Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4078915.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester, Castiel/Meg_Masters, Dean/Other(s), Jessica
      Moore/Sam_Winchester, Lilith/Lucifer_(Supernatural), Gabriel/Kali_
      (Supernatural), Ruby/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Castiel, Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Crowley_(Supernatural), Gabriel
      (Supernatural), Lucifer_(Supernatural), Azazel_(Supernatural), Meg
      Masters, Anna_Milton, Jessica_Moore, Lilith_(Supernatural), Ash_
      (Supernatural), Ellen_Harvelle, John_Winchester, Jo_Harvelle, Bobby
      Singer, Abaddon_(Supernatural), Dick_Roman, Leviathans_(Supernatural),
      Metatron_(Supernatural), Kali_(Supernatural), Charlie_Bradbury, Benny
      Lafitte, Alistair, Zachariah_(Supernatural), Balthazar_(Supernatural),
      Uriel_(Supernatural), Ruby_(Supernatural)
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Fantasy, Alternate_Universe_-_Medieval, Alternate
      Universe_-_Historical, Alternate_Universe_-_Royalty, Explicit_Language,
      Human_Castiel, Angel_Castiel, Human_Gabriel, Supernatural_Elements,
      Knight_Dean, Kings_&_Queens, Blood_Magic, Anal_Sex, Marking, War, sex
      without_lube, because_lube_didn't_exist, Team_Free_Will, Purgatory,
      Moondoor_(Supernatural), Horses, Knight_Sam, Prince_Castiel, King
      Gabriel, Princess_Anna, lack_of_female_rights, Prostitution, Recreational
      Drug_Use, Alcohol_Abuse/Alcoholism
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-06-05 Updated: 2015-09-07 Chapters: 3/? Words: 10030
****** A Throne, A Blue Ring, and Some (Occasional) Angel Wings ******
by livixbobbiex
Summary
     House Aegra of Eden have been at war with Purgatory for fifteen years
     after Lucifer tricked and
     slaughtered (most) of Castiel's family with the goal of the throne.
     At a crucial time in the war, Gabriel has to leave Castiel in command
     of the throne and the Kingdom of Eden. The problem? Castiel never
     wanted to be King in the first place, and with opposition to the
     Crown blooming like chaos from every direction, he's in for a tougher
     job than he ever realised possible.
     Ever since being captured by Eden's forces eight years ago, all
     Dean's done is try to prove himself as loyal so he can go back home
     and find his brother who was stolen as a child. After accidentally
     saving the Crown Prince's life, he finally has his shot! Alas, he was
     only meant to be a guard, he never meant to start actually liking the
     guy!
     (If you enjoy things like Game of Thrones, BBC Merlin, Lord of the
     Rings etc., this fic might be to your taste!)
Notes
     Beta read by the lovely Amanda Nilsson
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Castiel i *****
Castiel
Ol bolape a noco de elo
I am the servant of God
“I’m bored,” Castiel whined in his seat. He was seven summers now and deemed
old enough to attend formal events. This was not a privilege Castiel enjoyed.
In fact, he’d much rather be running around outside with the other native
children of Purgatory. Though, they were playing knights, and Castiel had had
enough of knights for a while. As the youngest son to the King and Queen of
Eden, he would be expected to become a knight someday, or to be married off to
some nobleman’s daughter. Of course at seven Castiel didn’t really understand
all this, they were just words, but he still found them swirling around his
thoughts.
His mother, Naomi, shushed him in Enochian, the ancient language of Eden. They
didn’t speak it outside the gates of the city, and even natives had mostly
abandoned the language for the much simpler Common Tongue. Still, Castiel was
made to take lessons daily. In fact, he should be thankful for this whole
event.
“Light of my life,” he heard his brother Lucifer (the second eldest) say to
Lilith, his new bride (who giggled at the sound). Castiel had recited all the
proper names the week before, and his recent education had been almost entirely
focused on politics. Olapireta de en malpirgi, Castiel mouthed the words,
determined to have Enochian roll off his tongue naturally one day. Currently,
he found the harsh sounds too tough to produce correctly.
Lucifer swung his new wife to and fro like they were made purely from air.
Castiel was glad he was yet to begin dancing lessons. Michael and Gabriel, who
were old enough to have proper dance partners, were also gliding along the
smooth floor. It was as if they were flying. Castiel adored the old legends,
even if they werejust bed time stories, that the first King and Queen of Eden
were angels from Heaven themselves, commanded down to Earth to rule over men
where the Holy Father could not.
Castiel shifted in the dark wood seat, unable to get comfortable. There was a
buzzing in his ears, an itch in his back (though that may have been from the
ridiculous clothes). A shiver ran down his spine from the breeze, and he
wondered if this castle was older than home. He decided then and there that he
hated Purgatory. It all felt so wrong and different from home. He hated that
Lucifer would have to live here now because Lord Azazel was sonless, although
they didn’t speak much he was still his brother.
“Mama,” he said in Enochian. “Can I get down from the table?”
“Stay where I can see you,” she replied. She was probably tired, from the
sounds of it. Castiel stood up, a lot shorter than his height had appeared from
the chair, and wrapped his arms around her legs. Pressing a swift kiss to her
knee, he ventured off the platform with the long dinner table (set up for the
royal family) and into the unknown, trying to avoid being smacked by a lady’s
dress.
Of course, Castiel didn’t listen to his mother and managed to find himself lost
in just a few short moments. Too many people were swirling around him and it
was making him dizzy. Castiel was rarely clumsy, and so managed to avoid
tripping. He did, though, end up making his way to the wall, a clever strategy
(for a child his age, anyway). Directly in front of his eyes, now outside of
the mass of people, was the tall and looming door out of the great hall.
Everything was so dark in this place, all greys and blacks and sometimes a bit
of dark red here and there. Eden, meanwhile, was full of warm and bright
colours like the outside. Maybe he would be allowed some air, after all.
Something else quickly caught his attention. In Eden, at least, guards wouldn’t
dress like they’re ready to go to battle. “Why are you wearing chainmail?” He
said in the Common Tongue, attempting to mask his heavy Edenish accent. He said
‘chainmail’ slowly, hopping he’d got it correct. He’d only just learnt the
word.
“What’s it to you, little prince?” The man drew out the last word, not that
Castiel particularly noticed.
“They don’t wear that in Eden. Not for weddings is all.”
“Well, kid, you’re not Eden anymore.”
Castiel pressed his lips together. He wanted to press the guards more, not
liking the way they’d spoken to him, but his mother had warned him against his
curiosity many times. Castiel did not want to be punished by Naomi. She was his
mother and he loved her, but she terrified him sometimes. He still wanted to go
outside, but these guards really weren’t friendly like he was used to.
Frustrated, Castiel made his way to the room’s only window, staring wistfully
at the grass. Even that, though, was the wrong colour, a much darker shade,
here.
He almost missed the chime of Lucifer’s knife tapping against the glass. He’d
learnt about this, the groom always gave a speech at a wedding. The attention
in the room shifted and Lucifer smiled wider than Castiel had ever seen him.
Then again, Lucifer never seemed to regard Castiel as anything but annoying. He
spoke in the Common Tongue, somehow freeing himself altogether of the typical
Edenish accent. It was a skill Castiel wanted desperately to learn. The words
were too long and complicated for Castiel’s attention span, so he looked
around.
The guards from the door, and many other around the room, had changed their
position outside the circle of guests. Maybe they were interested, too! That
thought was more comforting to Castiel, that maybe they weren’t so different
here after all. Maybe home could wait.
They were so fast. Lucifer raised his cup and Hell opened. Castiel had
witnessed plenty of fights, having snuck around the castle (though he was
mostly made to by his brothers). But that was only between the knights and
Castiel had come to learn that their fighting didn’t count, it was a show of
affection. He hadn’t seen that much blood either. Raphael had a nose bleed
once, he remembered. He usually had small scrapes all over his arms and knees
from playing and climbing and running around the castle.
Castiel recognised the guard he’d spoken to stab a lady right through the
throat. Her blood seemed to explode down the back of her neck, staining her
dress with thick, glistening red. Screams and pandemonium replaced the joy of
the room. Castiel’s breathing was laboured and heavy. He stood there shaking,
he had absolutely no idea what to do. Of course, nobody really brought a sword
to a wedding. His family was defenceless. Out of the crowd, he saw Lucifer
standing in the same position, glass raised. He seemed to meet eyes with
Castiel, smirk, and drank the ruby red wine. All at once, Castiel wished he was
drinking poison in that glass. His eyes burned like storms with anger and
betrayal.
The sound of glass smashing snapped Castiel out of it. He began to sob as he
felt arms close around him briefly, only to be thrown out of the window.
Everything hurt, especially his forearm. “Beranusaji!” He cried out until his
throat was hoarse. Mother. Mama. Castiel stared up into the night sky, fully
expecting to die, watching the stars melt away as he closed his eyes.
===============================================================================
 
Castiel jerked upright to the dreadful clanging of bells and found himself
drenched in cold sweat. Although his chambers were essentially just a tower, as
far away from civilisation as the castle would allow, he felt vibrations even
in his bed – as he did every morning in fact. How strange, he had not dreamt of
that day for almost eight winters. Now going into his twenty second summer,
Castiel had not opted for the larger chambers he was entitled to (as second in
line for the throne of Eden), this place had been his since he left the
nursery.
His chambers weren’t anything special. Not that Cas ever really left Eden for
long enough to check, so he only really had Gabriel’s to compare it with, and
he was the King. He, too, had kept his old chambers. Neither of them wanted to
sleep in the bed of their dead siblings or parents. Because of its location,
Castiel’s bedroom was circular, his bed directly opposite the entrance to the
spiral staircase.
The servant girls would show up within the hour, despite Castiel’s numerous
protests. He pulled himself out of his warm bed, legs as heavy as steel from
the previous day’s activities of training. Castiel never made his bed, he
didn’t think it was all that important. Still, any books left lying around
(only science, history or legends, Castiel didn’t have a taste for fiction), or
clothes on the floor somehow ended up immaculately placed back where they’d
originally come from. At least he could dress himself! He wore a soft and light
material, cream shirt and loose brown trousers, because it was seen as
generally more respectful to not ‘dress up’ for the service.
Castiel lazily made his way down the staircase. They had a day off every New
Moon. Under Gabriel’s rule, they celebrated the day, but traditionally the day
was one of solemn worship for The Four. Castiel ignored his breakfast, left on
the wooden table in the far corner of the larger of the two rooms on the second
floor. Though, he noticed there was more on his plate than usual, at least five
spoonfuls more of sugar than he’d normally be given. No, he’d much rather spend
his small amount of free time in his garden. Gabriel could tease him all he
liked, but the garden would always be Castiel’s. Besides, he was more than
happy to keep the bees for their sweet honey.
He managed to leave the castle building without coming across anybody other
than guards and servants. The gardens outside were almost as large as the
castle itself, and were highly maintained. Castiel’s, though, was much smaller
and on the very edge of the hill, where sometimes on a clear day he swore he
could see out even further than the kingdom. He sat on his regular granite
bench (just outside the tiny pavilion), which was uncomfortably cold due to the
earliness of the morning. Castiel closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet perfume
of the flowers surrounding him. A small honey bee flew past and around his ears
in a circle. He liked to watch the bees, and admired how simple their lives
were.
“Cassie! Long time no see!” Castiel’s eyes snapped open to meet the face of
Balthazar, son or Lord Xavier, who had actually come for the ball for once. Not
that they always had a ball, but this was special because it was the first New
Moon Day of summer. Balthazar would never miss a good party, he was already
dressed for it in one of his ridiculously low cut shirts. Castiel felt a wave
of relief rush over him, it felt like it had been seasons since he’d heard his
friend’s smooth Common Tongue accent.
Castiel smiled from ear to ear. “You haven’t come here for New Moon Day since
last winter.”
Balthazar chuckled and sat down beside him. “Well, princess, I was busy.”
Castiel squinted. “With what?”
“Oh, you know,” he leant back, “drinking and dancing and women. Especially the
women. Cassie, there was this one who-“
Castiel felt his cheeks begin to flush. “Can we not talk about such things in
that much detail?”
He rolled his eyes. “Just because you like to pretend you’re wearing a chastity
belt...”
“And how many bastards have youunwittingly fathered?” Castiel snapped.
Balthazar gave him an odd look. He was even taken aback at his own outburst, he
usually kept out of commenting on other people’s life styles. “I... apologise.
I’ve been stressed this morning.”
“You act so... elderly. You’re not even married yet! This is your time to
live!” Balthazar exclaimed. Castiel didn’t reply. “...Princess?”
“They’ve started again,” he admitted, “the nightmares I thought were gone.”
“Cassie-“ Balthazar was cut off by the deafening bells. “I’ll see you later,
okay?” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but kept his mouth shut
and turned away.  
Again, Castiel didn’t reply and watched his only friend walk away. He didn’t
need to leave. As Prince of Eden, he would only be required at the service
after every regular citizen was seated. It was a policy of Gabriel’s he very
much admired. For worship, he, Gabriel and Anna weren’t royalty at all, and
they sat among commoners.
It was a secret desire of Castiel’s, to be normal. Castiel the Person wouldn’t
have had most of his family brutally slaughtered. Castiel the Person wouldn’t
be trying to win a war against his own brother. Unfortunately, Castiel was a
prince, and Castiel the Prince couldn’t dream of being a person. He was even
surprised, now Balthazar mentioned it, that he hadn’t been made to marry yet.
Not that Gabriel would force him to do anything against his will, but he wasn’t
selfish enough to refuse. The bells at the top of the Temple of the Day were
stuck once more.
The city was essentially just a very large hill. The Temple of the Day was the
only structure on the very top of the hill, reaching way out to the western
skies. Because it was built up the hill from the ground, it was easily the
tallest structure in the known world. The part at the top was built around a
natural water spring which quenched the city, and also had the bells. When the
city was founded the hill was built and shaped into five levels with stone. The
second was for the most religious who devoted their lives to the gods, and for
the elders who had no family to take care of them. The third was where the
castle was located, the fourth housed the richer residents and the fifth was
the ground. It was full of taverns and brothels and noise. Castiel usually
avoided anywhere but the central street leading to the gate if he went down to
that level. The Temple of the Night was also located modestly on ground level.
The Temple of the Night was said to have been the first building erected in
Eden. It was simple, too, with only one room. Although it stood taller than the
houses in its vicinity, it wasn’t a large building, unlike the Temple of the
Day, which reached right out to touch the sun. Castiel did straighten his
shirt, but he was dressed simply. The fancy, confining clothes would come
later. He removed his boots out of respect for the Four, sitting himself down
next to Gabriel near the back as the priest began to speak.
Because so few people spoke Enochian fluently (after all it was an incredibly
complicated language), not many in the temple actually understood the priest.
It was a beautiful legend, Castiel thought. Once, there was no light in the
world. The gods and goddess’ knew there was a problem when Hael the Gentle,
keeper of all vegetation, discovered that no life could thrive in the eternal
dark. They fused their power together to create a ball of pure light and
energy. Heaven rejoiced, for finally life could begin. Four brothers had
sacrificed more of their power than the others, and so they were fading, no
longer able to fulfil their purpose. Another problem was that the world was
made round like a ball, and the sun could not shine everywhere at once. A
solution was found when the rest of the gods combined two and two, the generous
gods would become The Four Brothers of Day, passing the son to one another so
that ‘day’ and ‘night’ were created.
Four of their sisters, however, grew jealous. They created all kinds of
unspeakable evil in secret to plague the gods’ proudest creature – humans. When
they were discovered, their punishment was to control their creation by
restricting their territory to the night. They were also made to carry a giant
rock between them that reflected the light of the sun, which they were never to
lay their eyes upon again. The moon began as full, but as they grew tired,
their grasp began to slip. Eventually, it turned all the way and there was no
bright beacon that used to give humans hope in the darkness. Guilty for their
actions, and for harming the humans, the Four Sisters of Night found the
strength to turn the giant rock around, the moon, and begin again. Humanity and
the other gods had forgiven them, and they were worshiped as a symbol of hope.
Every moon cycle, humanity was to pray that they find the strength to make the
moon whole again.
The story was more poetic in Enochian, but its morals remained the same. Accept
your punishment, always carry on with it, no matter how hard the going gets,
and maybe one day you too will be forgiven for your sins and even thanked.
The congregation said together a short prayer in Enochian and were dismissed.
Castiel had been too young to properly remember the old traditions, but now at
least it was all parties. Although the ball was not for commoners, most would
have their own celebrations. Castiel was dreading it. He couldn’t glide like
everyone else, he could only shuffle and place his arms awkwardly around the
many faceless women who would compliment him in their fake honey voices.
“Brother dearest!” Gabriel called out the moment they stepped inside the
castle. “I have things to discuss with you!”
Castiel paled. “Like what? Couldn’t you ask Zachariah?” Zachariah was the royal
advisor who supported Gabriel until he had come of age. As much as Castiel
didn’t like him, he’d won Eden many of their battles against Purgatory. Lucifer
hadn’t anticipated that anybody in that grand hall that day would escape, he’d
assumed he’d be able to walk straight up to the throne without opposition.
“Unfortunately, baby bro, this is between you and me.” Gabriel threw an arm
around Castiel’s shoulders.
Beside them Anna, now thirteen summers old, pouted. “But you guys promised to
hang out with me today!”
Castiel smiled. “Why don’t you go outside and show off how well you can dance?”
He pressed a kiss onto her forehead before she could run off. “What, Gabriel?”
His older brother opened the doors to his rooms. They were less barren than
Castiel’s, and were covered in the kingdom’s finest materials. Castiel wrinkled
his nose at the sight of female undergarments strewn over the table. Just like
Balthazar, Gabriel was not shy about his sexual conquests. Gabriel picked up
the scanty clothing, shrugged, and tossed them aside.
“Cassie, I need to speak to you as a king, not as a brother.”
Castiel swallowed. “Nothing bad has happened?”
“No!” Gabriel hastily confirmed. “Castiel, you know we’re not going to win this
war like this. Lucifer is making all kinds of alliances, many lords are joining
his side. We need to do the same.”
He suddenly caught on. “You want me to... leave Eden?”
Gabriel shook his head. “No, baby bro, I don’t think you could sway them like I
need. No, we’ll have more of a chance if I go myself.”
Castiel must have visibly paled. “You’re going to leave me in charge of Eden?!”
“I’m so glad you’re okay with this!”
“Gabriel!”
“Cassie!”
“I cannot run a kingdom,” Castiel practically hissed. “I’m useless!”
“Bitch please,” Gabriel said, which warmed Castiel’s heart just a little. “I’ve
seen you strategise. You knocked Zach right on his ass just last cycle! I’ll
only be gone for two New Moon Days at most. You’ll befine, even you can’t fuck
this up.”
Castiel ruthlessly read over the scroll. “You’re giving me absolute powers
until you return to Eden.”
Gabriel shrugged. “You might need them. Come oooon Cassie. Would you rather I
left Zach in charge?”
Castiel practically shuddered at the idea. “Alright.”
“Sweet!” Gabriel downed some kind of sweet, exotic fruit that was probably more
expensive than a house. “I’m leaving tomorrow before dawn! Now get out of here
so I can party!”
“Gabriel!” If it wasn’t high treason, Castiel might have murdered him.
 
***** Dean i *****
Chapter Notes
     Beta read by the lovely Amanda Nilsson
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Dean
“Dean Winchester ya idjit get down here!” Bobby called out. “Or I’m goin’
without ya.”
Dean smoothed down the fabric of his shirt. It was scratchy and tight and he
didn’t like it, but he couldn’t wear his normal clothes, which were all singed
slightly at the edges or ripped or dirty. It was a disadvantage of working in a
blacksmith. He usually reserved these for when he felt like getting a classier
attention. Dean looked sentimentally upon his small and untidy room. If
everything went according to plan, he wouldn’t be seeing it again. It was
nothing special, just a small room that was technically the roof with a shitty
bed and a chest of draws. At least it was the warmest bedroom in the village
during the winter season, due to its location being directly above Bobby’s big
ass fire.
“What’s the rush?” He walked down the stairs, instantly feeling hot from the
workshop. The place was permanently busy, especially with the war against home
going on.   
“Did ya hear the news?” Bobby wiped sweat from his forehead. The guy was pretty
old to still be a working man. Dean felt guilty about that, he had undeniably
been a burden to the old man for the last eight years, though he helped the
heavy demand wherever he could.
Dean shrugged. “What news? Why would I know anything?”
“The amount of time you spend in taverns, boy, thought ya woulda heard
something. The King has left Eden.”
Dean pulled a face. He’d been ready, so close to actually going home! “Did he
say when he would be coming back?” Though he knew Bobby wouldn’t have the
answer, he couldn’t help his hope slipping through.
Bobby shrugged. “His kid brother is taking his place today.”
He remembered. “Prince Castiel?”
Bobby gave him one of his infamous looks. “How d’ya know him?”
“I don’t,” Dean said. Lie (At least in part, anyway). “I just spend a lot of
time in taverns.”
“...Sure.”
Dean stretched his arms up, and heard a ripping sound in horror. “I just washed
this!” When he looked the tear, thankfully, wasn’t really noticeable. “Let’s go
then, my baby hasn’t had any exercise for a while.”
It was absolute fact that Impala was the most beautiful black mare in the known
world. She used to belong to Dean’s father, John, but when Dean was captured
and taken into Eden, he’d been riding her, so Impala came with him. She was
said to have come all the way from the remote western lands, a breed only found
in Moondoor. Dean patted her neck gently. She was getting old now, but she was
still no less brilliant than the day he’d first ridden her. His drinking
buddies at the tavern constantly made jokes about him loving his horse too
much, but Dean shrugged them off. He loved his baby shamelessly.
Dean mounted her bareback, since they wouldn’t need to ride far. “Now who’s
being slow?” He called out to Bobby, riding right up to the guild’s entrance.
Bobby leant in the door frame. “I’ve been thinkin’.”
Dean let his eyes fall the ground. “You’re not coming with me.”
The older man sighed. “I don’t care what ya say, when ya came here ya were just
a kid. Ride into Eden as a man, go be a hero and see home again.” He smiled.
“Here, ya dropped this the first time ya walked in this place.” He dropped a
little golden amulet with a face etched into its surface into his hand. “I
fixed it up a little, tied it onto a leather chain so ya won’t lose it again.”
He almostfelt the promising sting of tears in his eyes. “I thought I’d never
see it again.”
Bobby grinned. “I’m gonna miss ya boy, but don’t ya dare come back here,
understand? Now get!”
Dean laughed and began to ride away. The blacksmith he called home was only in
the closest village to the main city of Eden. The castle looked frighteningly
tall from its position on the hill, especially from his perspective below. He’d
only been inside of it once before, and he found, after tying Imapla up and
making the long walk up the hill, the throne room hadn’t changed much from what
he remembered. It was larger than three houses in the small village of Sioux
Falls, but if the people had been taken away it, it would have felt cold and
empty.
It was no secret that Dean had little knowledge of court. Ash, the owner of his
favourite tavern, had laughed in his face when he said is goodbye. He didn’t
see the point of titles and fifteen different types of spoons, but that wasn’t
why he was here. There was a long line leading to the throne, and Dean would be
damned if he didn’t get his shot.
He even managed to ignore the incredibly dumb music coming from the lyre
players until he was second in line. More distracting still was the haunting
voice coming from the throne. From the few times he’d heard the King speak,
Dean knew his Common Tongue was impeccable and his accent was neutral. Prince
Castiel, it seemed, was not so good at masking his Enochian voice (and damn him
that was a great voice). He sounded pleased that the woman at the front of the
line was speaking his language too. Dean couldn’t speak Enochian properly (even
some natives found it difficult), so he didn’t understand much of the
conversation, aside from catching the word ‘goat’ every now and again.
The elderly woman was sobbing with what appeared to be joy, so Dean assumed it
had been good news. He was next.The Prince seemed unaware that Dean was
standing there, deep in conversation with the royal advisor guy Dean had
occasionally seen wandering around the city. His name was Zach or something.
Zach sounded pissed off, though it was hard to tell in Enochian’s mouthy
language. Dean grinned when he heard a few words he did know coming from the
prince’s mouth: niis oi aala q page quooiape elos, which basically meant piss
off or die. Zach took the threat seriously and returned far behind the throne,
though his eyes were dark and furious.
Dean had been so focused on the advisor that he’d briefly forgotten the whole
reason for being here until the Prince cleared his throat quite loudly. Dean
dropped to his knees without an ounce of grace. “Your Highness,” he stammered.
“You can stand,” the Prince said in slightly accented Common Tongue, though it
was hard to tell with that voice, which sounded like a horse drawn wagon over
ground up stones. “Do you have a petition or an edict for me to consider?”
“Uh, no,” Dean said, flustered. “Wait! Yes! I mean-“ talk about handsome prince
“-I want to become a soldier. My name’s Dean... Singer.”
The Prince met his eyes. Gods above, Dean finally understood why they say the
House Aegra was descended from angels. If they were any bluer they’d belong
only in a story. It was then that Dean craved with all his being to see them at
their full glory. He could almost picture it clearly, how the Prince Castiel’s
eyes might glimmer and shine when he smiled. Unfortunately, they reflected
boredom at that moment. “You need to go the barracks and speak with Uriel.”
“ No,” Dean replied, much steadier now, “I can’t, I’ve tried that.”
The Prince raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
Dean took a deep breath. “Before I lived in Edenish territory, my family was in
Lawrence, an outlining village of Purgatory. I squired in the Battle of River
Vivivia but I was captured by Edenish knights and brought back here where a
blacksmith, Robert Singer, stood for me and took me in.”
“You are not allowed to fight because Uriel knows you were raised in Purgatory
and questions your loyalties,” the Prince figured out.
“Basically,” Dean shifted.
Some official looking guy started yelling loudly in Enochian, which lead the
Prince to nod. “I’m sorry Dean, but the law states that only citizens of Eden
can join, and in the eyes of many you are a prisoner of war.”
“I can fight!” He protested, albeit rashly and with arrogance. “Put me against
any of your knights!”
The Prince actually looked almost a little bit guilty. “I am sorry, Dean, I
don’t doubt you, but the law is the law.”
Dean wanted to be angry, but he rather enjoyed his freedom, so he didn’t speak
his mind. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he muttered with a nod and left his
space. Any hope of going home seemed to fade away. Dean would never truly be
free in Eden, he was just kidding himself. And maybe he’d find his own way home
someday, back to Lawrence and to baby Sammy. He left the throne room and didn’t
look back once.
===============================================================================
 
Dean’s mother, the once fair Mary Winchester, died in a house fire when Dean
was barely more than a toddler. That day marked the very last of his childhood,
and Dean was learning how to swing a sword at the same time most children were
finding their own balance. John almost seemed glad to be rid of him when he
turned seven winters old, and sent him straight to what was known as the Tower
of Hell, where he became a page. Lord Azazel had no sons so the time was spent
between him and his knights. They were nice enough, well, most of them didn’t
bother him.
The day he turned fifteen was a much brighter occasion, because it meant the
servant work was done and Dean could really start to fight. He had been, of
course, the top of his class, though John never told Dean that he was proud of
him. John Winchester had never liked Azazel, he’d always said there was
something wrong about him.
Either way, he’d never forget his Purgatory lessons. Even sitting in the forest
now, back against a rotting tree stump and days away from home, he remembered
to always be alert. He should never sleep unless his body demanded it and the
place was absolutely safe. Dean chewed his salty piece of bread thoughtfully,
watching Impala graze. He could always try and ride her home, though his
clothes were obviously Edenish and he’d most likely be killed on sight. Even if
he did get back, he’d be executed for desertion.
In all truth he didn’t want to go back to Bobby’s as a failure. The thought of
it alone was enough to make his stomach turn in small flips. When he’d first
come to Eden, and Bobby had appealed for him to be released into his custody,
they’d made it no more than a few strides out of the castle before Dean had
managed to escape. Back then the whole place was completely alien to him. The
way people talked was different, the colours, the clothes, even the music that
was flowing through the throne room. That day he’d just run and run until he
ended up on the other side of the hill, which was just filled with forest. He’d
sat in this very spot, extremely close to actually weeping for home. Bobby had
found him before the shadows had even shifted their position. He knew more now,
and didn’t make so many rash decisions. He’d adjusted to Edenish customs,
anyway, but it would still never be home.
The colour was still off from home, but the whole feel of forests was
unchangeable. He preferred the one in Sioux Falls, where he would go to when he
needed to be alone and listen to the gentle dropping of water from the small
waterfall for hours. They felt so much more alive than these royal ones.
Dean sighed and tossed his mare a small chunk of the bread. She ignored it,
making Dean frown, and kept her head up. “What’s wrong, Baby?” She whinnied,
trying to pull away from the tree she was tied to. Dean tried to follow her eye
line, mares could be smart sometimes. Some guy with a crossbow was perched
behind a tree, on a bank of higher ground. Dean shook his head. “Just a hunter
Baby, you’ve seen worse.”  
Until, of course, Dean heard a horse like sound that definitely didn’t come
from his Baby. Was that guy really going to shoot a wild horse? Dean didn’t
have anything left to lose, he reasoned, may as well stop a son of a bitch. He
got up and strode silently over the forest floor, which was easy enough at the
beginning of summer with little to step on. The bank was just high enough that
he would have to climb slightly, though the hunter was not all that alert, and
Dean easily managed to sneak up behind him and whack him round the head with
the flat of his sword, knocking the man out. As a result, the man released the
arrow as a reflex, though it missed its original target as his body twisted,
hitting a tree.
It was still enough to spook the horse (whose metallic golden coat caught Dean
off guard for a moment), apparently, which threw its rider off its back. Dean
jumped down, making to help the guy up, when three other men drew their swords
from behind the trees. He realised, then, that they were all wearing armour;
Purgatory armour. He’d recognise it anywhere. Well, he already had his sword
drawn from hitting the first guy. Dean growled as he swirled his arms, feeling
that his clothes were too restricting to twist and strike as naturally as he
usually could. He felt them rip as he easily drew first blood, striking the
closest man across the chest.
 The second man tried to sneak up behind him, but he was not so skilled at
walking silently as Dean was. He only needed to twist his upper body to elbow
the man square in the face, hearing a satisfying crunching noise in the action.
The final guy was opposite him, and Dean wasn’t opposed to playing dirty, so he
gave him a hard kick in the nuts before stalking up behind him, putting the man
in a headlock. The snap of his bones was an almost satisfying sound when Dean
let the body slump to the ground. Damnit, the guy he’d elbowed had run away.
Dean could probably chase him, but Impala was tied up and he would lose sight.
“Are you alright?” That voice. Dean recognised it from somewhere.
Dean had forgotten the man he’d decided to protect, having been caught up in
the fighting. “It will only be a few bruises.” The man’s features were hidden
by an expensive looking beige cloak, so all Dean could see was a messy mop of
dark hair. He offered a hand to the kneeling man, who accepted it, though
almost reluctantly, and immediately let it go once he was steady on his feet.
“You were thrown off your horse, you’re probably worse.”
“No I-“ The man met his eyes and Dean’s breaths became shorter as realisation
dawned on him. This wasn’t a man, this was the friggin’ Prince.“You were there
earlier, in the throne room.”
Dean didn’t know what to do, or what the correct action was for this situation.
He hastily bowed, not wanting to get into any serious trouble. “I’m sorry, Your
Highness.”
The Prince smiled. His earlier thought had beenso right, his happy face could
light up the whole damn Kingdom. In an instant Dean almost even forgot that he
was meant to be pissed at the guy. “I’m glad we got to meet on better terms,
it’s better than me being a distance away on an uncomfortable throne.” Dean
realised then, as The Prince squinted, that they’d been holding complete eye
contact. “You saved my life,” he concluded almost cautiously.
“It was nothing,” Dean looked down in order to put an end to the uncomfortable
staring, “but one of them got away. They were from Purgatory.”
His Royal Highness exhaled softly. “Good, it may send Azazel a message. I owe
you my greatest thanks, Dean-”
“Winchester,” Dean cut in.
The Prince cocked his head to the side. “I thought you said your name was
Singer.”
He almost choked. Whoops. “I did... that’s what I’m officially called here, but
my name has always been Winchester.”
“Dean Winchester,” The Prince sounded out slowly. Those eyes did sparkle. There
had been songs written about Aegra eyes for many generations. “Just because
your name screams Purgatory, it doesn’t mean you side with them. You should
wear it with pride.”
Dean felt his cheeks heat up, but any deeper into this conversation and he’d
get very uncomfortable very quickly. “Does your horse always get spooked so
easily?”
The slender stallion, whose fur seemed to gleam the brightest gold under the
sun, had returned to his owner. “He’s fine usually, he must had just been
caught off guard. He’s not what you’d call a war horse.”
This entire exchange was growing gradually more and more awkward. “Are you sure
you’re okay? He’s huge.”
The Prince looked over himself. “I’ve had worse from training in the
barracks... Wait, didn’t you say earlier that you wanted to be a soldier?”
“Uh, yeah?”
He chewed his slightly plump under lip, as if he wanted to say something. It
was as if he was having a whole debate inside his head. “I can’t just make you
a soldier; too many people would find an issue with it. But, you saved my life,
which means nobody can argue with giving you a small reward. And say you asked
for the right to, maybe, compete in the next tourney against some of the most
renowned knights, assuming you did well then nobody could disagree that you
didn’t earn your right as at least a simple foot soldier. But I didn’t give you
that suggestion, Dean Winchester; you thought it up on your own.”
“Sire-“
He rolled his eyes. “Please don’t bother with that, I like my name.”  
“Castiel, I- you sure?”
The Prince- no,Castiel, grinned warmly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about
Dean.”
Without saying another word, he remounted his stallion and galloped off
somewhere, presumably to the palace. Dean was in shock, perhaps he wasn’t a
lost cause. He could do that, Bobby made swords enough for him to swing around
in practice. He had trained for this for almost all of his childhood. From
behind the tree line he’d climbed over, his Baby made a soft noise. Back down
the hill, then. At least the exercise was good for her.
“Thank you,” Dean said to the open air.  
Chapter End Notes
     Dean's horse is based off a black Friesian mare
     Castiel's horse is bassed off a golden Akhal Teke stallion
***** Castiel ii *****
Chapter Notes
     I swear to Chuck I'm not usually this bad at updating, whoops. I did
     have writers block and am currently finishing a 20k+ fic, so there
     shouldn't be a 3 month update gap again. Apologies!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Without Gabriel’s laughter and constant teasing filling its halls, the castle
felt hollow and empty. Even Anna’s childish giggles had disappeared, because
she had friends now. Despite all the extra responsibilities, now that he was in
charge, yet he found himself more bored than ever before. Following the
attempted attack a cycle ago, Zachariah had pretty much forced two guards on
him at all times.
Ever since he could confidently ride horses, Castiel managed to almost lose
track of days on the back of Talundonveh. He’d owned Tal ever since his twelfth
birthday. Back then, his golden stallion was just one summer old, sent by an
old ally in Moondoor, the furthest kingdom in the known west. He couldn’t ride
him for a few seasons, but the first time he had was definitely a far cry from
learning to ride on an old mare.
Alas, it seemed he could no longer ride Tal like that. The rush of the wind in
his face and galloping so fast it felt like flying? Apparently that was too
reckless in such a dire situation. It meant his alone time didn’t feel so
alone. It was disconcerting, always having two figures behind you out of the
corner of your eye. He’d also been ‘advised’ (also known as made) to avoid the
forest, so he was just riding along the tree line. His slow pace allowed him to
gaze at the newly bloomed green leaves. All it did was remind him of the man
who had saved his life – Dean Winchester.  
Castiel had known, by the way he’d shifted and paused, that ‘Singer’ wasn’t his
real name. That, and his own memories. Dean had looked so different then, just
a bloody and broken Purgatory boy. That was what he’d really meant when he’d
told him that he was glad they got to meet under better circumstances. Castiel
felt a phantom pain in his own eye, briefly remembering one of the guards kick
the young squire in the face until Gabriel finally yelled enough. He shifted
uncomfortably on his horse, but that didn’t stop him from rehearing the broken
‘please’ directed straight at him.
“Your Highness!” The guard’s voice startled Castiel. “We’ve ridden quite far,
and it’s getting dark.”
He sighed. “Bartholomew, I haven’t had a bedtime since I was ten summers old.”
Castiel didn’t look at him, but was pretty sure the guard pulled a face. “I
mean no disrespect, sire, but Zachariah said we need to be on high alert, and
the night is full of dangers.”
“Isn’t your job not to avoid those dangers but to defeat them?” Still, Castiel
gave a soft pull on his reigns in order to command Tal to turn around. The
sooner Gabriel returned, the better. Castiel frowned to himself. His older
brother hadn’t sent a crow for two cycles, not even to tell him that they had a
safe journey. It wasn’t unlike Gabriel to be forgetful, even slightly
irresponsible at times, but never truly inconsiderate. Perhaps Castiel was
worrying too much. He couldn’t help it, though. He’d never gone to battle,
every time one seemed to happen he’d been called too young, though he knew
people much younger than he was were fighting, so with no reason to venture
more than half a day’s ride away from the secure walls of the city Castiel
simply hadn’t seen anything else. The only different land he’d seen was
Purgatory when he was just seven summers old. He’d read books, of course, and
gazed at maps, but in truth he had no idea what lay beyond Eden. He would feel
more secure if he was able to picture where Gabriel was.
If Castiel had been alone, the ride back to the castle would have been
completed before the sun even completely set. At this forced slow pace, the
moon was shining in the sky by the time he’d made it up the stairs to his
rooms, still followed closely by guards. By all means he should be tired, as he
had been constantly for a whole moon cycle. His boredom, though, had turned
itself into energy. Castiel lay on his bed, tossing and turning and unable to
sink comfortably into sleep. He eventually ended up sprawled diagonally across
the sheets, staring at the ceiling. Assuming he was nervous about the
tournament, he ran through every plan he’d had to make in his head, just in
case he’d missed something. Of course he hadn’t.
Giving up seemed like the best option. Castiel slid up and walked towards his
bookshelf. He only kept his favourite books there; the rest went in the more
than substantial library. Running his fingers across the carefully crafted
spines, he chose a book he hadn’t read for summers and winters both. It was the
one exception to his ‘no fiction’ rule, for Naomi had once confirmed it was
just a story, whereas legends couldbe true. For my youngest son, said the
symbols in loose translation. Castiel traced over the immaculate handwriting,
Enochian made into art. There was a portrait in one of the corridors, along
with others of the Aegra line, painted as a gift just a cycle after Anna was
born and presented to Eden. It wasn’t as if Castiel couldn’t ever see his
mother’s face, not that he had much desire to, anyway. They’d had a
professional relationship, from what he could remember. They had been as close
as a mother and son needed to be – expected to be - and no closer. Still, it
saddened him that he could barely picture her actual face.
It was actually harder than one would have thought to trace Naomi’s history
back before she married into House Aegra. Still, Castiel had been interested
and stubborn before he had to learn any actual responsibilities. As it turned
out, Naomi had come from a family nearly as old and powerful as the Aegras.
Just after she arrived, there was an all out rebellion in the West, which led
to Moondoor eventually becoming the Capitol and main power. He wasn’t there and
so couldn’t be the best judge, but Castiel guessed Naomi’s coldness may have
been because his father had mostly ignored the war instead of lending support.
Castiel remembered, just after the last royal pregnancy had been announced, how
Naomi had given him the book. It is very old, she had warned, my father gave it
to me as a wedding present before I came here. At six summers old he was still
learning to read properly, and so struggled to make out what the message
actually said. It was one of the few moments Naomi, his mother, had smiled at
him and read the message aloud.
“But mama? How do you know it won’t be a little boy?” Castiel all but whispered
outside his memory world.
I can feel it when I place my hand over her. I have always wanted a daughter. I
never imagined I would get the chance after birthing you. She will be called
Anael.Naomi had smiled down at her swollen stomach. I think she will be a
spirited one already. You were much easier to carry, Castiel.She mumbled
something in her mother tongue, something he’d never heard her speak before.
Castiel closed his eyes and held the book against his chest. The last time he’d
read it was when he was thirteen summers old and that was only to translate the
words into Enochian, not to appreciate the story. It seemed almost pointless,
his last candle had almost burnt out and he needed his rest. Still, he couldn’t
resist turning the pages.
It was a story about three young adventures; Balata (Justice), Teloah
Congamphlgh (Pride) and Zylna Noco (Greed). Justice was notably older than the
other two in both body and soul, though did not demand complete leadership.
Instead, he let Pride and Greed do as they wished and speak up whenever he
tried to make a decision. The worst thing about the story, Castiel thought, was
how there was no reason behind this adventure, the book started halfway in and
didn’t explain much of what had happened before it. On their journey, Justice,
Pride and Greed met their fair share of troubles, including their ship getting
attacked by the Pirate Queen and a nasty encounter with a pack of werewolves.
Every time an obstacle was passed, Greed disappeared for a night and a day.
Justice finally brought up the issue after he discovered the central fangs of
the vampire they’d just killed were missing.
Greed wasn’t as smart as he was selfish. He immediately admitted to using the
monsters and his companions as a way to get ingredients for one of his most
ambitious spells yet. Pride insisted he was lying, but Justice could see the
truth in his eyes. Because he was kind, Greed was released alone with a small
piece of flatbread and a half full water skin. Pride began to blame Justice for
every misfortune they’d come across during the journey, even when it was
blatantly his own fault. Justice grew very tired of this but was a strong
believer in freedom of speech and did not dismiss Pride. Eventually the other
man left anyway, calling Justice an unworthy partner. Summers later Greed and
Pride both returned in an alliance together. Justice was good and fair and wise
and calmly tried to reason with them both, but they simply ignored him and
transformed his body to reflect his soul, so he had the frail body of an
elderly man. Justice was left to the sands of the desert, but was unable to
find his way home and so faded away into nothing.
The moral of the story was an easy one: life isn’t fair and justice doesn’t
overcome the evils of other men. It was actually an incredibly sinister bedtime
story, but Castiel understood why it was a wedding present, and the last lesson
Naomi ever had the chance to teach him. Not that it particularly stuck with
him, he was rather fond of Justice as a character. Castiel closed the book
after taking one last glance at the colourful illustrations.
When he next opened his eyes, the birds were singing their dawn song. He longed
to close his eyes again. Apparently his sleep had been restless. The old book
was still pressed closed against his chest. There were preparations to approve
and guests to greet and a brutally early tournament to oversee. It wouldn’t get
interesting till the last few rounds; the first few were just the best fighters
knocking out the amateurs. Not that Castiel found any of it that entertaining;
violence for sport with a war going on seemed pointless. Gabriel himself only
kept it running for the women the event brought into the city with it.
Castiel dressed himself in the finest (also the scratchiest) clothes he could
find that would still allow for the summer heat. His cloak was beige and blue,
the Aegra colours, and his obligatory coronet, which was a simple silver ring –
minimal decoration at his own choosing. He was just splashing his face with
water when a knock echoed around the room.
“We’re here to escort you and The Princess Anael to the Fighting Arena, Sire.”
He felt not so different from a prisoner. It was definitely a relief to see
Anna, her radiance overshadowing Castiel’s misery. His heart ached, she looked
more like a woman than the sweet child he’d known for thirteen summers. She
smiled at him moments into their escorted walk and took his hand.
“Are you alright, Castiel? You’ve been so busy recently.” She paused. “This day
will be good for you.”
“I hope so,” Castiel admitted. “The conversation will probably tire me
further.” He disliked this; their interaction was so stiff and formal. It was
unnatural.
Anna walked with her head held high. “I’m hoping the winner gives me his
favour.”
He felt his face relax. “I have no doubt, but there are some seasoned knights
competing, and few are what you would callhandsome, I promise.”
The Fighting Arena would not be so well maintained if it wasn’t used as an
unofficial extension of the Barracks. Tournaments were rare because of the war,
and were therefore sparse other than when in use for training. It, like most of
the original city, was ancient looking. When slavery was around, many
generations ago, there were fights to the death every quarter cycle. It was
open to all in those days, gold only for securing seats with a good view. It,
therefore, had to be a very large structure to accommodate so many people.
Although the arena wasn’t exactly close to the castle, sometimes the noise
still travelled there.
Castiel smiled through the mandatory greetings. There could have been one
hundred polite handshakes, all faceless men with faceless women on their arm,
some young enough to be their daughters. The sun was piercing and scalding on
the crowd, where there was no shade. Castiel was incredibly thankful for his
position in the box for once.
The tournament was introduced. It was a boring affair really, just the same old
gushing about kingdom and community and whatever else. He was itching to just
clap his hands and start the fighting. Deep down, Castiel understood the
importance of the tournament. Whilst Eden was rich, they were in the middle of
a long war and they’d had to cut their spending wherever they could. Castiel
vaguely remembered a time where not only fights but theatre and music used to
take place in the arena, rather than military training. Eden needed this for
moral, and since spectating was free half the kingdom had shown up in
excitement. After all, it was only an event that happened once a summer.
It was largely the same as the summer before, and the summer before that too.
So many people entered (as they did not need to be high born) that the heats
alone took two or three days. The competition only became slightly interesting
around the semi-finals, and because he was Regent, Castiel had to spectate the
entire thing.
It was a mystery how he managed to get through it to be honest, considering his
nights were restless. After the pleasantries of the first day, Castiel found
himself with little company at all. Anna had run off somewhere, presumably to
socialise or even to avoid the competition all together. He found himself
falling asleep, especially without the cold to keep him alert, his general
boredom and the fact he hadn’t been sleeping well.
“My lord!” He heard Zachariah bark.
“Yes?” He mumbled, eyes still closed.
“Sire,” a voice he wasn’t all the familiar with said, “I came to ask for the
competitor I should promote.”
Oh yes, the betting. Castiel failed to find the fun in handing over hard owned
money that may or may not bring you success. He had no interest in who would
actually win. “May I hear the names?”
The bet collector cleared his throat. “Last year’s winner; Lord Gordon of House
Walker, Sir Tamiel of House Bialo, Sir Jeremiah of House Iasa and-“ he paused,
“a commoner, sire.”
Castiel sat up in his chair. “Does he have a name?”
He swallowed. “Singer’s boy, your Highness, Dean Singer.”
His eyes widened at the name. Dean actually did it? And got this far? Castiel
felt a rush of second hand pride, which was ridiculous considering he’d only
actually met the man once. Of course, Castiel had seen Dean fight and he’d done
it well, but he hadn’t been the best or most refined fighter Castiel had ever
seen, though Dean did mention he’d been a squire many years ago. Going by what
he could grasp from the man’s personality, Castiel wasn’t truly that shocked.
Dean Singer (Winchester?) had a heart of determination and wore it with pride.
“I choose Dean.”
“Are you sure, my lord? Statistically Sir Gordon has been performing the best.”
Zachariah waved him off. “Everybody likes an underdog, for now. Keep their
interest for this round and whether he is knocked out or not, turn their
attention to Sir Gordon for the finale.”
To Castiel’s slight pleasure, the collector looked at him. “My lord?”
“Zachariah knows more than I, listen to his suggestion.”
The collector bowed his head and walked away, presumably into the stands.
Castiel made sure to force his eyes open, with hope that Dean might actually
win. He swallowed, thinking over that eventuality. He’d almost actually
promised that he’d get Dean a position in the army. Overruling Uriel wouldn’t
be a huge issue, he was Regent, but there could be a problem with his
treatment, considering he was technically a prisoner.
Dean’s first fight was boring and over pretty quickly. Castiel found himself
leaning forward and paying extra attention. Just trying to get a grasp of his
fighting technique. Dean was unrefined, rough around the edges, and had the
wrong stance and grip. By Edenish standards, on paper, he’d be terrible. He
did, however, make up for it in force and cunning. He fought with the intention
of putting on a show. In fact, Dean had disarmed Sir Tamiel in mere moments in
comparison to the other fights.
Castiel worried. Gordon, too, played dirty. He found himself wincing the whole
way during his semi-final, more so when he saw the injury Sir Jerimiah bore.
They were in the middle of a war, they couldn’t waste metal on blunted blades
for entertainment. That, and apparently the danger made the event all the more
entertaining. Sir Jeremiah didn’t appear to be injured terribly, but he’d be
out of commission for a few days at the least.
Both Dean and Gordon knelt down in front of Castiel, swords laid on the ground,
as was standard procedure. Castiel didn’t need to say anything, though Gabriel
usually did. Instead, he opted to simply nod his head once instead, commencing
the fight. He felt his chest flutter when Dean bent down to pick up his sword,
showing off his muscles. Castiel was unfamiliar with the sensation, and could
only compare it with nerves.
The fight began with Gordon attacking first, Dean on the defence. If anything,
Dean had more than decent footwork, able to block and dodge with ease. There
was a lot of repetition of jabbing and blocking until Gordon took a risk and
took a swing at Dean’s knees. He appeared to have anticipated the move, and
jumped clean over the sword.
Taking an opportunity, Dean hit Gordon’s chest with the flat of his blade,
knocking him back a few steps. This angered Gordon, giving him the adrenaline
to hit and jab and thrust more frequently. It was only when Dean visibly
taunted him that Castiel realised Dean was playing with him, barely even
attempting to disarm, even though he’d had a few opportunities. Although
Castiel had a strong dislike for Lord Gordon, his swordsmanship skills were
unquestionable. All it took was for Dean to get too cocky before Gordon managed
to slice him clean across the shoulder before taking hold of it from behind
and, Castiel closed his eyes at the sound, dislocated it.
The air was tense for a moment and it was obvious that Gordon was the victor,
until Dean came to his senses and elbowed Gordon in the throat. Swapping sword
arms, Dean began to all-out attack, which to his credit was over quickly.
Gordon had been off guard and his sword was out of his hand before he really
had a chance to defend himself. Castiel hadn’t really paid attention to how it
had happened, having been distracted by Dean. He looked so confident, and the
sweat from the sun suited him.
The crowd began to cheer and scream Dean’s name, though Castiel would assume
most of them had never seen his face before. Gordon, rather out of character,
bowed his head and left the arena without creating a fuss, though he didn’t
shake Dean’s hand. Dean looked fazed by the crowd, and, for the first time,
weary. He absent mindedly reached round and pushed his shoulder back into
place.
“Your highness,” he knelt.
Castiel bit his lip. His eyes shone in the beautiful day like the brightest
green leaf from his most delicious apple tree. Gods, Castiel was selfish, but
it was decided. This was a good thing, he convinced himself. “You may rise,
Dean Singer. You have achieved much today, and for that you should be proud.
You are the first competitor in this tournament’s short history that has won
without formal Edenish training, so I must reward you further. I will offer you
a position in the royal household, as my personal guard.”
The gasps from the spectators and Dean’s glare of horror and confusion made
Castiel realise in an instant that he’d made a terrible mistake. 
Chapter End Notes
     Warning: next chapter is where the depressing begins, brace
     yourselves
End Notes
     Aegra means Angel of the earth
     The language that Castiel and others is speaking is /supposedly/
     actual Enochian. Unfortunately, I'm not quite fluent in the language
     and so am relying on a mixture of an online translator and a
     dictionary.
     I apologise in advance that my writing schedule (due to the exam
     period) is anything but regular. I will try to update this as much as
     possible, but it should definitely pick up in a few weeks time. I
     estimate that this fic will total to 100,000-200,000 words in
     completion, so you're in for a long ride!
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