Chapter Text
Thorns and Primroses had long ago learned to share their home.
Standing tall and worthy across the strand of land, they protruded from the ground with defining characteristics of what they were meant to be.
One was beautiful and lovely and, if you knew who to speak to and who to see and who knew of magic better than they did of life, then you could bottle up the world’s most dangerous emotion for your own gain. One swayed under the wind’s gentle caress, sleeping soundly beneath the moon’s new beams and bloomed when Spring asked. It seduced the sun and sang to the trees and remembered that there was still something wonderful left in the world to explore.
One was sharp. It pushed away, pressing danger of its own making towards those who tried to soften the blows. It snarled and it hissed and it held tight and dear and close to what it wanted to keep. The only plants to ever utter the phrase mine when it loved and destroy when it didn’t. Glaring a path of danger and warning, they did what they had to to stay on their own. For Thorns were always meant to be alone.
One would get to stay.
Chaos was a strange and wonderful and feared thing, and it made way for swords and daggers to slice at stalks, pink petals drifting towards the ground beneath. Flowers watching on in silent and casual despair as more were taken and sliced and killed. Waiting their turn in a morbid line of future disasters.
Primroses are meant to be cut, they had once said. For they are weeds as love is a weed. Useless and overgrown and too much to be of any use at all.
And so they fell. One by one, collapsing to the ground, dragged across forest floors until piled and burned in a pier worthy of a King with no name.
Beauty fell because it was without power.
The Thorns would not fall.
Sharp edges watched all with a sneer of pointed caution. There was power in being hideous. Strength in being able to impale. A certain elegance in terror. It wouldn’t be taken, picked, used, displayed or loved, so it would sit until it was time to turn them away in their unease and watch them flee from things that were it’s alone and no one else’s.
By sundown, the horizon burning under the embers of a scarlet flame, all of the flowers would be gone. They would grow back, for what weed ever was less resilient than the ones that thought themselves beautiful enough to see. And they’d be cut again and again until one day, perhaps, they grew wise instead and never returned. But until then the sharp and the dark watched on, jeering at those who did their best to stand tall even as certainty weighed down with the next breezes snapping stems in two.
We are stronger than you think, oh stagnant ones, the Primroses would say, facing the moon with a pride that did not waver.
And the Thorns would merely scoff. What is meant for the eye will never be anything but a victim, oh weak ones.
And who is to make us the victim. For even flowers had their threats. And beneath the palor of a sky filled with too many worlds and not enough space to keep them from falling, the Primroses defied everything that could rid them of their place and settled into a border that was not theirs to keep. We will never be that.
Thorns would snort in their own way, rustling with every rushed push of air, small animals darting away from the lethal points. You are what I make of you. For I watch you fall every day. And I am the one to make sure you never grow again.
Even you cannot stop the world from spinning.
No one can stop anything, Dearest.
Then why try at all.
Because I decide who lives and dies.
The Primroses shuddered under the cool silk of air. Somewhere off in the distance, cicadas played a battle march and crickets stalled in their weeping to listen for the secrets of the stars. Petals glowed a violet, and sweet aromas masked the fear of what was to be and what could never be halted. You are not as powerful as that. If you decide fate, you fall into it. You, of old, must know by now that the choices are not ours to make. We are what we are, and that is what we are.
Unlike you, Thorns huddled back, content in its carnage, I don’t deceive.
And the next morning the Primroses would fall beneath the watchful eye of Thorns that had nothing to hide. For nothing would change. And it would always be the same.
The stirrings were clear enough. Rustling over a border, hoarding its way into the crooks of trees and petals of flowers, bending to the cruel desire of a whisper as false as it was true.
There was a war on the horizon.
Then again, there had always been a war on the horizon.
It was as commonplace and reliable as the sun in the morning and the stars at night. Always there and present and real. It had been declared ages before the birth of a Princess, obedient and wonderful and loving with dreams too large and a heart too big and a man of gold at her side. Before a Goblin with skin of bark and teeth of knives and a kindness hiding behind eyes that pretended to be steel could fall in and out of love. It was declared when two King’s, young in their stature but not in place, looked across a border and knew that stagnation was the only cure for a flame that waited to be fanned.
“Fairy,” The King of the Goblin’s stood proudly in the court, looking all the more foreign amongst the glamour of gold and marble. A creature of darkness, he was a collection of scaled puzzle notches, edges and teeth with skin that was made of scars and eyes blue as what the sky feared most. “Ye have intruded on mah lands b’fore.”
“And I’ve told you before, I apologize. There’s surely no real harm! Old laws are old laws and I wish for mingling as much as you do, but… my people are merely curious! It’s their nature! No amount of law-”
“Any law t’all will do them guid if thar punishment be death.” He snarled. The Fairy King paled, sinking backwards into his throne. “Yee’ve had yer chance-”
“Please, Your Majesty, we merely-”
“Merely is a dangerous word, Sire. Use it wisely.” Claws flickered out, sheen beneath firelight. “My people merely mean ta search borders. Should one’a yers fall beneath Primroses they’d merely do thar jobs-”
“It wont happen again. My daughter didn’t mean-”
“Ah yes. Yer lovely daughter.” There was a reminiscence about the figure as he stalked closer. A spider hunting through the careful and delicate weavings of a fresh web. He tread lightly, but every step was not without weight, and his shadow, crawling beneath the stature of a figure with power in every stride, took it’s time to find the King still sitting, a coward, upon his throne. The Fey slid back, away from the specter, but that merely spurred it into a leer. “T’was she among many others.” Talons reaching forward, a bow mocking in every inch lowered. “Curious wee thing, isn’ she? Shame if she were ta fall again.”
The Monarch of the Light Fields gritted his teeth to keep the wince from finding a home across the quickly forming wrinkles. He was young, but he didn’t look it. And every day he seemed to grow older and more weary. No doubt his hair would be completely white soon, and after this meeting he’d find a few more stray gray strands hiding beneath the withering brown. “I told you,” he hissed, a warning cornered with newfound strength of a family protected. “It won’t happen again.”
“I should think not.” He rose, plates clacking. “As I said Yer Majesty, my people will neigh be left accountable should one’a yer subjects become…lost.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t? And what do you propose then, oh King of Kings?”
“You know what I’m proposing.” He sat taller, trying to stand but finding his knees useless in their preservation. The Monarch before him allowed no mercies with a glare to set a fire. “You’ve always known.”
“War.”
“If it comes to it.”
The Dark Forest sniffed, taking a step back, and his opponent finally breathed. “Fey. Honestly. Ye think yee’re so brave with yer steel. Yer wit is hardly as sharp.” Talons scratched lightly at the staff in his grip, the sound metallic and foretelling. “We’d win, Majesty. And ye know it.”
“We have weapons.”
The laugh rang like the toll of a funeral march. “An’ we have a Forest! Yer lot wouldnai stand a chance across my border. If I didn’t get ye first then something else would.”
“Something else…”
“Snakes. Owls. Mah own subjects. Nay matters much if all yer good for is ta be eaten.”
Blanching again, feeling bile rise hot and burning, the King did his best to sit straighter. A hand moving out, he went to grasp at the form beside him before retracting it moments later, a new wave of something just as painful embedding neatly into an old wound turned fresh. She used to be there to hold his hand, her delicate fingers easy anchors in times when drowning was suddenly possible. But the throne beside him, left untouched save for the maids, was empty. Gold and pure and without form, it had abandoned its owner for the newest addition in the bassinet tucked safely in a room upstairs.
He would have to continue on without. As he would do for a long time to follow.
“Our people will not cross the border, Highness,” He swallowed back the burn of loss to growl something far too Goblin for a Fey beneath his breath. “We are agreed. We stay on our side-”
“And we stay on ours.” The Dark King nodded. “That is how it should be.” Another nod. The amber between shifting metals atop the staff glinted a dragon’s mischief. “Stagnant. Wise decision, King.”
“I don’t wish for war.”
“Nor dui we. Blood is hard to remove from tha trees.” Whether it was a joke or not, the King did not give any hint. Simply smiling at his own dark realizations, watching a Fairy before him grow weaker with each passing comment. “But we are clear, are we not. There will be no mercies-”
“If one of mine crosses over. Yes… yes, I understand.”
“Not even if that one is one’a yers.” There was a silence. “Or should I expect an army.” There was more silence as a Father tried his best to ignore possibilities and reason with what he could, but the pause was enough and it brought on a new strike of flint behind eyes meant to start fires. “Ye are too predictable, Yee’r Highness. Yer loyalties will ruin ye one day-”
“Get out.”
“Or perhaps ye’ll finally learn what it’s like ta lose-”
“Get out now.”
A low bow was his goodbye, the exit of one who knows he can’t be forced, and a King of too much power turned on his heel, meeting adjourned until another would eventually call him forward. Striding to leave the room, a fuming Fey still standing behind when-
“Daddy! What’s wrong! I heard yelling an-” the cry was left with a small yeepof surprise as the child halted before the King of others, hitching in a breath deep enough to break her body in two. She skittered back, small wings fluttering uselessly to ripple the air, but she would not get far. Perhaps if she’d been able to fly she might have had a chance. But she’d had no chance when she’d tumbled below the arches of brambles, screaming and crying and clawing up the mountains of dirt towards a light that she could not use the sky to reach. Looking closer the monarch saw the brown ridges still stuck beneath her nails. He didn’t observe for long, dipping down to snatch at her, a roar of triumph scraping from lungs. Another scream ripped the air, so similar to hours before, but this time she would not escape.
For a moment the two stared at one another. The Princess whimpering uselessly, all hope of breaking away gone as soon as claws found their home against skin. The Monarch holding her in her place. The King behind them holding his breath.
“Marianne,” her father hissed. “Get away-”
But she didn’t hear. Or maybe she did, but her feet wouldn’t work, and the blue eyes and the hands that connected them held her firmly in place. Fear and claws keeping her grounded until she was sure she’d never fly in her lifetime, weighed back by the press of periwinkle forevers.
The Dark Forest’s ruler moved first, bending at the waist until their faces nearly touched. His free clawed hand ran it’s way across the air in front of her, just barely scratching across the side of her face. “Such a pretty thing,” he cooed, fangs dripping with the sarcasm of the old. “Shame to see that little head on a pike.” She let out a shuddering plead, a breath expanding her chest and creaking at her ribs, hinging with the sudden abuse. “Dunnai cross my borders again, child. Goblins will dui nothin’ more than break yer bones an’ we’re an awful bunch ta’ try an’ luv.”
The child floundered a moment, mouth opening and closing until she resembled nothing more than a knot in a tree.
“She won’t.” He father, still standing behind, made himself known with furious words to put him on his knees. “I promise. Just please-!”
“Ye were nai the one ta cross, Majesty. This is between mahself an’ tha lass.” Dagda went silent once again, his daughter forlorn in the quiet, whining when her skin was pricked. Tiny pearls of blood rose to the surface, decorating her skin with jewels fit for royals.
“Ye fell inta mah forest today, Fairy.” She was small and wide eyed, and had to crane her head back to look at him. He let himself be impressed for only a flash of time at the Fey that had the courage to look him in the eye. Young, and already so brave. More than her father had shown, anyway. Ambers, alert as the stone kept in a wire prison, beneath lashes thick enough to sweep deceit beneath the rug fluttered fearfully at the monster before her. But bravery would get her nowhere, really, and he growled watching her go white, brow sheen. Still her gaze did not stray. “Know this now, girl, should ye feel tha need ta cross my border ‘gain, ye won’t be comin’ back ta yer Father.”
“I didn’t mean-”
“Hush.” Her moth closed with a pop. “Goblins are Goblins fer a reason, girl. We have teeth and claws meant ta shred yer skin ta little pretty ribbons an I’d take yer bones ta make jewels fer mah wife. Such lovely bitty bones.” The girl yelped, trying to pull away, but stopped when claws ran gently across her neck. A warning. She stilled, the silent scream smothering underneath fresh tears that threatened to fall. Behind her Captor, Dagda reached out, just barely.
“I’m s-” she swallowed, pricking talons on her chin blurring her final whisper. “…sorry…”
The King merely snorted. “Apology or neigh- should ye want ta keep the monsters beneath yer bed, I’d stay far from us if I were ye. Fey are fragilecreatures. If ye ever meet one’a us again, I can promise that nothing but your tiny heart is going ta pay fer it.”
He’d leave after that. Dropping her chin from his hands, abandoning her small sparrow heart still beating a memory against the palm of his hand, he strode past guards who lifted their swords but did nothing to approach. A warning snarl or two did it’s part and he left without a word, leaving behind a child collapsing into arms behind him, wailing for her mother and receiving nothing in return.
Upstairs, woken by the cries of an eldest, a baby began to howl.
The Dark Forest King merely smiled through fangs sharp enough to cut the air and made his way towards the border where pink touched lethal. Wings buzzing, shoulders clicking as scales marched an irritable tune, he found his way to a land where death became a possibility and another could be trained to follow through.
The smell of Primroses below merely reminded him of the next task ahead and he called towards Goblin’s, swords at the ready, to cut down what they could. Chaos was a dangerous thing. And he would make certain that it remained untouched, uncrossed and on its own.
Sometimes he truly believed it to be a small mercy that he sat upon the throne.
She shivered in her fathers arms, sitting atop her bed. The baby had long been calmed and soothed, and the only sounds remaining were those of her own whimpers protruded the empty night. “It’s alright, Darling,” Dagda promised. “It was a mistake.”
“If I fall over again-!”
“You won’t.” There was no room for argument. Only the plan for more security. More locks. More bolts. More Fairies with charming smiles and a need to protect that went as deep as his own. Princesses needed Princes who could keep them out of trouble and he’d fine her the armor she needed. “I wont let you. No one will. Not now. Not ever.” She nodded, pressing herself closer to a comfort that she’d search out for only a little while longer. Until men with golden hair could take and replace and throw away just as quickly, and that comfort would plead and ask why of people who didn’t need questions.
But for now she settled with him, blissfully unaware of loves not yet found and lost.
“Do you think he’d really kill me?” She asked at one point, wiping at already dried tears? “Do you think… d’ya think maybe he’s just lonely.”
“Nothing evil can be lonely, Darling.”
“What if he’s not evil though?” Amber eyes blinked up, innocent and pure and searching for an answer they desired. “What if we tried-”
“There will be no trying.”
“But-”
“No, Marianne! In fact, stay away from the border. Don’t go near it. Ever.”
“Daddy-”
“This isn’t a debate, Marianne.” This time the hands at her face bore no claws, but they cut just as deep. “I’ll be issueing a decree. The border, the primroses- they’re all not to be touched. I can’t lose a subject. I can’t loseyou.” He’d already lost so much. There would be no more. Not again. “These creatures don’t decieve, Marianne. They are what they are.”
“And what they are…?”
“Are killers.”
Years later, with eyes of whiskey and lips of plum and a sword at her side, a young fairy would remember words until the world came down around her. “Don’t go over the border. Don’t go near the Primroses. And never go near a Goblin. Ever.” And he’d kiss her brow then, moving to tuck up covers. “All they do is hate.”
“Why?”
She’d ask why until the word was exhausted of use. But she’d always been like her mother in that way. Always asking when asking needed to be done. Always wanting to find another way if every road was blocked. But he’d always been more pratical. And now it was only him left. And he’d make sure, if it was the last thing he did, that she grew up just as fearful as he.
Fear was a cowards game. But if it saved her, then he’d rather he leave her golden heart tucked away in the darkness.
“It’s what comes from having thorns. You’ll always get pricked.”
That night, candles flickering and a moon sinking deep into a velvet sky, a King would write a set of rules that were meant to keep his Kingdom safe. Two sides had been established long before. But now, written out on a page, they had never seemed more separate.
The next day he would increase his guard. It was there he would find a young man who wanted to be a knight. Handsome of face and charm enough to woo the skies, he would be perfect for protecting Princesses who were far too curious for their own good.
The Bog Prince was not as big as his father yet, and some days he doubted he ever would be. A teenager, soon to be old enough to ascend a throne that he was not ready to command, he stood before a specter of a being with all the respect he could muster.
“How was the Fey Kingdom, Sire?”
His father waved him off, a large hand moving to pat his back in greeting. “We ‘ave an upper hand,” the King grabbed a practice scepter still leaning against the wall, handing it to his son who took it eagerly. “A decree ta kill.”
“Ta kill?” His son adjusted footing, weighing the wooden staff in his hands before cocking his head. “Ye mean-”
“Should a Fey cross our borders, we can take care’a them.”
“Won’t tha’ start a war?”
“Perhaps. If they’re foolish enough.”
“An’ are they?”
“Fairies were neigh given brains when they were given wings, Son. It’ll dui ye well ta remember that.”
“Yes, Sire.”
The first blow was an easy one to deflect, and Father and Son soon fell into a rhythm well practiced. One larger than the other, but the other faster, they’d gone through the routine too many times to count. You must be ready, his father had always told him. A swift fight is a good fight and a swift death is more so. When it was time to pass on a throne a weapon of war and execution would become his.
The Bog Prince had held it before. Enough times to stop wondering how many lives it had taken. How much blood would transfer to his hands.
And yet still, he tried.
He’d never been aggressive. Teeth and claws had released growls and hisses and threats. But he’d always hoped… Perhaps he’d gotten that from his mother. Something if looks could never be his to take. A hope that there could be a door with hinges and no lock or key.
“But… what if,” he ducked away from a swing, moving to shuffle awkwardly, wings buzzing, finding balance. “What if we try and reason-”
“There is no reasoning.” His father cut the air and he blocked the next hit, the tremor echoing in his arms. “We dunnai reason with them.”
“But what if we could!”
“No, son.”
“I’m just saying, Da, that if we open up the borders-”
“No.” The staff hit it’s mark and the younger reflection quickly found himself on his back, wings stinging as they bent beneath him. He scrambled to rise, to find his weapon, but something heavy landed against his chest, pinning him. He looked up, the glowering face a warning of words that should not have been said.
“Ye listen well, son.” The King leaned down, and with his shift the staff against carapace dug deeper. The Prince hissed. “Fairies are dangerous. They dui nothin’ but take what’s ours. The sooner ye learn that, tha better. Ye understand?”
“Aye, Father.”
But his father wasn’t finished, moving away to let his son stand. And when he was, doing his best to be tall enough to match a power that he would never surpass, shadows extending only so far and the longest forever swallowing even after the physical had left, he found amber once more lifting a sharp chin. A King approached, wires cutting gently against skin. Sharp noses and teeth and claws and eyes blue as sin were not all that were shared, and as a father leaned closer their leers were nearly matching.
“If ever ye see a Fey in the forest, if ye so much as cross a border an’ find one ta challenge yer ways, dui what ye must. A King always does what he must.Becomes what he must. Trick. Lie. I dunnai care. But in the end, ye must be the last standing. Don’t let them take yer pride. They’re good at takin’. But don’t let them take that. There isnai deception in the intention of ending.”
“Aye, father,” said the Bog Prince.
“What’ll ye dui if ye see a Fairy, son?”
The Bog Prince snatched at his fathers staff, wrenching it away from his throat leaving behind red marks and a message that would carry for far too long. A clawed hand followed along amber with morbid fascination. Claiming what would be his with a single, simple promise. “I’ll kill ‘em, Father.”
“Aye. Ye will.”
Across the border, the Primroses swayed forlornly, looking at the world one last time before the sun rose and they’d be taken away, their next of kin already finding their roots in the soil.
Shame that you’ll never see the world change as much as I, Thorns teased.I’ve seen Kings come and go. I’ve seen laws and treaties. I’ll go on forever and watch as they’re killed just as easily as you.
I’d rather see beauty in one night, the Flowers responded, breathing in the moon, then horrors of all time.
You lie through your optimism.
And you deceive through your spurs.
I never deceive, Thorns sniffed. I am what I am, and what I am is what I am. Why should I need to be any different to see what I already know. And what I know is that you will die and I will live and a war will come and go and nothing will change.
We’ll see about that, said the Flowers, and watched the moon fall.