Hi!! For we won't run (we can fight) (which is totally my favorite of yours btw): 11, 12, 14, 15. \
Hi! Thank you so much, it’s totally a favourite of mine as well ♥️
(for those that are curious, you can find this fic here)
11: What do you like best about this fic?
So what I really like about this fic is that is absolutely challenged me. (And it was for the challenge, so it kind of made sense to grab the bull by the horns, so to speak!) There were four or so options that I could choose from in the prompts, and I’m not normally a reader of medieval themed stories, so at first glance I completely disregarded the prompt and chose something safer. But ... the more I thought about it, the more I really wanted to TRY. And in all honesty, I’m so glad that I did!
Also, I love that I was able to incorporate so many characters from the show, and place them in this setting without compromising on anything that made them, them. It was playing out like a miniature saga in my mind, and I love it dearly.
12: What do you like least about this fic?
I really don’t want to sound like a broken record, or sound bitter, because I am not either of those things, but I just wish this story had gotten a little more traction while I was writing it. And I get it - I didn’t/don’t really read a lot of medivalAU stuff either, but I worked hard to get it feel like most of it would happen just the same in a modern sense, and ... yeah. Anyway. I’m proud of the story I told in this fic, and how it all played out.
14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?
That it’s never too late to stand up for what is right. I’m not suggesting that everyone go out and start an uprise 😅 but I love that it all started with one person saying ‘Hey, what this guy is doing is NOT okay’, and then slowly but surely she’s built up this army of resistance. Combined voices scream louder, and I love that they all stood together to stand up for what was right for Brooklyne. 💪🏼
15: What did you learn from writing this fic?
To scale things back a bit haha ... Z can probably attest to this, but some of my descriptions of ballrooms/outfits went a little into overkill, and I learnt to take a step back and notice when I was just straight up rambling about the atmosphere of the room or whatever. It’s something I’ve kept in mind in ever since, and (hopefully) I've managed to keep things a little more reigned in.
Thank you for sending me these! I’m a *big* fan of your work! ☺️
Was going through an old hard drive and found some files from The Signal. One that caught my eye (or ear I guess) was this piano and vocal only of ‘We Won’t Run’. Totally different vibe without the rest of the band. Maybe I need to cut an acoustic piano video for this tune... Would love to hear your thoughts on this!
From her position above her prey, Rosa snarls - baring her teeth in a perfect white line before bearing down with her fist, rendering the man below unconscious with one swift punch. Smiling in triumph as his body falls limp, she raises herself up, reaching for her favourite weapon and swinging high. The sharp blade catches onto its target, slicing easily through the rope that anchored a tapestry to the palace wall and she watches as the drapery falls, covering several of the fighters in a heavy blanket of dust and fabric.
The peaceful melody of string music quickly disappears, musicians running for cover as the sound of clashing metal begins filling the great hall. Dresses spin as women push through the crowd - the once calm evening of restraint now diverting into a swirl of chaos as war begins to rage. The people of Brooklyne were here to reclaim what was rightfully theirs, and they weren’t going to back down without a fight.
One hour earlier ...
“Sir Charles.”
A long held habit kicks in and Charles drops his head towards the stone floor, bending at the waist before returning his sights back to the man in front of him. “King Holt.”
“I apologise for my over the top reaction. It’s safe to say that I am surprised to see you here. Stunned even. Absolutely flummoxed.”
Charles nods politely, fighting back a smile. The total lack of visual reaction (save for a brief smile) from his king was exactly how he remembered things being. He raises his dagger, pointing it towards the chain holding Holt down, and raises his eyebrows in silent offering. Seeing the curt nod in response, he quickly drops to his knees.
“I need you to tell me everything. Start from the beginning, and leave no detail unturned.”
His head pulls back slightly at the unexpected request. Shrugging, he begins. “Well, I was born out in a field that my great-aunt Susan had been growing herbs in -” Holt raises his hand, breaking the conversation.
“No. Not since your beginning. Pembroke. Tell me everything that has happened since my departure.”
He can feel his skin heating up as the embarrassment rushes through him, and Charles nods again, hands busy with working on unlocking the padlock that kept his ruler captive. Swiftly, he ran through the story as he knew it - the duplicity of Pembroke’s rule; the story about Holt’s death that he had so easily crafted; the reports of his greed coming in from various provinces …. Resting for a moment, he tells Holt of Jake’s disagreement with Pembroke, and how it had resulted in his best friend walking away from the only thing in his life he had worked hard for. After that, Charles explained, all he had known was the inside of his own cell.
Holt is quiet for a moment as Charles goes back to work on the chain, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “I’m not surprised that Peralta did that,” he said quietly. “There were many times that his cavalier attitude towards situations left me in a great state of frustration. But there is a sense of honour to Jacob, a belief in a life where all is fair and equal, that led me to believe that despite his weaknesses he would turn into a truly admirable member of the Royal Guard. If Pembroke had made him follow a law that he didn’t believe in, I can absolutely see him walking away from it all.”
Charles nods eagerly, letting out a sigh of relief as the padlock on Holt’s chain releases, hitting the stone floor with a heavy thunk. “Jakey is the best, he really is.”
Rubbing the skin that had finally been freed from rusty metal, Holt turns to Charles with a serious nod. “Good work, Sir Charles. Now, tell me about this passageway you came through.”
“Honestly, Sir, I’m not sure where it’s going to lead us. Just before I’d gotten to you, I had reached a juncture. And there was a small torch lit about halfway along the walkway that brought me to your cell. I began searching the stones, just like I had before, and then … there you were.”
He nods slowly, pursing his lips as his eyes roam over the cell that had been his home for far too long. “I believe, Sir Charles, that the benefits of exploring these mysterious caverns outweigh the costs of staying stagnant. I say we continue on. Do you concur?”
“I do, your majesty.”
“I am not your King anymore, Sir Charles.”
“With all due respect sir, I disagree.” Boyle’s heart quickens a little in fear as Holt stares back at him. “As far as I’m concerned, you never stopped being my King. And now that we can prove that Pembroke stole the throne, I am certain that the people of Brooklyne will agree.”
The older man nods, the faint whisper of a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “One can only hope.”
*
It had been several months since Jake had stepped foot within the castle’s walls, and as they move through the forecourt and into the keep his eyes scour the room, taking in all the changes King Pembroke had made.
Holt’s palace had held banners of all five precincts on proud display in every hall. It had been a home for art of various creators within the villages, regardless of whether the piece had been widely lauded or quietly discussed. Representation had been important to him, and the people had loved him for it. Pembroke’s palace had mirrors at every corner, dotted by painted murals of great battles he claimed to be a part of. His crest, which looked remarkably similar to that of an earlier King’s, was emblazoned onto thick hand sewn banners, manipulating every room with its ostentatious colour scheme.
He shifts uncomfortably, tugging on the lapel of his jacket to bring it slightly closer to his chest. It should be warmer, now that the brick walls sheltered them from the nighttime chill. But it was bitterly cold. There was a distinct lack of joy in the air, similar smiles of ignorance and obligation stretching across each guest’s face as they made their way through. In the corner, a quartet of musicians strummed their lutes and citterns to an uplifting melody, forced merriment falling on deaf ears, fading forgotten into the night.
As he shuffles along Jake shifts his gaze towards Amy, having recently been pulled away from him by Gina. They were huddled together, whispering about something, and as he stood watching Amy raised her head, eyes locking immediately on his with an unreadable expression crossing her face.
The memory of yesterday’s confession was still clear in his mind. Truth be told, when the day had started out there hadn’t been any intention for him to let his heart bleed out like he had. But standing in the field with her, discussing their plans for the night, his mind had begun to consider all the things that could go wrong, and how there was the very real possibility that it could end without him ever being able to tell Amy how he really felt. And the pain of that was greater than anything else he could imagine, and so he’d put it all on the line.
To see the shake of her head at his words had hurt more than he was willing to describe, but oddly he found that he still didn’t regret saying them. She was, after all, the greatest thing to come into his life in the longest time, and if the only way to ensure that he could still be around her was to be her friend, then so be it.
The fact that his heart had become fully invested in her was something that he would just have to learn to live with.
An obnoxious voice roars over the quartet from a room to their left, demanding their presence within The Great Hall - a room within the keep that he’d only seen once before. Jake clenches his jaw as he runs through a mental checklist of the night’s plan, reaching instinctively for Amy as the role of Johnny and Dora come into play.
He glances at her briefly as she grips onto his offered arm, turning away before he finds himself getting lost in her gaze again (while he may not be able to help how he felt, he certainly wasn’t going to make Amy feel bad about it). His mouth feels dry, and he takes a heavy swallow to try and encourage the chance to speak once more.
If there was anything that was certain about tonight, it was that The Great Hall was definitely living up to it’s name. A rich red tapestry covered the floor, gold damask smothering the fibres. Tall brass urns burned a healthy fire from their holders high above the guest’s heads, and the ceiling held home to numerous chandeliers, all lit with robust candles.
A larger orchestra stands in the corner, their thin and ill-rehearsed repertoire fighting with the acoustics of the hall. Their faces turn nervously towards the King’s throne with every pluck of the strings, obviously fearful of the ramifications of displeasing their master.
To the right of them sat a banquet, covered in an array of food far more extravagant than necessary. Brass goblets, encrusted with gemstones and other delusions of grandeur were scattered around the surface, accompanied by bottles of wine both white and red. In the middle of it all sat a mural of the King himself, depicted through the contrasting colours of seasonal fruits. From the safety of his mask, Jake rolls his eyes at the display. It was ridiculous, the lengths that Pembroke’s narcissism went to.
At the front of the room, four steps higher than the crowd, stood an ornate throne emblazoned with The Vulture’s name. A cushion, covered in red velvet and embroidered with his initials, sat waiting for the royal caboose. A step below, and on either side of the throne, sat a long line of bench seats that began filling with his stolen women, each face looking sadder than the last as they enter and take their place. Hidden in the shadows underneath the bench ran a long and heavy looking chain - shackles open and waiting for their victims.
Jake feels Amy stiffen beside him as a woman in a green dress covered in peacock feathers makes her way to the edge of the seats, and he turns his head just enough to whisper - “Kylie?” She nods, chewing on her bottom lip, and he finds himself resting his spare hand against hers. Seeing her safe and sound was probably no consolation to knowing that her friend was still under Pembroke’s control, and it is all Jake can do to not throw caution to the wind, pull out a dagger and declare war right there and then. His mind represses the mental image of Charles, hidden somewhere under lock and key, and runs through the plan once again.
A quiet rumble runs through the room as more guests appear, various aristocrats reaching out gloved hands in well-practiced greetings that held no real warmth. Threads of silver and gold, red, violet and all the shades in-between fill the floor as everyone’s costumes fight for dominance amongst the sea of egos. He turns back to Amy, noting the wonder in her gaze as she takes in the palace’s opulence for the first time. Not for the first time, he grows wistful that they’d hadn’t met before the recent few month’s activities. He was certain that King Holt would have been very fond of her.
A blush grows across her cheeks as she catches him staring, and she glances around her before leaning in closely. “I knew that the inside of the palace would be amazing, I mean … it’s a palace. I guess I was just expecting …”
“Less arrogance, more elegance?”
She nods, mouth twisting into a wry grin. The gold filigree that surrounded her mask glinted against the candlelight, but still held no competition against the sparkle in her eye. “This place has changed a lot since Holt,” he explained, shrugging one shoulder up in defeat.
“You know, I never thought I would say this, but there is such a thing as too much.” Gina whispered as her and Rosa sidled up next to them.
Amy nodded in agreement, throwing a well-rehearsed smile at another couple as the four of them walked through the crowd. Her dress flowed out gracefully behind her as they progressed, and she moved with an elegance that some who had been born to privilege would never be able to match. Even under the circumstances, Jake was endlessly proud to have her on his arm.
The loud screech of a score of horns at the front of the Great Hall pulls Jake from his thoughts, and quickly the crowd swivel toward the sound, knowing that such uproar undoubtedly signalled the impending arrival of The King.
Pembroke’s smirk reeks of arrogance as he shuffles along the velvet carpet that led to his throne, head remaining high as he ignores those that kneel before him. He winks at a few of the women that were now chained to their positions, passive to their smiles turning into sneers as he passes. The room remains quiet as he ascends, and he turns to face the crowd from the top, scouring the room disinterestedly before dropping into his ‘rightful’ place.
He raises one hand high, gesturing for the music to begin. Like scenes from a well-rehearsed play, each of the guests turn and reach for their partners, falling into line on the dance floor as the drawn-out notes of the vielle begin to ring out. Reaching out to Gina without hesitation, Rosa pulls her into the fray, the two of them quickly becoming indistinguishable (save for the plumage surrounding Gina’s mask) amongst the crowd.
An awkward silence stretches over the remaining two, the lingering memory of “I’m falling in love with you, day by day … and I don’t want to stop” ringing in both of their ears. Jake can feel her gaze from the corner of her mask, and instinct kicks in.
“Okay look, there’s something that I need to ask you.” Jake begins, turning to Amy with a serious look falling over his face.
She gazes back at him, mouth falling open slightly as she visibly struggles to find the right words. Before she can try, he raises his hand, pointing towards a tall woman dressed in white, standing out from the crowd by her oversized headpiece. “I gotta know,” he continued – “Is that supposed to be a swan? Because honestly, all I see is a stork.”
Amy’s shoulders drop as the tension leaves her body, drawing her hand to her mouth to conceal the giggles that threaten to escape. It really did look like a stork, munching on the feathered ‘grass’ that surrounded the woman’s voluminous creation. Money truly didn’t buy taste.
He can feel himself relax in turn as her laughter escapes, despite her best efforts at suppression. These kind of moments, where they turned silence into laughter, were his favourite. And only served to remind him of what they were fighting for – a greater future for Brooklyne, yes; but also, a future where they can stay together, even as friends.
There’s a brief pause, and then the melody of the music changes, a slower tempo falling over the room. Clearing his throat nervously, Jake offers a hand to Amy. “Shall we?”
Her hands shake a little, he notices, and he gives her fingers a gentle squeeze as they join his. He pulls her closer as they move towards the centre of the dance floor, giving her an encouraging smile as his free hand rests gently against her waist. Tentatively, they begin moving to the beat, both doing their best to ignore the awkward space that was building between them.
Jake glances towards the front of the room and notices The Vulture sitting on his throne, one knee bent up with his foot against an armrest. In his right hand he holds a chalice, and he stares at the vessel, already distracted by his reflection as the crowd move below him. Turning back to Amy with a tiny shake of his head in the ruler’s direction, she looks over and huffs at his lack of interest. “All of this work, and everything that had been stolen for this night, and he doesn’t even care enough to pretend that he’s enjoying it.”
He nods in agreement, squeezing her hand quickly again as they turn across the floor. “There’s nothing in this hall that could ever surpass his interest in his own reflection. That is Pembroke, right down to his soul.”
She laughs softly at that, blushing slightly when he smiles back at her, and for a moment they dance together in silence.
Finally, she speaks. “Jake, there’s something that I have to tell you.”
He winces as the pointed tip of her shoe hits the edge of his toes for the fourth time. “Is it that you’re a terrible dancer? I mean, no offence Ames, but this is not your strongest skill.”
Her face turns a bright red and she shakes her head, gold chain shifting slightly against her chest as she lets out a huff. “We didn’t do a lot of dancing in Fumera, and it’s all really confusing.”
Slowing down the pace, Jake throws her an apologetic smile and tightens his grip on her waist, locking his frame so their outstretched hands act as a support. “Here. Follow my lead.” He takes slower, more deliberate steps, increasing the pace in small increments as confidence begins to creep onto her face. Together, they move carefully around the floor, smiling at the other guests as they let the music was over them. He could definitely get used to this.
Gotta believe that this all leads Somewhere we've never been We won't run We can fight All that keeps us up at night There is far to go now Let's not waste a minute more
Here’s a tune off my latest EP called ‘We Won’t Run’! Would love for you to check it out. About that feeling we all have - “Oh fucking shit, I don’t know if I can do this...”
The second verse was written in the studio right before heading into the booth as you can see by my chicken scrawl in the bottom right. I love seeing this kinda stuff from bands so I thought I’d give you a little window into the music. Plenty more on the way! Thanks for the support and love yer butts.
PS
If you haven’t already downloaded the EP please do! It’s pay what you can but I want you to have it - don’t feel guilty taking it for free! Seriously, I’d rather you had it than not!
