ʟᴏsᴛ ɪɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ

                          THIS BLOG IS NOW AN ARCHIVE!                  follow me again at fxrtyfive, if you’d like!

                          THIS BLOG IS NOW AN ARCHIVE!                  follow me again at fxrtyfive, if you’d like!

                          THIS BLOG IS NOW AN ARCHIVE!                  follow me again at fxrtyfive, if you’d like!

                          THIS BLOG IS NOW AN ARCHIVE!                  follow me again at fxrtyfive, if you’d like!

The seconds that passed before the ginger rebel gave the king her answer were painful. Would she reject him now, after all his hard work? Had this, all of it, been a ruse, to help her get close to the king, so she might learn what she had to, to destroy him, and now she found it backfiring on her? Had he pushed her too hard, too fast, so that she wasn’t able to accept such an offer from him, now? One breath. Two. And finally, finally … she spoke. His heart, he was certain, had stopped as he waited for her to respond, and it started beating again, in double time, as she accepted his offer of marriage, called it an honour and said she would gladly kneel before him. His work was complete, then. She would be his, really and truly his, rule the kingdom at his side. He knew already, from watching her lead her band of rebels, that she could be ruthless and cunning and decisive when she needed to be, only now it would be in his name, and all the rebels would know that they had lost. He wasted no time, rising from his seat, taking Elian’s hand in his and pulling her to her feet as well. ❝My Lords and Ladies,❞ his voice boomed out over the other dinner guests, and the room grew quiet almost instantly, every other conversation quickly cut off. ❝Amidst all the sadness, the loss of a dear friend and a noble guard, one gets to thinking, doesn’t he, about what’s truly important, about what he truly values. And I stand before you now, with a happy announcement. Elian Parker,❞ and here he looked over at her and smiled, ❝has agreed to become my wife and your queen!❞ The hall erupted with applause, then, and Harold pulled Elian toward him, placing a long, deep kiss upon her lips, making sure there could be no room for doubt amongst all there present that she was really and truly and completely his. The kiss ended, he sat back down, and pulled Elian onto his lap, where he insisted she stay for the rest of the meal, as he whispered into her ear about how wonderful a queen she would make, how beautiful a crown would look, sitting atop her fiery red hair. The weeks that followed were a whirlwind. Countless reports flooded in of groups of rebels disbanding, of cities in the kingdom that had been on the verge of breaking out of King Harold’s rule quietly ceding power back to him. Whether it was that they realized just how powerful – and dangerous, perhaps – the king truly was, for managing to make the leader of the rebels submit to him, or whether it was because they thought he had changed, softened, to be taking a wife after so long alone, and might therefore become a better, nobler ruler, was difficult to say. Those few who had seen the king with his bride-to-be, seen the way the raven-haired man looked at the ginger woman as though nothing else in all the realm mattered, would have realized that the second group weren’t actually so very far off the mark. And finally, the eve of their wedding had arrived. Everything was prepared for the morning. The castle’s chapel had been painstakingly decorated, as had the dining hall, which would be forced to seat nearly four times the usual number of people for the wedding feast tomorrow night. The kitchen staff had been working around the clock, planning and preparing, chopping and boiling and stirring, since they too found themselves cooking for four times their usual crowd, and they knew that all of the food they prepared had to be of the very best quality. God help anyone who was responsible for making the king’s wedding a less than perfect affair. Every inn in the kingdom was bursting at the seams, as a steady stream of travellers had been pouring in from all corners of the kingdom, all of them eager to witness this historic event. It almost didn’t happen. That very night, with a little more than twelve hours to go until the ceremony that was to make Elian his queen, Harold was in his chambers, readying himself for sleep, when he felt the sharp edge of a knife press up against his throat, heard Elian’s voice murmuring that she could kill him, then and there, and not a thing anyone could do to stop it. The king’s entire body tensed, the raven haired man not daring to move a single hair, as he returned, through clenched teeth, in a voice so soft it was barely audible. ❝Then do it.❞ All his hard work, the hours he’d spent, breaking her down. His joy at finally being able to claim her for his. Was this really what it would all come to? She forced him to turn around then, and he was relieved to see in her eyes not fury, but fear and self-doubt. These, he could work with. ❝Already yours, my heart, to do with as you will.❞ His voice was gentle, calm, but his eyes on her were wary. She was volatile, in this condition, and he feared that if he didn’t work out what she needed from him soon, she might do exactly what she was threatening.

But then she was wrapping her arms around him, burying her face in his chest, and suddenly the king knew exactly what she needed from him. It was just as he’d feared. She’d spent so long as his prisoner, learned to be comforted by his threats and his possessive control over her, that the idea of becoming his queen, something much closer to an equal, had shaken her. He could fix that, Harold thought, as he wrapped his fingers around the handle of the blade she’d offered him, accepting it and promptly running the sharp edge lightly along her cheek. ❝You think,❞ he began, in the silky voice with which he knew Elian was all too familiar by now, and which he suspected that she might find comforting, under the circumstances. ❝That just because we change your title, you will stop being mine? You think I will stop guarding you as jealously as I always have? You think I would hesitate, even for a second, to lock you up again, if you ever tried to leave? To slaughter anyone who dared to try to take you from me?❞ Oh, he hoped he was right, hoped this was what she needed to hear. ❝Tomorrow morning, you will kneel to me,❞ he growled, sliding the knife down to her throat and applying just the slightest amount of pressure to get his point across, ❝and you will swear, in front of the entire kingdom, to belong to me, to serve me, for as long as we both shall live. And right now, love❞ he added, using the blade to tilt her head up toward his. ❝You will kiss me.❞

The change that came over the raven haired king in that moment — in the very moment that he accepted the blade she held out to him — was electrifying ; And ( frightening as it should have been, but wasn’t ) comforting, to the ginger woman. Her grip on the blade loosened, green eyes growing wide as he ran the sharp edge against her cheek, speaking in that same silky tone she’d learned to associate as some strange sort of kindness towards her. But what changed now, in great comparison to months ago, was that the rebel didn’t recoil or cringe when the other made his threat that he would not hesitate to lock her up in the dungeons even as his queen. What changed, was the fact that her heartbeat slowed, and a small smile began to spread across her features as he continued to speak.

He must still care for her, to want to keep her locked up && his. He must still care for her, must still believe that she was strong enough to leave, should he guard her so jealously. A comforting thought, to know that her darling king still thought to take such precaution to keep her SAFE and sound, even if the rest of his ( of their ) kingdom saw the pair as equal.

Ordered her to kiss him then, the king did, using the tip of a blade to raise her chin upwards, and Elian knew she’d dare not disobey him. In an instant, alabaster arms were wrapped around the other’s neck, and she was pressing her lips against Harold’s with the very same fervour that a man parched from days in the desert gorges himself on cool, clean water. If any doubt remained in Harold’s mind, it would have been erased then and there ;

           Elian Parker belonged to him, and to no one else. ( Perhaps not even to herself. )

She couldn’t remember having fallen asleep that night, but she must have, because all of a sudden the ginger was being pulled from her bed — from the king’s bed, where she must have spent the night yet again — by a maid, then dragged throughout the castle to be prepared for the royal wedding ceremony. ; Pale skin scrubbed until it was practically gleaming, wild hair carefully tamed and plaited atop her head, dabs of a delicate perfume applied to each pulse point. From there, the soon to be queen of Aerilon was fed a light breakfast, dressed in the finest white gown she’d ever seen, then ushered into a small waiting room as per tradition, to await the hour until she was set to walk down the aisle. 

Elian couldn’t remember a more terrifying time. An hour passed, then two. What if he’d changed his mind? What if her dear king decided that he rather fancied keeping her his prisoner, — and purely his prisoner — and that he would take someone else instead? What would she do then? Everything she knew... Everything she was convinced she wanted... It would be gone then, wouldn’t it? But then, as time approached on a third hour, the door to the waiting room swung open to reveal an escort of guards.

Sunlight flooded the rebel’s eyes, and as she was being brought through the castle grounds and towards the castle’s chapel, the ginger was forced to look down at the ground in an attempt to avoid being blinded by it all. So much, that by the time she was stopped outside the doors, and a veil to block out any vision or light was placed over her eyes as per tradition, Elian hadn’t even managed to grab the slightest glimpse of how many people were waiting inside. There was no going back from this now, was there? She could hear the doors creak open, and could feel a member of the royal guard grasp her arm in order to guide her down the aisle, but try and she might to see, the fabric of the veil ( specifically designed so that it’s wearer was blinded until the king lifted it from her eyes ) ensured she couldn’t so much as catch a look out in the king’s direction.

Soon enough though, they were stopped. Reaching out an unsteady hand to find that of the king’s, Elian couldn’t help but smile when her fingertips found his own, and instantly she was calmed by his presence, able to concentrate on repeating the words that the preacher spoke to her, ending in ; 

                                                                          ❝I do,❞

          The Master found himself torn. On the one hand, a part of him took a sort of perverse pleasure in the knowledge that his ship could barely function without him, found something comforting in knowing that she depended on him so completely, missed him so much, that she didn’t dare even leave her shell during his absence, in case her Master should return to her. On the other … there was something in him, which had grown annoyingly stronger in recent decades, that hated the thought of Elian suffering, especially at his own hands.            He saw beyond the matted hair and the chipped nails, now, to the sunken cheeks – no doubt the ginger had only barely eaten enough to survive, without him there to see that she was fed – and the sickly pale skin – the result of barely seeing sunlight in a month, he thought with a frown – not to mention the devastating sadness in her green eyes. If anyone else had made Elian look like that, he would have killed them in a heartbeat. Why the hell did he always think HE had the right?

          He forced himself to relax – realizing, probably too late, that Elian would likely think it was HER he was mad at, and not HIMSELF – and managed to smile at her again. ❝Tea would be good, love,❞ he agreed, moving toward their ballroom. Along the way, he took silent note of the many things he’d need to fix for her, little things that had gone neglected while he was away. A loose wire here, a blown fuse there. Easy fixes, all, but there was something satisfying in knowing that it would fall to him, that she was his to care for.           ❝Want to know how our FAN died, do you?❞ he asked when she joined him in the ballroom a few minutes later, the Master already having settled into his usual chair. ❝Guitar string. Slow and messy, that. Fool tried to fight back. But it seemed fitting, since he was so very passionate about music. Don’t you agree, love?❞

          Swallowing hard when he agreed to tea ( a simple enough process, but the ginger TARDIS knew better than most just what that act meant to her Time Lord ), Elian nodded and turned on a heel towards her shell’s kitchen, humming all the while she walked. He’d only just returned precious moments ago, and already it seemed she was in much better spirits ; Mentally figuring out when she could make an appointment to get her nails fixed, when they might have time to stop by the grocery and pick up some supplies. By the time Elian reached the ballroom where she knew  — without question, of course — that he would be waiting, she’d nearly had it all planned out.

Green eyes widened in excitement when her Master began his ( unfortunately brief ) story about how he’d done away with the fan that’d dared to steal a kiss from her. By the end of it, the ginger found herself on her knees in front of him, hands rested upon the other’s leg. ❝Oh it’s just absolutely fitting, Master! I couldn’t dreadfully imagine anything else — It’s simply a horrid shame I wasn’t there to see it all...❞ she pouted, dejected for only a single moment, before ; 

                         ❝Does Master think we COULD go see? Could we watch him do it?❞