you. Not knowing you.” You sigh, waiting for his rage to show.
What you get instead, is a calm conversation and a gentle pout.
“But it wasn’t only your memories. It was everyone’s. The magic wiped your existence as my wife and Queen completely.” He observes.
“Yes.” You agree. “Even the villagers in Bright Rise acted as if I’d never gone anywhere. How can magic be so powerful as to erase me completely from so many minds?”
Steve shakes his head, his hand still absentmindedly stroking Maggie’s back.
“It was such a risk for you to take.” Steve frowns, his gaze piercing, and the guilt you’d felt building since you’d stepped foot in the manor crests. “How could you make such a choice without consulting with me? I’m your husband.”
“I know.” Your lip trembles. “I’m sorry. It all happened so quickly, and I had so little time to consider the consequences of my choice. All I knew was that your future was certain. You would die protecting the world and I could not give you up to it. If I had the power to save you, of course I would use it. So long as I knew that Maggie would have you, I could stand any future I had to live.”
“Even this one? Both of us separated forever?” Steve counters, holding a mirror to the past year of your life.
You shake your head, new tears springing forth as you look down at your boy who has fallen asleep once again.
“I thought I would have to marry Phin.” You admit, voice quiet so as not to disturb your little ones.
“Why?”
“I’m fairly certain he was orchestrating it. No one in the village were taking work from me to mend their clothing and today, you found me checking my snares for small game, but someone has been breaking them. Cutting the wire or simply tearing it down.
“He wanted me to be hungry enough to marry him and the bastard knew that I would do it, for Joseph if not for myself.” Your anger taints your vision red, Phin’s detestable face a memory you wish you could forget.
Mentioning your son brings Steve’s eyes back down to him. He takes one hand and reaches down, placing his finger into Joseph’s tiny open hand. He grasps his papa’s finger, a tiny fist full of surprisingly sturdy strength.
“Now that we’ve remembered, I’m panicked by the idea that you might have found a new Queen in my absence.” You confess, chewing nervously on your lip.
“Bucky and Sam suggested it. They brought Sharon around me often to try and convince to take her on, but something prevented me from doing so.” His words send your heart into your feet, your head is suddenly splitting.
Glad as you are that he doesn’t seem to have found a new wife, the possibility of it make you feel almost sick to your stomach with anxiety.
“I think perhaps I knew in some way, deep down, that I was already married. The very thought of sharing my bed with someone else drove my skin to crawl. I felt guilty, as if I were committing some grave sin.” He admits, unrelenting in his stare.
“I would not have blamed you…” You whisper, almost fearful to speak the words. “…if you had taken a new wife. If you’d had another child with someone else. I would have had no one to blame but myself.”
“No one could ever take your place.” He assures you. “Even though I didn’t remember you, your presence was greatly missed. I may not have known what it was I was yearning for, but I was wishing for you every moment of every day.”
You shut your eyes, allowing the pleasure his words give you to soak deep down into your bones.
Even though he doesn’t ask, you’d also felt the exact same way. Something had always told you that somewhere was a home waiting for you to take your place. Never would you have guessed that it was a castle in the next Kingdom over.
“Were you frightened?” Steve wonders, drawing your gaze once more.
You find him watching Joseph once again, his thumb stroking the little one’s hand.
“Expecting him all on your own?” He clarifies.
“I was afraid of how I’d take care of him.” You smile, reaching to stroke the length of his little nose. “I knew I would be alright birthing him. It was long and taxing. But he was with me so suddenly. It was over before I even knew what was happening. The miller’s wife came to check on me and she helped me for a few days after, but I had no other choice than to push on. I was up and caring for him and myself before the week was out. That’s when my fear came.
“I knew that I had to feed myself in order to keep him fed and healthy and I wasn’t sure exactly how to do it with the village set so resolutely against me. An unwed mother with a bastard child?”
“I’ll have it burned to the ground.” Steve declares suddenly.
You smile wide, your heart melting as you watch the intensity in his gaze as new love blooms for his son.
“I wish you had spoken with me about Agatha’s vision before you made any decisions.” Steve laments, an anger growing in contrast with the new love.
It effectively wipes aware the happiness his love gives you as you regret having kept him in the dark.
“If I’d told you,” You begin, voice breaking and weak as emotion gets the better of you. The sound of it brings his gaze back to you and he seems to soften with it. “You would have kept me from doing what needed to be done. There was no question of saving you, Steve. I had only just found you. Our baby girl only just born. I could not lose you.”
Shutting your eyes, you let your head fall, burying your face into your pillow.
“Imsuhsawree.” You sob, muffled against the fluff of the bed.
The silence feels endless until you’ve just about made up your mind to look at him again when a sudden snort of laughter cuts the tension with ease.
You whip your head to face him, searching for the source of the laugh only to find Steve with his hand over his mouth as his body shakes with silent laughter.
“You’re laughing?” You gasp in disbelief; certain you must be seeing things.
Your husband cannot possibly be amused in this moment while your heart and soul are drowning in guilt and grief.
“I’m sorry.” Steve chortles, a whisper of giggles as he tries his best not to wake Maggie. “Forgive me, I…”
You frown at him, displeased with his humor but he reaches for you with his hand and hooks it behind your head in a soft caress.
“It’s not funny.” You insist.
“No.” Steve shakes his head. “It isn’t. I’m sorry, my flower. I’m just…so happy you’ve returned. I’ve missed you so much.”
And just like that, he’s forgiven.
The four of you lay there in bed for hours. Though your stomach is empty, you refuse to bring your hunger to Steve’s attention. Even though you know very well just how much he will be upset with you for it, you can’t bring yourself to tear your little family apart so very soon.
The sun is only just setting when Joseph decides it’s time to eat. He whimpers, a soft murmuring of whiney breaths until the air takes shape and his cries begin to grow louder.
Beside him Maggie also stirs, staring around with wide eyes as the crying rises in volume and she’s brought out of her blissful slumber.
Steve wakes last, while you are already scooping your little boy into your arms and propping yourself up against the headboard to feed him, he rubs his face and glances at the window.
“It’s already so late.” He realizes, turning back to you and Joseph while Maggie twists her body until she can lay on her stomach and then throw herself back to sit on her bottom.
Her eyes are glued to Joseph as he latches to your breast and begins to suckle. Your breasts are sore, and the pain is worse than you remember it being with Maggie, but you have no time to focus on the pain.
You make sure he can eat easily, watching him for any signs of distress.
“Did you get her a wet nurse?” You wonder, letting your eyes drift to Maggie who still sits watching you feed her brother.
“I did.” Steve nods, lifting the girl back up onto his lap. “She was so little.”
You look away, a quiver in your bottom lip as you try to push past the heartbreak that you hadn’t been there for your daughter like you’d wanted to be. “Yeah.”
Steve is familiar with you enough that he knows you don’t want to dwell on it and changes the topic quickly.
“Shall we have dinner in here? I don’t want to share either of you yet.” He confesses, stroking the back of Maggie’s little head.
“Yes.” You nod, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically at the mention of food because Steve frowns.
“Damn it, Y/N.” He gripes and gently places Maggie back on the bed before he marches towards the doors. “If you were hungry, you should have said something. After your meal, I’ll have Natasha draw you a bath.”
The prospect of a full belly and a luxuriously hot bath which you hadn’t realized you’d grown so fond of is so dreamy that your heart gives a clench and once more you feel so very happy you just might cry again.
~~~~~~~~~~
“How’s your bath, my petal?” Steve checks, moving to the edge of the bed once more as the children sleep on.
After their dinner they’d quickly begun to play. They’d explored each other’s boundaries and Maggie had made Joseph cry only once for a few minutes before they were sharing Maggie’s soft cloth dolls.
They each sleep with one in their hands, huddled close together at the center of the bed.
“Is the water too hot?” Steve pulls over a small yellow footstool, sitting upon the soft cushion.
He doesn’t wait for your answer and dips his left hand into the water, testing the temperature as you lay yourself back against the large copper tub.
“Your hand is going to smell like peonies and rose oils.” You tease him, bringing your hand up above the fragrant water.
You take a peony petal and carefully tuck it behind his ear, gentle drops of water skirting down into his beard as the pink stands in pleasant contrast to the gold of his hair.
Biting your lip, you comb it back, tracing the shape of his jaw with damp fingers.
“Even though I didn’t know you, my heart and soul yearned for you.” You whisper, sliding your hand down to rest upon his shoulders.
“And I you.” He smiles, eyes shut as you lean in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.
“I wonder,” You begin, pulling back to examine and rememorize every inch of his face. “Now that we are together again, whether this will negate in some way the effect of the spell?”
This thought raises a new worry in you. A fear that by meeting again you have somehow doomed Steve to die.
“Even if it has, I will not part with you again. I won’t die either.” Steve promises, but how can you take him at his word.
Magic is wicked and it will take its price one way or another.
“I have to speak to grandmother.” You counter, your gentle caress of his shoulders turned into a desperate cling.
“She’s gone.” Steve says, sending your heart into a pit within your belly. “No one has seen her since all of this started. However, there is something that I found in my office back home.”
Steve rises, moving towards his cloak left to rest on the back of a chair at the opposite end of the room.
When he returns, he holds in his hand a sealed piece of parchment, folded twice to keep its contents secure. The wax seal is a deep purple, her insignia that of a cat, back arched and head tilted up as if to yowl towards the moon.
You reach for your towel nearby and dry your hands then take the letter as Steve holds it out.
“I’ve been carrying it with me everywhere I go, hoping it would yield some explanation as to why I have been feeling so…empty.” He tells you, picking up his stool and moving to place it a bit more near the head of the tub where you sit. “Scoot forward.”
You do as he asks, staring at the letter and consider what its contents might be.
Steve’s hands disappear beneath the surface of your bathwater and emerge with a small porous sponge. It’s rough at first but with water and under Steve’s heavy hand, it becomes malleable and he begins to stroke your back, cleaning the peasant grime from your body.
“Why haven’t you opened it?” You wonder, turning it over almost expecting it to billow with glittering smoke.
“I attempted to many times. I couldn’t. The seal would not break. See there at the bottom of the fold?” He instructs.
You turn it over to look at the side with the seal and spot the small loopy writing at the bottom. The penmanship is so exquisite, you’re almost certain now that grandmother had indeed once been of noble blood.
For the Queen of Broklin.
“For me?” You gasp.
“I think it will only open for you, petal.” Steve explains as he leans closer to get the tops of your arms and then following the flow of muscle over your shoulders and down along your sides slowly.
Eager now, knowing this letter is meant for you, you tear it open and the seal breaks without fuss.
“Can you read it?” Steve wonders, no note of teasing in his voice.
Like you, he must be wondering whether so long a time away from life at the castle has made you forget everything you’d learned.
“I think so.” And with bated breath, you read, glad that you’d tried so hard to learn and only slightly surprised that you understand every single word she’s written.
If you are reading this note, it means that I was right.
First, believe me when I tell you that every word I spoke of King Rogers’s death was true. There is indeed a threat that would take his life and that of your father’s and King Thor’s as well.
I thought that perhaps King Rogers’s death would be enough to convince you that what we needed to do would be necessary and I am glad to say I was right.
What I did not tell you is that I knew the price to be asked would be the life you’d built within the castle in Broklin. I could not bear to tell you that you’d spent all that time suffering and building a family with him only to have it ripped from you.
Somehow, I don’t think you would have changed your mind even if I had.
After you spoke to me of your connection with the Asgardian king, I was wary of what it might mean for your future as Queen in the kingdom. There was only one chance to break the curse dealt by the spell to save your husband’s life and that was if you and he were always meant to be together.
Soulmates, I believe they call it. Two halves of one whole, set at opposite ends of the world to meet each other in just the right way to create what we know as destiny. In this case, the opposite ends you were placed in were poverty and wealth.
Your husband had every advantage in life while you had none. You were given no loves in life and King Rogers was given one big enough to eclipse the pull you would have for him when and if you met.
At the time, I worried that King Thor might be your true mate. The two of you were so well suited and perhaps I’m right? But if you’re reading this, it means that you and King Rogers found each other once again.
By some miracle, he or you have lifted the curse, and you can once more be together to live your lives and King and Queen of Broklin.
A fate you might not have found had I not thrown my purse into that bog by the road. I hope you appreciate my efforts, girl. I have worked very hard to walk you through this life but must now leave you to shape it on your own.
Don’t worry. I might not be with you every day, but should you need me, I will come. You don’t need to send for me. I’ll know. And rest assured, your husband’s life is safe.
There will always be evil in the world and he will always rise to fight it but be content to know that his life you most certainly have saved. Take care.
-Grandmother
You read the letter at least three times before Steve’s chin finds your shoulder, the scruff of his beard pleasantly rough against your skin.
“What does it say?” He wonders, tilting his head to kiss your neck.
You fold the letter and toss it away so that it won’t get wet, then lean back until you’re relaxed and can turn to look and admire your husband’s storm blue eyes.
“It says that no matter what might come to tear us apart, you will always find me.” You smile, reaching up to scratch underneath his chin.
Steve’s lips curl up on one side, a dashing smirk if you ever saw one.
