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Fantasy || ᴇᴄʜᴏᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴍᴘɪʀᴇꜱ ||




Aurelia Reinhart








































  • _

















It was quiet, peaceful. Birds chirped as the sun began to set. Aurelia inhaled the sweet scent of the fresh air that the garden provided: Lavender. Its deep purple hue resonated with the kingdom's crest, while the soft undertones reminded her of her mother's dress—a fabric that was somehow ever-present in her mind today as a hand brushed against her own tufted gown.

This particular garden was her favorite place in all of Ashendale.

"Your Highness," a voice emerged from behind, prompting the brunette to swiftly straighten her posture, and her gaze flitted to them. Instead of offering a response, she eased her shoulders once she realized who it was. "Have you bid your farewells, my lady?" His words caused a smile to appear on her lips as he came to stand beside her.

"You're awfully formal today," she remarked, her eyes fixed on the flowers swaying with each soft breeze. Though she did not turn to look at him, she detected the lilt of a smile in Theo's voice as he responded. "I deemed it wise to acquaint myself with such formalities." Aurelia remained silent, her eyes roaming the garden as if trying to etch its beauty into her memory.

"My mother loved these flowers, did you know?" she finally broke the silence. Theo's gaze intensified, a gaze that mirrored the intensity of the sun's rays upon her skin. "She had these pots she adorned around the castle. Each held a flower, and she'd make sure that someone had watered them every day."

"The day I was born, everyone was so preoccupied with my arrival," a dry laugh escaped her lips. "Almost everyone had forgotten about them, and they died. She felt terrible. I was almost named after them for how badly she felt." A silent prayer was given to the gods that it wasn't. Nobody would be able to respect a queen named Lavender.

It sounded... like a... never mind that.

"My father shared her sentiments, though. I believe he was hurting because she was."

"Love has that effect on a person," Theodore replied softly, his eyes meeting hers.

Curiosity sparkled in Aurelia's gaze as she waited for him to continue. "So I've heard." His sudden brush-off wasn't given a second thought. "The day after my birth, he planted..." She gestured towards the blooming, purple garden surrounding them, its beauty captivating.

"An entire garden just for her. Nobody was allowed to help so he could take full credit." Her father had told her the story the day she died. There had been no grieving here. Just remembrance.

Theo's eyes crinkled with concern. "We could postpone, Aurelia," he started, looking among the purple hues in thought before returning his gaze to her. "I could tell them you've fallen ill, and we can leave next week."

Leaving...

"No, it has to be today. I will not postpone my own..."

Destiny, was it?

"It has to be today. I am fine, I will be fine, and if I am not..."

"You have me."

"I have you."

Leaving felt like she was losing her and herself all over again. Theodore's hand softly encased her own, and she smiled bittersweetly, squeezing it before letting go.

"I'm ready."

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.

She had taken in her castle for what felt like the last time. Aurelia always knew she'd leave someday—but that didn't make it this much easier. These grounds, where she had once played as a carefree child, were now filled with bittersweet memories.

She reminisced about the fencing lessons her father had personally given her, the occasional moments she shared with her mother were spent roaming the castle—brimming with excitement but difficult to find something new about the place she called home.

The memories had come to a halt when they approached the carriage, and an elven man by the name of Kiril Silversong introduced himself, bowing. Aurelia assumed he was the escort. "Pleased," she replied with a bow of her head, a sign of respect, though not usual for her customs. Aurelia needed to gain the elves' respect if she was to become their queen. It was only right.

A flash of movement caught her eye, and Aurelia turned to face them.

"Victoria."

"My sweet girl," gentle hands cupped her face. Victoria wasn't her mother—Aurelia was certain that nobody could ever truly replace her real mother, as her father had reassured her on the day he remarried. Aurelia had watched the wedding through the windows of the church, sneaking alongside Theodore when the vows were being exchanged.

Despite them not seeing eye-to-eye on many things, Victoria was the only family she had left. "You remember everything we discussed?"

"Yes," she replied. They had gone over many things: what was expected of her, duties, the intricacies of Elvish greetings and farewells, the consummation of marriage, even. Victoria needed her ready for anything and everything. Ashendell needed her ready. Álfur needed her ready. Augustus Pulk stood beside Victoria as she pulled away, a trusted priest who had resided in Ashendell for the last few months to prepare her for the wedding.

A firm nod was given to Aurelia.

There was nothing to be saddened about-- concerned over.

This marriage was created for peace.

Hope.

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.

The carriage ride remained silent, burdened by a tension that Aurelia couldn't quite place.

Aurelia and Theodore shared a glance, their eyes mirroring their shared concerns. How much longer would this persist? Desperate to end their suffering, the princess cleared her throat.

"Kiril," she spoke, fumbling slightly with her hands before placing them on her lap. "Could you enlighten us about Álfur? What can we expect? Its beauty, perhaps?" Aurelia smiled, a touch of innocence adorning her features.

Victoria spoke very highly of Álfur. They had many schools for the children, an endless library. All the homes somewhat resembled castles and were built out of a material that reflected like diamonds.

"The stories surrounding the kingdom are nothing short of exceptional," Aurelia said, her voice filled with a mix of wonder and fascination.

































Cinnamon girl



Lana Del Ray










♡coded by uxie♡
 
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Having at different points in his life been a kitchen servant, the King’s wine-tester, and one of the castle pages, Kiril had never been to the human kingdom of Ashendell for, say, enjoyment. His services were once limited only to the castle, but when he’d been changed to be a page during wartime, he would travel back and forth from Álfur castle to various soldier camps with urgent messages, moving as quickly as possible on horseback so as not to remain in what was often enemy territory too long. But now, in a carriage pulled by a lower-ranking servant, as the attendant to the Crown Prince of Álfur—the highest honor, and a position that Kiril took incredible care with—he was able to take a moment and observe the human’s kingdom.

It was boring.

He turned his head toward the princess as she spoke. Assuming the man beside her to be her attendant, Kiril did not acknowledge him but instead, internally shared a displeased look internally with himself.

Kiril had long tired of being shameful of his surname. While it was true that his father was, at the time of his dishonorable discharge from the militia, only known as a lethargic drunk, Kiril had proven himself, enduring the strenuous conditions of a castle servant and working his way to personal attendant to the Crown Prince, and in that time, being referred to by his last name, which, more than formal custom, was a way to remind Kiril of his station and of his family’s past, had evolved from a painful slap across the face to something that he wore, while not with pride, with a sort of defiance—a sort of you spit in my face, but I dry it and push forward. Nay, he could accept his surname; but as a stickler for the rules and strictures, what was more offensive to him than his surname was his given name.

“Pardon, Your Highness,” Kiril said, the unamused expression that had been on his face from the moment of awakening this morning remaining as set as before, his words lilting with his heavy accent, “I assure you, I am not deluded enough to suggest that you could make any missteps, but Kiril is my given name. My surname is Silversong.” With a scarred hand, he brushed a stray hair out of his dull eyes. “And, Your Highness, the war-ravaged country, land whereupon many innocent bodies fell and mingled with the blood of their kin, containing villages wherein the only evidence of population remains barely standing brick walls scorched black from flames, I would not call beautiful. But it does have some pleasant flowers; so I suppose there is some argument for it being pretty. You could at least put together a nice bouquet to place within your windowsill,” he joked dryly, his sarcasm surely lost in the thickly accented words.

He glanced out at the rolling green hills which stretched toward the horizon like the sea. There were certainly some exceptional stories that could be told for the kingdom he loyally served; however, he would concede that many of the stories that he could tell of the kingdom would lean heavily into the fact that they were stories, mere works of fiction. Even before the brutish humans, one of whom was the heir of the kingdom who had killed many of his closest friends and family in the heat of battle, he saw no value in embellishing the existence of Álfur in order to build up some sense of grandeur that would immediately be crushed upon driving across the border of the kingdoms.

“The castle,” he said, not quite to encourage the princess so much as to help maintain the dignity of the monarchy, “is, how you say, exceptional. Pearlescent. Nine-hundred of your years old, yet standing proudly, like a goddess. The Erlkings, too, are the most magnificent.” The damn hair fell in front of his brow again; he brushed it away. “King Algar V demonstrated greatly through his lifetime his strong abilities to lead a people and unite them in mind and in spirit. His care toward battle strategy was remarkable—his attention to detail was that of an artist. Prince—well, he is referred to as Prince Oberon, but when he becomes king, he shall be Algar VI, as is his given first name—is a specimen to behold as well. He speaks, and crowds fall to their knees and weep. With great Bjornhildr, he can slay full infantries with one sweep. His voice is that of an angel; when he moves, it is like the wind.” He was perhaps exaggerating a slight bit, but a part of him wanted to see the naïveté of humans and how eager the princess was or was not to believe; it gave him a (perhaps twisted) kind of pleasure.

He continued on, saying far grander things about the previously reigning queens; next speaking first of Delle and then of Eirlysulfr and having to add the unfortunate tag at the end of their tales that they were deceased; and then speaking of young Lyriel, whom he had quite a bit to say.

Three-quarters through his tale of Lyriel, he lifted a hand to his brow to brush his hair away. “She is—“

There was a sudden jolt of the carriage, and Kiril jerked forward. He gripped the seat, almost falling out of it, eyes instinctively glancing toward the Crown Princess, who was his precious cargo before looking out of the window. He yelled a few angry words in Elvish to the driver, but he heard the distinct shink of a sword being drawn.

He cursed in Elvish, diving out of the carriage immediately, whipping his sword from its sheath as his eyes took in the sight of the driver, who shivered at the end of the sword’s tip.




KIRIL


♡coded by uxie♡
 



Theodore Willoughby








































  • _

















"I'm not a big fan of fairy tales," Theodore remarked, casting a skeptical glance at his younger brother who sat comfortably on the wool carpet, engrossed in the book. "Please, can't we find something else to do?"

He knew the ending already. It wasn't a pleasant one. "When I return," he fibbed, extending the book back to his brother. With a sigh, he stood up and gathered his belongings, neatly tucked away in a satchel. He didn't have much, never really did.

Even after joining the guard, he continued wearing the same clothes, eating the same meals, and whatever he earned, he contributed to his family. He didn't need the money. Theodore had barely reached the door before his mother anxiously uttered her words and approached him. She wasn't aware he would be leaving so soon; her worry etched on her face like delicate lines of unease – the wrinkles more prominent, and it was only now he truly saw her age.

"I will."

"I will."

"I will."

I'll write, I'll be safe, I'll protect myself.

I'll protect her.

The last part wasn't asked, but it kept running through his mind on repeat. It was expected of him, wasn't it? Being assigned as the princess's guard, protector. Was it the only reason why he felt so strongly about this?

No.

"Promise me," his mother pleaded.

"Promise you what, mother?" He brushed the shaggy curls out of his face, revealing the slightly pointed ears he had tried so hard to hide growing up. "That you'll come back," she said, her voice filled with worry. He opened his mouth to speak, but she continued, "alive."

"I am not going out to war." He assured her with a forced laugh to alleviate some tension, even if he truly didn't believe himself.

"Promise me."

Theo wasn't sure if he could promise that. And it wasn't because Theo believed he wouldn't have downtime in Álfur or because he believed Aurelia didn't need him. Looking into his mother's eyes – the brown orbs that he had failed to inherit – he saw the sorrow and desperation.

He wasn't sure if she needed him either.

But Theodore still found himself saying,

"I promise."

»»——⍟——««​

He didn't care much for carriage rides. He preferred horseback – he tended to feel sick when they were in carriages for long periods of time. Aurelia broke the silence; conversation was always her strong suit. Even when he didn't feel like talking, somehow she would find the simplest of things to discuss endlessly with him. Kiril corrected her, which didn't come as a surprise to Theo.

Guards typically were addressed by their last names. However, Aurelia believed that using their names offered a form of respect that they equals, even though they weren't she refused to knowledge it.

To his surprise, Aurelia did nothing more than nod. Theodore observed the exchange carefully, trying to read her. His gaze then fell on her hands, which she continued to fiddle with in her lap.

She was nervous.

As he explained the dire state of Álfur after the war, he noticed the wonder draining from her face. He had never been stationed outside of Ashendell, so he couldn't truly know the reality. The description he provided didn't sound quite right compared to the many stories Aurelia had shared with him. But Kiril was a native, so who were they to question the kingdom they knew so little about?

While maintaining a respectful tone, it felt as if he were subtly placing blame on them, as if they were responsible for the numerous innocent people who were murdered and the burning of villages. It was unlikely, he supposed, that he would have the courage to lay blame on a future monarch of his own kingdom.

“But it does have some pleasant flowers, so I suppose there is some argument for it being pretty. You could at least put together a nice bouquet to place within your windowsill," Kiril's tone was full of tease but Aurelia didn't match it.

“I see,” She spoke, swallowing what was left of her fascination and replacing it with a somber demeanor. Kiril wouldn't have noticed it-- but the guilt was written on her face. Theo’s jaw clenched, his gaze hardening into somewhat of a glare the longer he stared at Silversong, who began to hesitate halfway through his many descriptions.

Theodore stood quiet; after all, guards weren’t meant to speak unless spoken to.

Accompanying Aurelia to her soon-to-be newfound reign was sure to be different. The risk of people misconstruing their interactions was high, potentially leading to unnecessary assumptions or rumors. She knew nothing of his decision other than today’s subtle jab, but Theodore assumed she had an idea. It was a burden that they both silently carried, only one more than the other.

He eyed Aurelia curiously when the prince was mentioned, the hint of a smile tugging at her corners that only made Theo feel sicker by the minute, and he found himself glancing outside the carriage’s small window to focus on anything else. The dirt trail they were traveling on was anything but intriguing.

He found his thoughts drifting to the ending of the fairytale.

The boy was an outcast in a realm of beasts; they found him orphaned and cared for him as one of their own. The story hinted at the boy having evil tendencies throughout the book. But it started when he met a girl — a human one. It wasn’t common to find another in that realm.

She brought his family’s demise the longer she filled him with negative thoughts, and soon enough himself when he slaughtered the entire realm.

Except the girl. The lengths people would go to for a happily ever after were unimaginable.

Suddenly, the carriage came to a halt, jolting Theo out of his thoughts. Silversong swiftly unsheathed his sword, Aurelia moved to see what was happening, and Theodore held out his arm, keeping her back from view. "Stay here," he urged. “We don’t know what it is they want.”

He exited the carriage to find three men who seemed worse for wear — bandits, he assumed. They often sat a trail ways away from here, and it was odd they were on the main road, as it was usually accompanied by larger groups.

The sword pointed towards the driver’s neck, and Theo’s grip tightened on his own hilt. “We’re on this trail on behalf of the royal court. Any harm given, and you’ll be committing treason.”

“Treason, aye?” One of them laughed, craning his neck to get a good look at Silversong. “Against who? You?” He leaned closer to Silversong’s face, and the elven man lifted his sword to protect himself. The bandit quickly pushed him roughly against the carriage, causing it to shake.

“We have no allegiance to your kind. You’re on our roads. This isn’t Emberfall. Kill 'em, Georgie.” His accent was thick, and Silversong had no doubt smelled the ale, sweat, and dirt he reeked of.

“Let’s just all calm down.” Theodore had killed once. It wasn’t a good experience, and he’d prefer not to do it again anytime soon.

“Calm down, right… yeah…” One of the men quickly—and sloppily—swung at Theodore, but his own sword instinctively blocked the attack.

Theo spoke while fending off not one, but two bandits—thankfully, while they were talking, the driver had managed to escape. “On behalf of the Ashendell monarchy, I command you to stand down, or you will—” The sound of metal clashing on metal was loud enough to be heard from inside the carriage.

A loud scream followed as Silversong's sword found purchase in the bandit's lower torso. The younger man gasped and applied pressure to his own open wound before his body crumpled to the ground.

The carriage door swung open, and Aurelia gasped at the sight of the bandit on the floor. “Ashendell, oh... no, no,” one of the bandits—supposedly named Georgie—glanced at Theodore for the first time, noticing the crest faintly engraved into his armor, and alarm began to set in.

“Is he alive?” Aurelia sputtered, to which Silversong nodded, while the man groaned on the floor. “What is it they wanted?”

“Coin,” Theo replied, casting a weary gaze at the men, who began to back down. Tying them up and transporting them back to the castle's cells would take too much time, especially since it was important for them to arrive "today," as Aurelia had put it.

“Help him up.”

Theo glanced at her in confusion, but Aurelia only tilted her head toward the bandits. Silversong kept his sword drawn, watching them cautiously in case of any sudden movements.

Not carefully, but rather roughly, Theo lifted the injured bandit to his feet, having him lean on Georgie, presuming that was the man's name. They all looked and sounded the same to him—desperate souls looking for a way to provide for themselves without putting in the actual work, harming others for their own gain. “We should be on our way now, Lia—” he cleared his throat, earning a curious look from Silversong. “Your Highness.”

Aurelia reached for the amethyst earrings that comfortably laid on her lobes, seemingly undoing them and approached Georgie. “What are you—do not approach them,” Theodore ordered, stepping in her way, but Aurelia side-stepped around him.

The princess placed the earrings in the bandit's open palm. “It is the only thing I have on my person. I trust it'll get you enough coin to last... a while.”

“T-thank you, Princess,” Georgie looked at Theodore, swallowing what was left of the pride he held moments ago.

“In turn, I ask that you stay away from these roads, including the forest. Are we clear?”

“Yes, thank you, thank you,” the injured bandit moaned in pain as Georgie dragged him away, the other following closely behind as they ventured into the forest, assuming they had set up camp there.

»»——⍟——««​

They were riding in silence yet again. Defusing the situation had somehow put Aurelia more at ease than she was moments ago.

It was Theo who was disgruntled, and Silversong... he couldn't care less. "He could've attacked you."

"He didn't," she replied nonchalantly.

"He could've. Don't you see how dire this is? You can't approach a criminal and expect... you even rewarded him!" His voice raised, causing both Silversong and Aurelia to glance his way.

"Forgive me, Princess, I—"

Aurelia averted her gaze from him. "I will not harm our own people and drive off like savages." The terrain was rocky, evident from the subtle bumps and the way the carriage shook. Their shoulders bumped together slightly, and the sound of hooves clicking against what felt like stone indicated they were passing through a town.

The princess's eyes glanced over at Silversong, lingering for a few moments to make a point with her next words.

"I will not harm anyone."

»»——⍟——««​

Hours had passed. The kingdom was farther than he had believed, but once they arrived, Theodore actually felt a sense of relief that he would be out of the carriage.

The sight of Álfur was unexpected. The castle was nothing like their own in size—Theodore would compare it to a fortress instead of a castle. As for the kingdom itself-- Silversong was not exaggerating as much as Aurelia hoped-- Theo however, had no interest.

Servants had come to help Aurelia, helping themselves to the luggage and escorting her inside of the rather intimidating, yet intriguing castle.

Now in a public place, Theodore yet again had to remind himself of his place. His hands were clasped behind his back and he stood five steps behind Aurelia as they approached the castle gates which opened with ease.

They were to meet the king.

Theodore had felt bile burn in his throat.

He swallowed hard.

































Fourth of july



sufjan stevens










♡coded by uxie♡
 
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Silversong breathed out a deep sigh as he stepped out of the carriage and watched the swarm of servants descend on Aurelia. The human princess was foolish, as he’d seen during the clash with the robbers, and she had no sense of dignity or respect, as evidenced by the way that she was reprimanded by her knight—not by a lady of hers, not by her mother, but by her knight. She was so incredibly childish, yet she appeared to be around the age of sixty—though he reminded himself quickly that humans aged faster, so she was probably more realistically twenty years old, only twenty orbits of the sun old. Perhaps—and this crossed his mind just now—that was why humans were so often halfwitted; they experienced three times less life than did elves.

The castle, gray stone and not the pearlescent that Silversong had described, was a petty fort compared to the extravagant, frivolous human castles that he’d seen in Ashendell. The castles that those humans had were impractical and a waste of good resources. Certainly, the castle of Álfur was beautiful within in its own way, but there was a vast difference between the extensive trifles of the humans and the wealth within this castle that had existed for some four-hundred years.

He led them down twisting corridors and long hallways, the sound of his feet hitting the stone floors echoing off of the ceilings, though the tapestries on the walls ate up the sound quickly. “These tapestries,” he said tiredly, “were woven by the queens of the past, as wedding gifts to their beloved kings.” What do you have to offer? was, then, implied; you pale in comparison to who we could have seized.

He reached a large set of double doors of mahogany, carved ornately with pictures of elven warriors shooting arrows and battling with their swords. “This is the throne room, Your Highness. I will warn you—the King is…” He drew in a sharp breath, thinking better of what he was going to say and deciding upon a different claim entirely. “The King is concerned with your presentation; please be careful that you make a good impression, or it will be far more difficult here than…” He wasn’t sure why he had taken to giving her useful advice; with an arrogant sniff, he fell silent and opened the great doors.

The throne room itself was a stark contrast to the castle so far. While there had been very little gold or precious stones elsewhere in the castle, the throne room shone with the gleam of expensive materials. The floors were marble; the pillars that lined either side of the purple carpet that ran down the center of the room were carved of beautiful stone and laden with rubies. And the throne, massive and forbidding, was carved entirely from, as legend had it, an ancient redwood tree, entirely gilded with gold, and crested grandly with emeralds. It was towering, and ornately carved with figures from elvish legends: the great gods, their mighty servants, the frightening serpents, the evil fae…

The king, wearing his golden crown, sat in the throne right now, both arms resting on the props, his back straight against the back of the throne. About fifteen feet behind him stood a dour-looking man in armor.

Silversong approached the throne slowly, then prostrated himself before the King. “King Algar,” he said after a moment, his head still to the carpet, “I present to you, the princess of Ashendell, Princess Aurelia.”

“Rise,” the King commanded, his eyes not moving to acknowledge Silversong, who slowly rose to his feet again; instead, his eyes were trained, like a bird of prey, on the Princess.

“Welcome, Aurelia, to Álfur, kingdom of the elves,” said the King, though he did not rise from his seat or incline his head. (He could not, had he felt the notion, for the pain in his lower abdomen was overwhelming today, and it was all that he could do to walk to the throne room, though he’d made it to his throne because he was fine; he was fine, he was certain.) “This—“ He gestured to the gold-trinketed room around them. “— is the grand castle, and I—“ He gestured to himself. “—am the king of it all.” His thin, wrinkled lips pulled back to reveal a set of grimy, off-color teeth. “King Algar V, son of King Algar IV, great ruler of this kingdom, great protector of the people, great uniter of the souls. Your time here so far has been…so pleasant, has it not?”




ALGAR


♡coded by uxie♡
 



Aurelia Reinhart








































  • _

















Álfur was nothing like the stories Victoria had told her. The pearlescent castle walls her escort had described were instead battered, old stone, and the path leading here felt uneven and neglected. The castle however, Kiril had not exaggerated its age—it was nine hundred years old and every corner showed the signs of its long history.

Aurelia couldn't help but wonder what the inside looked like, and a frown threatened to appear on her face. Despite that, she smiled warmly in greeting as the approaching elves said, "I bid you well met, Your Highness." Although the older woman's tone and words felt forced, she maintained a friendly expression, Aurelia suspected that the situation was anything but.

"I too, thank you. It is an honor to be here." Silversong walked ahead, and Aurelia took that as a sign to follow. With a weariness in her gaze, she made an effort to offer a dwindling smile to the servants who seemed busy giving the others a look.

The inside was much more pleasing to the eye than it was from the outside—a reminder that not everything has to be beautiful at first glance. Walking further had provided a warmth that felt needed—the chill of Álfur should've been expected given how far they traveled north.

Aurelia supposed it was because the king was rumored to wed many times... perhaps they'd given up the tradition after his second marriage? Tapestries were hung instead, either in honor of the marriage or to commemorate their unfortunate deaths. "Did they all give him the same gift? Is that a custom?" Her question was soft, tinged with both curiosity and melancholy.

There were many paintings of past kings-- yet rarely any queens.

"Yes."

They were identical beyond the slight difference in fabric.

Were queens in Álfur that replaceable? Aurelia took her time, somehow moving with haste and grace simultaneously—her amber eyes taking in the harsh, yet delicate adornments around the castle. Victoria had said the inside seemed like it was crafted and lined with gold. Court musicians aligned the halls as they played ballets she only dreamed about—laughter and conversation filled the court, for it was a place of happiness.

Yet, the halls were empty beyond the two guards who stood post outside of what she assumed was the throne room.

for the first time today, Aurelia felt as though Silversong was talking to her genuinely. “The King is concerned with your presentation; please be careful that you make a good impression, or it will be far more difficult here than…” Instead of filling in the blanks herself, she brushed away any wrinkles that may have appeared from the strenuous carriage ride. "Of course," The doors opened and she was met with King Algar staring back at her, welcoming her and Aurelia had done her best for her gaze not to travel throughout the throne room until he had gestured to it.

This must've been what Victoria was telling her about, though there was no musicians, it was much more regal, fit for a king. "Thank you, Your Majesty." Her knees bent and she lowered her body slightly, curtsying for a sign of respect, as was usual with royals. A saying was yet another custom-- though this one, Aurelia had known, thankfully being reminded by the servants moments earlier.

She waited until his... awfully long introduction was done before she spoke again. "I bid you well met, Your Majesty."

"Your time here so far has been…so pleasant, has it not?”

Aurelia was down a pair of earrings and received though kind words, odd looks from the servants-- there merely wasn't enough time spent to consider any of this pleasant. But she couldn't think that-- much less speak it. "Yes, everyone has been welcoming, the kingdom and castle's beauty is unexpected," Aurelia replied, her smile bright. Unexpected as in nonexistent, but much like this castle, it relied on what was inside.

"The heart of this kingdom is bound to be more beautiful than any throne room or the best of ballets that could be held... I look forward to getting to know your people and this land better." A guard shifted beside him and muttered something to the king and the meeting was coming to a close before Aurelia could say much more.

Her gaze bounced from guard to king, and another smile spread onto her lips. "Please, attend to your duties, and we shall converse more later. May the stars guide you, King Algar." With a final curtsy, Aurelia turned to walk away, the throne room doors opening for her. She muttered a quick thank you to the guard as she moved, but her attention was abruptly captured by someone else in her path. "Oh..." She paused, her eyes taking in his regal appearance, though she couldn't be certain of his identity. His light eyes but hardened gaze exuded importance, causing Aurelia to hesitate when their eyes met.

Silversong stepped beside them, facilitating introductions that rushed past Aurelia's ears, until the word "prince" finally registered. "I... My apologies," she stammered, momentarily at a loss for words. She briefly considered repeating herself in Elvish, but she wasn't fluent enough to rely on it as the best option. She curtsied for a third time, which had now become a record in the time passed.

"I... will admit I was curious to know when we'd meet. I didn't expect it to be so soon," she remarked, her smile genuine, a hint of curiosity and intrigue hidden behind her eyes. Behind her Theodore shifted, standing straighter, he allowed his eyes to meet Oberon's momentarily.

"But nevertheless, I bid you well met."

































Cinnamon girl



Lana Del Ray










♡coded by uxie♡
 



















Today was the first day of Oberon’s descent into madness, he was certain. The mental sickness had come for his father, and now, it was coming for him, in form of this old servant woman’s fussing.

“You must look presentable, Prince Oberon,” Birdy said in Elvish, smoothing Oberon’s already smooth vest for the umpteenth time. Her preoccupation with making him appear just right every day at all times was far less charming than it had been when he was younger, even given the fact that she had at one time been his wet nurse and had since then been his morning and evening help. “Today is not just any other day.”

“I am perfectly fine,” he responded in gruff Elvish, turning his shoulder away from Birdy, tugging down on his vest to make it somewhat more comfortable, and reaching his hand up to his hair to brush it roughly out of the neat position to which she’d adjusted it. “Today is no more important than yesterday, or the day before.”

“You meet your wife!” Birdy tutted; Oberon grimaced, shaking his head. Birdy nodded emphatically in response. “Oh yes, you do!”

He sighed, shaking his head again and putting a hand up to his temple. “Please do not remind me, and do not use that word.”

“Pah.” Birdy’s wrinkled hands found the comb again, and the comb somehow found his hair. “You’re as sullen as an opossum. This is the moment you’ve been built up for, Prince. Does that not excite you?”

Oberon’s lip curled into a sneer at the idea of him being married—being married, making an heir, running a kingdom—to a human. He scoffed. “Not in the slightest.”

“That’s no attitude to have,” Birdy said.

He let out a disgruntled chuckle. “That is so easy for you to say. You’re not the one marrying human scum.”

Birdy’s weathered face turned down into a frown, lowering the comb and scuffling toward the wardrobe. “Oberon, the war has been over for years now.”

“Scum is scum.” He picked up his crown, turned it to see it glint in the low light. It was bronze-plated; it would be golden soon. Sighing through his nose as he stared at his reflection, he lowered his crown onto his head. “It can’t change its state. Whether it dressed up or dresses down, it is scum.” He adjusted the crown, shifting it first left and then right. “Name it, give it a title. Give it land to rule, people to rule over. But it doesn’t change the fact that scum is scum.”

Birdy came away from the wardrobe with a blue jacket; Oberon shook his head, and with a sigh, she went back to ruffling through the wardrobe again. “With that mindset, you will be nothing but miserable. I lived through the war, too, mind you, Prince.” She came away with a brown cloak, which Prince Oberon, after a turn of the head, decided against protesting against. “I lived through far more of the war than you ever did, but I am willing to open my eyes and allow myself to see the possibility that—”

“Menn—” Oberon’s piercing eyes set directly on Birdy’s and flashed with anger. “—eru ógeðsleg meindýr.”

Meekly, Birdy shrunk back, her lips pressing into a firm line and her eyes fixing themselves on his cloak rather than anywhere on his face.

That was his morning.

• • •​

Out of respect, Oberon did not often go out of his way to speak to his father. As much as Oberon wished to believe the King when he said that he would recover, he had gradually come to realize that the physician was right. Oberon prayed each day to the gods that the King may be healed, but he knew, when the sun set, that the stars told a much bleaker tale: the King was dying. Thus, Oberon, choosing to allow his father as much time to do whatever his father pleased, tried his best to occupy his father’s time as little as possible.

However, there came, about once a week, a time when Oberon had an important question to ask King Algar, and this week—well, today—it was about his younger sister. The brat had been pestering him all day—incessantly, nonstop, as though she had nothing better to do—when Oberon had a vast array of book matters to deal with, and no matter how much Oberon asked her to buzz off, she absolutely refused.

Thus, he was left with no option but to tell Father.

He had first checked his father’s quarters, but he’d found them to be empty except for servants and random women who Oberon did not want to question the presence of. Now, he walked down the stone hallway and to the doors of the throne room.

Shoving the door open with his shoulder, he began, in a loud voice: “Föð…”

His voice trailed off as his eyes zeroed in on a group of three before the throne. His steps slowed, his posture growing rigid, his gaze growing icier.

His pale, glaring eyes, shifted down her skirt and up to her surprised face, his face stone. He acknowledged neither of the men in armor beside her. “Hver í fjandanum ert þú?”

“I don’t believe she speaks Elvish,” Silversong responded in Elvish, glancing at the human woman.

It clicked at once; gods, this was the human.

His eyes flicked from Silversong to the human woman—the princess—and then moved stonily to Silversong again. “When did she arrive?”

“Shortly before you, Your Highness,” Silversong said, bowing. He gestured to the woman. “This is young Princess Aurelia of Ashendell.” Oberon’s hard gaze moved back to her face, scrutinizing the details; he suppressed a scowl. “Princess Aurelia—“ Silversong’s attention turned to the Princess. “—this is His Royal Highness, Prince Algar Oberon VI.”

“I…my apologies,” Princess Aurelia stammered, curtsying almost frantically. “I…will admit I was curious to know when we’d meet. I didn’t expect it to be so soon.” A smile spread across her face; Oberon’s eyes flicked to the knight by her side, who met his eyes directly, before he looked back at her face. “But nevertheless,” she finished, “I bid you well met.”

This was the last circumstance which Oberon wished to find himself in: standing before the human who was soon to be his wife, before the prying eyes of his father, being analyzed by the sketchy knight who stood by the human’s side. He had attempted to mentally prepare himself for this moment, but the pure vitriol running through his veins was all but inconceivable.

Control, he reminded himself. I must be in control.

Taking in a deep breath through his nose, Oberon swallowed down his true persona and instead gave a deep bow, clasping a fist over his heart as a sign of respect, trying to thaw the ice in his eyes slightly as he raised back up. “Young princess,” he said, intentionally annunciating each word so as to all but erase his accent, “this meeting is not quite the circumstances under which I anticipated to meet you. But, yes, nevertheless—“ And here, he slipped into the language of the people who her people sought to eradicate, repeating the words that she’d vulgarly appropriated in an attempt to fit in, “Ég býð þér vel mætt.”

When he turned, his original purpose now forgotten, his cloak fluttered out around him.

He wandered off to a side room, shut and locked the door, and broke down laughing.

• • •​

“His Highness,” Silversong said, turning to regard the Princess, “often rushes about here and there. I imagine that he is off to do some important work. Now, however, we must be off,” and he began to walk toward the quarters in which the Princess would be staying, where the daughter of Lord Zaos waited rather impatiently, “to meet your woman.”




OBERON


♡coded by uxie♡
 



Lyriel Erkling








































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Princess Lyriel Arwen Erlking was a woman of class, importance and grace. The princess was the epitome of elegance– lavish parties and intricate gowns solidified her reputation as one of the most revered royals in history. Her etiquette knew no bounds. “Eave!” Lyriel yelled, a light green macaron found comfort between her fingers and her taste buds reeled in the flavor.

Many people had their reservations about her manners– but what would they have done? She was royalty. Lyriel could tell them to lick the floor clean and they would have to. She tended to do whatever she wanted– whenever she wanted. It was a price that came with a title as regal as hers. Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same for her eldest brother.

“Þú ert ekki einu sinni að hlusta, er það? Tsk.” With a click of her tongue, the princess had eaten the rest of the delicacy they had shipped in from Verdellière. It wasn’t the only thing they had shipped in– Lyriel rose to her feet and approached the full-length mirror, taking in the gown that cost more than father would have approved of.

But Lyriel didn’t need to ask father. Only their treasurer, who had the most diminutive stature in all the land– she had only needed to be polite and the treasury was hers for the taking. As much as she enjoyed her freedom and vast knowledge of how to persuade the help– Lyriel knew her limits.

Sometimes.

“It might be in our best interest that you’re forced to serve the human.” She said in Elvish.

The human’s arrival. Something Lyriel had been more excited for than her dear brother. Unlike her siblings– Lyriel had a deep fascination for them. Their customs were quite different from their own– not to mention the lifespan. She was fifty-two years young– when a human reached this age? They were halfway to their death. There was so much for them to experience in such little time.

A pity, really.

She gestured for Eave to handle the untied corset. While she began to– Lyriel watched herself in the mirror as if there wasn’t another elf standing behind her, her reflection just as clear as her own.

“You’ve begun to bore me.” The Princess had easily rid her thick accent free and spoke in English as easy as removing a lord’s pants. “I tire of you like my father tired of your mother.” She snorted, finding her own words amusing. “My English is splendid, no?” Lyriel had a good amount of practice.

Unfazed when Eave began to tie the corset tighter than she could breathe. She wondered where he was today. If he’d somehow ended up with a land, a marriage, and awful half-bred children she would’ve considered a beauty.

Or was he somewhere dead, his corpse decaying beside a forest—or perhaps disposed of in the waste of an inn, as her kind lacked the decency to kill a human where their food might come into contact. “Tighter.” Lyriel commanded. The stays constricting her breath was a warm welcome. Three knocks resonated at her door, and she sighed. "Enter."

A guardsman entered and glanced toward Eave's direction. Lyriel hadn't noticed him before—perhaps a new recruit? Extra security due to the princess's arrival? Lyriel doubted they would need it.

Precautions, precautions…

He was younger than most– if she had to say, she’d say somewhere in his early sixties. His auburn hair was a dark contrast to his emerald gaze. “Princess Aurelia is in her quarters, Lady Zaos.” Lyriel’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly. “She’s arrived already? I believe her arrival should be cause for a celebration.”

“If I may, Princess– King Algar seems unwell today, I do not believe that he would be up to a–”

“Well, he doesn’t have to attend, now does he? I don’t seem to remember asking for your input.”

“My apologies, Your Highness.” Lyriel kept eye contact with the guard. “Untie me, Eave.” She said, contradicting her earlier ask of her lady-in-waiting– and a mental note that Lyriel had needed to find another.

The guard took a step towards the door and Lyriel spoke. “Stay.” Her gaze momentarily flit to Eave.

"I've found something to entertain me. Enjoy the company of the human. I'll expect to hear the details later," she declared, a mischievous glint sparkling in her eyes.

































Moi c'est



Camelia Jordana










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Curse the monarchy. Damn them all. Eave quit.

Okay, so she couldn’t actually quit—and if she tried, there was a man with a sword with her neck’s name written right on it, and she’d prefer being alive to being dead no matter what being dead bought her—but on every level but physical, she quit.

She had been born the daughter of a great lord and lady, but where was that now? Did the monarchy treat her as such—as a true lady-in-waiting, as the true heir to the Zaos properties? No. No, she was treated the same as a peasant servant woman. There was no luxury, there was no beauty in this. It was just, Eave, Eave, you bitch, do this random thing for me because I’m royal so I’m helpless.

No, Princess Lyriel didn’t actually say such things, but Eave knew she was thinking them.

Eave mumbled a few Elvish expletives at the click of the Princess’ tongue as she went about making the bed, but at the Princess’ next sentence, Eave whipped her head in her direction, her expression snapping to one of irritation. In our best interest that you’re—piss off. “I’m doing perfectly damn well,” Eave muttered under her breath in Elvish, “but Your Highandmightyness can’t see anything expect for your own reflection.”

Eave reluctantly dropped what she was doing at Lyriel’s gesture to tie her corset. I’ll show you a tight corset, she wanted to say, and then yank it so hard that there was no more Lyriel, but again, alas, Eave liked her head being on her shoulders too much.

“You’ve begun to bore me.”

The English the Princess spoke took a long moment to register in Eave’s head as a different language, and when her brain finally deciphered it, Eave’s face twisted into one of irritation again. She tugged the bottom of Lyriel’s corset as tightly as she could manage, then laced the tie through the next hole, again yanking with all of her might.

“I tire of you like my father tired of your mother,” Lyriel snorted; Eave grit her teeth, trying to talk herself down as she tugged the corset tighter and continued to lace it up. She was used to what Lyriel had to say, but it still pissed her off. “My English is splendid, no?”

Eave said nothing, for her own sake, and pulled the corset tighter and tighter.

“Tighter,” Lyriel commanded, and Eave, gritting her teeth, pulled even harder than she had before, trying to will that her tugging would somehow break one of Lyriel’s ribs—by no fault of Eave’s own, of course.

There were three knocks at the door; as the Princess bid the guest to come in, Eave continued to tug away, her gaze not straying from the corset.

“Princess Aurelia is in her quarters, Lady Zaos.”

Eave’s thin fingers stilled, her heart thudding in her chest. She’d almost convinced herself that her movement of service to some human woman was a prank, told to get her hopes up before having them so rudely crushed, but…well…

She glanced over to the knight who stood in the doorway. He was unfamiliar, and a bit strange-looking, likely younger than herself but not by much.

“She’s arrived already?” Lyriel asked. “I believe her arrival should be cause for a celebration.”

Eave, unsure whether to believe if this was the truth or not, looked back at the laces and tugged with now shaking hands on Lyriel’s corset.

The knight continued. “If I may, Princess—King Algar seems unwell today, I do not believe that he would be up to a—“

“Well, he doesn’t have to attend, now does he?” Lyriel’s voice had its usual amused lilt. “I don’t seem to remember asking for your input.”

The guard paused for a moment. “My apologies, Your Highness.”

“Untie me, Eave.”

Eave paused, gritting her teeth and looking in the mirror to see the reflection of Lyriel’s eyes looking back at her, straight into her soul.

Damn you, Eave cursed, though not aloud this time, and she began to untie the Princess.

The Princess stepped away as the corset fell off. “I’ve found something to entertain me,” she said.

Gods. Great. She was going to screw this random knight man. She was going to screw this random knight man, and Eave was going to have to continue slaving away, this time under a vile human. How wonderful.

“Enjoy the company of the human,” Lyriel said, all but ushering her out the door with her words. “I’ll expect to hear the details later.”

With a glare in the Princess’ direction, Eave found her way out of the door, being courteous enough to lock it and shut it tight behind herself.

She paused, crossed her arms, and flopped her back against the door with a deep sigh. A hair fell into her face, and she blew it away with a puff of air.

Gods. This was miserable, wasn’t it? And she doubted that the human princess was going to be any better, since she was, after all, miserably human.

She cursed in Elvish again, wishing once more that she had the freedom of the Princess. She wouldn’t be using it to screw or order random servants around. She’d be doing actually valuable things. But no, she just had to be born at a lower station. What a blessing from the gods.

She looked up and down the hall, realizing now that she had no idea where the Princess’ quarters would even be. Down the hallway, a very young servant plodded along, probably around the age of thirty. “Boy!” she yelled out; the young boy turned around, looking confused.

Wait, why was she asking this kid? He wouldn’t have any idea where the Princess was—at least, no more idea than herself.

“Stars guide you!” she said, abruptly closing off the conversation and heading down the opposite way, as the boy, bewildered, watched after her.

Eave, after turning down a couple of hallways, stopped dead in the middle of the hall.

Standing in one place was better than randomly wandering around. Surely, they would find her eventually.

Eave stood in the hallway, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently.

And she stood.

And she stood.

She stood…

And—

Gods, where were they?

With a huff, she dropped her arms by her side, rolling her eyes and lolling her head in boredom and frustration. “Damn!” she yelled out, in thickly accented English.

“I would use more polite language in the presence of our guests, Lady Eave.”

Eave jerked in surprise, her heart leaping from her chest, and whipped around to see the source of the Elvish words. She pressed a hand over her heart, squeezing her eyes shut. “Gods, Silversong—I could have—”

“You’ve yet to make the acquaintance,” Silversong cut in in his Elvish-sounding English, and Eave, at first mildly irritated, opened her eyes to see the two who Silversong gestured to, “of Her Highness, Princess Aurelia.”

Eave’s eyes widened. Gods, this was so awkward. She studied the Princess for a second in bewilderment, then, realizing she should have a better reaction, awkwardly smiled. She practically fell into a curtsy, her face heating up. “Gods forgive me; I bid you well met, Princess.” Her words sounded stilted, and she placed the emphasis on what were surely the wrong syllables; English had never been her strength. She rose from her curtsy and clasped a fist over her chest, a sign of respect, though she reminded herself, with a quick glance to the Princess’ ears and across her face, that this was a human.

Silversong paused a moment, raising a brow at Eave, and Eave remembered that she’d forgotten a step. “Your Highness,” she said, curtsying again quickly, “I am the young Lady Eave Zaos, heir to Lord and Lady Zaos. I will be at your service; it is my job to do your bidding.” She ducked her head as a sign of service, though in her head, she mumbled curse words for having to hand herself over to yet another royal to surely be overused and disrespected in the same way the last royal had. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, and, by the stars, I hope you will prosper.”




EAVE


♡coded by uxie♡
 



Aurelia Reinhart








































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Aurelia observed him intently while he repeated what she believed their custom was in Elvish. Despite learning basics, there weren’t many humans who knew Elvish fluently enough to teach her. There were books– albeit very little - in their library in Alderwen held none. Anything written or related to the elves had their books burned in a pile outside of the castle gates.

Their encounter was as brief as it was swift.

A bewildered expression didn’t go unnoticed by Silversong and he spoke that Prince Oberon must’ve been off on important work for him to interact with her so briefly. That his behavior was often rushed. “My woman?” She whispered towards Theodore, “Lady, servant– I assume. I don’t believe you’re the only one here who struggles with translation.” Aurelia nodded, following behind Kiril.

Contemplation was evident on her features as they walked through the halls once again. The many twists and turns of the castle had only reminded her of the intimidating outside, the inside even more so by the sheer size.

Aurelia was likely to get lost more than once or twice without an escort. Silversong had gone on to talk about the history of the halls that was… in all due respect– did not need to be known. Aurelia had found herself drifting away from the conversation entirely while her interaction with Prince Oberon replayed in her mind.

Wouldn’t someone make a bigger effort with somebody they were betrothed to? She supposed Kiril was correct– that he must’ve rushed off to do something of importance. Her reflection caught Theodore’s eye and he soon fell in step with her.

Silversong was none the wiser; going on about the many paintings hung in the court– how the seventy year old artist had seven children and he was beheaded seven hundred years ago. Many sevens. Aurelia supposed it wasn’t a lucky number after all.

“Are you well?”

“I have no reservations why I shouldn’t be,” Aurelia’s lips pursed, her head turned slightly in his direction, though gaze still tracked on Silversong as he led them. “I’m merely adjusting.” Somewhat of a smile was given to him as a means of reassurance. He didn’t seem convinced but he met her smile with one of his own, falling five steps behind her.

“Damn!”

The outburst had driven Aurelia out of her thoughts, standing before them was a woman with bright red hair. Her clear frustration had The Princess blink in surprise, though somewhat of amusement flickered onto her face.

Even more so when she stumbled to apologize and Aurelia had given her a firm nod for acceptance. An eyebrow raised as her gaze bounced between her and Silversong before the woman jumped to introduce herself.

"And I you, Lady Eave." Aurelia did her best to suppress a smile. She couldn't afford to make it seem as though she was insulting her. That would only make their start even rockier. Not that she believed they had already started on a negative note, but first impressions were everything... another questionable notion as to why Prince Oberon seemed so dismissive. Perhaps she should have greeted him in Elvish?

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, and, by the stars, I hope you will prosper." Aurelia narrowed her eyes at Lady Eave, as if trying to gauge whether she truly meant it or was simply saying what she believed she should in front of a royal. She couldn't know for sure, but there was surely a contrast between the king, Silversong, the servants, and Eave.

If moments ago were any indicator, Lady Eave seemed like an elf who spoke her mind. It was refreshing and very much well received, even if Aurelia was sure the redhead regretted it. "... Thank you." The princess spoke after observing her for a few moments. "Lady Zaos will see to it that your needs are well met. Send word if you need anything from me, Your Highness."

"I will."

I will not... most likely.

She smiled.

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.​

The door swung open, and Theodore stood outside of it. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She chose to leave him be since he was her guard, after all. Unless needed, there was no reason for him to follow.

Her quarters were up to standards. It was a spacious room with a bed, vanity, and closet space. What more could she ask for?

Despite having the necessities, the room felt dull. Aurelia thought back to the "beautiful flowers" Kiril had suggested she could place on her windowsill, although he said it in an amused manner. There was no harm in trying.

Natural light could only do so much. There were plenty of things in the room, including her own belongings that she assumed the servants had brought up while she was meeting with the king.

Aurelia approached one of the windows, which almost reached the ceiling. It was just starting to become evening. A sudden clamor of sound redirected her attention, and she turned to see Eave starting to organize and put away her belongings. "You need not handle all of that. It's quite alright."

The ladies at her court didn't do much organizing or cleaning; those tasks were typically handled by servants. Aurelia considered the ladies back home as only decent company. She even considered them friends, though they had respectfully told her they wouldn't be caught dead in a court of elves— not blatantly said, it was implied, heavily.

"May I speak out of turn for a moment?" Aurelia asked, seeking Eave's permission, once granted, she proceeded, "Is the court usually this quiet? I don't believe I've seen anybody outside of Silversong, guards, and the king." She wondered if it was because of her arrival, if they were disgusted or worse, afraid of her presence.

With a touch of laughter, Aurelia added, "I suppose I'm asking if the court is hiding from me." Despite the lighthearted tone, her question carried a serious undertone.

































Cinnamon girl



Lana Del Ray










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Eave, reluctant as she was, immediately set to work when she arrived in the quarters of the Princess. After all, there was much work to be done, and far too little time to do it, and she was sure that she would be told off for not getting this done by time for bed, so she might as well get to work right away.

The Princess’ trunks were large and hefty—though Eave, once she began to unpack, remembered that the Princess had come from an entirely different kingdom than her own and had thus brought over all of her possessions, so, naturally, there had to be a lot of trunks.

“You need not handle all of that.”

Eave stopped her movement, her hands stilling on the stack of undergarments in her hands, and she looked at the Princess.

The Princess spoke again. “It’s quite alright.”

Eave blinked once, twice. “Excuse me?” Eave asked, inclining her ear, certain that she hadn’t heard the Princess right. A princess, asking her not to do her serving work? Was she not doing a satisfactory job. “I do not think I heard you.”

Without answering her question, the Princess asked, “May I speak out of turn for a moment?"

Eave again blinked, taking a moment to think over the words that the Princess had just said and then taking another moment to revisit them in her head as Aurelia paused again. The Princess’ expression hinted that she was waiting for a response from her; from her, though? Was that a possibility?

“Out of turn? There is no out of turn,” Eave said, answering slowly and choosing her words carefully, wishing that she had worked harder on her English studies at the sound of her thick accent. She sat the undergarments down on the bed, then hesitantly straightened up, waiting to be berated for something that she’d done. “What is it, Princess? Is something the matter?”

“Is the court usually this quiet? I don’t believe I’ve seen anybody outside of Silversong, guards, and the king.”

Eave tensed slightly, releasing a long breath from her nose. From what she had seen of the Princess—and from what she knew of humans—Eave was still unsure of what to think of her. Was she like Lyriel, sure to cut her down at every moment? Or was she going to be worse? She surely couldn’t be better. To be entirely honest, Eave was reluctant to so much as say anything in the Princess’ presence. Thinking carefully over her next words, she decided to give the simplest response—the most honest response: “I am not sure what you mean.”

The Princess laughed slightly. “I suppose I am asking if the court is hiding from me.”

Eave peered at the Princess for a long moment. Yes. I can tell you without a doubt yes. That would be her honest answer: that everyone in the kingdom was hiding from her and cursing her, praying to the gods above and trying to shift the stars to say that either the Princess would disappear without a trace and go back to rule her country of fools or that there would be some kind of freak accident that would prevent the marriage from happening—and, while it was at it, take the humans out as a whole with it. But, as she studied this young Princess, who wore an expression read childish ignorance to Eave…even the fact that this woman was human could not bring her to say such things to her.

Besides, if she said what was on her mind, she knew that she would likely be slapped across the face; she’d learned that lesson from childhood.

Instead, Eave smiled. In spite of the Princess’ request—which she was just sure was for the sake of formality—she turned back to the Princess’ trunks and continued to unpack. “Never such a thing, Your Highness. We are short-staffed right now, unfortunately. Plague and all.” She chuckled, and then she realized that saying the word plague was probably not the best idea. “Forgive me—not plague. No plague. There is no plague.” She shook her head, putting a hand on her head and chuckling awkwardly again. “Forgive—there is a plague. Or was. But that has been a few years, and everyone who had it has died. Forgive—I do not mean died. Well, I do mean died, but not in the bad way. But the disease is gone now.”

She saved it.

She walked over to the wardrobe and coughed as a cloud of dust sailed toward her. “Gods!” she exclaimed in Elvish, and then in English, she said, “Forgive—this was the Queen’s quarters before she died.” She shook her head, sighing, and she glanced back at the Princess. “I think that is too cruel to put it…is there another word for died? She died not worse than the plague that was thirty years ago. Lots of people died. She died easier.” She smiled pleasantly. “She had a heart attack. Doctor could not heal her. Life goes that way. And now—“

She blinked, cutting that sentence short. Right, she wasn’t supposed to say to, well, anyone really that the King was dying, because the King said he was not dying, and apparently saying that the King was about to die would promote people to come and attack him, and yada yada.

“Your dress,” she said, by way of changing the subject, smiling. “You are very pretty, for a human.”




EAVE


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Aurelia Reinhart








































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She seemed nervous. It was a relief that she was, although Aurelia had hoped it wasn't due to disgust or fear. The bit of conversation was pleasant, and it alleviated some of her worries about pronunciations and expressions, if only slightly. "Never such a thing, Your Highness."

Was it always like this then? The court quiet, filled with the sounds of your own footsteps because there were no conversations, no people around?

"Plague?" Aurelia questioned, surprise evident in her eyes. Eave was quick to provide an explanation, albeit a confusing one. There had been a plague, but it was in the past, and everyone who had it had died. The disease was no longer present.

Ah, that plague.

Aurelia swallowed and replied, "I am aware of it, yes." She averted her gaze from the lady-in-waiting, who continued unpacking the rest of her belongings.

Aurelia believed Eave somehow needed this task more than she did, so she refrained from commenting on it and allowed her to proceed as she pleased. Her eyes wandered across the room and settled on the cushioned wallpaper, adorned with the crest of the kingdom.

Flecks of gold were intricately embroidered on the strong green backdrop, forming a shield with two crossed swords, complemented by a star behind them. It symbolized strength, bravery, and military prowess, despite the kingdom's relatively small army.

Or so, she's heard.

Eave had shouted something in surprise, Elvish again-- and again Aurelia didn't quite pick up on it. What had she learnt from Victoria about this kingdom at all? Beyond their flowers. Her own wedding gift was beginning to look more and more like a jest.

“Forgive—this was the Queen’s quarters before she died.”

Of the plague? Aurelia thought, but she didn't voice it-- keeping her ill-mannered amusement to herself.

Eave continued to ramble about what was a more appropriate word describe death. "Passed, one with the light, forever asleep, any would do." Aurelia's suggestions were more muttered to herself than said outright.

Life goes that way. And now—

"Now?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow, waiting for Eave to continue when her lady-in-waiting effortlessly changed the subject.

“You are very pretty, for a human.”

Aurelia's mouth opened to respond but fell short of words, waiting a moment to search her gaze. "I don't suppose I'm waiting for a "forgive me" in that sentence, am I?"

She wasn't insulted by the backhanded compliment-- perhaps it was the weight off of her shoulders that Eave was so talkative, she felt as though she didn't need to convey elaborate amounts of respect to be liked, but the words were met with a smile that faded gradually.

Only time would tell that tale, especially quicker if Eave had decided to do the talking from now on.

"I had it custom-made," she said, smoothing down the elegant purple gown. "My mother had one exactly like it. I could not find it with the rest of her things,"

Most of her mother's belongings had rest in a chest inside of the storage in Ashendell-- she did not have much-- young when she passed, she wished she would've thought to ask what they had done with most of her things.

"It is the exact same she wore in her portrait alongside my father. I figured today was a good as day as any." Aurelia didn't quite believe in luck, but she did in comfort, and the lavender-colored gown provided a small amount.

"Unless you think I should change into something more appealing to the court?" But alas, the need to be liked by her future people was still as strong as ever, even in a moment of respite.

"Apologies, you are too, very pretty, for an elf." she said with a playful lilt, her words genuine and devoid of any forced sentiment.

































Cinnamon girl



Lana Del Ray










♡coded by uxie♡
 



















Eave was a nervous gabber, she would admit, and more than that, she had never particularly been good at speaking in the first place, unless it was cursing to herself or plotting revenge that she would never take beneath her breath, nor had she ever been very good at speaking English, but she hadn’t quite realized her current condition—or the extremeness of this condition—until this moment, when she stood face-to-face with a stunned, confused, speechless human woman.

Oops.

The Princess searched her eyes for a moment, and Eave tapped at her hip with a finger in an attempt to quell the nervousness that she was only now realizing.

The Princess finally asked, “I don't suppose I'm waiting for a ‘forgive me’ in that sentence, am I?"

Eave awkwardly smiled; admittedly, she did not know what to say.

The Princess regarded the dress now, smoothing it down. “I had it custom-made. My mother had one exactly like it. I could not find it with the rest of her things,"

“It is lovely,” Eave said, wondering just how much it would cost—if that kind of money could buy her that expensive lute from the King’s artisan. Perhaps she would lift it, she thought—though that would be quite dangerous and rather pointless, as she could probably much easier win the money through gambling, anyway.

"It is the exact same she wore in her portrait alongside my father,” the Princess responded. “I figured today was a good as day as any. Unless you think I should change into something more appealing to the court?"

Eave shook her head. “No, most surely not—it is lovely for today.”

"Apologies, you are too, very pretty, for an elf.” she said with a playful lilt, her words genuine and devoid of any forced sentiment.

In the instant before Eave realized that the Princess had made a joke, the smoke of irritation appeared in her mind, threatening to ignite into a full fire—but she quickly realize that the Princess had said it in jest, and her confused expression shifted into a smile. “If I am very pretty for an elf, you should see H—“

Her Royal Highness.

She paused, catching herself before she said words that she neither meant nor particularly wanted to say. Gods. It was going to take a bit to decondition herself from having to blow smoke up the Princess’ ass. Eave quickly reminded herself that this was the new “the Princess” for her, and that she needn’t try to puff up Princess Lyriel to this woman who probably seemed mostly oblivious to the kingdom hierarchy to begin with.

Not that Princess Lyriel wasn’t beautiful—but gods, she was miserable to be around, so that negated any beauty that she possessed.

“You should see my garden in the spring,” Eave said, smiling pleasantly so as to cover up her misstep and gloss past the fact that she’d cut herself off. “I grow herbs—lavender, coriander, monkshood… They are beautiful. Well-kept. Your engaged, he very much likes to steal from my garden and blame it on the servants.” She cocked her head at the Princess. “Have you met your engaged yet? Prince Oberon is…quite…hm, odd man—odd Prince, too. Odd as a whole, I believe.” She frowned slightly, brushing her hair from her face. “But it is autumn now…”

She lost her train of thought and promptly turned back toward the trunks to continue unpacking.

“You brought no women with you?” Eave rifled through her brain for the right word, but she couldn’t find it. Instead, picking up another stack of clothing, she asked, “No more like me?”

There was a gentle knock on the door.

Eave glanced toward the door. “Enter,” Eave called, and then she looked at the Princess. “I am sorry, Princess, but servants do not often speak English.”

An older elf man clad in drab servant guard appeared in the doorway.

“Uriah?” Eave’s only interaction with this servant was to have an incredibly brief argument with him once, but that was somehow enough to get his name in her mind. “How disappointing. What is it? Speak. Fast.”

The older man irritatedly sighed, his eyes laser focused on Eave as though he were afraid to look at the other two creatures in the room. “Princess Lyriel calls for you.”

“Calls for me?” She pointed to her chest.

He shook his head. “For…all of you,” he said, still not acknowledging the others in the room.

“For…” Then suddenly, she remembered they were human, and it clicked that he might be afraid of them. She suppressed a wicked smile at seeing the servant who had dared to argue with her squirm. “Ah. Is it urgent?”

“All I was told was to fetch you,” said the servant simply, “and to have you get ready to ‘celebrate.’”

• • •​




EAVE


♡coded by uxie♡
 



Valerian Erkling








































  • _

















A celebration— for the human. Valerian could’ve laughed in Lyriel’s face a hundred times over. His siblings had always had the wrong vision of the world— perhaps not Oberon, but he was wrong in many ways beyond the mutual hatred of humans the kingdom shared. For instance; the wrong king. “I am fine,” The King spoke in his native tongue, with more force than necessary.

“Regular visits are to ensure that you are fine, father.” Valerian replied.

Algur passing now would only ensure the throne to his younger– and incompetent brother. “It may be best for you not to attend tonight.” Valerian continued, straightening his collar with a deliberate motion. The extent of the king's illness was not widely known, only shared among a select few—his children, a small group of trusted guards, and advisors. "Attend..." the King repeated questionably, Valerian had explained the celebration over the course of their twenty or so minute conversation.


"Lyriel's party, father." He explained for what felt like the fifth time, whatever tonic the physician had given him portrayed him as a drunk.

"Oh, yes, indeed. I shall..." Algur's face contorted briefly into a grimace, revealing his stained teeth for a fleeting moment. Then, as if by instinct, his features transformed, masking the evident pain he was experiencing.

“Send word for your mother, I’d like to speak to her.” His words slurred, Valerian’s lips thinned as he glanced at the empty bottle that was filled with an unknown substance moments before.

A heavy silence sat until Valerian had broken it. “… mother is dead, father.” No reply was given back. Valerian had stared at the King who was breathing, yes— but lifeless.

“Nonsense. Have it be known she’s to see me immediately.”

“Father—“

“Now!” Algur’s voice raised, echoing in the throne room.

“Yes, your Majesty.”

A king teetering on the edge of madness, a brother who was as clueless as he was dim-witted, and a sister whose sole preoccupation revolved around indulgence—this was the opposition he faced.

Pathetic.

_

The great hall was where the castle-- mainly Lyriel had held most of the kingdom's celebrations beyond the very few and very intimate ones she threw in her private quarters. Speaking of the devil herself... Lyriel approached with a beaming smile on her face, a fair pink gown that was surrounded by sheer fabric that trailed on the castle's floors.

He sipped at a cup of ale, elven alcohol was considered a delicacy and brewed with only the most expensive ingredients, unlike humans they aimed for quality.

"You look like you're having a grand time, brother." The English had taken a second to register in his ears, almost as though he heard Lyriel speak gibberish and a dumbfounded expression appeared on his face.

"We'll have to become used to it at some point, allow me to weave the path for our people to follow." As usual, she likely thought and Valerian had believed the opposite. His eyes narrowed at Lyriel in irritation.

“Have you met her then? Is she insufferable as they come?”

“No, only you carry that title,” Lyriel patted him affectionately on his shoulder. “Be grateful for it is the only one you have.” His gaze darkened, the only sign of anger was the way his jaw clenched, turning his attention away from her.

Lyriel had left presumably to mingle— he had heard some more English thrown about— determined to show the court how modern she was becoming. It was nausea inducing.

He supposed the human arriving was… a form of sabotage– to the kingdom that is. There was a strong possibility an uproar could happen, something of a riot the people would throw, a human in the monarchy…

His light gaze traveled around the great hall. Many of the people seemed… upset– which quickly had turned into smiles when Lyriel had turned their way, fear strengthening their facade. They were too afraid– not of Lyriel, for she no matter how threatening didn’t carry the power the King did.

They’d sooner grace the human with open arms. Although, there was one who couldn’t be swayed and he could very well be the denominator of his own reign.

__

He often took this trail. Valerian knew because he often took this trail. Oberon tended to follow in the path of his footsteps since he was a boy.

“Obe!”

The horse rode with swift strides, steadily catching up to his half-brother.

They shared the same colored eyes– a gaze that hid deep disdain and strong envy met his own. “You aren’t at the celebration?” Valerian said, slowing the horse down as he pulled the reins, the horse now walking alongside Oberon and his own instead of riding ahead.

Their relationship as children hadn't been as strained as it was today, but much had changed since they were children.

Oberon was unaware of Valerian's intentions and Valerian had no reservations of revealing them until he had successfully secured the throne.

"It is for your betrothed, celebrating her arrival, so I hear... celebrating the arrival of a human." The words held venom, enough to spit at the ground in spite of not infecting his own mouth.

His head turned towards the path they rode and towards him, studying his features. “And you are okay with this— allowing this?” It was a plan that’d no doubt take time— but worth it nonetheless. Valerian just had to plant the ammunition. (Whatever that is.)

“You are as weak as they come, brother.” The end of his sentence included accented English, a way to remind him of what was to come— what to get used to, and what to get rid of before it was ‘too late.’

































idk



Idk










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Everyone had different pastimes. For example, Lyriel spent her time being an annoying bitch. His father’s favorite bastard child—ah, excuse Oberon, he should probably call him by his formal name—Valerian spent his time being a bastard who was too involved in Oberon’s business. Oberon’s mother had enjoyed archery. Delle had enjoyed the harp; Eirlysulfr had enjoyed painting.

As for Oberon? He enjoyed horse riding.

Willow and Oberon’s souls were entwined when they rode. The majestic white stallion, whose mane shone golden in the sun, carried in her gait a sort of hypnosis, and when Oberon fell into under hypnosis, the two—he and this beautiful horse—became one transcendent mind, one beast.

He often imagined the elves of legend, going about this path as he now did, brandishing gleaming broadswords and ornate bows and fending off against the elusive fae, cutting the evil creatures down by burying their weapons deep in their chests, until those creatures were no more. Oberon twitched at the idea of dark and bright blood tainting the ground and his armor as he rode across fallen bodies on the battlefield, Willow carrying him off into the blood-red sunset; but alas, he had been born far too early to taste any such thing, and so he had to amuse himself by picturing all of this.

Today, however, he pictured no such thing, nor did he take Willow at a rushing, heart-pumping pace; nay. Rather, today, he took Willow at a moderate gait, and he spoke to her as though she were human.

After all, she had no ability to blab.

“—and not to mention,” Oberon continued, his voice low and almost breathless, “I am to carry on, to wed—wed, not simply tolerate, but wed—this human—to wed it, to…” He could hardly stomach the thought of performing marital duties with it, and he could not bring himself to say it, even to Willow. “To do such things—as though it deserves any such attention beyond a spit in its general direction. This human—whose very presence makes a mock of the Álfurian—Father expects me to embrace it with open arms. Embrace it? Whose dirty kind oversaw the mindless—”

“Obe!”

Oberon cut himself off abruptly, slowing his horse at familiar voice and turning to follow Valerian as Val pulled up beside him; Oberon’s eyes read irritation, but he commanded a switch in his demeanor, and he pulled on a smile. “Ah, Valerian. I was wondering when you would come interrupt my time alone,” he teased, though written in the subscript of his words was an accusation.

Valerian himself had his own accusation: “You aren’t at the celebration?”

“Celebration?” Oberon repeated, everything within him groaning; this was certainly some foolish idea of his sister’s, entertained by those who were forced to entertain her.

“It is for your betrothed, celebrating her arrival, so I hear…celebrating the arrival of a human.” Val’s words had written within them a deep condemnation.

Oberon did not let his face change. “Ah. This is the first I am hearing of this,” he said, turning his eyes away and speeding his horse up a bit. Gods—gods! Was he going to have to cut his time riding short to go and celebrate the arrival of his vile human bride, purchased at the expense of the blood of his nation? He could vomit.

Val’s response was as carefully chosen as his own words. “And are you okay with this—allowing this?”

There was something more written in there—Val was not just speaking about the party. He was speaking about this marriage, about what was to come if they fully welcomed this human into their kingdom—and, more than that, the mockery of the royal family, of the elven race itself, of all of the values and history the elves held dear.

But Oberon knew the correct answer—the best answer. He considered brandishing a smile for a moment, but he instead decided to keep his stone face. “It is what is best for the future of Álfur,” he said.

Words regurgitated from his father, but Valerian could not see Oberon weak.

“You are as weak as they come, brother.”

Anger rose in the back of Oberon’s throat at Val’s words. For an instant, he considered drawing his broadsword and spilling his blood, or punching the man, or shoving him off of his horse, but instead, he kept his eyes straight ahead, drawing in deep breaths. “I have told you before,” he began slowly, and then in English, he finished: “We are not brothers.”

With that, he turned Willow and gave her reins a whip, ushering her back in the direction of the palace.

There was a celebration to attend.

• • •​

Oberon had debated heavily between wearing his cloak over his head and sneaking in the servant’s door of the ballroom to avoid as much attention as possible—perhaps to the extent that they did not notice him at all—or walking in like just another guest through the normal door, falling in with the crowd and attempting to remain undercover.

Eventually, he landed on the first, deciding that he was far more likely to avoid attention altogether if he kept his head covered and feigned the stature of a servant. Besides, he was only attending this—far from duty or care for his sister, joy in celebrations, or eagerness to meet the scum he would marry—for the sake of formality, and thus, so long as he could truthfully say that he was in the crowd and be spotted and vouched for by perhaps a lady or lord or two, that would be all that mattered. Not that he cared so much about lying, but his father would be joyed to, even for a brief moment, have heard that his son attended a celebration from someone other than his son.

Thus, with his head covered in his brown cloak, his face down, he walked through the servant’s quarters, keeping his face down so the servants would not question him, down the small hallway, where he passed a few rushing servants, and through the small door in the side of the ballroom.

The room was loud and busy. Nobility danced in the center of the room to the tune played by the small group of instruments in the corner. To one side, wine, ale, and mead flowed like fountains from kegs provided by the servants; to the other—to his side—men and women milled about, chatting loudly.

He did not see the human—but he was not exactly looking. Instead, he ducked his head, resolving to lay low, and crossed his arms.




OBERON


♡coded by uxie♡
 



Aurelia Reinhart








































  • _

















It didn't come as a surprise that most of the servants had only spoken Elvish. Another reminder that she needed to brush up on it– learn more, be better. If she was to be queen– how could she not speak the native tongue of her people? She felt a twinge of shame that she hadn’t fought harder for education.

Her attention quickly shifted as she noticed the distant and guarded expression on the servant's face. His gaze seemed to avoid hers, and a sense of unease settled within her. The door closed, cutting off any further distractions. Aurelia took a deep breath, instantly donning a composed mask as Eave glanced over at her.

"Tell me more about this garden of yours," she asked, her voice laced with genuine interest, a deliberate attempt to redirect the conversation.
__

She hadn’t changed– with most of her things still unpacked Aurelia insisted that Eave shouldn’t go through the trouble. It was but a small celebration– she wasn’t sure what for just yet. As they made their way to the gathering, Aurelia spoke, answering Eave’s earlier question.

"I did have other ladies like you, women who were meant to accompany me," the Princess began,

“But they did not wish to leave their homes, the places where they were raised and had grown accustomed to." There was an underlying meaning in their words, a subtext that Aurelia could sense but had never been directly confronted with. It very well could’ve been a sign of respect or they were simply just cowardly of progress.

Many of the humans in Ashendell were not ‘afraid’ of the elves or their kingdom. It was just a pure– unneeded and wildly driven hate that held no logic. The war had been over for a decade. The time was needed to heal– the peace treaty to move on– and their soon to be marriage for union.

"I have tried my best to understand their reasons. It is not my desire to force friends into a place they do not wish to be," Aurelia supposed she wouldn’t want humans who held animosity for her future people. “I only arrived with my personal guard.” She concluded just as they arrived.

They entered the great hall– similar to the throne room but not nearly as grand. The fireplace crackling in the corner had provided a sense of comfort, the music playing was again, in Elvish but the language had made it all the more beautiful.

Elven people were chatting, drinking, some– though very few were dancing.

The sight had brought a smile to her face– but at their arrival, things went silent. The music had stopped playing and conversations had halted. Many eyes were on them– more importantly her and their expressions were unreadable. Ladies-in-waiting here or not– Aurelia doubted she would’ve felt less like an outsider with them by her side. “Hvers vegna hætti tónlistin?” A girl spoke, looking somewhat around her own age– but younger.

Lyriel’s gaze fell upon her and she glared at the musicians. “Við erum með gest. Byrja aftur. Nú.” She demanded and after a moment the music had started up again. The brunette had rushed over in a mixture of wonder and excitement.

"Princess," she greeted, refraining from curtsying. "Isn't it grand? The music, the finest delicacies that will be served later." Lyriel's eyes shifted towards Eave, standing beside Aurelia. "Is everything meeting your expectations?" There seemed to be a hidden meaning behind her question, but Lyriel swiftly moved on.

“I’ve heard human parties are quite dull.”

“I…” Aurelia struggled to come up with an answer, a breathy chuckle escaping her. “Yes. Everything is more than up to my standards… you must be Lyriel? Silversong had spoken a great deal about you.”

Almost too much.

“It’s a pl–”

“Did he now?” Her eyes narrowed and scoured the great hall as if Silversong was hiding amongst the crowd. “Only good things.” Aurelia reassured, offering a smile, she was likely lying not to unleash any animosity between the two.

“Would you like to dance?”

“Me?”

“I was not talking to Eave.” She wanted to ask why– but that might’ve been out of line. Aurelia was at a loss for words so she merely nodded. Apparently that was all that was needed to be dragged to the center of the room.

__​

There were many people who strayed away from Lyriel and Aurelia– until Lyriel had said something in Elvish that had people almost rushing to dance with one another. The celebration was indeed a celebratory occasion– but it felt more forced than genuine. The King’s daughter had enough stamina to go on for many songs– but by half of the second Aurelia offered her apologies; to which Lyriel had said the few humans she’s been with had lasted longer.

She didn’t understand what she meant.

As Aurelia distanced herself from the people wearing hollow smiles, she found herself bumping into an older woman. "Fyrirgefðu mi–” the woman began but abruptly fell silent— heavily accented English split out of her thin lips.

“My apologies.”

“It’s alright.” The Princess said, “I was not paying much attention.” She fought to hold their gazes. The old woman stared at her as if she was waiting for something. Aurelia wasn’t sure what– reprimanding?

She offered a reassuring smile, but the woman remained motionless, not uttering a word. Aurelia gently reached out to touch the woman's shoulder, and she visibly tensed before relaxing slightly upon realizing Aurelia meant no harm. “Are you alright?”

No reply was given. Removing her hand, Aurelia watched as the woman muttered something in Elvish, too soft for her to comprehend, before slipping away with a final glance.

Did the people of this kingdom not care for peace? Were they too angry—too afraid to even try? She wondered. Aurelia wandered aimlessly, knowing that searching for familiar faces wasn't possible in a place where she had only known a handful of people.

Then, she noticed him.

He didn't seem busy with duties—nor did he appear to be rushing off to attend to important endeavors. Standing apart from the bustling crowd, he seemed detached from his peers and lost in his own world. Aurelia contemplated whether she should approach him, but the question of why she wouldn't lingered far too much in her mind to ignore.

Aurelia walked up, her hands clasped behind her back as she approached from his side, out of his line of sight, only revealing herself once she spoke. "I am surprised you came," she said, throwing formality to the wind as her curiosity took over.

"Silversong spoke of you often… rushing about here and there." She hesitated for a moment, carefully choosing her words before continuing, "If your absence until now is any indication, I didn't expect you to come." Her eyes met his, searching for a reaction that hopefully wouldn't be him rushing off.

































Cinnamon girl



Lana Del Ray










♡coded by uxie♡
 



















Ten minutes; ten minutes, that was as long as Oberon must stay, he told himself—a meager ten minutes, that was all.

He slowly removed the cloak from his head, drawing in a deep breath and leaning back against the wall behind him as though attempting to sink into it. Amid all of the nobility, who had seized the opportunity to dress up to the nines so as to assert some sort of superiority over the other nobles, Oberon looked quite common; a plain black vest, a white undershirt, black slacks…it was practically peasant-wear compared to the gold-lined overcoats and twenty-layered dresses of the nobility.

The music, however, was quite lovely; he strained his ear to listen, trying to decipher the words coming from the lips of the lute-playing baritone singer.

When he was able to pick it out, he smiled to himself. He could hardly tell what song it was, even past all of the bustle and noise, with the musicians playing it in double-time and putting their own twist on the melody, but once he realized what song it was, he could hardly believe that he didn’t immediately recognize it.

It was the song of his childhood: O Willow—Ó Víðir.

Softly, under his breath, he began to sing along to the third and fourth verses.

Ó Víðir, Ó Víðir, Ó
Víðir!
Hér kemur skínandi riddari þinn!
Grátur þinn mun brátt enda,
Hann mun taka í burtu sársauka þinn!

Ó Víðir, Ó Víðir, Ó
Víðir!
Hér kemur skínandi nótt þín!
Stjörnurnar fyrir ofan munu leiðbeina þér,
Og ljós þeirra verður hjálp þín!​

I did the best to write a poem using Google Translate. Forgive me if it’s wrong.

“I am surprised you came.”

The voice came out of nowhere, the harsh, barbaric language of English cutting into the beauty of the Elvish song and destroying the pleasant world that he had created for himself amongst all of these people. Anger pricked at his throat; he jerked his head in the direction of the voice and found—

Ah. Of course he found her—or rather, it; the human.

He forced his eyes to stay on her face, though he, disgusted, wanted to let his eyes flit away. His mind raced for a moment, reeled as he analyzed what the best course of action was in the situation that he was in.

The human continued. “Silversong spoke of you often…rushing about here and there.”

Damn Silversong. Oberon pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Damn Silversong and all of his useless blather. Damn fool never knows when to shut up. And damn this human.

"If your absence until now is any indication, I didn't expect you to come." Her eyes met his; he refused to look away.

Oberon drew in a long breath, pushing off of the wall behind him. Now, standing straight before the human and ignoring her question, he found it in himself to give a pleasant smile. “Princess Aurelia,” he began, “allow me to be frank.”

A servant passed by with a tray of wine. Oberon reached out and seized a glass, then held it, between his middle and ring finger, beneath his nose. His eyes flashed yellow—quite literally—at the scent. He took a long sip from the glass, and then looked back at the human. “I admire your boldness. To speak to me so…casually, on our second meeting, amid so many people? It takes gall, Mannleg Prinsessa. Many do not possess that trait in Álfur.” He smiled amicably, giving no indication that his compliment was backhanded. Another sip of his wine. “I am sure that, in coming to the castle, you have learned that many ideas that you have had about my kingdom were false. Perhaps that is what my manservant was doing when he told you I rush about; I am not sure. I do not know what notion you came into my kingdom with. But I believe that I will be kind today and clear things up for you.”

His smile faded, and his face assumed an entirely neutral expression, the glass of wine still poised in his hand. “I am not your servant. I am not your friend. I am not your lover.” His words were short, curt, practically accent-free, and starkly serious. “I am the prince of a kingdom; you are my duty. You are here because Father commanded you to be here; I am here because he commanded the same of me. I do what Father says, what the gods say, and so—“ His eyes, cold, maintained her gaze as he lifted the tie to his lips and downed another sip. When he lowered the glass, he spoke with sure, slow words. “You are my duty. You are not my friend. You are not my lover. You are my future wife for the sake of peace, and you are the future queen for the sake of formality. That is all you are, Mannleg Prinsessa. I do not do what a human says. I do not deal with humans. I do not make pleasant conversation; I do not entertain human notions. I do what I do; you may do the same, so long as you try and stay out of my way. Do I make myself clear?”

A smile spread across his lips, as deceptively warm as the last one, while disdain burned in his heart.

“Þekktu þinn stað,” he said.




OBERON


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Aurelia Reinhart








































  • _

















The Princess observed him as he casually took a glass of wine, noting that backhanded compliments seemed to be favored by many members of the court. "I admire your boldness. To speak to me so casually, on our second meeting, amidst so many people? It takes gall, Mannleg Prinsessa. Many do not possess that trait in Álfur."

Aurelia smiled genuinely, though a furrow formed on her brow as she explained, "And what would the people think of it? We are to be wed." She studied him further as he continued to speak, and her smile gradually faded away.

"I am not your servant. I am not your friend. I am not your lover."

Aurelia opened her mouth to reply, but her words were instantly spoken over.

You are my duty. Not my friend. Not my lover.

She took a breath and begrudgingly listened to him speak. If it was for the good of the kingdom, for peace, wouldn't he want to take the first step? Why would he agree with the common disgust and fear that surrounded the kingdom in private rather than public?

He was right about the kingdom being nothing like she expected. Until now, Aurelia had painted it all in a pretty picture, a naïve notion of imaginable wonder, endless dreams, and full of possible ideas. For the people of her new kingdom, the hope of a union between two races now it felt like a fragile mirror shattered into pieces.

"Do I make myself clear?"

Aurelia forced a smile that didn't match her eyes, her fist clasping over her chest, mirroring his actions from their first meeting. "Já, Prinsinn Oberon." The light in her eyes had faded, replaced by an indiscernible darkness. She averted her gaze from him to watch the party-goers dance and sing along to the music she didn't quite understand but enjoyed nevertheless.

But even the most beautiful of melodies couldn't mend those shattered pieces. If the vision was true, questioning it would display a lack of faith that would undoubtedly surprise the entire nation. Aurelia would never question the gods in public.

She stood beside him, silent and resolute.

If this was her fate, she couldn't see how change was possible if even her betrothed was against it.

__​

She thanked Lyriel for the celebration. The Princess had received it with much gratitude and pride, knowing that she was able to throw such a "riveting" party. It crossed her mind that many people here would put on a smile and lie if it meant the royals were happy.

The thought sickened her.

Aurelia dismissed Eave quite early, needing some time to recollect her thoughts, when she heard four soft knocks against the door. She knew who it was. "You can come in," she said as she stood up from the vanity, dressed in a gown. The court was quiet, and she assumed that would be the norm from now on.

Sleeping in an unfamiliar place was bound to be troublesome, but Aurelia welcomed it with open arms. Giving her head a rest for a few hours sounded like heaven. Theodore stared at her wordlessly, and she lifted a hand to assure him, saying, "I am fine."

"I wouldn't dare to assume you weren't," Theodore said, and a comfortable silence settled in the room as Aurelia laid down on the bed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. He opened his mouth to say something, but Aurelia spoke first, sensing his concern. "I said I'm fine."

"It's understandable if you aren't. Most people don't leave their homes and have to become acquainted with a new place and new people."

"Most people aren't royal," she retorted.

Another silence hung in the air, but this time it carried a tense atmosphere. The Princess could feel the shifting emotions, Theodore hesitating by the door, silently questioning whether he should give her space or throw caution to the wind and comfort her.

It wasn't that the place was unfamiliar. It wasn't that they were elves. It wasn't their hatred, fear, and disgust. It wasn't him. It was the overwhelming realization that echoed in her admission: "I'm... alone." Her words held weight, devoid of bitterness or sorrow.

"Aurelia," Theodore's words went unnoticed as her thoughts bounced from one hand-painted figure to another. "I don't believe I ever stopped to consider that. I... was raised to be a queen—their queen—and they can't even look at me."

Was she supposed to wander the court as a queen, as a wife, with no real duties, surrounded by people who couldn't even bear to glance at her without running away? Was she to be shunned in the very kingdom she was meant to rule?

"Leave me."

"You aren't—"

"Leave me." She repeated with a bit more force than necessary.

__​

Theodore obeyed her command. Following orders had always been as simple as they were from the first day he joined the guard. Why should it be any less difficult when those orders came from Princess Aurelia?

He yearned to say something, anything to help, to mend the mess that clouded her mind and made her believe she was anything less than a person because of what this forsaken kingdom had forced upon her in a single day.

He had been assigned to the barracks, where he assumed most of the guards and soldiers slept, ate, and spent only a fraction of their time, while the rest was tied to the royals' sides like a leech. Yet, much like the lot of them, he couldn't bring himself to go. He circled the halls multiple times, going so far as to get lost.

Only now pausing, he found himself roaming the corridor, somewhat of a long balcony that led further down the hall. It was dimly lit, with only a few wall sconces (I had to do research about those cause I didn't know what they were called.) and the moonlight filtered in through the archways.

He couldn't imagine where it led, likely more rooms and another place for effortless and meaningless parties. Today was one long-- but he couldn't even fathom what the rest would be. Theodore was tasked with much that didn't involve the Princess. But it's the only thing he could think about.

The soft glow of the moons had him watching the sky in contempt, his brows furrowing in a knit expression while they seemed to stare back at him-- almost as if they were judging him for the choices he made and was bound to the longer he resided here.

Did he doing the right thing?

Another figure emerged from the shadows, and a quizzical expression appeared on his face. "Lady Zaos," he greeted in surprise. "It's... late, is it not?" he asked, unsure why she was wandering the castle at such an hour. Realizing they hadn't been properly introduced, he hesitated.

"My apologies, I am Theodore Willoughby, the Princess's personal guard."

































Cinnamon girl



Lana Del Ray










♡coded by uxie♡
 
Last edited:



















Nighttime was the only time that Eave really ever had had to herself. In her childhood, her mother and older sister would put her to work all hours of the day, insisting that she learn this skill and that so as to prove herself impressive in case any princess ever came looking among the nobility for ladies-in-waiting—as though there were many other options. She would work, day in and day out, from sun up to sun down; would work with needlework until her fingers bled, lute until she could hardly move her muscles, medicines until her whole body ached. When she got older, it was not much better—being a lady-in-waiting was perhaps even more taxing than “preparing” to be a lady-in-waiting. But in both cases, when the sun set and the stars came out and shone above, when the moons ventured out from their hiding places to light up the night sky, she found her freedom. She found herself sitting alone in her room, looking out a wide window, and she was only to do what she wanted to do whilst everyone else was sleeping the night away.

So, naturally, nighttime was time for Eave to prowl.

When Eave was looking for things to nick, it usually wasn’t because she needed them, nor was it because she really even wanted them. It was more that she just wanted to know that she could take it—she wanted to know that she could.

She supposed that was why she did most of anything in her life: not out of necessity, nor out of strong desire—simply for the fact that she could.

When the castle stilled around her and even the sounds of stray servants quieted to nothing, Eave slowly peeked her head out of her doorway, looked both ways, and paused. Hearing nothing still, a smile spread across her face, and, barefoot, she began to pad down the hallway—tonight, headed for the Princess’ room, which had shown her an entire splay of items that could potentially, with a careful slip of the hand, be hers.

Just as Eave slipped around a corner, something large moved in the corner of her eye where nothing should have been. She jerked back, her hand clasped to her chest. “Sjitt!” she cursed softly, though her voice still echoed through the corridor. “Hvað í…”

Her eyes found the figure that she’d seen, and she stepped backward, her heart still racing in her chest. “Hvenær komst þú hingað, riddari?” she asked, in her scattered state forgetting that the knight surely didn’t know much Elvish if he was from the same place as the Princess.

"Lady Zahos," he greeted, his expression questioning. "It's...late, is it not?"

“Zaos,” Eave repeated—not quite to correct him, more so to fill the air with sound while she thought of some other response. “There is one too many sounds in your saying. Zaos—Zay-ohs.” She realized that she’d clutched her hand to her heart in fright; she dropped her hands back down by her side. “Ahm…but, yes…it is late…ahm…Mister…” She trailed off, realizing that she didn’t really know his name.

"My apologies,” said the knight, “I am Theodore Willoughby, the Princess's personal guard.”

“Theodore Willoughby.” The way she pronounced it flattened the e into an ay and left out any h—Tayodoor. She curtsied politely, then realized after the fact that he was far below her station and she needn’t do such a thing. “Ahm,” she hummed, looking for the words she wanted to say. She clutched her dress skirt in her hand in an attempt to still her hand’s shaking. “You came from the Princess, her castle, correct? She must trust you.” She smiled tightly.

She didn’t know what she was saying.

She cleared her throat, drawing in a long breath. “So what is your business late this night?”




EAVE


♡coded by uxie♡
 



Theodore Willoughby








































  • _

















His lips thinned at Eave's correction, feeling a twinge of embarrassment that he concealed with a simple nod. "Zaos," he murmured under his breath, getting a feel for the pronunciation. He hadn't learned much beyond a greeting or two in Elvish, and he was sure that didn't surprise her.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said, giving her a once-over before returning his gaze to the two moons before them. Their taunting presence still strong, but less so when accompanied by Eave.

Tayodoor.

He stifled a laugh.

"Yes, exactly like that," Theodore told her, not wanting to correct her for his pure amusement. Once he realized it would get quite old within their first few interactions, he spoke, "Just Theo is fine. Thee-o." He didn't typically go by his last name, nor his first.

Always shortened to Theo, even in the Ashendell guard, he insisted that they used his first name. He wasn't sure why, but he shared the last name with his father, who was nothing but a coward in his eyes. A man who couldn't own up to his responsibilities because he had gotten involved with a human.

That's how he saw it. Otherwise, why would he leave? Was it embarrassment? Family issues? Did he have another family? Did Theo have siblings?

Those were all questions he had wanted to know as a young boy. Now, he couldn't care less, even standing in a kingdom surrounded by elves. He had no intention of learning more about them. He would never admit it to Aurelia, but from what he knew about elves, from what he had witnessed, albeit on very few occasions, it made him sick that he was half of that.

Half human. Half elf.

Might as well be half a man. Half a knight. For what he was doing was far from honorable. Maybe he was more of an elf than he cared to admit.

Eave curtsied, and Theodore followed it up with a bow and a small smile of his own. He had never been shown that kind of respect. Of course, he wasn't titled, nowhere near her station of people. But being treated like the very people he had spent most of his life with-- in some ways the simple gesture made him feel... important.

As a child, it took him a while to realize why people had bowed to Aurelia and not him, even when he demanded that they did-- only at the age of six, he was a different man back then. The thought alone made him chuckle.

She must trust you.

Her words were said in good conscience yet, it just sounded wrong, he'd given her a firm nod before replying. "We trust each other," Theo stated, "I've known her since I was a young boy." It was easier to remind himself that his duties were for her and not against. Even if she didn't know about it...

Eave had interrupted his thoughts when she inquired about why he was out at such a time, and he struggled to answer.

"If you must know, Lady Zaos..." He considered lying. He was always decent at it. His mother had said it was because he had such a trustworthy face.

'Such a kind boy.'

"I'm afraid I've gotten lost." Despite himself, he laughed, more at his admission than the reality of the situation. It was half the truth. He couldn't burden her with someone else's or his own troubles. His distaste for elves, his duty, despite that-- from what he'd seen... she did not deserve to be treated with the kind of disrespect she would be accustomed to if she had arrived in their kingdom.

Beyond that, he couldn't be on their bad side-- even with someone as low in the ranks as she.

Theo shifted his gaze toward her, the moonlight allowed her reddish hair to glow more-so than he believed it would in the day. "I do know I'm assigned to the barracks, but if I'm honest, I don't think I'd like to go there just yet."

Unless Theodore brushed his hair back, he believed they would do one of two things—shun him or beat him. It was preferable to wonder about the outcome rather than finding out. "And you? What is your business late this night?" he asked, posing the same question to her.

"I don't suppose you'd come to enjoy the view," He gestured towards the night sky and glanced over at Eave for an answer, his curiosity served as a good enough excuse to delay the inevitable.

































Fourth of july



sufjan stevens










♡coded by uxie♡
 



















Theo’s stifled laughter alerted Eave that perhaps she was out on some kind of joke. Irritation flickered through her expression, though it was quickly replaced by mild confusion as Theodore Willoughby—or Theo, as he now insisted—tried to explain how to pronounce his name, as though she hadn’t said it in that exact same way. “Yes,” she said, her lips pressing flat at their corners, “That is what I said—Thee-oh.” Again, however, her mouth formed the sound ay instead of e—Tayo.

At Theo’s mention of knowing the Princess since he was a boy, Eave cocked her head. “Nobility?” she asked, her heavily accented voice lilting as though she were singing a song. “You must have been noble to have been so close to the Princess very young. Or are human courts…?” She lost the word she was looking for, so she settled for a different phrase: “Are human courts not elf?” She shook her head once the words left her mouth. “Forgive—not like elf?”

Eave had only been permitted to become lady-in-waiting once she was practically of age, even as nobility. Even the kitchen servants were often picked up from or were traceably related to once-noble families that had become disgraced in one way or another, be it because of bastard children, loss of fortune, desertion attempts during some war or another, or what have you. Silversong, she knew, for example, though his family was entirely poor and desolate, was the son of the son of the cousin of the disgraced and disentitled Lord Cyprus, a man who’d served in the King’s court and had had lost the kingdom so much money that he was beheaded—so down the line, there was some nobility in him, and that was what the royals wanted serving them.

“We are like that,” Eave explained, “very much titles and all. For example, Tayo, I would be sc…”

Scorned for conversing with you, she almost said, before she realized how true it was. She would be scorned twofold for having conversation with the knight—both because he was below her station to the extent that she need not say more words to him than absolutely necessary and because he was a human.

Right, she remembered, with a disgusted turn of her stomach, this is a human I am dealing with.

“Ahm,” she started again, “but that is not related. Your business tonight…?”

"If you must know, Lady Zaos…I'm afraid I've gotten lost." He laughed softly. "I do know I'm assigned to the barracks, but if I'm honest, I don't think I'd like to go there just yet."

Eave eyed the knight suspiciously, crossing her arms across her chest. “Mm…” In the moonlight, his armor reflected dully the bright light of the moons outside of the window. “The barracks…,” she repeated, trying not to let her suspicion come through in her voice.

“And you? What is your business late this night? I don't suppose you'd come to enjoy the view.” He gestured toward the window.

Eave honestly hadn’t thought about her own response to the question—but the option that Theo had presented to her seemed like the best one available that wasn’t the truth. “Ahm, yes, actually,” she said, laughing softly and ducking her head with a smile. “I move at night. I am…” She squinted up at the ceiling. “Night-owl-al?” she tried, but then she shook her head. Her brows contorted for a moment as she struggled for the word, and then with a soft sigh through her nose, her smile resumed, and she looked at the knight. “Forgive—nocturnal. And this night, it is so…”

She looked out the window, trailing off, allowing herself to get caught up in the view, allowing the excuse part of her words to fade away, the silence completing her sentence on its own: beautiful; tranquil; perfect.

She was at once taken back to her third night in the castle—the first night she had ventured out of her room. She had worn her shoes that first time, and every echoing step had spooked her into thinking that she was being followed until she eventually, in frustration, whipped her shoes off of her feet, tucked them under her arms, and took off running. Lonely tears streamed down her face; her throat throbbed from the sobs that had rocked her body. But when she got to the courtyard and was faced with the sky full of stars, her cheeks, raw from crying, were soothed by the cool breeze. And as she sank to the ground, the moons above, she realized, were the same that were above her at home, so perhaps, it wasn’t all that different. She tried to remember what her mother had said to her—what her mother had told her all of the different stars’ alignments meant—and when she could not remember it, she began to make up her own version: a story in which her being taken to the castle by force was actually so that she could usher in a new kingdom era, one where everyone was free to do whatever the hell they wanted—to steal, to drink, to laugh, to dance—without worry of being killed by rogue agents or being snatched up by the King for whatever tickled his fancy on that day; a story where she was queen.

“Humans do not read the stars, do they?” she asked thoughtfully, hardly even realizing that she had spoken.




EAVE


♡coded by uxie♡
 



Theodore Willoughby








































  • _

















"Ah, no, and... they are... somewhat like elf." Another breathy chuckle escaped his lips, her wording amusing enough to use in his explanation. He had intended to paint a more favorable picture of his mother, but he also wanted to be truthful with Eave. "My mother had worked in the kitchens. I grew up in the castle alongside Aurelia." Their friendship was never frowned upon by her parents, but after they’d passed and Victoria had taken over… he chose not to mention the queen's disapproval of their friendship when Aurelia wasn't present.

He does wonder what's next for his kingdom now that Aurelia isn't there-- Edward had passed and the memory of Isabella had only lived in the visionary mind of the Princess. Victoria was... many things. Although he holds hope that she isn't ruthless.

"But it is very much like elven court. The nobles and the holders of lands and titles, they rarely conversate with unless the lesser work for them." That must've been one of the only things that their kingdoms had in common. Their greed, their thirst for power, their feeling of importance was strong enough to treat others lesser than them.

He supposed if he too, was a baron, a lord, a duke... perhaps he would've too. It is just the way of their people. The way of the world.

Who was he to change any of that?

“We are like that,” He turned to look at her, a curiosity hinting from his furrowed brows. “very much titles and all. For example, Tayo, I would be sc…” Eave had cut herself off and Theo considered whether or not to pry, considering how well that's going for him...

He decided not to.

“Night-owl-al?”

"Night-owl-al?" He repeated in a lighter tone, another bit of amusement she'd brung with her ill-knowledge of their language. He believed he was like that too. Always having a better sense of energy in the night– he enjoyed it because usually, the night was for himself, minus the rare occurrence he was placed on watch.

Theo enjoyed this time because it was the only free time he had. Where he wasn’t watching over Aurelia or taking care of his family, no chores, no duties, no need to exhaust himself for someone else. He was free to breathe his own air without another taking it for themselves.

She laughed and he smiled at the sound of it. It was a long day– and genuine people had not crossed his path in quite some time. It was nice to be around a stranger who held no expectations– expectations that he knew of anyway.

“Forgive—nocturnal. And this night, it is so…” She trailed off and Theo glanced at the sky again, though avoiding the two moons and their perpetual glare they fought to give him. “... serene.” He finished.

Stars were mentioned Theo was silent for a moment.

“Constellations, you mean?” His eyes bounced from star to star. Searching for one as if Eave’s words had only now reminded him that they existed in the first place. Theodore and his mother would often lay outside of their rundown home– before his younger brother was born.

He was very young, but the times he wasn’t around Aurelia– were times spent with his family. All moments cherished the same. She didn’t know constellations, but she did have a love for the stars.

“Orion,” A young boy spoke, his curls shorter than they were now, revealing the pointed ears that he'd fight so hard to hide in his later years.

“Hmm?” His mother replied as they laid on the grass outside of their house, a singular candle placed between them.

“Look. You see how it kind of looks like a man holding a bow? The story behind it is…”

Theo wasn’t sure if he wanted to show her for her own happiness– or if he wanted his mother to be proud of him, it could’ve possibly been both, but she listened all the same and that was enough for him.

Theodore pointed to one, tracing the window just like he did the sky that night. He’d stolen countless books from the castle’s library just to show her.

"Orion. See that there? He's a renowned hunter, born of a union between a sea god and a fearless woman. He became close with Artemis, the goddess of the hunt," Theodore explained, his gaze momentarily shifting to Eave before returning to the constellation in the sky. His finger gently traced the outline of Orion, as if he could feel the weight of the story in his touch.

"and the moons. Apollo, another god– who… was a god of many things,” he brushed the thought away and continued, “Had taken notice of their companionship and became jealous. Apollo, consumed by envy, slew Orion. And in honor of his loyalty– of him, Artemis placed him among the stars," he continued, his gaze fixed on the constellation.

"That is why it resembles a man holding a bow." The story had always left a sour taste in his mouth and a lingering poison in his mind like a bittersweet melody. How his fate was sealed by jealousy and at the whim of someone else.

It reminded Theo of himself.

“Do you know any?” He asked, genuine curiosity peering through his tone. Theo knew a few– not many, they had provided solace and entertainment for his mother on nights when loneliness consumed her.

































Fourth of july



sufjan stevens










♡coded by uxie♡
 



















As Eave listened to Theo's story, she found that her eyebrows were furrowing, her lips flattening into a firm line. Some gods — not Astreda, but some kind of gods that Eave had never heard of before — had placed a man named Orion in the stars, had given him his bow... The story was not familiar to Eave in the least. Still, the idea called to mind something that Eave had once fallen into believing herself.

"Avie," and her mother, with wonder and a melancholic mist in her eyes and a gentle smile on her face, would point up at the sky that sat at the highest point in the west and twinkled red and blue, "do you see that star there? That's your grandfather. Our Great Astreda placed him up there because of his bravery."

Eave used to truly believed that Astreda, the goddess of the stars and moon, valued her grandfather enough to immortalize him in form of a celestial body — that indeed Astreda valued all of the brave men and women and boys and girls who died before their time and fashioned stars from their essence to keep them living on forever, watching over their loved ones and their offspring and their offspring for eons to come. In fact, Eave used to believe in all of the things that her mother had told her about Astreda.

Astreda looks kindly upon us elves, her mother always said. She forged a pact with our ancestors, she would say sometimes, or others, that Astreda tells us what is to come through the heavenly bodies — because we are so special to her.

But when she was older, she found herself asking her mother once, "Is it that really true, Mama?"

Her mother had looked alarmed. "Is what really true?"

"That Grandpa is up there right now?"

"Of course it is," her mother had said, her voice stern and sure, as though Eave had said something grave.

"So why do we read the stars then, Mama? If they are just elves," Eave had asked.

Her mother was quiet for a long moment. "Astreda speaks through them. She moves them, she aligns them. You remember what I taught you, about reading the alignments, about telling what Astreda says through them?"

"But the star that you say is Grandpa — he doesn't move."

Her mother's lips had flattened. "Think about that, then," was all she had said.

And from that day, Eave, though she continued to believe at least that Astreda existed in some capacity, fell out of believing that her people lived in the skies after they passed away.

Her grandfather was not there; her father couldn't be found in the night sky.

Still, she had never heard of something like constellations. Finding shapes in the sky were important for reading the stars, but elves — at least, as her mother had said — were the stars, not drawn in the stars.

There was something almost disrespectful about the way that Theo treated it. Even if Eave did not believe in the elves of the stars, even if Eave did not believe so much in the validity of the readings of the stars, it seemed to her almost as if Theo thought that things like that were light, almost childish topics.

"Constellations," Eave said, "we do not believe in. Not in the same way." Her voice had more of a tone of coldness to it than she expected, but she found that she could not pull her face back up into its pleasant smile. Her face was serious, and she couldn't draw it out of that state.

She stepped toward the windowsill, then gripped the sides of her skirt and hiked her skirt up up above her knee. Absently, she stepped out of the windowsill and placed her feet on the soft, cold grass outside, feeling the prickles against the soles of first her left foot and then her right. Now, she stood fully outside, and she stared up at the moons, which both beamed down on her, her red hair casting around her a rusty halo.

"You have much to learn about my people, Tayo," she said, looking back at the knight through the window. There was a warning in her eyes. She dropped the sides of her skirt and smoothed them out. "You need to watch your tongue."




EAVE


♡coded by uxie♡
 



Theodore Willoughby








































  • _

















He had never tried to learn more about his own kind, if you could even call it 'his kind.' Theodore had known who he was from a very young age.

A friend—flashes of Aurelia sat at the forefront of his mind.

A son—visions of stargazing and sharing the many myths and half-truths they believed in.

A brother—memories of childlike stories that had stayed with them throughout the years since his birth.

And finally, a knight.

He was a sworn protector—not only of the Princess but also of Ashendell. His people. And his people were human.

Much like the constellations, Theodore had known his identity from his own story, his life, his upbringing. The pointed tips of his ears didn't confine him to being an elf, but to many, he wasn't fully embraced as a human either. As a child, the judgment and insults tormented and hurt him in ways that no blade could.

Eventually, he learned to shield his emotions from those who didn't require his vulnerability, only his strength.

He would never gain the respect that Aurelia held, nor would he gain the respect of his kingdom as long as they knew who he was, where he came from. His blood was considered as foul as rations gone bad.

Throughout all his years of wondering which side he belonged to most—what were their customs, what was his father like, why did he leave, did he even know?—he questioned in what ways he was different. His eyes didn't glow, and his heart didn't sparkle, but it yearned for purpose.

And what purpose was that?

To fight.

To stand up and be—not an elf, not a human, but a protector.

Perhaps on the outside, he was human—or an elf, depending on who you were and where your loyalties lay—but on the inside? Theodore was merely a nobody with a sword in hand, wearing chainmail and weighted armor that weighed less than the ton on his chest.

He enjoyed the stars, reading them as Eave would say—it had been the only thing in his years of living that remained the same.

His head hung low as she reprimanded him. The warning in her eyes caused Theo to avert his gaze, keeping his eyes locked on the floor. In the peaceful surroundings, a subtle symphony of insects chirped and buzzed away, providing the only serenity he had felt that day, beyond accompanying Aurelia in the garden this morning.

"You have much to learn about my people, Tayo," she said.

"That I do," he responded.

But I do not wish to, nor do I intend to.

It was as if Eave had overheard his thoughts.

"You need to watch your tongue."

He glanced up only to see her staring back at him, and a breath-like amusement released from his chest. "Perhaps you do as well," Theo said, a faint smile hinting at the edges of his lips as he took a step closer to where she sat on the windowsill, meeting her gaze side-to-side.

For what Theodore had corrected, hoping it would be the last time, he spoke with concise words, "Theo." He pointed a finger to his lips, mouthing his name again, with his tongue resting on top of his teeth, emphasizing the pronunciation. "Theo," he repeated.

His eyes lingered on the grass below, tinged green but tattered and dying—for what he believed used to be bountiful and full of life. "While we may have different beliefs about the stars, I do not feel as though we are much different."

He took a deep breath, inhaling the stale yet fresh air, and released it. "But I trust that you'll correct me when you see fit, or even read me your own stars." He gestured towards the sky before taking a step back.

"Another night, perhaps."

Something about their conversation had been... less. Less worrisome, less of an effort, and less intense than most encounters he had experienced. It was a refreshing change, yet it left him with a sense of overstimulation—but of what?

Who he could've been?

"Goodnight, Lady Zaos."

































Fourth of july



sufjan stevens










♡coded by uxie♡
 



Aurelia Reinhart








































  • _

















Elsewhere, the princess had grown restless.

Her mind tired of alike horses on a day’s ride carriage, in only hours of arriving her expectations were gone and replaced with anger– worry and an anxiety that she couldn’t place. Why? For what did she do so wrong for her betrothed to dislike her so?

Humans and elves? Did he so badly hate the race that the possibility of peace was merely for show? The treaty a façade? It was then she realized that while she wouldn’t have a husband– she would have a king– in the world where she did, she would be queen.

A guard had escorted her to his quarters. A warning that the prince does not fare well to being bothered at odd times of the night– and it was something that Aurelia had taken with gratitude. A subtle knock at the door caused Aurelia to tighten the robe around her waist as she waited. The door swung open, revealing Oberon standing before her.

She held out a lavender flower, fully bloomed and encased in carefully crafted resin that seemed to sparkle in the flickering firelight near the castle's candles. It was her wedding gift to him, even though tapestries were more customary. Aurelia would rather face any potential berating sooner rather than later.

"It is a symbol of our blossoming union. And it is a gift, so whether or not you like it, I won't be taking it back," Aurelia stated firmly before he could say anything. The discernible darkness in her eyes was replaced with a mixture of frustration and an unexpected calmness. It was as if she had found a resolute stance in her decision to be here and to speak her mind so boldly in front of him.

"I do what I do; you may do the same."

And she decided she would.

“I am not your servant. I am not your friend and I am not your lover.” She repeated rather quickly in what felt like a heat of anger that practically disintegrated with her next words. “I am not here because I was commanded to be here,"

"I am not marrying you because I was commanded to–” While the truth in her words may be little, Aurelia was not here for King Algar– or his wishes.

“I am here to fulfill my kingdom’s treaty, to provide peace for our people– not yours, not mine, ours. While our marriage may be for the sake of peace, that is my duty– that is what is commanded of me– I do not by your father, but by my gods.” Reciting his own words with few alterations– and there was no forced smile.

"It is your destiny," had rung in her head countless times, to the point where she felt she was going mad.

"I refuse to be reduced to a mere political pawn. I am more—and I aim to be more than just a future queen for the sake of formality. I was raised to be not only your queen but a queen who’ll listen to her people and strives to bring about change in a world that evidently needs it. While I acknowledge your forthcoming demeanor, which can be perceived as bold, rude, and disrespectful– much as I am at fault, I believe we are well beyond that," Aurelia spoke, recalling their earlier casual conversation and her unexpected visits to his door at odd hours of the night.

“You do not like me, I know that– you do not have to… do what I say, deal with me– or entertain my notions… but apart of your duty is withholding the peace between elves and humans, not just marrying me.” They were very much past respectful at this point– and the princess knew she’d be kicking herself for acting on her emotions in the morning…

"Yes, I am not your servant, not your friend, and not your lover, but I will be your wife– your queen, and I will treat you with as much respect as you do I,"

There was a brief moment of silence as Aurelia straightened her posture, her gaze shifting to the resin-encased flower before meeting his unreadable eyes. Her voice remained steady as she continued, “I will know my place, so as long as you know yours."

Finally, Aurelia offered a smile.

"Goodnight, your highness," she said, executing a graceful curtsy. With a sense of determination, yet underlying uncertainty, Aurelia turned on her heel and walked away, her confidence seemingly faltering in the face of the unknown.

































Cinnamon girl



Lana Del Ray










♡coded by uxie♡
 
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