The World We Knew (Over and Over)
Summary: You are a musician serving the royal family in the golden kingdom. You follow thistle as he descends into madness.
Warnings: 1.6k words. Thistle gets a little toxic as the fic progresses. Mentions of Thistle's self harm tendencies. Angst ending :(
A/N: You've heard of enemies to lovers now get ready for lovers to not really enemies but the vibes are off now. I don't actually know if Thistle had to leave the castle to learn magic I but for the sake of the fic he did.
It all began with giggles trailing after you through the palace halls.
Your acceptance into the King's court had been unceremonious; your parents had served the royal family as musicians, and from a young age, it had been your dream to join them in performing. Prince Delgal took a particular liking to your music, often calling for your performances. Yet, it seemed someone else was more eager to hear you play.
"What do you want to hear from her, Thistle?" Delgal teased, his eyes twinkling mischievously as they landed on the elf always by his side. Thistle would invariably blush, stammering in response, "You called her! I can’t tell her what to do!"
You were familiar with Thistle, often spotting him in the prince's company. Sometimes, he would even smile and wave at you before retreating, dragging a laughing Delgal along with him.
And so, the persistent snickers of the prince and his elfin companion became a soundtrack to your days within the castle.
—--------------------
When Thistle finds a rare moment to slip away, he often visits your room at night. Despite the openness of your feelings for each other, he remains bashful and reserved. He twists his braid nervously until you understand he wants you to undo it for him.
While you brush his hair, you observe the pieces of him that have found their way to your space. His lyre, propped up in a corner, a silent witness to the melodies he plays for you. Spare hair ties scattered around, remnants of his occasional absent-minded gestures. The bandages you bought were placed on the dresser for when he bites his thumb too hard in his worry for the Prince. His upcoming wedding seems to weigh heavily on his mind. Sometimes you wish he would ease his worries, if only for a moment.
But in this quiet moment, he’s slumped in your lap, and you take the chance to place his hair on one side of his head and brush your lips to his ear. He doesn’t respond but you see both his ears turn crimson, and you stifle a laugh. Better to not make him grumpy.
—-----------------
The wedding is tomorrow and Thistle can’t seem to find any peace.
You could tell by the way he’s been darting around all day, obsessing over every detail. Still, it surprises you when he appears at your door in the dead of night, a trembling candle in his hand. The flickering flame casts shadows on his anxious face. You watch the flame sway in the air for a moment before looking at his face.
Without a word, you draw him inside and envelop him in your arms. He murmurs something about security concerns into the curve of your neck, and you stroke his hair soothingly, hushing his worries.
Gently, you take the candle from him and put it on the nightstand, then drag him over to your bed and help him down on the mattress. He flopped down and you crawled over him to get to the other side of the bed.
“You can stay here tonight. I love you.” you say softly.
As usual, he didn't say it back, but you were willing to wait.
You blow out the candle, casting the room back into darkness.
Barely a minute passes ,and you feel him crawl over to you and wrap his arms around you and bury his face in your hair. It’s a rare display of vulnerability from him, a testament to the weight of his concerns.
You place your hands over his, gently rubbing your thumb over his skin. “I love you too,” he whispers into the quiet darkness.
—--------------------------------
Things are different now.
Prince Delgal ascends to the throne after his father's tragic death, and he insists that Thistle learn magic to protect him.
The only reason you got to wish him goodbye is because you walked in his room to find him
"You're leaving already?" you ask quietly, unable to mask the concern in your voice.
"The sooner I leave, the better. When I return, I'll be able to keep Delgal safe," Thistle replies, his tone strained with determination.
"And you. You too," he adds after a pause, as though remembering your presence.
You feel like an afterthought, overshadowed by the weight of the recent events and the king's legacy. Uncertain of what to say, you watch silently as Thistle finishes packing.
When he grabs his bag and heads towards the castle exit, he doesn't invite you to follow. But you do, driven by an unspoken need to be near him, to understand what he's going through.
Before he leaves you manage to get one last hug from him. It’s the first time he’s touched you in weeks.
“You’ll write to me?” You ask. Mercifully he loosely wraps his arm around your waist.
“Of course.” Thistle replies, though his voice lacks its usual warmth.
He parts with you and his farewell to Delgal is filled with concern and lingering goodbyes. You pretend not to notice the underlying tension, the unraveling edges of his composure.
—----------------------------
Everything is different when he comes back.
He smiles more than he was but something is strange about it.You get to see him more, but nights that were once filled with soft touches and words are filled with one sided conversation about magic and the dungeon under the kingdom. He fidgets incessantly, unable to sit still long enough for you to even brush his hair. His words about power and protection wash over you, their meaning lost, but the intensity in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine.
Still, he's here. He cares enough to share his thoughts, not just about the King's safety, but about everything that consumes his mind. Despite the concerned glances exchanged between you and Delgal at the dinner table, despite the moments when his grip on your arms tightens uncomfortably during his rants, you smile and nod, supportive of his ideas.
When he eventually leaves your side, you find yourself tracing the crescent-shaped marks on your skin left by his fingers. You remember the days when he would look away before summoning the courage to hold your hand.
—------------------------
You could leave the room if you really wanted to; no one would stop you. But the fear in Yaad’s eyes would always draw you back.
It had been ages since Thistle’s last visit, taking a momentary break on his fruitless search for Delgal. No one expected you to remain locked within the castle for eternity. In his absence, you were granted momentary freedom around the kingdom. Yet, straying from his expectations risked unsettling him. Not being where he would expect you to be when he came back could prove disastrous.
You picked at the Minotaur meat brought to your room, a gesture more habitual than necessary. Like the kingdom’s residents, you no longer needed sustenance. Yaad had arranged this meal at the request of recent visitors, hopeful they might end the reign of the Mad Mage.
The Mad Mage hardly sounded like a fitting name for the Thistle you once knew. Yet, time had woven madness into his every thought and action.When he had locked you all in the dungeon and cursed you with immortality you hardly recognized him The same eyes that once captivated you with warmth now held a terror you couldn’t bear to face. Thistle was the Lord of the dungeon, and he would forever keep you trapped in his perfect kingdom like rats in a cage.
He would visit as he did in youth—sitting in your lap, requesting hair fixes, strumming his lyre in fleeting moments of joy, or sobbing in your embrace, tormented by Delgal’s absence.
The villagers never got to see this side of him- the emotional side. It was never a side he was keen on sharing with most people. It used to make you feel special.
A familiar bell chimed, a gift from Thistle before he resumed his search for Delgal—a bell signaling his return to the realm.
As the bell on the wall rang, its faint chime echoing through the cold stone chamber, Thistle's return stirred a mix of emotions in you. You watched the heavy door creak open, revealing his figure silhouetted against the dim torchlight of the corridor beyond.
"Thistle," you greeted softly, the name tasting bitter on your tongue yet wrapped in the sweetness of memories long past.
"I've returned," he murmured, his voice a fragile thread of the man he once was.
You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. His touch, when he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face, was gentle yet tinged with an unsettling intensity. In that moment, you saw glimpses of the Thistle you had loved, a soul now lost in the labyrinth of his own making.
"I've missed you," he whispered, his voice cracking with a raw vulnerability that pierced through the shadows of the room.
And though the weight of his madness bore down upon your heart, you found solace in the fragments of his former self that still lingered. You reached out, hesitantly at first, and took his hand in yours. It was cold and trembling, a stark reminder of all that had been lost between you.
As the bell's echo faded into the silence, you knew that despite the darkness that had consumed him, a part of Thistle remained tethered to you. Locked in this eternal dance of captivity and fleeting connection, you found a fragile kind of peace in the depths of his broken mind.
