datadiving | fantasy AU shenanigans

He doesn't get it.

All these years spent risking his life to save her, to save everyone, never complaining, never asking for anything in return, just picking up his sword and readying his magic to throw himself into danger... All these years holding her in his arms and whispering sweet nothings in the night, pressing kisses to her neck and jaw and assuring her that she was his one and only... All these scars from battle, these tired bones, these victories and losses...

For what?

The day was saved for good. The great evil that overshadowed their lands was gone, had been gone for months, slayed by his own hand, an end to his journey, a new beginning for them all.

And here their hero was, tossed in the dungeons, held in chains, all because one woman thanked him for saving her husband with a kiss on the cheek.

Avery had never seen his princess so angry, so betrayed as he had that day. He'd tried to explain to her that the woman was married, that it was thankfulness and thankfulness alone on her part, that he loves (loved?) her and her alone and always would, but that had only seemed to anger her more.

The air had grown cold as he was dragged away, accused of aiding the very forces he had done his best to defeat this entire time. She fed him, at least, though he preferred the days that she sent servants and guards to do the deed instead. There was always a catch when Vanessa was involved these days: a hundred assurances of his love for her with each needing to be just as heartfelt as the last, each bite of food accompanied with a kiss, a candlelit dinner when he couldn't even reach the seat... The only question that seemed to be allowed was when he would see her next. Asking when he would be let out only ended in a hungry, empty night or two.

There was something different about her--not just her mannerisms and frightening obsession with their love, but a sort of aura of wrongness that he couldn't quite describe, that seemed to be getting stronger by the day. Days that seemed to be getting colder and colder as of late. Anymore, he spends the days in his cell shivering, teeth chattering away as he wonders if (when) it'll be cold enough for frostbite or hypothermia to send in.

Some days he remembers to use his magic to keep himself warm. Some days he's so tired he can't even be bothered.

He just doesn't get it.

How did he end up like this? What was the point of it all?

The ruin that he's chosen to dwell in - and by extension, that Avery now dwells in - is only dark, ruined and mossy on the outside. Even though he doesn't need many of the creature comforts that he would have as a living person, he's hardly going to rid himself of them, and he wouldn't be able to stand living in a messy, musty space simply for aesthetic reasons.

There's plenty of space to roam on the ruin's grounds; they could go days without seeing one another. But even with such a large space, it's hard not to notice the other man's restlessness. Mostly because it annoys him.

"Still not enough of a palace for you?" are his first words to address it. "What is it this time?"

Avery barely leaves his room the next few days, only exiting to find something small to eat or to wash up. The next couple of days after, he finds it in himself to pick up a sword again and practice in one of the ruin's courtyards.

It's the only thing that keeps him out of his own head, and even then his practiced movements still sometimes descend into furied flailing and slashing whenever a stray thought hits too close to a nerve.

He's doubted her lately. He shouldn't, he knows. Vanessa loves him, has always loved him, but now there's a part of him that wonders if the sickness that's overtaken her has been present the entire time. He'd never gotten the chance to speak much with anyone in town, after all. She'd always pulled him away for this or that or something would happen to whisk him away on another adventure. And then there was the time he'd woken up to find she'd cut his hair.

Avery enters the ruins once more in a huff and heads for the kitchens. Technically, eating is pointless. He hasn't felt hungry in the way he used to since that day with the graverobbers, though there's an itch in the back of his mind and a few slight, insistent shifts from the thing inside of him that let him know that he'll need something else before long.

"This sucks."

He hasn't really fought anything or anyone that could be considered a worthy opponent since he died. He thinks that perhaps he's gotten a little rusty, in the absence of such things.

Perhaps ambushing him would be the practical thing to do, but when it's just the two of them - sparring, nothing serious, he remembers - it seems pointless.

"I don't have all the time in the world," he says, as they stand in what was likely once an arena. Today, it fulfills its ancient purpose once more. "So you'd do well to make it count."

He holds a spear loosely in one hand. His old one had been broken in the fight that killed him; he hasn't gotten around to repairing it yet. Perhaps he doesn't need to.

Avery's quiet the day after their sparring match, and then seems to disappear entirely from the ruins for two days after. When he finally returns, he looks healthier than he has in awhile, and certainly more energetic.

He stops when he finally catches sight of Ekkehardt, blinking and staring as if he'd only just now remembered that the other man exists. "Oh. Right. I probably should have left a note or something."

The forest around the ruins is attuned enough to what could be debatably considered its caretaker that any major changes tend to make it agitated; it serves as a kind of early warning system, most of the time.

Today, the forest is agitated, restless, furious. Branches wave in high autumn winds; the trees are alive with the sound of birds' shrill cries, intruder! trespasser! thief!

Pressure swirls around the ruins, a storm of breathless tension. Something has happened; it doesn't feel like anything good.

Edited 2020-08-01 04:49 (UTC)

When he put forward the idea of turning part of the ruins into a garden, Avery hadn't realized just how much work went into it. Between the digging and the planting and making sure that everything is in nice, neat little rows, he's already sore and tired and sweaty and very much hoping that this ends up working out well by the time he and Ekkehardt are done with it all.

"Okay..." he sighs out, sticking the shovel he's holding into the ground. "Anything else you're keen on growing or should we stick to this for our first foray into the world of horticulture?"

It's been a while since their last big argument. (Little ones crop up all the time, over just about anything. When they have nothing better to do, it seems, chipping at each other is how they interact.)

But by now, the hero (Avery, he finds himself thinking of, more and more these days; not just a title but a name now) is a fixture in his life, as much as he'd hate to admit it out loud. Someone he looks for, not just someone he tolerates.

Which is why he takes notice when Avery seems even more restless than he usually is.

"Something on your mind? You look aggressively troubled today."

[ He goes for a walk one day, and the forest is different. Full of darkness and thorns, stained with a purple so vivid he can almost taste it...

It's very impressive, for a first try at least. He'll admit that much. But his body language suggests he's going for a pleasant stroll, rather than anything else. ]

He'd gotten cocky.

His forest had worked so well, sometimes even managing to kill the poor fools who wandered in too deep before he got the chance to even touch them, letting Avery grab up the remaining, wandering soul with ease.

This time, they were bandits, with weapons that hacked and slashed and shot, and though Avery managed to kill every last one of them, he was left to retreat afterward with his tail tucked between his legs.

He clutches at his arm as he drags himself back to the ruins he calls home, bloody and bruised, at least three crossbow bolts sticking out of him in various places. He'd be dead long ago if it weren't for the creature inside him, but by the way the world tilts and spins around him, whatever poison they tipped those bolts with might just finish the job.

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guess who just has to eat a dude

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FIGHT CLUB FIGHT CLUB

oops more button pressing

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