Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6272665.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Minor_or_Background_Relationship(s)
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Laura_Hale, Talia_Hale, Allison_Argent,
      Chris_Argent, Kate_Argent, Gerard_Argent, Lydia_Martin, Sheriff
      Stilinski, Ennis_(Teen_Wolf), Erica_Reyes
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Game_of_Thrones_Fusion, Prince_Derek, Prostitute
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale_&_Laura_Hale_Are_Twins, Alive_Talia_Hale,
      Chris_Argent_&_Kate_Argent_Are_Twins, Implied/Referenced_Incest, Non-Con/
      Rape_Outside_of_Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Implied/Referenced_Rape/Non-
      con, Past_Rape/Non-con, Violence, Homophobia, Trial_by_Combat, Allison
      Argent_&_Erica_Reyes_Friendship, Threesome_-_F/M/M, Other:_See_Story
      Notes, Eventual_Happy_Ending
  Collections:
      Sterek_AU_Fest
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-03-27 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 35357
****** Unknown Kindness in a Cruel World ******
by Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary
     The prince carefully observed Stiles. “Do you know who I am?”
     Stiles knew he should have. “No,” he answered, knowing the pimp would
     be unhappy with that answer.
     “Are you afraid of me?” The prince asked, his eyes never leaving
     Stiles.
     Stiles’ heart was pounding in his ears, adrenaline pumping through
     his veins. He knew the pimp would want him to answer with a quip or
     flirtation. But Stiles didn’t want to lie—not to the prince. And he
     couldn’t tell why. “No,” he truthfully answered.
Notes
     My submission for fuckyeahsterekaus' Sterek AU Fest 2016.
     This is a Game of Thrones AU. For a quick reference help, here are
     the character families and their counterparts:
     Hale=Martell
     Argent=Lannister
     Martin=Targaryen [the Martins are still called Targaryens, because
     Rhaegar is still mentioned in this fic]
     McCall=Stark [Brief Mention; Isaac is Sansa Stark, but he's only
     mentioned]
     This fic deals with a great deal of heavy hitting things and
     potential triggers, including kidnapping of a minor, rape of a minor,
     implied incest [if you know the GOT twincest, then you know which
     family it is], graphic violence/blood, and murder. These events are
     all in tone with how they are treated on Game of Thrones. There is no
     romanticizing of these triggers.
     If there is a trigger I missed, PLEASE comment or message_me_on
     tumblr immediately.
     Note: (Concerning the Threesome - F/M/M) Stiles and Derek partake in
     a the beginning of a somewhat threesome. There is description of
     Derek and Stiles pleasuring a prostitute, it is the only time there
     is a description of them with anyone else. It's simply a one time sex
     hookup.
     Other than that, let's start this roller coaster ride.
     Dedicated to my fantastic little tumblr wifey, kilaem/TheCriminal,
     who worked so hard on her artwork and let me whine at her about this
     AU <3
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
Derek was an unknown kindness in a cruel world. Stiles’ cruel world.
                                      ~*~
Stiles was only a child when his mother became ill. He watched her grow sicker
by the day, sitting by her bed, bringing her food and water when she asked for
it. He couldn’t remember most of it, flashes here and there. His father’s face
was blurry, the memory of armor and swords, a comforting voice.
The Grand Maester that inspected Stiles in King’s Landing commented that his
memory loss was likely do to the abuse he suffered, many blows leaving scars—at
the time, the scars were obvious with his closely sheared hair. She even noted
that Stiles may have repressed memories from before and during his work in the
brothels do to emotional trauma.
Stiles remembered the day he was torn from his mother’s bedside. He had been
crying, clutching his mother’s lifeless hand as he begged the gods to give her
back. He heard the harsh arguing and loud scuffling outside the doors. He
startled when the doors burst open, an unknown group of men marching in, some
pushing the others back—servants, Stiles recalled. He tried to hold onto his
mother’s limp hand when one of the men grabbed him, lifting his lithe body up
over his shoulder. He struggled, his limbs flailing as he tried to get back to
his mother—he didn’t want to leave her; to be taken away.
A sharp pain struck Stiles’ head, a warm liquid running cold through his hair.
He heard the men yelling as he started to go unconscious, one of them
chastising about orders for Stiles to be kept in one piece.
That was how Stiles came to Harrenhal. No memory. No family name. No hope of
escape.
Stiles was twelve when he was brought to the brothels as fresh entertainment.
He was thirteen when he was first offered up to the Animal—the soldier who rule
over Harrenhal. Stiles never knew his name, just his face—a face that haunted
his dreams for years after their last encounter. He cried every time the pimp
came to drag him from the safety of the older women’s rooms. He begged the man
to not leave him alone with the Animal again. His pleas fell on deaf ears.
Stiles realized that the less he struggled, the easier it was to close his eyes
and ignore the pain—to pretend that he was some place warm and bright, far away
from Harrenhal. He realized too that cooperation didn’t end with reprimand or
as many cuts and bruises.
The women did their best to hide Stiles from the pimp, knowing the reputation
of the Animal. They made up excuses for Stiles’ absence, feigning ignorance.
They would hide him in the secret compartments lining their walls that they
used to hide their own personal belongings from the pimp.
Stiles outgrew the hiding spot within a month, leaving him to hide under the
bed. The pimp found him after only a couple of times. Stiles had lost two
fingernails that day, snapping them off in the floorboards as he clawed at them
for purchase from the pimp yanking on his legs, tearing him away from the
safety of his hiding place. Those nails were just another injury to add to the
numbness he felt.
Animal, that was all Stiles ever referred to the man as. He was a brute—a
savage soldier who reigned over Harrenhal in the Argent name. And he took a
liking to Stiles the moment he arrived.
The Animal didn’t care if Stiles struggled—there wasn’t much for a child to do
in retaliation against a man of the Animal’s build. Stiles’ tears were always
silent, his sobs stuck in his throat. He would sometimes release a noise here
or there, knowing what sounds pleased the Animal, wishing that the noises would
make the Animal finish faster.
The women—the bastards forced to work there with no other hope of
survival—would rush into the room after the Animal left, collecting Stiles in
their arms in hopes of comforting him. The women cleaned him up, often times
sneaking him sweets from the kitchen that were meant for clients. They tried
their best to protect another innocent from being forced into their life.
Despite their best efforts, it all failed.
He would wait for the women to leave him, comforted by their goodnight kisses
and the way they would tuck him in, before he slipped under the mattress to
continue his written story. He hid the story in a small journal under the bed,
until the pimp had discovered it and burnt it in the hearth to force Stiles to
grow up and forget his delusions. Regardless, he wrote about a man—a noble,
brilliant fighter—who would storm Harrenhal’s walls. He would fight his way
through, countless soldiers by his side, before he fought the Animal. He would
kill him and free Stiles and the others. He knew it was a fairytale he made up
to make it all more bearable, but he was comforted by the hope that the man
would come find him.
It only took a few months for Stiles to lose his childlike hope that the noble
fighter would find him—would kill the Animal and stop the nightmares. He still
prayed to the gods to save him, though.
The gods answered Stiles’ prayers in a different way.
Stiles, along with several of the others, was transferred to Casterly Rock once
the Argents were made aware of just how many were dying in the brothels from
malicious neglect and violent intent at Harrenhal.
Days turned into weeks—weeks turned into months—before suddenly, years had
passed. Stiles was requested by regulars, he was adored by first-timers. His
body was accustomed to pleasing the desires of clients, practiced in putting on
an act. He felt numb to the idea of sex, performing it as a chore—a duty—rather
than the intimate act most clients pretended it was.
Then, the night came when a Prince of Dorne requested him.
Stiles was timid, somewhat scared to be lined up with the others so soon after
his last client. He ached, his body still soiled when the pimp had walked into
his room, pulling him by the arm to be inspected by the next client—Stiles
barely had enough time to grab his robe before being hauled away. He looked at
the others—three girls, two boys, and Stiles. He corrected his gaze to stare at
the floor when the pimp looked at him—he was desperate to not be reprimanded
this week.
“Prince Derek,” the pimp’s voice changed from his normally harsh tones to one
of flattery. “We’re honored to have you visit us.”
“I was curious,” a smooth voice answered the pimp.
“Many of our other girls and boys are busy,” the pimp explained to the prince.
“But these ones are some of our top workers.”
The prince didn’t answer the pimp, moving to look at the others as he paced
down the line.
Stiles’ stomach clenched and twisted with every sound of the prince’s steps. He
had hoped that he looked pathetic enough to not warrant attention from him.
Perhaps he looked pathetic enough that the prince would take one look and be
disgusted.
Stiles’ cheek was still inflamed from the way his previous client backhanded
him. He hadn’t bothered to cry out, knowing that the guards would be annoyed
that they had to check in on him before allowing the client to continue. He
wasn’t hurt enough to stop him from working—he just thought himself lucky that
there were at least guards that cared enough to look, unlike in Harrenhal. He
didn’t have enough time to inspect himself in the mirror, unsure if the mark
had reddened.
Stiles couldn’t stop himself from looking up when he heard the prince’s steps
stop in front of the last girl. He took in the prince’s appearance, taking note
of the finery of his clothes, the tanned tone of his skin. He couldn’t help but
notice the way the man held himself—calm, gentle in nature; the complete
opposite of their average client. He was too busy taking in the man’s features
to bother noticing that the prince had turned to look at him.
Stiles panicked when he locked eyes with the prince—with gorgeous green and
golden speckled eyes. He stared at him, wondering if a man that projected a
calm nature and held such a high status could be as cruel as the others had
been. He had become familiar with just how cruel their clients could be,
deriving a type of power play from holding a body beneath them. But a man of
the prince’s status didn’t need that power play—a prince had power already,
which made him wonder what the prince had left to desire.
The prince stood in front of Stiles, his eyes scanning Stiles’ face.
Stiles’ eyes briefly flickered to the pimp, noticing the look of anger and
clear reprimand that was boiling up there. He cast his eyes downward, knowing
that the damage was done, and if the prince didn’t take him, the pimp had plans
for him already.
Stiles’ stomach plummeted when the prince’s hand raised to touch his chin. He
allowed the prince to lift his chin up, forcing him to look at him.
The prince tilted his head to the side as he looked at Stiles’ face. It was
obvious by the look on the prince’s face that the mark on Stiles’ face was
showing.
Stiles released a small shiver when the prince’s thumb caressed his jawline,
moving his head with ease to inspect the mark. He held his breath when the
prince looked him in the eyes.
“Stiles is rather popular,” the pimp’s voice chimed in.
The prince ignored the man. “How old are you?” He asked Stiles, his fingers
falling away from Stiles’ chin.
Stiles took a deep breath, his voice unsteady as he honestly answered,
“Sixteen.”
The prince carefully observed Stiles. “Do you know who I am?”
Stiles knew he should have. Normally, he was informed of whom his client was—if
they were of important standing. It was a way of telling Stiles and the others
to treat the client better—to act out every desire and fantasy they had. “No,”
he answered, knowing the pimp would be unhappy with that answer.
“Are you afraid of me?” The prince asked, his eyes never leaving Stiles.
Stiles’ heart was pounding in his ears, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
He knew the pimp would want him to answer with a quip or flirtation. But Stiles
didn’t want to lie—not to the prince. And he couldn’t tell why. “No,” he
truthfully answered.
The prince looked as if he was listening for something additional to Stiles’
answer. His eyes flickered to Stiles’ chest before looking up at Stiles. He was
a little surprised—pleased but surprised—by Stiles’ answer.
The prince did not lay with Stiles that night. He did not call him to his bed.
He did not force him to do as he pleased. It was different from all that Stiles
knew.
It was the first night Stiles was able to slip into bed without worry. He
watched the prince as he went through letters and papers, almost as if the
prince didn’t know Stiles was in the room with him. He drifted in and out of
sleep, hugging the pillow as he draped his body across the bed, trying to watch
the prince throughout the passing hours. He memorized the sharp curves and
angles of the prince’s profile, imagining what it would feel like to be held by
a man such as him.
Stiles soundly slept through the night, his body exhausted and content to sleep
with the prince in such close proximity to him. When he woke, it was to the
gentle sway of one of the girls, Selene Snow, rocking him back and forth.
“Is it true?” Selene asked as Stiles started to stir.
“Is what true?” Stiles answered in question as he blinked himself awake, a
small yawn pulled from his body as he stretched.
“The prince,” Selene explained. “The prince bought you.”
“He bought me for the night, but we didn’t do anything,” Stiles replied,
slipping out from under the blankets. He was surprised he was allowed to sleep
in one of the beds reserved for clients. It was larger and comfier than his own
bed. The pimp never allowed them to linger for the night, only meant to satisfy
the client for as long as they paid before being put to work for another.
The prince had let him sleep the night through in the bed, leaving before he
could awaken to ask if he would tell the pimp that he didn’t touch Stiles.
Stiles was afraid of how the pimp would react to such a statement. He was
curious if the pimp would blame him, perhaps even demand that Stiles please the
prince for free.
“He purchased you from the pimp,” Selene elaborated, pulling Stiles from his
thoughts. “You’re to leave with him today—for King’s Landing.”
Stiles stared at Selene, partially confused by her words, yet hopeful that they
were accurate.
“Oh, Stiles,” Selene started as she moved in to hug him. “You’re so lucky.”
Stiles hugged her back, a small tug on his heart as he thought about what was
to come, and of those he was to leave behind.
                                      ~*~
Stiles was surprised by Derek’s civility towards him. He wasn’t accustomed to
being treated as a human being rather than an object.
Derek had given Stiles his own accommodations for the night. He went as far as
to help Stiles out of the carriage, taking his hand in his—it was the only time
Derek dared to touch Stiles. Stiles enjoyed the gentle and warm feeling of
Derek’s hand holding onto his.
Stiles was nervous when arriving at King’s Landing and the Red Keep. He
respectfully kept to himself, only speaking when spoken to while keeping his
eyes downcast. He was relieved when he realized that he wouldn’t be meeting the
Mad King or any other members of the royal family besides Derek’s sister and
her children. He was walking in the gardens when he heard the rushed pitter
patter of feet coming towards him.
Stiles was surprised when two young children came at him, startling him to a
stop by the roses. He smiled in greeting, allowing both children to excitedly
speak to him.
The two children were young, the eldest a girl. They both had white hair, like
their father—the fabled Last Dragon of Westeros. But their eyes were Hale
eyes—gorgeous spectrums of green and golden specks. They were kind and caring,
excited to meet Stiles—curious to catch sight of an outsider.
Stiles allowed both of the children to take him by the hand, pulling him
through the gardens to give him a tour. He tried to keep up with their
jabbering, his eyes drifting every now and then to look at Derek and Laura
standing on the balcony.
Dinner was slightly awkward, starting off with Stiles’ attempts to eat in the
kitchen. He grew even more wary when he was sat between Laura and her daughter,
Rhaenys. He kept his head down to keep from looking across the table at Derek
and Laura’s son, Aegon.
Laura’s eyes flickered from Stiles to Derek, a knowing smile pulled at her lips
as she hid it behind her goblet. She released a faint giggle when Aegon asked
if Derek was going to leave Stiles with them.
“I had hoped he’d accompany me to Dorne,” Derek answered.
“But why?” Aegon innocently questioned.
“Because I enjoy his company,” Derek honestly stated.
“Stiles, that’s not the right one,” Rhaenys suddenly stated as she leaned over
in her chair to watch him.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles apologized, once again setting his silverware down, unsure
how to continue. “I still don’t know which fork to use.” A small blush crept up
his neck in order to cover his cheeks.
“You don’t have to apologize, Stiles,” Laura stated before Derek could. “There
are too many forks for too many courses, anyways.”
“You work your way in,” Rhaenys’ soft voice chimed in.
Stiles turned to look at her, noticing how the young princess started to lean
over in her chair even further. He let the young princess poke the silverware
to show him.
“You start as far away from your plate as possible,” Rhaenys stated. “Because
you are working your way up to the bigger meal.”
Stiles nodded.
“The bigger meal isn’t always the better, so I take smaller bites to make it
look like I eat more,” Rhaenys admitted.
“Nys,” Laura spoke her name in reprimand.
“He might not like the food either,” Rhaenys complained with a huff.
“It’s very nice food,” Stiles stated in reassurance to Laura.
“Thank you, Stiles,” Laura answered.
The rest of the meal passed in amicable silence on his half, making him feel at
ease amongst the others as they caught up. He was surprised when Laura asked
him to escort her through the halls, leaving Derek and the children behind. He
kept his eyes downcast as he listened to Laura’s footsteps echoing with his
own.
“Are you enjoying your stay at King’s Landing?” Laura finally asked, keeping
pace beside Stiles.
“Yes, your majesty,” Stiles softly answered.
“I wouldn’t be offended if you weren’t,” Laura replied, a light laugh in her
voice as she turned to look at Stiles. “I disliked a great deal of King’s
Landing when I first arrived. I missed home. My family, my people—everything I
had come to know was suddenly far away and out of my reach.”
Stiles frowned as he listened to Laura’s words. “It sounds very sad,” he
commented.
“It was,” Laura confirmed. “But I had my husband, and his family soon became
mine, just as his people did. But there is always a part of me that will miss
Dorne, and my family.”
Stiles paused when Laura stopped, turning his body to look at her.
“I just want to make sure you are okay with leaving home behind,” Laura stated.
“My brother, while he is interested in you, would never force you to leave
something behind against your wishes.”
“With respect, your majesty,” Stiles started, choosing his words carefully.
“The prince has been overly kind to me—kindness that someone like me is not …
deserving of.”
Laura’s smile faltered, a small furrow drawing her eyebrows together. “My
brother does not show kindness where it is not earned.”
Stiles nibbled his bottom lip. “I’m afraid I’ve displeased him, somehow.”
Laura titled her head slightly, as if she was listening to Stiles’ words for a
lie—something detectable.
“He requires me to sleep in separate rooms from him,” Stiles explained. “He
doesn’t seem to take pleasure in having me near him.”
Laura raised her hand to cover her mouth, artfully hiding her smile from
Stiles. “I assure you,” she started, her laughter stifled. “Derek is asking you
to keep to separate rooms to make youcomfortable, not him.”
Stiles’ lips pulled into a pout as he pondered Laura’s words.
“Trust me,” Laura stated, moving forward to take Stiles’ hand in hers. “My
brother does hold a high regard for you—there is something about you that
piqued his interest. He doesn’t wish to impose himself on you, is all. He wants
you to feel comfortable, but also wants to spend time with you.”
“But I owe him—”
“Nothing,” Laura corrected Stiles. “You owe Derek, and my family, nothing.” She
reached a hand up, cupping Stiles’ cheek in her palm.
Stiles couldn’t stop himself from leaning into her hand, closing his eyes as he
let the small comfort wash over him. Safe, calming, maternal. It was a distant
memory—a relic he thought he lost forever from a long time ago.
“When you reach Dorne, Derek intends to free you,” Laura softly explained, her
thumb gently running along the days old welt just under Stiles’ cheekbone.
Stiles released a small sigh, the light ache disappearing. He opened his eyes
to reply, catching sight of what looked like darkened veins running up Laura’s
wrist and arm. Once he blinked, the lines had vanished—he ignored his
curiousness, and kept his observation to himself.
“My brother will free you when you reach Dorne,” Laura restated, allowing her
hand to fall from Stiles’ cheek. “What you do after that is up to you. Dorne is
… a gentler climate than the rest of Westeros. It is easier to thrive there.”
“I … I won’t know what to do,” Stiles admitted, casting his eyes downward. “How
to repay him.”
“I have faith you will figure it out,” Laura answered with a smile.
                                      ~*~
Leaving King’s Landing was difficult for Derek—Stiles could tell that much.
Derek held onto his niece and nephew, wiping their tears as they cried, begging
him to stay longer or to come back sooner. He placed a kiss on each of their
heads before moving to embrace Laura. He pressed his face into her shoulder,
his arms strongly wrapped around her back.
Laura held the back of Derek’s head, her fingers gentle and calming as they
stroked through his hair. She uttered a soft parting, weakly pulling away from
Derek. She pressed a quick kiss to Derek’s forehead before taking a step back,
herding her children in by her side. She nodded to Derek, a small smile pulling
on her lips as they watched him climb onto the boat prepared to bring them to
the ship.
Derek leaned his forearms against his knees, his hands twisted into tense fists
as he watched his sister and her children shrink with every stroke of the oars.
He didn’t want to leave Laura with Rhaegar—not with the unrest brewing in the
North. The armies were coming for the Mad King, and they wouldn’t see Laura as
a Hale, but as a Targaryen.
Derek tensed for a moment when he felt fingertips brush against his forearm.
His eyes quickly tracked the movement, discovering the owner to be none other
than Stiles.
Stiles offered Derek a weak smile, one of hopeful reassurance for whatever it
was plaguing Derek’s mind. He brushed his thumb against Derek’s skin, a small
gesture of comfort—one Stiles often found solace in. His smile brightened when
Derek moved his other hand to encase Stiles’, holding his hand against his arm.
Derek and Stiles shared the cabin for the voyage. Derek didn’t trust the
sailors around Stiles, knowing that Stiles suffered a great deal already at the
hands of wayward men and their lust. He was surprised when Stiles slipped into
bed with him. He ignored the way the sheets rumpled and rustled against Stiles’
body, the sound of the sheets moving across Stiles’ skin electrified Derek’s
senses. He pressed his eyes shut, slowly counting backwards in hopes of
crushing those small desires.
Derek wasn’t sure how long sleep had taken him, but he stirred when he felt a
foreign hand move across his torso. His mind was still groggy, embracing the
fantasy as he turned onto his back, his own hands seeking out the owner of the
fingertips dancing across his abdomen. He released a soft, content sigh, when a
light weight landed in his lap, a pair of strong legs straddling his hips.
Two hands traveled up Derek’s chest, fingers moving through his chest hair. A
pair of lips pressed kisses against Derek’s clavicle, moving down to shower
attention on him. Teeth nipped at his navel, a nose trailing low along the
inner curve of his hips.
In his sleepy state, Derek reached for the person, his hands grasping at loose
material as he gave into his dream. A warm body pressed up against his, deft
fingers making quick work of his trousers. A wet warmth enveloped his cock,
pulling a moan from his throat, his hips bucking up in appreciation. The warmth
was replaced by a tantalizing sensation twirling around the head of his
hardening cock.
Reality struck him, like a pail of ice water down his spine, when he recalled
that he wasn’t in bed alone—that it was possible that this dream wasn’t a dream
at all.
Stiles.
Derek sprung awake, recoiling his body from Stiles as he rose from the bed,
realizing that it wasn’t a dream at all. He pulled his trousers back on,
tucking himself away before pulling them tight. He turned to speak to Stiles,
almost regretting it.
Stiles was sitting in the middle of the bed, his robes open and barely held
together by the small sash around his waist. He let the material slip from his
shoulders, setting his pale skin on display, beauty marks cascading down his
torso. His lips were red and raw—telling Derek that he was pleasuring him a lot
longer than he was aware. His eyes were round saucers of confusion as he stared
at Derek, waiting for an explanation—or permission to continue.
“I don’t …” Derek paused, not knowing how to proceed. “That’s not what I wanted
from you.”
Stiles looked away from Derek, his eyebrows furrowing. His eyes scanned the
room, not catching sight of any oil. “I … I’m not prepped,” he shyly admitted
in defeat.
“Not … ” It was Derek’s turn for confusion.
“I didn’t know where there was oil,” Stiles explained.
“Stiles, that’s not what I want from you,” Derek quickly countered.
“I don’t understand,” Stiles answered. “You … you purchased me—this is what I
do.”
Derek turned his attention away from Stiles. “I bought you to keep you from
that life.”
Stiles looked away from Derek, trying to understand his meaning. He bit his
lip, slowly pulling his robe up to cover his shoulders. “Your sister said that
you liked me.”
“My sister … ” Derek closed his eyes, running a hand over his features as he
muttered a curse in Dornish.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles stated, not knowing what to say. He had angered the prince,
now he was sure to send him back to Casterly Rock—or worse, Harrenhal. Images
of the Animal came flooding back, causing Stiles’ heart to panic. His heartbeat
quickened as he moved to the edge of the bed. His hastiness caused him to
tumble off of the bed and onto the floor.
Derek caught Stiles before he could fall to the floor. “Careful!”
“Please don’t send me back to Casterly Rock,” Stiles begged, unable to hear
Derek’s concern. He moved to clutch a handful of Derek’s trousers as he
remained kneeling on the ground. “The pimp— he’ll send me back to Harrenhal!
Please don’t send me back to Harrenhal.”
“Stiles, I’m not sending you anywhere,” Derek quickly explained, moving to
kneel beside the boy.
“I’ll be better,” Stiles promised.
“You’re already better than you need to be,” Derek answered, taking Stiles’
hands in his. “I’m not sending you back, Stiles. I’m freeing you.”
“I can’t go back,” Stiles mumbled. “The Animal said he’d be waiting— I can’t go
back to the Animal.” He pressed forward into Derek’s embrace. He closed his
eyes as he clung to Derek.
Derek held Stiles against his chest, running his hand over the back of the
boy’s head as he tried to soothe him. He repeated that he wasn’t going to send
Stiles away; he uttered how he didn’t want to share his bed with Stiles—not
unless Stiles realized what it meant to willingly consent to sexual acts. Not
unless Stiles realized that there was more to sex than just him giving the
pleasure.
                                      ~*~
Stiles was shocked to find that Derek was a father when they reached Dorne.
A little girl, around three, came running out to meet the ship. She giggled and
squealed when Derek picked her up, hugging him tightly in her small arms.
Derek showered her in kisses—actual ones and whisker ones. He laughed when she
pretended to be repulsed by such an act.
Stiles fondly smiled as he watched the girl excitedly tell Derek about what he
missed. How her sister—Derek’s youngest daughter—was already making noises that
sounded like words.
The girl’s hurried words stopped when her eyes fell on Stiles. She stared at
him, furrowing her eyebrows before looking at Derek.
“Did you bring me another sibling?” The girl asked.
“Does he look young enough to be your sibling?” Derek replied in question.
“He’s not going to give me a sibling?” The girl questioned.
Derek stifled his laughter. “Men can’t produce babies—only mommies can.”
“Is he here to play with us, then?” The girl questioned, crossing her arms over
her chest as she impatiently waited for Derek to give her an answer.
“Why don’t you ask him?” Derek questioned back.
The girl ran up to Stiles, halting as she remembered her manners. She bowed to
him before introducing herself with practiced words. “I am Isabela Sand, a
daughter of the Red Viper of Dorne, a child of a prince of Dorne.” She
courtesied once before suddenly straightening herself and asking, “Are you
staying with us?”
Stiles looked from Isabela to Derek, unsure what his response was supposed to
be. He frowned when Derek didn’t offer a hint. He looked back at Isabela. “What
happens if I stay?”
“You get to play with me and my sister—Mariana,” Isabela stated. “Although, I
call her Ana. My friends call me Bel. You can call me Bel.”
Stiles offered her a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Bel. I would be happy to
stay with you.”
Bel smiled, taking Stiles hand and pulling him towards the crowd of people.
“You can meet my grandmother—Queen Talia. Then I can take you to see Ana. Oh!
And the Water Gardens!”
Stiles looked over his shoulder to Derek, curious if it was alright that Bel
was pulling him forward. He felt at ease when Derek offered him a fond smile.
Stiles had become a normal occupant of the Dorne Palace—Sunspear. He lived in
the private quarters—in one of Derek’s many rooms. He looked after Bel and Ana,
spending a great deal of time with them, watching them grow and prosper. He was
overly delighted when he experienced Ana’s first steps with Derek.
Derek kept his word, never seeking Stiles out for any other reason but social
companionship. Many evenings were spent sharing leisurely strolls through the
palace halls together.
As time passed, it became easier for Stiles to open up to Derek, smiling and
laughing with him. He told Derek very little about his time spent at the
brothels—telling him enough to prompt Derek into offering to teach him self
defense.
Derek showed Stiles how to use a small dagger, instructing him on how to move
with enough speed to ensure a victory.
“I’m not as strong as I look,” Stiles commented.
“Strength means nothing when you have speed,” Derek answered, moving to
sparring dummy back into place. He moved to stand behind Stiles, resuming his
hold on Stiles’ hands.
Stiles rotated the dagger in his hold until it rested comfortably in his palm.
He let Derek wrap his fingers around his hand—fitting perfectly together as if
they belonged there. He moved with ease as Derek showed him the motions to go
through, Derek’s chest pressed firmly against his back. He suppressed the
shudder that ran through his body, wanting to feel more of Derek’s body pressed
up against him.
Stiles turned his head to look at Derek. His nose almost brushed against
Derek’s cheek, the small hairs of Derek’s beard tickling against the tip of his
nose as he looked up at Derek.
Derek barely turned his head to look at Stiles, his eyes capturing Stiles’. His
eyes searched Stiles’ as he lightened his hold on him.
“Thank you,” Stiles managed to utter, his body leaning into Derek’s, not
wanting to lose the contact between them.
Derek’s lips parted, about to speak when he halted himself. He nodded,
releasing Stiles from his hold, pulling away from the warmth of Stiles’ body.
                                      ~*~
Stiles was playing with Bel in the Water Gardens, securely holding Ana in his
arms as he pretended to not be able to outrun Bel. He laughed as Bel caught
him, her own giggles loudly erupting throughout the gardens, followed by Ana’s.
Stiles startled when a scream ripped through Sunspear’s halls, the guards
suddenly alert. He turned to look in the direction of the wailing, putting
himself as a wall between whatever made the noise and the girls. He followed
the guards’ orders, bringing both girls to their rooms. He gently hushed Ana
when she started to cry, wishing the loud disruption to end.
Stiles reluctantly left Bel and Ana behind, leaving them under the watch of the
guards. His footsteps were quick, hurrying down the hallway and towards the
conference room—the main room guests were greeted in upon entering the palace.
The noises only grew louder the closer he got.
Stiles’ steps halted once he entered the room, catching sight of both Talia and
Derek. It was Talia who had screamed the palpable mixture of emotions that
shook through the entire palace—heartache, bereavement, anger. He noticed that
Talia was kneeling, her hands solid against the ground as if she had just
finished beating the marble floor. His eyes moved to Derek, watching him
standing remarkably still, his fists clenched to the point of his knuckles
turning white. Stiles moved his gaze to look at the wrapped bundles in front of
them.
There was a large bundle flanked by two smaller ones placed on the marble in
front of Talia and Derek. As Stiles took a few small, unsure steps closer, he
realized that the bundles, whatever they held, were wrapped in Argent cloaks—a
silver lion flanked by cold blue velvet. The larger bundle was wrapped in the
white and gold cloak of the Kingsguard.
Stiles’ footsteps stuttered when he finally figured it out. He covered his
mouth with his hand, uncertain if he was going to cry out or vomit. He had
grown accustomed to the smell of corpses while living in Harrenhal—the Animal
had stunk of death every time he visited Stiles. Stiles released his sobs when
he recognized the white hair falling from the two smaller bundles—Rhaenys and
Aegon. Which meant that the lager was their mother. “Laura,” Stiles’ voice was
weak, almost a faint whisper.
None of them had moved for a while—Stiles wasn’t sure how long. Derek was the
first to leave, his steps quick and determined as he left the bodies behind.
Stiles helped Talia to her chambers, holding her arm as he escorted her in her
catatonic state.
It had taken Talia a few days to recover. Derek, on the other hand, had been
gone from Sunspear for more than a week. Every day, Derek’s absence became an
increasingly noticeable wound.
Stiles watched over Bel and Ana until Bel asked him when she could see her
father. He decided that if he was going to act, now would be the time. He asked
more than one guard, following clues here and there until he found his way to
Dorne’s fighting pit.
Dorne’s fighting pit was nothing like the fighting pits in Slaver’s Bay. Talia
had allowed the fighting pit to remain open as a way of acting out trials by
combat. The only difference the fighting pit had was that the pit supplied a
champion of justice while no champion was chosen by the accused. The convicted
criminals had to fight against the champion of justice, potentially winning
their own freedom not at the cost of someone else’s life.
Stiles wasn’t surprised when a handful of guards told him that Derek was seen
there. He had recalled the stories floating around the brothels when the prince
of Dorne was rumored to be visiting Casterly Rock.
The Red Viper of Dorne—a fighter of untold talent, speed and agility that no
other could match. But it wasn’t just any fighter—a pair of fighters. They
moved as one, identical in every attack. Sometimes, the Red Viper was thought
to morph into one, the fighters moved with such ease, becoming undefeated in
the fighting pit.
Stiles wasn’t surprised when Laura had confirmed the stories. She told Stiles
about the fighting pit; about how Derek and her fought as a team, deciding to
give themselves a single name—a name credited to their lethality. She joked
with Stiles that Derek was probably getting rusty without her there to fight
with him.
Stiles looked away for most of the fight, not wishing to watch Derek easily
slaughtering every wave of criminal that ran at him. He always looked back to
see Derek as the victor, relieved to see him still standing—covered in the
blood of his opponents, completely unharmed. He startled during the last round,
clearly catching the way Derek had limped out of the fighting arena.
Stiles made his way back to the private rooms reserved for tending to the
wounded. He ignored some of the guards completely, looking for Derek. It didn’t
matter that Stiles was clearly an outsider, not when he was wearing a pendant
with the Hale emblem. And the moment the people saw that Stiles was walking
with purpose and the Hale emblem hanging from his neck, they moved out of his
way.
Derek had undressed to his trousers, using one of the washcloths to start
wiping the grime and blood from his body. He barely looked up when Stiles
entered the room. “I don’t recall sending for you,” he stated, keeping his
attention on himself.
“You were hurt,” Stiles stated, standing his ground.
“I’m fine,” Derek replied.
“You were limping,” Stiles corrected him.
“And now I’m fine,” Derek firmly stated.
Stiles carefully eyed Derek. “I don’t know how you are fine when you clearly
had that blade slice through your thigh.” He paused as he waited for Derek to
answer. “There is still a hole in your trousers from the blade mark.”
Derek looked down, shaking his head when he saw the ripped fabric.
“You look …” Stiles paused, observing the way Derek’s skin looked fine, his leg
not profusely bleeding as it should from such a wound. “You don’t have a wound
anymore.”
“I healed,” Derek stated, moving to take a seat on the couch.
“That’s … impossible,” Stiles softly stated.
“I would prefer to have this conversation at another time, Stiles,” Derek
started, moving to rest his head in his hands as he took a deep breath.
Stiles hesitated before uttering, “Okay.” He watched Derek, waiting for him to
reply. He sighed, knowing that it was now or never. “When are you coming back
to Sunspear?”
“I don’t know,” Derek curtly replied.
Stiles watched Derek, his hand moving to play with the Hale pendant around his
neck. He recalled the day Derek had given it to him. It was only a few weeks
after his arrival. Derek told Stiles that it would ensure his protection
throughout Dorne—that no matter where he was, that pendant showed him as a
friend of the Hale family and was to be protected in their name. Stiles had
stared at it in confusion. He knew his parents more than likely had given his
gifts before, but he could not recall ever receiving a gift before. He
cherished the pendant, keeping it around his neck at all times.
Derek had protected him, and now Stiles wished he could do the same—even if it
was protecting Derek from his own thoughts.
“I know it hurts—”
“No, you don’t,” Derek snapped, looking up at Stiles with a heated passion.
Stiles almost flinched, never having Derek look at or speak to him in such a
manner. He carefully kept Derek’s gaze, unwilling to look away from him.
“You don’t know what it’s like to lose your sister—your twin—and her children
because a coward deemed it necessary to murder them,” Derek lowly stated,
tearing his eyes away from Stiles as he placed his head back in his hands.
“You’re right,” Stiles admitted. “I don’t know what that is like.” He gently
nibbled the bottom of his lip. “I was with my mother when she died … I think. I
can’t even remember it correctly. I can’t even recall her face sometimes.” He
paused, looking down at his hands as he fiddled with the front folds of his
cloak.
“There was this girl,” Stiles started, his heart already swelling at the
memory. “She was only fourteen to my twelve when I was brought to Harrenhal.
She had been working since she was eleven.” He closed his eyes, grimacing at
the memories. “She had blonde hair, and kind green eyes. Danika.” He opened his
eyes, turning to look at the wall in hopes that he wouldn’t cry. “One night, a
group of soldiers wanted both of us to …” He drew in a deep breath. “One of
them held Danika down, clasping her throat too tightly as they … They pressed
too hard and killed her. The worst part was that she didn’t die right away.”
Hot tears prickled Stiles eyes as he recalled the way Danika’s breathing
wheezed out of her throat.
Stiles had tried to tell them to stop. He tried to beg them to tell the pimp.
The man holding him down just pressed his face into the mattress even harder in
an attempt to shut him up. Stiles was forced to watch in horror as Danika grew
weaker and weaker, life slipping from her eyes.
“I was looking at her when she died,” Stiles finally admitted. He wiped his
tears away with the back of his hand. “Sometimes, people take people away from
us, and we can’t do anything about it. And it hurts to know that you’re still
alive while they’re not.” He looked at Derek, his sight blurry from his tears.
“I know this makes you feel closer to Laura, and I understand the appeal. But
you’re not helping anyone by risking your life down here. You could try living
long enough to get revenge for her and the children—justice, even.”
Derek remained silent as he watched Stiles, his eyes careful and calculating as
he latched onto every word Stiles spoke.
“We miss you,” Stiles finally confessed. “Your daughters miss you. Your mother
misses you.” He looked down out of shame, knowing he wasn’t supposed to feel
anything for Derek. “I miss you.”
Stiles didn’t shy away when Derek stood to move closer to him. His eyes fell to
Derek’s feet, studying his boots carefully. He let Derek place his hand beneath
his chin, slowly lifting his head up to look at Derek. He saw a wavering
understanding there—heartbreak and compassion. “We just want you to come home.”
Derek moved to gently embrace Stiles, wrapping his arms around him. He buried
his nose in Stiles’ hair, inhaling the scent of home—a mixture of Sunspear, Bel
and Ana, but mostly just Stiles. He didn’t realize how much he was missing this
until going more than a day without Stiles around him.
Stiles closed his eyes as he wrapped his arms around Derek, pressing his face
into his shoulder. He allowed a few sobs to shudder through his chest as he
clung to Derek.
“I’m sorry,” Derek stated against Stiles’ hair. “I won’t leave again.”
Stiles managed to bring Derek back to Sunspear that night. He walked with Derek
to their rooms, removing his cloak before retrieving a basin and pitcher of
water. He placed a clean washcloth in the basin, submerging it in the water. He
wrung the cloth out as Derek removed his shirt.
Stiles looked at Derek before he gently took hold of Derek’s wrist, lifting his
arm up to put on display for him. He began to wipe the cloth across Derek’s
muscles, cleaning the blood and dirt that Derek had missed back at the pit.
Derek watched Stiles, detailing the determination covering his features as he
focused on cleaning Derek’s body. He allowed Stiles to move him any way he
wanted, his body pliant to Stiles’ whims.
Stiles kept his heartbeat calm and under control as he watched the cloth
collect the blood from Derek’s skin. He wrung the cloth out several times
before he finally reached Derek’s stomach. He ran the cloth along the contours
of Derek’s abdomen, tracing the dips of his muscles. His motions slowed as he
reached the top of Derek’s trousers. He looked up at Derek, noticing the way he
was watching him.
They stared at one another, not sure how to continue—if either one had doubts
about continuing.
Stiles allowed the cloth to fall from Derek’s body, setting it on the lip of
the basin. His fingers slipped into the laces of Derek’s trousers, slowly
undoing them. He watched Derek for any movement of protest, carefully
continuing in their unspoken consent when Derek offered a faint nod.
Derek let Stiles kneel in front of him, lifting his foot when Stiles undid his
boots. He noticed the way Stiles’ hair had grown since being in Dorne, part of
it falling against his forehead now as he focused on slipping Derek’s boots
from his feet.
Stiles stood once he discarded Derek’s boots, moving his hands to touch the top
of Derek’s trousers once more. He looked at Derek, waiting for permission to
remove the material from his body.
Derek nodded, his voice evading him for once.
Stiles easily pushed the material down, gently slipping Derek’s feet out of the
pant legs. He grabbed the basin, once more submerging the cloth in the water.
He pressed the cloth to Derek’s thigh, rubbing down and over where he had seen
the sword slice through. He focused on the way the water almost rolled in
droplets through Derek’s hair, dedicating himself to wiping down every inch of
his skin.
Derek watched Stiles as his fingers traced the skin where the wound was less
than a few hours ago. He reached down, his fingertips brushing through Stiles’
hair before moving to cup his cheek. His breath caught in his throat as soon as
Stiles pressed into his palm, welcoming of his touch.
Stiles looked up at Derek through his eyelashes, a light pink dusting his
cheeks. His breathing was quick but steady as he waited for Derek to make a
move to accept him.
As if he had heard Stiles’ thoughts, Derek reached down to hold Stiles’ arm,
helping him up off of his knees. He held Stiles close as he stood, all the
while keeping eye contact with him. He hesitated in pushing forward, wanting to
finally kiss Stiles after all this time.
Stiles darted forward, pressing his lips against Derek’s, dropping the cloth to
the floor. He reached his hands up to cup Derek’s face. He released a soft moan
as he opened his mouth to Derek, pushing their bodies together.
The kiss was indescribable. Stiles lost himself in it, clinging to Derek for an
anchor in a storm of emotion. He focused on the feeling of Derek’s hands
embracing his body, the warmth of Derek’s body holding him close soothed him.
He moved his hands from Derek, investing his lips and tongue in their kiss as
he began to undo his clothes.
Derek slowed their fevered kisses to languid ones, his hands holding Stiles’
hips when he felt his clothes rustle. He pulled back, watching as Stiles
discarded his clothes in eased haste. He grabbed Stiles’ trousers just as they
started to fall. He held them at Stiles’ hips, keeping a last barrier between
them.
Stiles clutched Derek’s biceps, closing his eyes with anticipation.
“Stiles,” Derek softly called his name, his voice raw with desire. “Are you
sure?”
Stiles pulled his head back from Derek, carefully scanning his features. He
furrowed his eyebrows in question.
“Are you sure you want this?” Derek restated.
Stiles’ lips parted, the words on the tip of his tongue. His words were paused
when he pressed another kiss to Derek’s lips, his tongue easing Derek’s lips
open. His teeth gently nipped Derek’s bottom lip when he pulled back. “I want
you,” he stated against Derek’s lips. “I want you inside me.”
Derek released his grip on Stiles’ trousers, allowing them to fall to the
ground in favor of holding onto Stiles. He brushed a kiss against Stiles’ lips,
testing to further guarantee that Stiles was interested in continuing.
Stiles, for his part, clung to Derek as they pressed together. He never felt
like this before—never before knowing what it meant to choose.
That night meant everything to them both. It wasn’t rushed or awkward as their
bodies molded together perfectly. Derek laid Stiles out on the bed, soft words
spoken against his pale skin as Derek nipped and kissed here and there. He
eased Stiles into the contact, smiling into his skin every time a moan escaped
his lips, relishing in the feeling of Stiles’ fingers in his hair.
Stiles’ body twisted and turned with the pleasure Derek was giving him. His
hands fisted the sheets as his hips elevated to where Derek wanted them. He
forced his eyes open to look at Derek, his breath catching as he watched Derek
head slowly bob, his entire body lounging between Stiles’ trembling thighs as
his fingers prepped him.
Stiles cried when he came with Derek’s lips wrapped around him. His shaking
hands covered his face as he sobbed, muttering apologies to Derek. He let Derek
pull him into his embrace, crumbling against Derek’s chest as he waited for his
tears to subside.
“Did you enjoy it?” Derek finally asked, his hands trailing along Stiles’ back
to comfort him.
“I did,” Stiles softly answered.
“You don’t have to apologize for that,” Derek replied.
Stiles reached for Derek, kissing him as his body came down from his euphoric
high. He let Derek roll him onto his back, his thighs housing Derek’s hips as
they kissed. He wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders, running his hands
across his back, clutching at his shoulder blades.
It was in the late hours of the morning when Stiles impatiently lifted his hips
in invitation for Derek to continue. He pressed kisses to Derek’s face as he
slipped inside him. He moaned against the dull ache, his body almost forgetting
the service it supplied to countless men for almost half a decade before. But
this was different.
Derek was gentle and calm, his hips canting in small thrusts as if to test how
Stiles’ body would react. His breath was warm, panting against Stiles’ skin as
he buried his face in Stiles’ throat, his moans vibrating from his chest to
Stiles’.
Stiles clung to Derek, his hands running down Derek’s back as he moved in time
with Derek’s thrusts. He couldn’t stop the small noises Derek pulled from his
throat. His hands gripped Derek’s ass, pulling him in deeper, moaning at the
feeling of Derek moving inside him. He pressed his head back into the pillow,
panting as he drew closer and closer to coming once more.
Derek lifted his chest off of Stiles, giving him more room to breath. His arms
locked against the bed by Stiles’ torso as he watched Stiles fall apart beneath
him.
Stiles hooked his legs around Derek’s thighs, partially laughing when his feet
lightly kicked Derek’s ass.
Derek couldn’t help but smiling in return to Stiles’ heartfelt laughter. He
leaned down, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ lips.
Stiles ran his hands over Derek’s chest, his nails scraping down Derek’s skin.
He let one hand fall from Derek to wrap around his own neglected cock. He
released a pleased whimper, the contact feeling perfect as Derek continued to
thrust into him. He moaned against Derek’s lips as he climaxed, Derek’s name
softly falling from his tongue.
Derek clung to Stiles, his own climax hitting him only a few moments after
Stiles’. He clamped his eyes shut, desperate to stay in control.
Stiles sighed, his head spinning as he pressed a kiss to Derek’s temple, his
legs falling open against the bed. He thought he heard the sound of fabric
tearing when Derek came, Derek’s fists wrapped around the sheets as a small
guttural moan growled from his chest. He ran his fingers through Derek’s hair,
hoping to ease him in their shared afterglow.
Derek pressed a fond kiss against Stiles’ chest before pulling back. He rolled
onto his side, giving Stiles room enough to breathe. He fell against the
pillows, arranging himself on his back as he listened to Stiles’ heartbeat
slow, his breathing evening out as his eyes fluttered shut.
“Should clean up,” Stiles weakly mumbled, his limbs practically sprawled across
the bed.
“Sleep,” Derek instructed, leaning over to place a gentle kiss to Stiles’ lips.
“I’ll clean up.”
Stiles mumbled a noise of agreement. He awoke to arms wrapped around him, the
light barely pouring into the room from the balcony’s opened doors. He sleepily
turned into the warmth of the body behind him, twisting in the sheets in order
to see Derek’s head resting against the pillow. He smiled to himself, snuggling
as close as he could to Derek, pressing his face into Derek’s chest. He never
wanted to leave Derek’s arms, enjoying the way they held him close, keeping him
safe and warm.
It didn’t take much for Derek to wake, hyper aware of Stiles’ movements as he
turned in bed. He was more than happy to remain in bed, allowing Stiles to use
his chest as a pillow as his fingertips traced along Stiles’ spine.
“Your leg healing,” Stiles finally broke the silence, his curiosity growing to
be too much. “Does it have to do with your eyes?”
Derek’s fingers halted, his body immediately frozen as soon as the question
left Stiles’ mouth.
“They flashed blue,” Stiles stated, placing his hand over Derek’s heart.
Derek hesitated as he thought of how to address the question. He sighed before
uttering, “Yes. They’re connected.”
Stiles nodded against Derek’s chest. “Okay.” He nibbled on his bottom lip
before continuing. “If you aren’t ready to tell me … I’m okay with that. But,
I’d like to know—someday.”
Derek confessed. The words were heavy, drying up in his throat as he thought
about Stiles pulling away—of Stiles leaving him and the girls behind. The words
sounded ridiculous, uttering them aloud.
Stiles looked up at Derek, lifting his head from Derek’s chest. He looked at
him, evaluating his features as if to detect a lie. “You’re … serious.”
Derek refused to look Stiles in the eyes as he nodded his head.
“Was … was Laura one?”
Another nod. “And my mother, and the girls.”
Stiles placed his head back on Derek’s chest, his thoughts racing. “Does anyone
else know?”
Derek dared placing his hand on Stiles’ back, wanting to keep him close. He
swallowed the lump in his throat as he answered, “No—just you.” He couldn’t
stand the way the silence grew between them. “I know it’s a lot for me to
suddenly think you’ll believe me—”
“Can you change into a wolf?” Stiles asked out of curiosity.
Derek’s lips crushed together, knowing that this was going to happen. “Yes … I
can.”
“Are you bigger than a normal wolf?” Stiles asked. “Not that I’ve seen an
actual wolf, but I hear they are roughly the same size as dogs. But it would
make more sense if you were a bigger wolf.”
Derek released a bitter sigh, almost wrenching his body from Stiles as he
slipped out of bed. He grabbed his robes, slipping them on to loosely tie along
his waist as he halted to a stop away from the bed.
“Derek, what’s wrong?” Stiles asked as he sat up, quizzically watching Derek
keep his distance. He didn’t think he spoke out of line or poorly to warrant
such behavior.
Derek turned to look at Stiles, catching sight of the way the boy wrapped his
arms around his knees in order to hug them to his chest. “Yes, I can turn into
a wolf, and yes it is bigger than others. Yes, I turn into an animal.”
Stiles flinched at the mention of ‘animal,’ his mind immediately flashing back
to Harrenhal—to the Animal. And he didn’t want this tainted by those
memories—he didn’t want Derek tainted by memories of that vile creature.
“You’re not an animal,” he stated, trying to settle his heartbeat.
“I can hear your heart racing—I know how frightened you are right now,” Derek
countered.
“I’m not afraid of you,” Stiles weakly answered.
Derek remained silent as he watched Stiles, waiting for an explanation—a chance
to discover the lie.
“A man at Harrenhal,” Stiles started, his shoulders slightly shaking as he
recalled everything about the same room he was locked in with the Animal almost
every night. The itchiness of the ratty old mattress, one of the finer ones in
the brothel, still haunting his skin. The cracks in the walls that eyes peeked
through to watch the Animal take him. The creaking bed frame that answered
Stiles’ tears and pleas for it to all stop. “The pimp gave me to him—he liked
me the moment he saw me. He … He’s an animal. I never knew his name, so I just
called him what I knew about him. I called him the Animal.” He looked up at
Derek, his eyes glassy with tears. “Please don’t call yourself that—you’re
nothing like that. Even with the ability to turn into a wolf, you’re still …
more human than anyone else I’ve known, Derek.”
Derek moved to go back to Stiles—to collect him in his arms and promise him
that he’d never have to worry about Harrenhal or that man again. He wanted to
protect Stiles, still conscious of the way he couldn’t even protect his sister.
He didn’t want to lose anyone else—he didn’t want anyone else thinking they
could be lost. He hovered by the edge of the bed, carefully watching the way
Stiles wiped the tears from his eyes.
“You … believe me,” Derek stated, his voice quiet in disbelief.
“Why would you lie to me about that?” Stiles asked, looking up at Derek through
tear stained eyelashes.
Stiles’ eyes widened when he watched Derek shift, amazed at how Derek’s skin
gave way to black fur. He released a faint squeak of surprise when Derek jumped
up onto the bed beside him.
The bed dipped under the weight of Derek’s paws pressing down on the mattress.
Derek’s wolf form was bigger than most dogs, almost towering over Stiles as he
sat on the bed next to him.
Stiles reached a hand up, his fingers itching to feel the fur. His hand paused,
looking Derek in the eyes. “May I?” He shyly asked with his hand outstretched.
Derek moved his head, pressing into the palm of Stiles’ hand.
Stiles smiled as he moved his hand through Derek’s fur. “You’re beautiful,” he
muttered to himself, not entirely intending on Derek hearing him. He laughed
when Derek playfully licked at his face, trying to rid him of his tears.
“That’s gross, don’t lick me with your freakishly long tongue.”
Derek released a playful growl, pushing Stiles over to nuzzle.
Stiles couldn’t help his loud laughter, doing a poor job at fending off Derek’s
attempts.
Derek’s heart swelled. He wanted to bask in Stiles’ scent for eternity. He
wanted to keep him safe—to protect him from all the horrors in the world.
It wasn’t until that night, with Stiles sound asleep in his arms, that Derek
realized what was happening. While over the years he fell in love with Stiles,
his wolf had chosen its mate. His arms tightened around Stiles, drawing him in
closer to his chest as he made a silent vow. He’d never let another person
touch him again—he’d never let someone harm him again.
Derek fell asleep to the soft beating of Stiles’ heart, his nose filled with
Stiles’ scent. And for the first time in his life, his wolf was at ease.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Per some comments and suggestions, I have broken the story into two
     chapters to make it easier to keep place and pacing wise.
     It is the same story, just cut into two chapters :)
                                      ~*~
Fifteen Years Later …
They had ignored the Argent’s invitation to join them in the Red Keep. Derek
didn’t trust them, and Stiles preferred to be where the walls didn’t breathe
danger. They decided to spend their time in the brothels, Stiles almost finding
a strange sort of comfort being in one again, this time being at ease with
Derek by his side. Stiles appeared as happy as Derek did in watching him relax
for the first time since they left Dorne.
“You pick,” Derek stated, moving to sit next to Stiles on the reclining couch.
Stiles smiled at Derek, knowing what he wanted as he pulled the goblet from his
lips and moved to stand. His eyes scanned the three girls lined in front of
them, catching the details in their posture and clothing.
Each girl was made to look a different part and stereotype. Timid, sultry,
aggressive. Stiles had seen the acts before. He noticed when a prostitute was
willing to partake and when one was not. He was also overly aware of the cruel
reprimand they often faced for not being welcoming enough of the patrons.
Stiles’ eyes fell on the voluptuous girl in the middle, catching sight that her
eyes were focused strongly on the floor by Derek’s feet. He moved to stand in
front of her, reaching a hand out to lift her chin up. He gave her a kind smile
when her eyes looked upon his face.
“Are you afraid?” Stiles asked, watching the slight shock and misunderstanding
cloud the girl’s eyes.
The man made a move to keep the girl from answering. “With respect, my lord —”
Stiles scoffed, his eyes looking back to Derek. “Did you tell them to call me
that?”
Derek smiled back, shaking his head. “I believe they say it’s a formality
here.”
Stiles turned to look at the man—the pimp—once more. “I’m a Sand—not considered
a true one, but still considered one,” he sighed. “No need to call me something
I’m not.” He looked back at the girl.
“Are you new to this?” Stiles asked.
The girl offered a small nod, unsure if she was supposed to answer truthfully.
“Would you like to join us?” Stiles asked. “My lover more often than not likes
to watch, but he sometimes joins—he’s gentler than he looks.”
The girl’s eyes flickered to Derek before returning to Stiles. She offered
another faint nod of acceptance.
Stiles smiled at her, taking her hand in his as he lead her back towards the
couch. He sat down, releasing his hold on her as he leaned back into Derek. He
released a faint sound of approval when Derek moved part of his vest to place a
series of kisses on his bare shoulder. He looked up at the girl, noticing how
her eyes moved to linger on Derek, watching his lips caress Stiles’ skin.
“Will that be all, my lord?” The man asked Derek, seeming to ignore Stiles
since his correction.
“I’m a prince, not a lord,” Derek replied, catching onto the man’s disdain for
Stiles.
Derek couldn’t help how he reacted in kind to such actions—he was vindictive
when it came to correcting someone else’s negative remarks in relation to
Stiles. “But it seems that you don’t often call people by their titles here.”
He commented, gently nipping the top curve of Stiles’ collarbone. “The other
girls can leave,” he stated before the man could speak. “You can leave us, as
well.”
The girl kept her eyes on Stiles and Derek, conscious of the way the other
girls scurried out and the man exited.
Stiles took her hand in his once more, pulling her attention from the man.
“He’s a brute, is he not?”
The girl’s blush was the only answer Stiles received.
“Tell me, have you been with multiple men at once?” Stiles asked.
“Yes, but … not at the same time,” the girl answered. “It was one after the
other.”
Stiles frowned at that, turning his head to look at Derek. “Why can’t you buy
an entire brothel for me to save these poor, beautiful creatures from this
life?”
“Would an entire brothel make you more tamed?” Derek asked as he moved to kiss
and bite at Stiles’ neck.
“No,” Stiles answered.
“Then no, I won’t buy you one,” Derek commented against Stiles’ skin.
“You like that about me,” Stiles moaned.
“True,” Derek answered, running his hand down Stiles’ torso, his fingers
brushing against Stiles’ cock.
Stiles turned his eyes onto the girl, noticing that she was intently watching
them—a glimmer of attraction and desire flickering in her eyes. “Would you like
to know pleasure?” He asked, letting his head fall back to give Derek access to
his throat as he kept his eyes on the girl. “If you do,” he started, patting a
gentle hand against the cushion beside him. “Have a seat.”
The girl pondered the invitation, only hesitating for a moment before moving to
sit beside Stiles. She moved to push into Stiles’ waiting arms. She let Stiles
touch her, allowing his hands to move across her body, settling on her hips.
“You’re as soft and timid as a little dove,” Stiles commented, catching the way
the girl tried to hide her uncertainty. “We won’t harm you,” he uttered, moving
to place a chaste kiss against the girl’s lips. “My lover, he usually likes to
watch. But I think he may like you—may even like how you look between us.”
A pleased shiver ran through the girl’s body as she let Stiles push her back
onto the couch, willingly opening her legs for him to settle between. His lips
moved across the girl’s delicate skin, sucking on different pressure points as
he made his way down her body, easily slipping the material off of her. “If you
wish us to stop, you only need say it. Any time you want.”
Stiles pushed the loose material up the girl’s body, pressing a kiss just under
her navel. His nose dragged against her skin as he moved with the intent to go
down on her. He trailed a series of kisses over her stomach first, his fingers
moving to slip between her thighs. He smiled against her skin when she moaned,
her hips curling up in approval as she tried to move against Stiles’ fingers.
It didn’t take long for the girl to be moaning loudly, her hips rolling in
unison with the deft movement of Stiles’ fingers. Stiles licked and lapped at
her nipples, showering attention on every inch of the girl.
Stiles tried to keep his mind about him as Derek worked him up. He was sitting
in Derek’s lap, both of them technically between the girl’s thighs. He was
grinding down against Derek, pressing the side of his head against Derek’s. He
released a whimper every now and again, whenever Derek decided to wrap his hand
around Stiles’ clothed cock, pumping just a few times to make it painfully
obvious that Derek intended to delay it.
The girl arched her back, crying out when she finally orgasmed against the
movement of Stiles’ fingers. She begged and pleaded with deities as she panted
from the exertion and experience of her body lighting up in reaction, her legs
shaking in spasms.
Stiles gently soothed her with kind words when she released a small sob. He
knew the feeling of experiencing what was probably the girl’s first orgasm—she
was young and terrified, much like Stiles had been before Derek, and he was
glad to give her this. He pressed a kiss to her stomach, telling her that she
was perfect—that she did very well—when she began to apologize for neglecting
them both.
“On the contrary,” Derek answered her, bending down to place a small kiss on
the inside on her knee—her legs still housing both men. “Stiles and I enjoyed
this—greatly.” He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ lips. “And are far from finished.”
“Pleasure should be exchanged, not hoarded by the clients,” Stiles stated as he
looked at the girl, giving Derek his kisses. “Come here, little dove,” he
called to her, offering his hand to the girl.
Stiles was the first to hear the lyrics echoing through the halls of the
brothel, causing him to tear himself away from the girl. A chill ran down his
spine, plummeting into his stomach as it churned. He recognized the muffled
words and hummed melody anywhere. He felt Derek’s lips freeze against his
shoulder, the words having reached his ears.
Derek immediately stood, his movements jostling the others as he left Stiles
and the girl behind on the couch.
“Derek,” Stiles started, releasing his hold on the girl, turning his attention
towards him. He saw the anger and resentment in Derek’s eyes—the years of
living with the knowledge that his sister was murdered in King’s Landing, so
far from home and alone; that he was forced to civilly share a space with those
responsible.
The Rains of Castamere grew louder as the men continued, believing that the
song made them better than they were—unbeatable. They didn’t know they were
baiting an angered wolf.
“Derek, don’t,” Stiles pleaded with him, hoping he’d see reason. It wasn’t the
place or time.
Derek immediately moved to exit the room, seeking out the owner of the sung
words.
Stiles scrambled to his feet, turning his attention towards the girl. “Stay
here,” he instructed. “I’ll be right back. With Derek in tow.”
“I’m sorry—”
“It’s not you, little dove. But there are some things not meant to be seen, and
this will be one of them,” Stiles answered. He offered her a small nod, hoping
that she would stay in the room. He followed after Derek, knowing that he must
have found the men now that the sung words stopped.
Stiles heard the men speak to Derek before he reached the hallway. He grabbed
the pimp’s attention, somewhat grateful when he followed after him.
“You lost?”
“Forgive me for staring, I don’t see many Argents where I’m from,” Derek
stated.
“We don’t see many Dornish here in the capital,” one of the men joked back.
Stiles ran into the room, his footsteps quick and hurried as he ran to Derek.
He saw the men sitting at a table with women in their laps. He ran to Derek’s
side, grasping hold of his arm. “Come with me, lover,” he gently pleaded, his
tone sultry with longing as he hoped Derek would recant and follow him back to
the room.
“Gods, look at that one,” one of the men commented when they caught sight of
Stiles.
“Why are you wasting this one on a Dornishman?”
Stiles saw the muscle in Derek’s jaw twitch at the implication. He pressed his
body into Derek, wanting to tell him to let it go—that he wasn’t responsible
for defending Stiles’ honor every time a man made the mistake of propositioning
him. He remembered the way Derek nearly killed the last man who tried to buy
Stiles’ time—the man had mentioned that he hoped Stiles was a “cheap, but good
whore” when he grabbed Stiles’ ass. Stiles was almost unable to stop Derek from
beating the man to death.
“Whatever he’s paying, we’ll double it,” the other man stated in offering to
the pimp.
“My paramour is not for sale,” Derek uttered, still enraged even as Stiles
slipped his hand into his.
“I heard Dornishmen had flowery names for whores,” one remarked. “Never
actually heard what they were called before.”
“Whores don’t have virtue to honor here in the capital,” the other answered.
Stiles continued to look at Derek, wanting to just leave. His heart sunk when
Derek lifted his hand to his lips, pressing a kiss into the skin—an apology for
not being able to leave the men alone now.
“Do you know why the whole world hates an Argent?” Derek started, moving closer
to the men as he let Stiles’ hand slip from his. “You think your lions, and
your silver, and your silver lions make you better than all the rest,” he
commented, his body completely at ease as he watched the men stand in order to
answer his challenge. “But you’re not. You’re just a little pink man who is too
slow on the draw.”
Derek carefully observed the men, waiting for them to make a move. He was
faster than either man, easily slamming the dagger down into one of the man’s
wrist, pinning it to the table to abort his attempt to reach his long sword.
“A long sword is very poor for close quarters combat,” Derek simply stated,
looking up at the other man. He twisted the knife some, just to hear the man
plead more with him. “If I pull this dagger out, he’ll start bleeding—an awful
lot, I’m afraid. You can save his life, if you get him help right away. It’s
your choice.”
“Prince Derek,” a female voice started, announcing the arrival of accompanied
footsteps.
Derek ripped the dagger out of the man’s wrist, watching as both Argents
stumbled to stop the bleeding and get the man out of there. He ignored both
men, turning to look at Stiles.
Stiles was upset, his eyebrows furrowed into disapproval, his lips tugged into
a straight line as his arms remained folded over his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Derek softly answered Stiles silent reprimand. He left his dagger
on the table, moving forward to take Stiles’ hips in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he
stated once more, placing a finger under Stiles’ chin to make him look up at
him when he tried to look away.
Stiles unfolded his arms, moving to wrap them around Derek’s shoulders. He
pressed in to kiss Derek, searching out the reassurance he needed that all was
well. He kissed Derek as if time was running out, not caring about the woman
who was clearly trying to gain their attention. He dug his fingernails into
Derek’s shoulders, clinging to him as Derek held him close, grinding against
one another in appreciation. He opened his eyes to look at the woman, feeling
no shame to note her somewhat patiently waiting for them to stop. He finally
pulled away from Derek, placing one last languid kiss to his lips before
pressing into Derek’s chest.
“I should come to the brothel more often,” Erica commented, smiling when
Allison slightly grimaced at her forward comment.
“Stiles Sand, my flawless paramour,” Derek commented, caressing his fingertips
across Stiles’ cheek, enjoying Stiles’ scoff and roll of his eyes at Derek’s
words. He finally turned to look at the woman. “Lady Allison, the King’s own
cousin, granddaughter of Gerard … Argent.”
Allison gave Stiles a warm smile, nodding in greeting. She opened her mouth to
speak, only to be cut off by Derek once more.
“And who are you, her hired killer?” Derek questioned of the blonde woman
beside Allison. He turned to face both women, allowing Stiles to wrap his arms
around his waist and press his face into his shoulder.
“Aye,” she confirmed with pride. “Well, it started out that way, but now I’m a
knight. Erica Reyes,” she added her name as an afterthought.
“How did that work?” Derek asked in wonderment.
“I guess I killed the right people,” Erica answered with a smile.
“If I could speak with you, Prince Derek, I would be grateful,” Allison stated,
trying to accomplish the business her grandfather sent her on.
Derek laughed in response, turning his head to look at Stiles. “We’ll have to
return to our entertainment later.”
Stiles nodded, leaning over Derek’s shoulder to place a lingering kiss on
Derek’s lips before allowing him to slip out of his grasp.
Derek calmly walked with Allison out of the brothel and into the street,
observing those around them as he waited for Allison to ask him her
grandfather’s questions.
“Why are you here, Prince Derek?”
“I was invited to your cousin’s wedding,” Derek calmly answered.
“Please, speak the truth to me, and I shall do you the same courtesy,” Allison
stated with a pleading look.
Derek sighed, looking out among the street. “Did you know that the last time I
was here was to visit my sister?”
Realization dawned over Allison’s features, understanding why Derek had come;
why he had rejected the royal invitation to stay in the Red Keep.
“My niece and nephew were only a few years old,” Derek continued. “They had
white hair, like their father—despite them not being true Targaryens.” He
paused, taking his time with the words. “My sister loved them with all her
heart. She even convinced herself that she loved Rhaegar, too.” He scoffed at
the memory of the man, hating him for what he put Laura through.
“My sister bore his children. Nurtured and cared for them. But being the ever
noble Targaryen that he was, Rhaegar left her for another woman.” Derek turned
his eyes to Allison. “That started a war that ended right here,” he tapped his
foot against the stone for emphasis. “When your grandfather’s army took the
city.”
Allison knew anger directed at her family when she saw it—she was the owner of
most anger directed at the Argents as of late. “It wasn’t just the Argents—”
“They butchered those children,” Derek dangerously growled, his wolf clawing at
his skin to get out. “My nephew and niece—carved them up like they were less
than livestock. Then wrapped them in Argent cloaks and brought them to your
grandfather for inspection.”
Allison looked down out of shame. She couldn’t wash away the feeling of being
tainted just by bearing the Argent name.
“And my sister, do you know what they did to her?” Derek asked, looking at
Allison. He reached a hand out, lifting Allison’s chin to make her look at him.
“I asked you a question.”
“I’ve heard rumors,” Allison answered as she looked Derek in the eyes, slowly
removing Derek’s hand from her.
Derek released a displeased scoff, followed by a bitter laugh. “So have I. But
the one I keep hearing is that Ennis Clegane—the Mountain—raped Laura and split
her in half with his great sword.”
“I wasn’t there, Derek,” Allison stated in sorrow. “I don’t know what—”
“If the Mountain killed her, it was your grandfather who gave the order,” Derek
replied. “Tell your grandfather I’m here,” he stated when Allison didn’t
answer. “And tell him that Argents aren’t the only ones who pay their debts.”
                                      ~*~
“You’re less moody around him,” Laura playfully teased, reaching out to ruffle
Derek’s hair.
Derek rolled his eyes, swatting at Laura’s hand.
Laura laughed, smiling as she turned to look at her children playing with
Stiles.
Stiles playfully ran from the children, laughing as he avoided both of them. He
was smiling as he fell to his knees, allowing the children to tackle him to the
ground.
“He’s only 16,” Derek almost whispered. “He knows nothing but to obediently
roll over and present himself, pretending it’s not killing him.” He watched
Stiles smile and laugh for the first time.
“Have you taken him to your bed?” Laura asked.
“No,” Derek honestly answered. “Sometimes I’m afraid he thinks there is
something wrong with him. That he might think he owes me more than his
company—that his body is something I’d take pride in controlling.”
“You could have anyone, Derek. But you chose him.” Laura reasoned. “Why?”
“Because he looked at me differently,” Derek uttered, somewhat amazed at the
recollection of the way Stiles looked at him, standing among other boys and
girls as if he wasn’t about to be bought and sold for the pleasure of another.
Derek recalled the initial shock of the others when he bought Stiles. “Even in
the face of such terror, he managed to look at me as if I was nothing but
another man sharing the same air as him.”
Laura sighed in understanding. “You think he’ll accept you for who we are.”
“Maybe he’ll look at the wolf the same way he did me,” Derek replied.
“When will you show him?” Laura asked.
“I don’t know if I ever will,” Derek honestly answered. “It’s a dream I have,
nothing more.”
“I’d like to talk with him,” Laura stated. “Before you leave for home.” She
smiled when Derek arched his eyebrow at her. “Completely innocent, I promise. I
would like to know a little about the man who captured my brother’s attention.”
“While you speak with Stiles, should I speak with Rhaegar?” Derek questioned,
his thoughts still focused on the man who was causing tensions to rise out of
his known mistreatment of his own wife.
“It wasn’t as bad as you think, Derek,” Laura sighed. “Is this why mother let
you come here? To threaten my husband?”
“I came to threaten him because he insults my sister,” Derek answered.
“Derek,” Laura sighed, collecting Derek’s hands in hers. “You can’t fight all
the battles concerning our family. Soon, you’ll have your own family to look
after, and not enough time to listen to the gossip and worry about protecting
me.”
“Even if I marry the Argent girl, my heart will be elsewhere,” Derek admitted.
“Would you have me do that to her the way Rhaegar has done this to you?”
Laura sighed. “Rhaegar is different. He’s—”
“The Last Living Dragon, I know,” Derek duly answered.
“I have not told him about us,” Laura confessed. “What we are … I don’t know
how he would react,” she honestly explained. “Perhaps my dishonesty ruined my
marriage, not the lack of love.”
Derek watched her carefully.
“You don’t have to love the Argent girl, Derek. Just be honest with her,” Laura
stated. “Save your love for where it is appreciated.” She turned her eyes to
Stiles. “That was my mistake.”
                                      ~*~
Stiles had sent the girl away, pacing in his shared room with Derek. He knew
that Allison showing up was bad. He knew that Derek attacking and maimingan
Argent guard was also bad. He just prayed to the gods that Derek was safe from
any form of punishment the Argents could enforce on him.
Stiles paused, turning to look at the doors when Derek slammed them open.
“Derek—”
Derek grabbed Stiles, pulling him against his body and into a searing kiss. His
hands moved to grasp at Stiles’ cheeks, his hair—any part he could hold onto.
Stiles ran his hands up and down Derek’s body, a small attempt to soothe him.
His mouth was open and pliant for Derek to take what he needed. “I’m here,” he
whispered, when Derek moved to Stiles’ neck. “Derek, I’m here.”
Derek released a whine, his teeth nipping at the hollow between Stiles’
shoulder and neck. He pressed his face into the skin, enjoying the way he could
hide himself there as he took a series of deep breaths.
“It’s okay,” Stiles uttered. “Let it all go, my love, let go of it.”
Derek let part of his shift take over, his features turning into that of a
wolf. His teeth sharpened into fangs, his eyes glowed an electric blue. His
nails bit into Stiles’ hips as they turned to claws.
Stiles held Derek’s cheeks in his hands, pressing kisses to his face—across his
scrunched up brow that morphed into his wolf’s most prominent angered feature.
“Whatever you need,” Stiles whispered, hoping he could calm the wolf.
“You,” Derek answered through gritted teeth. “Just you. I need you,” his words
hissed through fangs.
“You have me,” Stiles replied, allowing Derek to pick him up and move them
towards the bed.
Stiles moved to where he knew Derek needed him. He didn’t protest when Derek
ripped the clothing from his body. He rose to his hands and knees, easily
presenting himself as open and pliant, welcoming Derek’s need for bodily
comfort. He bared his neck, offering himself up to Derek completely. He moaned
when Derek’s fangs grazed across his neck before clamping down there.
Derek held Stiles in place as he touched his body in every way possible. He
practically whined when he finally entered Stiles, burying his face in the
hollow curve of Stiles’ shoulder blades. He licked at the bite marks he made
over Stiles’ spine, leading up to his neck. His arms were locked against the
bed as he rolled his hips into Stiles, his rhythm fast but thorough as his wolf
laid claim to the body beneath his.
Stiles pressed his face into the blankets beneath them, moaning into the fabric
as he kept his hips elevated, presented for Derek to do what he wanted. He
reached his hand out to caress Derek’s, his fingers slowly overlapping Derek’s
tightly clutched fist. He wasn’t surprised when Derek pulled back, flipping him
onto his back before moving back in—as if nothing changed.
Stiles kept Derek’s gaze, staring back into his eyes as he watched the wolf’s
spark flicker and try to take control—Derek’s hips faltering when he felt his
control slip. Stiles quickly threaded his fingers with Derek’s, unafraid of the
claws ripping at the sheets as he grounded him. He leaned his head back into
the pillow, offering his throat up to Derek without missing a single thrust. He
moaned when Derek’s fangs encased the softest part of his throat between them.
Derek could kill him with a simple twitch of his jaw. Stiles knew it just as
well as Derek did. It was the most intimate and meaningful action between a
wolf and their lover, and Stiles was giving it to Derek once again—without
question or doubt clouding his judgment.
Afterwards, Stiles let Derek lap at his body—his stomach, his nipples, his
throat, his cock, wherever Derek wanted. He couldn’t help the faint giggle that
always emitted from his chest when Derek nuzzled the various crooks of his
body.
Stiles kept his legs spread wide, housing Derek’s body, as he alternated
running his fingers through Derek’s hair and tracing his spine. He waited until
Derek calmed, his features slowly slipping back to human as he rested his head
on Stiles’ chest.
“What happened?” Stiles asked, staring up at the ceiling.
“The smells,” Derek admitted. “It smells just like when we visited before.” He
closed his eyes, pressing face first into Stiles’ skin, inhaling his scent.
“Remembering that Rhaenys and Aegon were carried through those streets, wrapped
in cloaks to hide their broken bodies—Laura being …”
“You don’t have to talk about it,” Stiles stated, running the curve of his foot
along Derek’s calf. He kneaded the muscle of Derek’s shoulder with his hand,
his other buried fingers deep in Derek’s hair. He was wrapped around Derek’s
body like a cocoon, trying to protect him from the cruel memories.
“I’m going to kill them,” Derek announced against Stiles’ skin. “One by one.
Even if it kills me.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Stiles answered, blinking back the tears from thinking
of a life without Derek.
Stiles held onto Derek as he felt him drift off to sleep. He ran his fingers
through Derek’s hair, staring at the intricate details of the ceiling as he
recalled the day they discovered Laura’s death.
That day would forever be burned inside Stiles’ memory. And he knew it still
haunted Derek, and would continue to, until he felt satisfied with killing all
those responsible.
                                      ~*~
Stiles inspected the table in front of him. His eyes scanned the various jewels
and trinkets. There were even mock statues of knights and Kingsguard for sale.
He thought of what gifts to get the girls, trying to determine what a fifteen
and eighteen year old would love from King’s Landing.
“Bel asked for a necklace,” Derek reminded Stiles.
“She asked for a finernecklace than the one you gave her for her birthday last
year,” Stiles corrected him. “But I don’t think we will find that in King’s
Landing.” He paused his movements when he saw a string of small, creamy white
stones hanging on display.
“I see you found something you like,” Derek teased as he pressed against
Stiles’ side.
“They look familiar,” Stiles softly answered. “Like I’ve seen them before.”
Derek looked at Stiles before looking back at the necklace. “They’re pearls,”
he explained. “They are the one thing we can’t replicate a matching beauty for
in Dorne.”
“No, I think …” Stiles hesitated, still staring at the pearls. “I think my
mother wore a similar necklace.”
“That could mean that your parents visited King’s Landing at some point,” Derek
tried to calmly answer.
Stiles remained silent, his eyes fixed on the necklace. He finally pulled
himself away from it, turning to look at Derek. He gave him a soft smile,
before stating, “I’d like to get Bel and Ana each a set. They would like them,
don’t you think?”
Derek returned Stiles’ smile, knowing he was still feeling off about it. He
pressed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead, answering, “Of course.”
Stiles watched Derek make the purchase, procuring two beautiful strands of
pearls for both Bel and Ana. He smiled when Derek followed after him, making
their way through the marketplace.
Stiles enjoyed having Derek to himself. He missed Bel and Ana—being a family
with them. But there were times when Stiles wanted to steal Derek away from his
daughters—their daughters.
Isabela and Mariana. They were both Sands, bastards conceived and born out of
wedlock. In Dorne, bastards were welcomed, all sharing their birthrights
through their given last name—Sand.
Stiles didn’t have the luxury of calling himself a true Sand. He had adopted
the name after Derek brought him to Dorne—he didn’t enjoy keeping the last name
the pimp had given him, and he couldn’t remember his real name. S-t-i-l. It was
all Stiles could remember of his house name, which was why he chose his new
name from those letters. It was the one thing the pimp couldn’t take away from
him.
Even though Bel and Ana were Sands, they were still of noble blood, and Talia
had accepted her grandchildren as if Derek sired them through marriage.
Stiles remembered the way the girls fussed when Derek informed them that Stiles
was accompanying him to King’s Landing without them. Neither girl understood
why. Stiles had agreed with Derek’s stance, knowing that King’s Landing and the
rest of Westeros would not accept the girls as anything but bastards—to be
looked down on.
Both girls argued that they would be bored without Stiles to entertain them.
Stiles promised to bring them back gifts, smiling when they tightly hugged him
goodbye.
Bel and Ana were but children when Stiles was brought to Sunspear, neither of
them understanding that he was once considered an object. He was a purchased
slave given the rights of a freeman, living in the palace and at the mercy of
the Hale family. Stiles cared for Bel and Ana as a wet nurse often acted as a
secondary mother to children, making both girls believe him to be of similar
status as Derek.
Stiles lingered by the book merchant they stumbled upon, his fingers moving
across the leather covers. He loved the way all merchants would move to tell
him he wasn’t welcomed at their booth before catching sight of Derek. It was
always Derek that they looked at and recognized as a man rich enough to buy
anything they had to offer. They recognized that Stiles’ clothing was of fine
quality, but it revealed more than most highborns would deem appropriate. It
helped them to register Stiles as Derek’s companion—and that Derek would
purchase anything he wanted. That small fact seemed to result in the polite
welcome Stiles started to receive to more they visited the marketplace.
Stiles was at ease as he walked with Derek back to the brothel, a handful of
books snugly fit under his arm. He smiled as he looked down at the books,
excited to share them with both Bel and Ana.
Derek ran his fingertips along Stiles’ arm, a hint of his own smile pulling at
his lips. He easily thread his fingers with Stiles’, both of them walking with
ease through the street.
Stiles wondered if his parents had been to King’s Landing at one point. He was
even curious if his family was possibly still looking for him. He knew his
mother had passed—he remembered being ripped from her bedside, armorclad men
armed with swords carried him away as he struggled against them. He was certain
he could recall the shouts and protests of other people in the
household—perhaps family members, or servants. He couldn’t remember much more
than that, something heavy brutally hitting him in the back of the head to
knock him unconscious. He had awoken in Harrenhal after that—in the brothel and
at the mercy of the pimp.
Stiles’ thoughts drifted to Kate’s daughter, how she had come to live at
Sunspear for the past few years. He thought of the way she was terrified, never
confused by her unwillingness to trust them at first. He knew what it was like
to be alone and scared in an unfamiliar place.
                                      ~*~
“You mean, did I think of hurting her to get back at Kate,” Derek corrected his
mother.
“I wouldn’t blame you,” Talia replied, watching the others. “There was a point
in time where I’d rain blood down on the kingdom if it meant Laura and her
children were alive.”
“And now?” Derek asked, watching Kate’s daughter intently listening to the
story Stiles was telling her, Bel and Ana.
“We don’t hurt innocents,” Talia stated.
“But they do,” Derek countered.
“And we are predators, not killers,” Talia responded. “Would you kill this
little girl for the sins of her family?”
“No,” Derek honestly answered.
                                      ~*~
Stiles was focused on the parchment in front of him, eyes scanning the family
trees of Westeros. He didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching, not
thinking anything of it—especially not in the Red Keep.
Allison left Stiles to his research, giving him access to the archival
documents at Derek’s request. Derek was busy meeting with the King, making sure
to properly introduce himself.
“I could never stand the smell of books,” a female voice stated, startling
Stiles out of his concentration.
Stiles moved to look at the owner of the voice. He immediately noticed the two
Argent guards flanking the doors as they awaited the woman. He noted the long
blonde hair and blue with silver trim adorning the woman. Kate Argent.
“Your majesty,” Stiles greeted her, moving to stand in order to bow to her. He
felt like an animal being cornered by a predator.
“You’re Prince Derek’s companion, are you not?” Kate inquired, her eyes
lingering on the books as she slowly walked the circumference of the room.
“I am, your majesty,” Stiles politely answered, discreetly moving one of the
maps over the opened book. He didn’t want Kate to know anything about him that
she could use against Derek—that Derek cared enough to help him look for his
family.
“Dorne is such a rare destination of a man craving a taste of Westeros,” Kate
stated. “You’re much paler than most Dornishmen. You look as if you may have
grown up in the North, even.”
A cold chill spiked down Stiles’ back. Stiles had known a look like that
before. It was a look of smug satisfaction, knowing that a piece of hidden
information was now hers to barter with as she saw fit. It was a look most
people gave him whenever Derek would introduce him as his companion—his
paramour. It was a look that was meant to let Derek know that they knew Stiles
used to work in the brothels.
“How was it growing up in Harrenhal?” Kate’s voice shattered what little piece
of ease and security Stiles held onto.
“I beg your pardon,” Stiles bowed slightly. “But I shouldn’t make Derek wait.”
“Don’t shy away now,” Kate maliciously laughed. “There has to be something you
learned from those soldiers that made your used legs seem more inviting to a
prince like Derek than a marriage into the most influential family in all of
Westeros.”
“I don’t know what you wish me to say, your majesty,” Stiles stated, hoping
that by using her former title, Kate would be happier—kinder, if he was lucky.
He took the opportunity to try and walk pass her.
“Does he know?” Kate asked, blocking Stiles’ path to walk by her.
“He found me in a brothel, your majesty,” Stiles quickly stated, hoping to end
the conversation before it even begun.
“Does he know that you used to be fucked by multiple men?” Kate asked. “I can’t
imagine how terrifying that must have been,” she spoke in soft, hushed tones as
she pretended to lament. “Did they hold you down? Maybe even promise to help
you find your parents? What were you—fourteen?”
Stiles clenched his fists, trying to ignore the pain that spiked through his
chest. “Twelve.”
“Twelve years old,” Kate huffed in slight disbelief. “Twelve years old and
learning the touch of a man.”
“‘Learning’ would be putting it kindly,” Stiles weakly answered.
“My father wouldn’t allow me to visit Harrenhal—its curse having something to
do with the savagery of the men stationed there,” Kate sighed, as if she was
talking about her boredom rather than the assault many faced at Harrenhal. “I’m
surprised you survived it with a face like that,” she commented as she reached
a hand out, her fingertips caressing Stiles’ jawline.
Stiles recoiled, his whole body flinching as if Kate’s touch was acidic.
“Derek met you at Casterly Rock, didn’t he?” Kate’s voice was hollow, her eyes
sharp and judging as she folded her hands together. “Did he tell you that he
was there to meet me for the first time?”
Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat, hoping that it would be easier for him
not to answer.
“Imagine my surprise, and my father’s anger, when we discovered that Derek left
Casterly Rock with a whore by his side. To visit King’s Landing, too.” Kate
turned her head to act as if she was inspecting the books around them. “My
father was … sour about the idea of a whore visiting the Red Keep before his
children did.”
“Is there a point to this discussion?” Stiles finally asked, not wanting to
continue the conversation.
“Just curious if Derek knows,” Kate stated, a false smile pulling at her lips.
“Derek knows, and he has informed me that my past does not matter to him.”
“Of course it matters,” Kate stated in argument. “Family relations matter to
all the Hales. You honestly think the fact that you’ve been fucked by an untold
number of men for a shiny coin doesn’t mean something to them?”
Stiles could hear the wavering in her voice. He knew she came to insult him as
best she could—to strike some sort of nerve in hopes of having it affect Derek.
He just didn’t understand why. Perhaps it was to put to rest her own feelings
of invalidness due to Derek’s rejection.
“You’re a whore,” Kate finally added. “You can dress it up as much as you
like—you could even pretend that Derek cares about you enough to love you.” She
scoffed at the very idea of love. “But you’ll never know how it feels to stand
by his side in the eyes of the gods—to start a family with him—your own
children, born and respected in marriage.”
“And neither will you,” Stiles calmly answered. “Derek and I have our own
family, and that’s more than enough for us both.” He quickly bowed to her,
turning and leaving her behind among the books as he made his way to the exit.
He needed to run from the Red Keep, to get away from Kate’s playground of
torment.
                                      ~*~
Stiles didn’t tell Derek what happened. He couldn’t bring himself to tell him
that Kate knew. Part of him wondered if the Argents knew how he had come to the
brothels in Harrenhal—if they knew his family.
It was the day of the King’s wedding. The sun was breaching the sky, shining
brightly through the windows. The sunlight streamed over Derek’s body, asleep
amongst the tangled satin sheets.
Stiles ran his lips along Derek’s back, his teeth gently nipping at the curve
of his shoulder blades. He smiled against his skin when Derek released a
pleased noise of approval, turning his head to look at Stiles.
“I need my sleep,” Derek grumbled, not sounding at all convincing.
“You do not,” Stiles argued, moving to slip out of bed. He laughed when Derek’s
arm shot out, wrapping around his waist to pull him back into the bed.
“We can sleep a little longer,” Derek’s chest rumbled as he pulled Stiles
close. “Old men need rest.”
“You’re not old,” Stiles remarked, smiling as he turned to look at Derek.
Derek’s hair, in recent years, had become speckled with muted tones of gray in
his beard and around his temples. He acted as if he hadn’t noticed, but Stiles
still caught him looking in the mirrors sometimes.
In truth, Derek wasn’t as young as when Stiles first met him, but neither was
Stiles. Derek was still as gorgeous as the day they met, but he was always
consciously aware of his mortality.
“You’re a prince of Dorne,” Stiles yawned as he started to rise from the bed,
moving to roll Derek onto his back. “Men and women will line up from here to
the Wall to fuck you, even when you’re on your deathbed.” He smiled, leaning
down to place a kiss to Derek’s lips.
“They’d all have to line up behind you,” Derek uttered, smiling into Stiles’
kiss.
Stiles was able to weasel his way out of bed, smiling at Derek’s grumble of
disapproval at losing his warmth. He moved towards the serving table, aiming to
get more wine. “I don’t think I should be in attendance, today,” he finally
stated.
“Attend what?” Derek blissfully questioned, turning his head to take in Stiles’
naked form. His eyes trailed the soft curves of Stiles’ back, enjoying the way
he still was clumsy despite how elegant he looked at times like this. It was
the clumsy Stiles that Derek started to fall for. It was the defiant Stiles
that caught his eye and made him look. It was the kind Stiles that understood
his pain and made it his own in order to give Derek peace from his demons.
“The King’s wedding,” Stiles answered, his eyes focusing on the wine pitcher.
“I doubt the Argents will appreciate me being absent,” Derek commented, moving
his hands to rest behind his head as he turned his attention towards the
ceiling.
Stiles took a sip of the wine, his fingertips drumming against the metal as he
collected himself. “I meant just me staying behind,” he explained. “They
wouldn’t miss me not being there.”
Derek lifted his head to look at Stiles. He moved to sit up, his attention
completely focused on Stiles. “Why?”
“I don’t belong there,” Stiles answered.
“Stiles—”
“It’s not Dorne,” Stiles argued. “Your mother has been more than generous in
allowing me access to the Water Gardens, let alone the palace’s private
quarters. But to expect them to regard me walking around the Red Keep—”
“You’ve walked in the Red Keep long before they even dared step foot in it,”
Derek answered. “Or do you not recall the time we spent here with my sister?”
Stiles shook his head. “I just … can’t watch you do it, Derek.”
“Do what?” Derek asked as he moved towards the edge of the bed.
“I can’t watch you sit there and tense whenever one of them moves too quickly,”
Stiles explained as he set his goblet down. “And your interactions with the
Lord Hand and Queen Regent are not going to be pleasant.”
“It’s Kate that is bothering you, isn’t she?” Derek asked as he stood, moving
to stand in front of Stiles.
“She isn’t the most pleasant woman to be around,” Stiles confessed. “She’s
going to find a nerve to strike, she always does.”
“You think I would let her speak down to you in my presence?” Derek questioned.
“I think she would do so regardless of your answer to her,” Stiles explained.
“They wouldn’t welcome a Sand.” He moved out of Derek’s reach, retrieving his
discarded robes. He pulled the material over his shoulders, wrapping the sheer
material around his waist.
“Don’t call yourself that,” Derek replied, turning to look at Stiles.
Stiles halted his steps. He lingered before turning and looking at Derek. “You
sound as if you’re ashamed of considering that. Which I know isn’t true,
because Bel and Ana are Sands.”
“You know I’m not ashamed of Sands,” Derek remarked.
“I would hope so,” Stiles answered. “If being a Sand is good enough for your
daughters, than it is for me as well. Being a bastard is better than being what
I am.”
“Every part of the world has something backwards about it,” Derek commented.
“In King’s Landing, they think you being anything but an Argent is beneath me.”
“Isn’t it?” Stiles questioned before Derek could continue.
“You know how I feel about Argents. You know how I feel about you.” Derek
calmly stated, his voice firm and unwavering. “I understand your insistence in
being called a Sand, but you’re not even a bastard, Stiles.”
Stiles tensed, his shoulders tightening as he held his ground, his eyes
slotting into a glare.
“Stiles, that’s not what I meant,” Derek sighed, immediately knowing he had
said the wrong words.
“Bastards are thrown into brothels every day. They were the ones that did their
best to protect me from that animal,” Stiles seethed. He noticed the way Derek
flinched, knowing he had always feared that he was somehow similar to him.
“But not all bastards can protect themselves, let alone others from sharing in
their misfortune. Bel and Ana are blessed to have found you—to be born to a
prince of Dorne. But then again, I’m not a real Sand, perhaps they would have
stood a better chance than I had.”
“Stiles, stop it,” Derek stated, not wanting Stiles to dig at himself.
“I’m an orphan whose parents left him to be sent to the brothels to repay his
crime of existing by offering his ass up for coin!” Stiles turned, ready to
march out and leave Derek behind.
Derek grabbed Stiles’ arm, halting his steps.
“Why do you want me to call you something you’re not?” Derek growled.
Stiles glared at Derek. “I’d rather be a Sand than what I am. But it’s the
truth: I am a whore. You bought me.”
“Exactly, I bought you,” Derek finally answered. “I bought you to be mine. You
are mine, and mine alone. I freed you a long time ago from that—but I am a
prince and you are dismissed when I dismiss you.” He eased his hold on Stiles.
“But you know I’d never make you do a thing you did not wish to do, gods be
damned. You are your own person, as you have always been. So I’m not going to
demand you stay or go to the wedding.”
Stiles looked away from Derek. “Stop trying to give me rights I shouldn’t have
the luxury of having.”
“You deserve the world,” Derek uttered, moving in close to Stiles. “And I’d
give it to you if you asked for it.”
Stiles released a shuttering breath, a chill running up his spine. He knew
Derek meant it—he knew he could ask Derek for anything.
“I want you to stay with me,” Derek stated. He waited for Stiles to look at
him. “Would you leave me here alone? With them?”
Stiles sighed, shaking his head. “Never. I’d never leave you to their mercy,”
he weakly answered, moving into Derek’s arms and resting his head on his
shoulder. “I suppose I could endure Kate’s horrible personality for a day.”
“I won’t let them hurt you,” Derek stated against Stiles’ hair.
“You can’t save everyone, Derek,” Stiles softly stated. “If they come at me,
they come at me.” He closed his eyes as he let himself fall into Derek’s hold.
“I’ll have to find something appropriate to wear,” he slightly laughed.
“I took the liberty of buying you a gift,” Derek commented. “More pearls than I
dare say even Kate would be envious of.”
Stiles smiled to himself. “You did that on purpose,” he commented as he pulled
back from Derek to look at him. “You’re trying to show me off.”
“You’re meant to be shown off,” Derek stated, pressing a kiss to Stiles’
forehead before moving to retrieve one of the boxes that had been delivered
late last night. “Of all the pompous men you could have chosen to be with, you
chose me.”
Stiles smiled, a small laugh erupting from his chest when Derek returned to
him, placing the box on the table. He watched as Derek produced a lovely set of
pearls, a set of three strands short enough to wrap around his neck, the other
attached piece was a strand long enough to elegantly hang down his back, along
his spine.
“You want to drape me in pearls?” Stiles asked, leaning forward to allow Derek
to clasp it around his neck.
“I saw the way you looked at them,” Derek commented. “You wanted them, but
didn’t want to say anything.”
“Because your gifts are too much,” Stiles replied. “They’ll mistake me for
royalty.”
“As they should,” Derek answered, his fingertips softly caressing along Stiles’
spine as he laid the long string of pearls there. His eyes lingered on the way
the creamy color of the pearls practically glowed against the paleness of
Stiles’ skin, the pearls around his neck almost dipped into the notch of his
collarbone.
“I need something besides this to wear,” Stiles answered, looking up at Derek.
“I wouldn’t argue against you wearing just this,” Derek replied, easily pulling
Stiles’ robes from his body, his eyes traveling the curves and dips of Stiles’
body.
“You’re going to make us late,” Stiles answered with a smile.
Derek made a noise of agreement as he ducked his head to place a kiss on
Stiles’ neck.
                                      ~*~
The wedding was uneventful, the King flaunting himself and his new bride. Derek
focused mainly on Stiles, his wolf anchored by Stiles’ weight against his side.
He felt the wolf clawing and snarling for control when he caught sight of Kate
and Gerard moving closer to them, with purpose, at the wedding’s reception.
“Your Grace. Lord Gerard,” Derek greeted both Kate and Gerard as he and Stiles
met them halfway, placing a fake smile on his lips.
Stiles tightened his hold on Derek’s arm, his eyes pleading with him to avoid
deep conversation.
“Prince Derek,” Gerard answered, a fake pleasantry in his voice.
“I don’t believe you’ve met Stiles,” Derek stated, looking at Stiles.
Stiles looked from Derek to Gerard and Kate. He pleasantly smiled, offering a
small bow. He caught the way both Argents eyed the strings of pearls lining his
body.
“This is the Lord Hand, Gerard Argent, and Queen Regent, Kate—is it Argent once
more?” Derek questioned, looking as if he was somewhat uncertain in his
introduction. “I also suppose former Queen Regent would be appropriate. Making
you Lady Kate.”
A forced smile split Kate’s lips, her displeasure at Derek’s remark was
evident.
“Regardless,” Derek commented, turning his attention to Stiles. “This is my
companion, Stiles Sand.”
Stiles took his eyes away from Kate and looked at Gerard, formally bowing his
head. “My lord,” he stated with a small smile before turning to Kate. “My
lady.”
“Charmed,” Gerard answered as he observed Stiles’ movements. His eyes were
calculating and cold, as if he was making mental notes for later reference.
Kate scoffed. “I can’t say I ever met a Sand before,” she snidely remarked as
she eyed Stiles.
Stiles was surprised by Kate’s openness to verbally attack someone—especially
at such a public event like the royal wedding. He was certain she had rid
herself of her distaste for him yesterday in the library, but it seemed Derek’s
presence drew upon even more venom for her to spew. He was momentarily delayed
in his response as he took her comment in stride. “There are many bastards in
Dorne,” he stated. “Ten thousand. All brothers and sisters.”
“Bastards are born of passion in Dorne,” Derek added, his hand traveling low on
Stiles’ hip, his fingertips warm and solid pressure to keep him reminded that
he wasn’t alone.
“You’re not a real Sand though, are you?” Gerard asked Stiles, his eyes
carefully observing him.
Stiles looked from Kate to Gerard. “I’m a part of Dorne because Derek is a part
of Dorne,” was all he managed to offer in response.
“Not a true answer. Yet, it is refreshing to hear such loyalty,” Gerard stated.
Stiles moved to push further into Derek’s hold, not trusting himself to speak.
“You found him at Casterly Rock, did you not?” Gerard asked Derek, completely
ignoring Stiles now that he made the connection.
“He found me,” Derek calmly replied.
“I’m surprised your mother allowed such a transaction to happen,” Gerard
countered.
“My mother is a free thinking woman,” Derek answered. “She taught her children
to be free thinking as well. I would think a man who allowed his daughter to
wear a crown for so many years would be in support of any actions a woman of
power makes.”
“Yes, it’s a shame your mother couldn’t attend the wedding,” Kate remarked.
Derek looked more amused than insulted by her remark. “My mother likes to
remain home with what little family we have left. She likes caring for them.”
His features drew more serious as he looked at Gerard. “It helps to fill the
void of losing one’s child.”
“That is a great loss,” Gerard commented.
“Pray you never feel it,” Derek answered.
“You have two daughters, do you not?” Kate quickly stated. “I can only imagine
how that must feel—leaving them behind where you can’t protect them.”
Stiles’ grip on Derek tightened. He kept a vacant expression, not revealing the
fear he felt for Bel and Ana.
“On the contrary,” Derek began. “I believe them to be safest in Dorne. In some
places, the highborn frown on those of low birth or standing,” he looked to
Stiles as he spoke, offering him a small smile of reassurance. He turned his
attention back to Gerard. “In others, the rape and murder of children is
considered distasteful.” He allowed his sight to linger on Gerard before
looking at Kate. “What a fortunate thing for you, formerQueen Regent, that your
daughter was sent to live in the latter sort of place.”
“My prince,” Stiles softly stated, turning to look at Derek, pressing his body
into his side as a way to ground him and his wolf. “We’ve been immensely
rude—we haven’t shown our congratulations to the King and Queen yet.”
Derek kept his eyes on Kate before looking at Gerard. He offered a fake smile.
“Good day,” he uttered, turning with Stiles to head away from both Argents.
“You have to stop pushing publicly to strike their nerves,” Stiles chastised
the moment they were far enough from the Argents.
Derek halted, placing his hands on Stiles’ hips to pull him in close, kissing
his lips.
“You’re no good to me dead,” Stiles murmured against Derek’s lips.
“Not a fan of necrophilia?” Derek jokingly questioned.
“Derek, this is serious,” Stiles complained.
“I have it under control,” Derek offered, pulling Stiles back in for another
kiss.
“I hate when you kiss me like this,” Stiles argued as he pressed into the
kisses.
“You love when I kiss you like this,” Derek replied.
“I hate that it makes me agree with your ridiculous plans,” Stiles partially
pouted.
“You’re senselessly worrying,” Derek answered with a soft sigh.
“Why won’t you let me worry about you? Someone has to.” Stiles nibbled his
bottom lip, turning to start walking again. “You promised that you’d try to be
amicable.”
“I know,” Derek replied, his hand still protectively resting along Stiles’
waist. “I also promised to not let them speak to you in such a manner.”
Stiles looked up at Derek, offering a faint smile to him.
The wedding slowly passed, the King’s antics becoming crueler and worse. Stiles
remained seated in Derek’s lap, slowly feeding Derek the various foods they had
laid before them. He smiled as he moved a grape to Derek’s mouth, his fingertip
slipping passed Derek’s lips.
Derek sucked on Stiles’ fingertip, his tongue gently caressing it. He smiled at
Stiles, allowing his finger to fall from his lips, moving to kiss Stiles.
“Prince Derek, Stiles,” a female voice interrupted them.
Stiles smiled into their kiss, looking up to see Allison. “Lady Allison,” he
greeted with a fond smile.
Derek kept his attention on Stiles, his hands still firm on his hips. He barely
turned his head to look at Allison, arching his eyebrow in question.
“Did your grandfather send you to demand an apology?” Derek inquired. “He’s
probably aware that I favor you—for an Argent.”
“I would actually like to converse with your paramour, Prince Derek,” Allison
stated, her eyes looking up quickly before looking back at Stiles. She offered
her hand to him.
Stiles furrowed his eyebrows in question.
“I would prefer your family’s trickery to remain pointed at me,” Derek started,
his hold on Stiles firm, a message to ensure him that he would not let him be
whisked away.
Allison moved quickly, leaning in close to them. “I am begging you, for your
own sake, please accompany me towards the refreshment table,” she spoke in
hushed tones. “My aunt sent Ser Harold Marimont this way with the intent of
causing a scene.”
Stiles’ body became rigid at the mention of the man’s name, his eyes focused on
Allison, unable to look at Derek.
Derek looked at Stiles, noting how tense he had become, the sour smell of fear
suddenly mingling with Stiles’ normally sweetly tart scent.
“She knows he remembers you,” Allison easily stated. “If you would come with
me, Erica will handle him.” She gestured her head towards Erica’s direction
with her hand still offered to Stiles.
Erica stood off to the side, appearing at ease as she watched the others like a
hawk, prepared to move in. Her right hand had a firm grip on the hilt of her
sword, her left forearm resting on her wrist. She was at ease, but poised to
strike when necessary.
Derek pressed a chaste kiss to Stiles’ temple before moving to stand, forcing
Stiles to stand up with him. “Go with her,” he commented, his chest rumbling
against Stiles’ back as he spoke in low tones.
Stiles took Allison’s hand, allowing her to escort him away from the tables
filled with guests and towards the food and wine. He slowly started to calm the
farther they got from the crowded groups.
“Derek appears rather fond of you,” Allison finally stated as she escorted
Stiles towards the refreshments table.
“I’m rather fond of him,” Stiles managed to utter, his mind still focusing on
the possibility that Ser Marimont was still after them.
“You fit nicely in his arms,” Allison commented. “Perfectly, even. I’ll have to
remind him to do well to keep you close.”
“His protectiveness does the job perfectly,” Stiles stated. “He doesn’t like
the liberty some people think they can take with me because of what I am.”
Allison paused, looking at Stiles. “And what are you?”
“Nothing,” Stiles softly answered. “Without Derek, I am nothing.”
“Oh, the contrary,” Allison commented. “I believe you to be quite
extraordinary.”
Stiles scoffed, believing Allison to simply being formally kind.
“I haven’t seen a woman like my aunt be this riled up in a long time,” Allison
explained. “Unfortunately, her attempts to ridicule are badges of honor to
wear. It means you got to her.”
“I can only imagine what she’d do if she despised me,” Stiles commented.
“She’d try to have you killed,” Allison answered. “She’s been trying to get me
killed for years.”
“That’s … awful,” Stiles truthfully commented.
“In my family, that’s love,” Allison replied. “Speaking of family, how did your
search go?”
Stiles was glad for their small talk. His chest was no longer constricting, his
pulse no longer thrumming in his ears. His stomach began to settle, the words
simply causing a distraction for them both.
“I couldn’t find much,” Stiles confessed. “I found that there was a Stilinski
house, but … I’m just not sure.”
“Stilinski,” Allison echoed, racking her brain for the familiarity. “There was
a Stilinski in the Kingsguard. He was present for the last few years of the Mad
King’s reign. He served King Deucalion as Lord Commander, too. Unfortunately,
my knit wit of a cousin dismissed him nearly a year ago.”
“What happened to him?” Stiles asked, knowing that the new King was not the
most pleasant or kind person to deal with.
“He rejected the forced retirement,” Allison answered. “He actually went to
join the Targaryen girl in Slaver’s Bay. I hear he’s alive and well.”
Stiles nodded. “But Kingsguard aren’t allowed to marry or sire children,” he
somberly commented.
Allison pursed her lips. “He may know of another Stilinski,” she offered.
Stiles nodded. He turned his head to look back at Derek, curious if Ser
Marimont had departed. He caught sight of Derek standing beside Erica before he
noticed that Derek’s hand was clenched into a fist, his claws tearing into his
own palm to try and keep control.
“With respect, my lady,” Stiles started as he looked at Allison.
“Allison,” she corrected him.
“Allison,” Stiles stated, a small smile pulling at his lips. “I think I should
go back to my prince’s side.”
“Erica should be escorting Ser Marimont out in a moment,” Allison offered.
“I’m afraid Derek might not wait that long and actually kill the man,” Stiles
answered, moving to head back to Derek, not caring if Ser Marimont made an act
to stay—to insult him.
Stiles startled when Erica abruptly grabbed Ser Marimont’s arm, twisting until
she had it behind his back. He moved to stand beside Derek, running his hand
along Derek’s arm in order to pull him back from the scene.
“You’re not a knight,” Erica cut the man off. “You’re a glorified child beater
and rapist. And I think we’d be better continuing this conversation outside.”
Derek turned into Stiles’ embrace, watching Erica drag Ser Marimont away. “He’s
lucky I didn’t kill him.”
“You said you’d be civil,” Stiles stated in reprimand.
“That man is lucky that he still has all his limbs,” Derek argued through
growled words.
“My prince,” Stiles playfully sighed, pressing a kiss to Derek’s cheek.
                                      ~*~
The King was dead.
Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand, turning into his embrace as they both watched the
King collapse to the ground, struggling for breath. Kate screamed and yelled
for the guards to arrest Allison, who was still holding the King’s cup.
Stiles turned his head away from the scene. He looked up at Derek, catching the
way he watched the others scrambling.
There was a hollowness in Derek’s eyes, one that Stiles only saw the day Laura
and her children’s bodies were delivered to Sunspear. It darkened his eyes, the
normally pale green clouding. A small tick of Derek’s jaw accompanied the
tightening of his hold on Stiles’ hip.
Stiles realized that Derek’s wolf was clawing at his control. He placed his
hand on Derek’s cheek when he saw the flash of bright blue flickering across
his eyes. “My love,” he softly stated, his voice a little weak from the
excitement surrounding them.
Derek didn’t take his eyes off Kate’s wailing form.
“My wolf,” Stiles whispered against the shell of Derek’s ear, knowing he
reached him when a soft whimper escaped his chest. He gently caressed Derek’s
jaw when he turned to look at him.
Stiles stared into Derek’s eyes, wordlessly asking the question that would no
doubt come flying at them—the question that would try and paint Derek the
assassin.
Was it you?
Derek shook his head, an acknowledgment that he knew he could be blamed. He
already blamed himself for feeling joy at hearing Kate’s pained screams and
knowing Gerard’s legacy was crumbling before him. He hated them both, relishing
in the fact that perhaps they felt the same pain he and his mother did. But the
King was still a child, innocent of his family, guilty of his own crimes.
A tyrant was dead, but so was a child. Derek was ashamed that he was overtaken
with joy that the latter was dead.
Out of everyone in attendance, Derek had the greatest reason to despise the
Argents. He had a vast knowledge of poisons, having spent years studying it
along with Stiles. They had started together when Stiles mentioned the way his
mother died—a sudden onset illness that ended with her body weakening almost
instantaneously. It had sounded like so many poisons Derek had heard of being
used. He used his status, his family name, to access books and archives for
Stiles to pour over.
Derek knew that despite Kate’s shrieks that Allison was guilty, someone else
was more likely the culprit. And Derek’s motive made him appear to be that
someone else.
“We should leave,” Stiles whispered, his hands pulling Derek by his clothes.
Derek nodded, taking one last glance at the King’s lifeless body resting in
Kate’s mourning lap.
                                      ~*~
Stiles pressed his hands against Derek’s chest, digging crescent shapes into
Derek’s skin with his nails. He smiled as he continually bounced, riding Derek.
His motions became more erratic, kept on balance by Derek’s hands on his hips.
Derek gave Stiles control of his body, allowing him to do as he wanted. He
leaned his head back into the pillow, opening his throat up to Stiles.
Stiles grasped Derek’s hands, pulling them from his hips and pinning them above
Derek’s head. He dove his lips down to Derek’s throat, his teeth nipping just
under Derek’s jaw. He slowly rolled his hips, as if he was getting used to the
idea of continuing their lovemaking. He picked up his pace as Derek released a
small groan of discontent to Stiles’ slowness.
Stiles didn’t startle when the doors abruptly opened, not bothering to look at
those entering. He didn’t care about propriety in King’s Landing—in Dorne, it
was considered polite to knock before entering a room unannounced. He released
a moan when Derek purposefully thrust upwards into him, clearly not caring
about their guests as much as Stiles.
“Prince Derek.”
Stiles partially groaned, halting his movements but not bothering to cover
himself as he turned to look at a very appalled looking Gerard Argent and a
handful of his men. He couldn’t help but laughing some when he saw a few of the
men eyeing him and Derek with interest.
“Lord Gerard,” Derek sighed, moving his hands to rest on Stiles’ hips. “In the
middle of something.”
Stiles released a small laugh, ending in a delighted moan as Derek’s hands
kneaded his hips.
“I have to speak with you,” Gerard hissed as he kept his gaze elsewhere.
“As I said, I am in the middle of something,” Derek answered. “When we are both
finished, I’ll come find you.” He started to sit up, carefully watching the
Argents as he wrapped his arms around Stiles. “I suppose an audience isn’t out
of the question, but you’ll have to ask my paramour.”
Stiles snorted as he moved to bite at Derek’s earlobe, wrapping his arms around
Derek’s neck. “I don’t think the Hand of the King would enjoy that.”
“Hm,” Derek answered, watching as Gerard thought of what to do.
“Finish if you must. We will speak when you are through,” Gerard furiously
answered, storming back out into the hall.
Stiles winked at the guards who lingered before immediately following Gerard
out and closing the doors behind them.
“I think they deserve something,” Stiles stated, pressing lazy kisses against
Derek’s cheek.
“I think you can be loud enough for them to appreciate,” Derek answered, easily
flipping them to pin Stiles between him and the bed.
Stiles was loud, his moans unabashed and wanton when he finally climaxed,
Derek’s head snuggly fit between his thighs. He lazily clambered off of the
bed, giving Derek a parting kiss before collecting his clothes. He slipped the
material over his body, not bothering to correct the way it slipped down his
shoulder, leaving his collarbone on display—for Derek to see his marks
decorating his skin. He didn’t bother to speak to the Argents once he flung the
doors open, moving back into the room to stand next to Derek as he poured
himself wine.
Derek placed several kisses on Stiles’ hip, through the thin fabric, as he
waited for Gerard to announce his intentions. He looked up at Stiles, smiling
as he watched him raising his goblet to his lips. He rubbed his hands up and
down Stiles’ thighs, allowing him to move and sit on his bent leg. He wrapped
his arm around Stiles’ waist, finally turning to look at Gerard.
“I need to speak with you,” Gerard stated, his glare landing on Stiles.
Stiles didn’t bother to move. He blinked at the man, completely unaffected by a
glare that had no doubt crumbled powerful opponents in the past.
“Alone,” Gerard specified.
Stiles turned to look at Derek, silently asking what he wanted.
Derek nodded, trailing his hand along Stiles’ shoulder blades.
“If you need me, call my name, lover,” Stiles replied, taking Derek’s face in
his hands to give him a kiss on the lips. He slipped out of Derek’s grasp,
moving to exit the room.
“Your companion likes to push his bounds,” Gerard commented once the guards
shut the doors behind them.
“My paramour knows no bounds,” Derek answered, keeping his seat to stop his
wolf’s desire to attack Gerard. “And I prefer it that way. You may take
offense, if you want. But Stiles doesn’t leave my side unless I tell him to.
And even then, he’s rather hard to get rid of.”
“How unlike a whore to show loyalty when coin isn’t involved,” Gerard remarked.
“You’re lucky I’m no longer the monster you’ve known and feared me to be,”
Derek calmly answered, his voice low and dangerous. “Before Stiles, for a
comment like that? I would have cut your tongue out before you even managed to
call for those guards you like showing off so much.”
“I come in front of you as a sign of good faith—completely unarmed and
unguarded—and you—”
“You came in front of me completely unarmed and unguarded because you know I am
a man of reason and knowledge,” Derek snapped. “If I kill you, I’d be killed
tomorrow.
“I did not come here to exchange threats with you,” Gerard answered through a
growl of his own. “I came here to invite you as a judge for my granddaughter’s
trial.”
Derek paused his movements, looking at Gerard. “Why?”
“We are not seven kingdoms until Dorne rejoins the fold,” Gerard stated.
“Ah,” Derek nodded. “Kiss my ass and hope that my mother will forget the rape
and murder of her daughter. And the slaughter of her grandchildren.”
“People at war do unspeakable things,” Gerard reasoned. “If I was held
accountable for every action a man under my banner did, I would be indebted to
many people.”
“Or forced to make those men answer for their crimes—the crimes they commit for
you,” Derek replied. “Imagine that. A world where an Argent is held responsible
for his or her actions. Wouldn’t that be a sight.”
“I am offering you a spot on the King’s Small Council, as well,” Gerard stated,
ignoring Derek’s insult.
“You must be desperate to ask me that,” Derek answered.
“The Targaryen girl has acquired an army anddragons,” Gerard stated. “Your
family are the only ones who were able to resist dragons in the past.”
“You are very desperate,” Derek commented.
“If you help us with this—accept my offers—I will arrange a meeting between you
and the Mountain,” Gerard stated, his temper flaring as Derek continued to
refuse his proposals.
Derek carefully watched Gerard. He knew the man was desperate, but he also knew
better than to trust him. “I’ll have to think it over,” he finally stated.
“Do so before long,” Gerard replied. “I need an answer.”
“Don’t all of us,” Derek stated. He didn’t bother to bid Gerard goodbye,
ignoring him as he threw open the doors.
Stiles moved passed Gerard, not caring if the man discovered that he was
listening at the door. He closed the doors in Gerard’s face, once again not
caring for anything the man dared to threaten.
“Are you going to do it?” Stiles asked, moving to stand by Derek, placing his
hands on his hips.
“You’re very well informed,” Derek commented, relaxing onto the couch as he
watched the door, listening for the Argents to leave. “They’re gone,” he
finally informed Stiles.
“You have to,” Stiles stated.
“I don’t,” Derek replied.
“Derek, you’ve been waiting for a chance to meet with the Mountain,” Stiles
explained. “The Lord Hand is the best way for you to get access to him. Just
because you are accepting this from him doesn’t mean you have to accept
everything the man asks of you.”
“He’s putting his own granddaughter on trial,” Derek stated.
“Exactly. Allison needs a judge like you there. You’re the only one who will be
seeking the truth instead of agreeing to this farce,” Stiles argued as he moved
to straddle Derek’s lap.
Derek sighed, leaning back into the couch as he placed his hands on Stiles’
thinly clothed hips. “You think she is innocent?”
“I know she is,” Stiles answered, his hands moving to Derek’s chest. “You do as
well.”
“She’s an Argent,” Derek argued.
“She is,” Stiles stated. “But she is also a good person. Names shouldn’t mean
everything, Derek. You taught me that.”
“You’re a menace,” Derek sighed in defeat.
Stiles smiled. “The best kind.”
                                      ~*~
Derek agreed to Gerard’s terms. He was displeased when Gerard replied that the
next council meeting was early the following morning—the day of Allison’s
trial.
Derek kept his head propped against the back of his chair as he fought off the
hangover from the other night. He drummed his fingers against the table, his
boot purposely resting on the tabletop after he discovered that the furniture
was newly requested by Gerard himself.
“These meetings aren’t always going to be this early, are they?” Derek
questioned, slipping one eye open to look at the others. “Stiles kept me up
late last night.”
Chris released a soft huff of laughter when Kate glared at Derek.
“Does this make me a master of something?” Derek asked as he looked across at
the others.
Deaton calmly looked up at Derek, almost looking bored with the idea of
speaking in front of the others. Harris glared at Derek, mimicking Kate’s
discontent as best he could. Jennifer leaned her elbows against the table,
propping her head up as if to encourage Derek to continue—a sad attempt to
appear appealing to Derek, something he hated about her the last time they
spoke, when she inspected Stiles for his memory loss.
“You want to be the master of something?” Chris questioned.
Derek looked at Chris, interested in conversing further with the Argent he knew
the least about. “What’s the point to listening to this drabble if I don’t get
a name out of it?”
“True,” Chris mused as he leaned back in his chair.
“You’ve never taken this seriously,” Kate almost snapped at Chris.
“You’ve always taken it too seriously,” Chris replied.
“Is it because she’s not a master of something?” Derek questioned, looking at
Kate. “I’d like to be the master of ships, I think.”
“Do you have any experience with ships?” Harris replied in question. Chris
rolled his eyes, knowing Harris had his eyes set on that.
“I owned a series of toy ships when I was little—does that count?” Derek
replied, keeping eye contact with Harris’ glare.
Kate released an annoyed huff as she continued to pace. She turned to attention
when she heard her father’s footsteps coming.
Everyone moved to stand for Gerard as he entered the room. Deaton, Jennifer,
and Harris all moved with haste to show Gerard their respect. Chris rose the
slowest out of them, only managing to stand just as Gerard passed the table.
Derek remained sitting, turning his head to look at Gerard as he moved to the
head of the table. He offered a small smile when Gerard glared at his boot on
the table.
“The trial begins this afternoon and we only have this morning for affairs of
the state,” Gerard started, moving to sit.
“And that won’t start until we discuss the trial,” Chris stated, cutting off
Deaton’s attempt to begin his update.
“Not this again,” Kate sighed.
“Allison is innocent, you know it,” Chris almost snapped, his glare turning
from Gerard to Kate. “I feel for your loss, sister, I do. But this is my
daughter that you want to pin your son’s murder on.”
“Her son?” Derek asked, turning his head to look at Chris.
Chris’ attention immediately left Kate to look at Derek.
Derek caught the small look of guilt in Chris’ eyes before he managed to cover
it up with convincing confusion. He turned his head to look at Kate and Gerard.
He didn’t flinch at Kate’s widened eyes and grim expression. He enjoyed the way
Gerard glared at him, as if he was envisioning Derek’s death a million
different ways, unsatisfied with all of them.
“Our King,” Derek stated. He looked at Chris once more. “He was her son, but
our King as well, was he not?”
                                      ~*~
Derek lingered in the throne room, his eyes examining the Iron Throne. He
carefully inspected the swords that were melted down and added. He wrinkled his
nose at the thought of possibly being consumed with the such desire to rule
through so much bloodshed. He walked away from the throne, ignoring the other
council members as they left. He descended the steps, waiting for Chris.
“You’re a very brave man for uttering that in a room with my father,” Chris
stated as he entered the throne room.
“My paramour would call me stupidly proud,” Derek replied, moving to stand by
the small wooden structure meant for Allison to stand on as they tried her.
“He’d be correct,” Chris commented. “Like my father, Kate’s not the kind of
woman to let live and forget.”
“She’s the kind of woman who tricks men into doing her bidding,” Derek answered
as he turned to look at Chris. “She knows she holds power, thanks to Gerard,
but she’d do anything to hold onto her absolute power, wouldn’t she?”
“She’s determined,” Chris answered, unsure of Derek’s motives.
“Determined enough to convince her brother to give her a child?” Derek replied.
Chris remained silent, his lips forced into a grim line as he waited for the
inevitable taunt followed by threat. When nothing came, he answered, “You know
nothing of me or my family.”
“I know that Deucalion was a drunken fool,” Derek stated. “He likely beat Kate,
there’s no doubt in that. It probably was horrible for her pregnancies.” He
paused, waiting for Chris to counter his statement. “She was probably terrified
when she lost the first one—probably even came to you, not knowing what to do.”
Chris looked away from Derek. “Their first son died in the cradle after three
months … She lost the second only after knowing she was pregnant a few months.”
Derek carefully watched Chris, noting the way his fists tightened as he
recalled the memory.
“I was stationed outside her room at the time,” Chris explained, almost
relieved to be finally confessing the truth to someone willing to listen. “Lord
Commander thought it would be easier for Kate to feel safer if I was near … She
threw open the doors crying, covered in blood.” He swallowed the lump in his
throat. “I disposed of the sheets—cleaned up the mess.” He looked at Derek.
“She said that he’d kill her for not giving him a child, and he refused to take
to her bed now that she was pregnant.” He shook his head in shame. “Not a
second goes by that I don’t regret it—that the guilt doesn’t weigh over me. It
was a vile act that never should have transpired.”
“You love your family,” Derek stated. He wasn’t surprised when Chris looked at
him, almost taken aback by his comment of understanding. “Loving your family
can lead to your downfall.”
“Why make mention that you know any of this?” Chris asked as he carefully
watched Derek.
“I wanted to see if your letter was sincere,” Derek countered.
Chris stiffened, casting his eyes away from Derek.
“I wanted to know if the Kingslayer was the one a good man,” Derek added.
“Being called ‘Kingslayer’ isn’t what I regret about that day,” Chris
confessed. “I regret not being able to protect them. Your sister, her
children—” he shook his head, clearing his throat. “They were the kindest
people I’ve come to know. Without me asking, your sister took Allison under her
wing—cared for her while I had active shifts.” His features soured as he
thought about the day Deucalion’s Rebellion reached the Red Keep. “I should
have been the one guarding her that day—I should have told the Lord Commander
that the Mad King didn’t deserve a guard.”
Derek carefully watched Chris.
“A prince of Dorne’s words must hold some weight,” Chris started. “Why not make
an announcement and crumble my family’s legacy completely? It would do the most
damage to my father.”
“Gerard will manage that himself,” Derek answered back.
“One can hope,” Chris confirmed, knowing his father was burning bridges instead
of building ones with every house he razed to the ground.
“You were in the Kingsguard under the Mad King—you stayed in the Kingsguard
when Deucalion became king,” Derek started, knowing that after offering to keep
Chris’ secret, he was bound to discover the answers he wished. “I want to know
everything you know about the last Lord Commander.”
“Ser John?” Chris asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“Ser Stilinski, yes,” Derek confirmed.
“What about him?” Chris asked, willing to answer Derek’s questions.
“Was he married?” Derek asked, knowing that this could be the end of Stiles’
searching—the end of relevance Derek’s status had in Stiles’ life.
“Uh, yes,” Chris stated, recalling memories of the time John talked about his
past. “He rarely talked about it, though. I think she died some time before the
Rebellion—some unknown illness took her.”
“A son—did he have a son?” Derek quickly asked.
Chris looked away from Derek, his features puzzled. Confusion left him,
understanding dawning across his face as he looked up at Derek. “He did,” he
answered. “John said he was taken from their home, right after Claudia died. He
was still looking for him before he joined the Kingsguard.”
Derek silently nodded.
“John said he was just a boy at the time,” Chris added. “All that time … He
would be … an adult now.”
Derek looked up at Chris, knowing that he had put the pieces together. “You’ve
seen my companion,” he started. “Do you think … ” He couldn’t bring himself to
finish the question.
Chris gently nodded. “It’s possible.”
Derek allowed his head to bob in understanding. “I thank you for your time,” he
stated as he turned to leave.
“Please,” Chris uttered before Derek could take a step. “Please give my
daughter a fair trial.”
Derek looked over his shoulder at Chris. “You don’t have to worry about me—I
actually like your daughter.”
                                      ~*~
Derek watched as Allison listened to every demeaning thing the ‘witnesses’
managed to state. His eyes tracked her features, noting how her jaw tightened
in response. He knew it was only a matter of time before she snapped.
“I’m guilty, is that what you want to hear?” Allison yelled over the testimony,
bringing the hall to a stunned silence.
“Are you confessing to the King’s murder?” Gerard asked, leaning forward in the
Iron Throne.
“No, I’m admitting to a crime far more monstrous in your eyes,” Allison snapped
at Gerard. “I’m guilty of preferring the company of women.”
“You are not on trial for your salacious acts,” Gerard grumbled, not wishing
for another word to tarnish the Argent name.
“Yes I am,” Allison shook her head, a sad laugh erupting from her chest. “I’ve
been on trial for that my entire life!”
“Do you have anything else to say in your defense?” Gerard almost sighed,
taking the trial as a mockery.
“Only this: I didn’t do it,” Allison firmly announced. She turned to look at
Kate, unable to control her anger and pain any longer—not when her aunt,
someone she once thought of as a sister, was the one accusing her; not when
family suddenly decided that she wasn’t worthy of the Argent name. “I did
notkill your son. But I wish that I had!” She heard the audible gasps come from
the others in the hall. “Watching your vicious little bastard die gave me more
relief”—her voice cracked with slight joy at finally admitting that her monster
of a cousin was no longer able to inflict pain on anyone else, especially
Isaac—“than a thousandwhores!”
Allison turned to look at the others who assembled for her trial. “I wish I was
the monster you all thought I was. I wish I had enough poison for all of you!”
“Allison! Stop it!” Gerard yelled over the protests of the assembled crowd.
Allison turned to look at her grandfather as he loomed over her, the Iron
Throne shadowing over his shoulders. “I will not give my life for his murder.
And I know I’ll get no justice here, so I will let the gods decide! I demand a
trial by combat.”
Derek leaned forward, carefully watching Allison as she held her ground. For
the first time since his arrival at King’s Landing, he felt conflicted about
the Argents. He found himself sitting on the side of the Argents he hated most,
while the one Argent who showed kindness and humility wherever she went was
being punished for daring to love. He knew, along with everyone else, that no
one would accept Allison’s request at being her Champion.
Derek tore his eyes away from Allison, searching out Stiles in the crowd. He
knew that Stiles was the only completely sympathetic ear in the room, and he
could already feel the heated words they were going to exchange in the next few
hours.
                                      ~*~
“I thought you’d be back at the brothel by now,” Allison stated when she
realized it was Derek and not an assassin, come to kill her before the trial by
combat even begun. “Back with Stiles.”
“I’m here because of Stiles,” Derek answered, moving to place the torch in the
holder bolted to the column. “My paramour is a bleeding heart.”
“A bleeding heart,” Allison echoed.
Derek offered a faint smile, moving his clothing as he pulled the stool over to
sit down. He leaned against the column, his eyes carefully watching Allison.
“He values you,” he explained.
“It says a great deal about how much you value him,” Allison replied. “You hate
Argents, but you’re here to speak to one because your paramour favors me.”
Derek shrugged. “It’s rare for me to meet an Argent who shares my enthusiasm
for dead Argents,” he explained, relaxing some. “I just dislike that you happen
to be the Argent they want dead.”
“Yes, well, my aunt has wanted me dead for a long time,” Allison replied with a
sigh. “I like to think she wasn’t always like this—that maybe she was different
before I was born.”
“Unlikely,” Derek stated. He took Allison’s narrowing eyes as a signal for him
to continue. “I met Kate—many years ago. My first time away from Dorne without
my family to accompany me.” He sighed, hating the memory of being alone in
Westeros. “My mother wanted me to check on Laura—rumors of the noble Rhaegar
Targaryen seducing another woman reaching Dornish ears caused quite the stir.”
He looked at his clothes, moving them slightly to uncross his legs, leaning his
forearms against his knees.
“I was still betrothed to your aunt at the time,” Derek explained. “It was
normal for me to visit Casterly Rock to lay eyes on my bride to be.” He shook
his head. “Those were the days that marked me knowing your grandfather as a
liar and your aunt a selfish child willing to throw a tantrum to get her way.”
“Sounds like an accurate family gathering,” Allison remarked.
“I met Stiles the day before my departure for King’s Landing,” Derek stated,
his eyes watching the flames dance around the torch by Allison. “I never had a
person look at me before the way he did. Even though he reeked of pain and
fear, he wasn’t scared of me.”
“He was lucky you found him,” Allison replied. “Casterly Rock is no place for
such a loving soul as Stiles.”
“He survived Harrenhal,” Derek stated, tearing his eyes away from the torch.
Allison’s expression paled, looking at Derek with wide eyes. “He’s a lot
stronger than he gives himself credit for,” she weakly stated.
“Sometimes I fear that … the slaughter in the Red Keep was some distant
repercussion of that,” Derek confessed. He turned his eyes to studying Allison.
“You were a baby when the war ended. Survived that bloodshed just like the
Targaryen girl did—what a pair you’d make.”
Allison looked away from Derek. “My father told me that I was there—he was
stationed as a Kingsguard, sworn to guard the king after my mother’s passing as
he renounced my grandfather’s grand scheme to have him be Lord of Casterly
Rock.” She released a soft huff of laughter. “His legacy relies once again on
Kate now.” She looked up at Derek, surprised to catch a look of bewilderment on
the man’s face. “What?”
“Your father didn’t tell you, did he?” Derek asked.
“Tell me what? That Gerard has another child locked away somewhere?” Allison
sarcastically questioned.
“It wasn’t just my niece and nephew that were killed,” Derek stated. “The
soldiers—your grandfather’s men—went room to room, dispatching the women and
children. They raped the women after murdering the children in front of them.”
He released a huff, his wolf growling. “Your father killed the Mad King and ran
for you,” he stated. “Your father was the one that discovered my sister.
Rhaenys and Aegon’s bodies were already being paraded around in the streets as
trophies,” his voice cracked at the thought of a crowd screaming and cheering
with joy as the bodies of children were paraded in front of them.
Derek looked up, catching the tears in Allison’s eyes. “He found you in the
cupboard Laura managed to hide you in … As you slept sound dreams, horror raged
on outside those small decorate doors that kept you safe.”
“How do you know this?” Allison asked, her voice weak and hollow.
“Your father was the one that sent their bodies back to us,” Derek answered.
“He wrote my mother a letter, expressing his apologies for not runningfaster.”
He looked at Allison. “The reason I respect your father isn’t because he’s the
Lord Commander of the Kingsguard … He was the one that wrapped Laura in his
Kingsguard cloak—he was the one that found Rhaenys and Aegon’s bodies before
they were discarded in a ditch. He’s the one that sent them home.”
Pride welled in Allison’s chest, grateful that her father was a good man.
“You know, it didn’t make sense to me at first why Kate would care,” Derek
commented, trying to rid himself of the images of his sister trying to hide any
child she came across—thinking she was strong enough to endure. “Rhaegar
rejected her and chose my sister. I rejected her and chose Stiles. She and your
grandfather wanted to send a message—the Argents don’t take rejection.” He
shook his head. “And yet she still became a queen.”
“In the end, Kate always gets what she wants,” Allison stated, wiping the tears
from her eyes.
“What about what I want? Justice. For my sister, and her children,” Derek
stated.
“If you want justice, you’ve come to the wrong place,” Allison bitterly laughed
in response.
“I think I’ve come to the perfect place,” Derek started as he stood. He moved
to stand by the torch, looking back at Allison. “I want to bring those who have
wronged my family to justice. And all those who wronged me are right here.”
Allison furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, not understanding what Derek was
getting at.
“I will start with Ser Ennis Clegane,” Derek explained. “Who raped and murdered
my sister with the blood of her children still on his hands.”
Allison sat up some, catching on to Derek’s meaning.
“I will be your champion,” Derek stated, keeping his eyes on Allison. “But I
demand a favor in return.”
Allison quickly nodded, grabbing at the chance to have someone—especially a
fighter as well-known as Derek—to fight the Mountain for her. “Anything.”
“If I fall, I know your father won’t let you die for a crime you didn’t
commit,” Derek stated. “If I fall … Bring Stiles back to Dorne—back to our
daughters and my mother.”
“I swear to you, in Laura’s name, I will do all in my power and more to get him
back to Dorne,” Allison stated.
Derek nodded, trusting Allison’s word.
                                      ~*~
The hour was late when Derek finally returned to their room in the brothel. He
wasn’t surprised to discover Stiles waiting for him.
Stiles was sprawled across the bed, his feet swaying back and forth in the air
as he rested his head in the crook of his arm. His fingers traced the pattern
embroidered on the blankets. He looked up when he heard Derek enter. He sat up,
moving to sit on the edge of the bed as he waited Derek to tell him where he
had disappeared to.
“I went to see Allison,” Derek answered Stiles’ unspoken question.
Stiles nodded. “And?”
“And,” Derek mimicked as he sat next to Stiles, undoing the laces of his boots.
“We spoke of her father—of his good intentions when he sent their bodies home
to Dorne.”
Stiles hesitated, studying the profile of Derek’s face. “You’re not telling me
something,” he finally stated, leaning back from Derek. “What aren’t you
telling me, Derek?”
Derek sighed, dropping his boots onto the floor before looking up at Stiles. “I
agreed to be her champion.”
Stiles features darkened. His lips pulled into a discontent scowl. He tore
himself away from the bed, his hands itching to lash out at Derek, to hold him
down and not let him leave. “You lied to me,” he stated, keeping his back
towards Derek.
“Yes, I did,” Derek willingly admitted.
“Why are you doing this?” Stiles asked, whirling around to face Derek. “Am I
not enough? Are Bel and Ana not enough?”
“Stiles—”
“You’re letting this vengeance consume you,” Stiles argued.
“Just as you’ve let finding your family consume you,” Derek countered.
“Searching through books and maps don’t pose a threat to me,” Stiles loudly
stated. “You could die, Derek, do you not understand that?”
“I won’t,” Derek childishly argued.
“You don’t know that,” Stiles stated. “You’ve been obsessed with killing this
man for more than a decade, Derek. And I’ve supported you when seeking justice
for Laura, Rhaenys and Aegon. But this isn’t justice. He’s not going to be
tried and sentenced to death. He’s going to be fighting you, in one-on-one
combat, with the intent to kill you.”
“I have an advantage—”
“Laura had an advantage against him as well,” Stiles countered. “Your sister
was just as good a fighter as you, and he still overpowered her.”
“I’ve had years more to practice,” Derek commented.
“He can’t be human,” Stiles uttered, turning to pour himself a glass of wine.
His grip on the goblet tightened as he poured from the pitcher, his hands
wavering some. “I talked with Erica,” he explained. “She said that he’s larger
than any man she’s ever seen—his brutality is animalistic.”
“You think he might be a werewolf,” Derek offered.
Stiles turned to look at Derek. “He’s something.”
Derek turned his sight from Stiles, looking out the open window as he took in
the moon hanging high in the sky. “It’ll be the cusp of the full moon
tomorrow.”
“If you’re going to do this,” Stiles started, setting his goblet down as he
moved towards their luggage. “You’re not doing it alone.” He ignored the tears
burning his eyes as he rummaged through everything.
Derek watched Stiles, moving to go to his side. He crouched beside him,
reaching a hand out to stop him from searching.
“Stiles—”
“You’re not going to leave me alone in this world,” Stiles countered, finally
pulling a secured box from its place hidden amongst his various clothes. “I’ll
make something to coat the spear blade in,” he explained, hugging the box to
his chest as he stood.
Derek followed him.
“Just don’t hit yourself with it,” Stiles stated. “It’ll have to be something
that can hurt both human and supernatural—and I don’t need you getting hurt.”
Derek nodded, his eyes tracking Stiles movements.
Stiles looked up at Derek, frowning as he turned away from him.
Derek grabbed Stiles’ arm, stopping him from walking away. He pulled him close,
stealing a gentle kiss from his lips. “I’m nothing without you,” he stated.
“Remember that.”
“You’ll have to keep reminding me,” Stiles answered, giving Derek one last kiss
before stealing out of his hold.
                                      ~*~
“That looks like awfully light armor,” Allison almost sang out when she saw
Derek standing next to Stiles, with no metal armor in sight. “And you’re not
even wearing a helmet. Why am I not surprised?” She questioned herself.
“Clearly you’ve never been to Dorne,” Derek answered.
“Have they not invented helmets in Dorne yet?” Allison partially snapped.
“Helmets are shit for side vision,” a familiar female voice spoke from beside
Allison.
Allison whirled around to stare at none other than Erica.
“I told you that at Blackwater,” Erica added as she surveyed the arena. “And if
he’s going to beat that freakish excuse for a human, he’s going to have to keep
eyes on him at all times.” She turned her head to look at Allison, her hand
resting on her sword as she gave quick evaluating side-looks to the guards. She
arched her eyebrow at Allison when she didn’t say anything. “These could be
your last moments, and you want to waste them gawking at me in silence?”
“You came back,” Allison finally commented.
“Aye,” Erica answered with a faint nod. “I came back.”
“Why?” Allison questioned, knowing that Erica had a lord and castle tucked away
somewhere. She didn’t blame Erica, but she couldn’t help feeling relieved to
see her friend standing before her—corset and lady skirts being exchanged for
her old leather outfit.
“‘Why,’ the pampered little lady questions,” Erica lightly grumbled to herself.
“I told you, I like you—and I’m your friend. And I realized that if I left you
here … well, I would be short a friend.” She paused, thinking to herself.
“Actually, I’d have no friends if I lost you. It’s rather eye opening when you
think about it.”
Allison smiled at Erica, wanting to pull her into a hug if her restraints
weren’t in the way.
“But I figured, if something goes wrong and I manage to get us both out of here
alive,” Erica shrugged. “Well—I would say you owe me quite a lot then.
Literally your life.”
“I would,” Allison agreed, playing along. “I’d owe you a private island.”
“So, it’s settled,” Erica nodded. “We’ll steal away and sail to a remote
island, away from your insane family. Where was that island with the fertility
goddess?”
“The one with sixteen tits?” Allison asked.
“That’s the one,” Erica smiled. “That’s where we’ll go.”
“I’m glad you have such confidence in me that you’re already planning
destinations,” Derek commented as he finished wiping down the spear’s blade. He
made sure to generously coat it in the mixture Stiles had finished creating the
other night.
“One can dream,” Allison answered.
Stiles ignored the playful banter, his fingers fiddling with the pendant of his
necklace. His fingertips twisted the pendant, fully aware of what he had stored
inside the hidden container. His eyes remained transfixed on the arena, his
stomach twisting and churning under a tumbling sensation as he battled the fear
of knowing that Derek was about to risk his life for Allison—for his revenge.
Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist, resting his chin on Stiles’
shoulder. He playfully nipped at Stiles’ ear, his heart sinking when Stiles
didn’t reply with his normally playful response of pushing back into Derek’s
embrace. He pulled back, moving to turn Stiles enough to face him.
Stiles remained silent, tearing his eyes away from the arena to once more face
Derek.
“Talk to me, my amour,” Derek started.
“I’m scared,” Stiles admitted, looking up at Derek as he crossed his arms over
his chest. “I’m scared for you.”
Derek took a deep breath, his eyes scanning their surroundings before falling
on Stiles. He opened his mouth to speak, his voice falling short when he
spotted the necklace around Stiles’ neck. His hand shot out to snatch the
poison capsule that posed as a pendant, prepared to rip it from Stiles’ neck if
he wouldn’t allow him to unclasp it.
Stiles moved fast, his hand clasping around Derek’s to stop him from taking the
necklace away. “Don’t.”
“Take it off,” Derek growled between clenched teeth.
“No,” Stiles defiantly argued.
“Stiles, I’m not going to fight the Mountain while knowing that you’re standing
here, waiting for me to die before poisoning yourself,” Derek argued back.
“I’m not waiting for you to die,” Stiles snapped, seething as he kept Derek’s
glare with his own. “I’m ready for when the Argents cheat.”
Derek’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“You know that if you win, you foil whatever plans they have, and they won’t
care if it’s cheating to kill you. So don’t you dare ask me to keep living in a
world that doesn’t have you in it,” Stiles stated, a tear rolling down his
cheek as he blinked the others away. “I won’t.”
“What about Bel and Ana?” Derek asked. “You’d deprive them of us both?”
Stiles released a small, sad laugh from his chest. “You … you think they would
let me walk out of here?” He smiled as he looked up at Derek. “That’s why I
love you. You actually think that the world could be kind enough that I’d be
able to return to Dorne.” He pressed forward, placing a kiss on Derek’s lips.
“If you die here, I die here,” he breathed against Derek’s lips.
“Today is not the day you die—the day we die,” Derek answered. “The day we die
is far from now—far from here,” he pulled Stiles’ body against his, speaking
through a series of kisses. “In our room at Sunspear, in our bed, when we’re
both too old to fuck, and we just have our arms around each other. That’s the
day I’ll let the gods take me away from you. Not one day sooner.”
The horns sounded, marking the Mountain’s arrival.
“And maybe that’s the day I tell them to go fuck themselves, and keep you
wrapped in my arms,” Derek stated.
Stiles rested his forehead against Derek’s chest, taking in a deep calming
breath as he hung to Derek’s words—his vow.
“Part of me is glad that you won’t be facing the Mountain,” Kate’s voice cut
through the moment as she made her way up onto the balcony.
Allison turned her attentions from Erica to look at her aunt. She glowered at
her, moving to keep her aunt’s attention from Stiles and Derek. “I’m touched
that you suddenly care.” She felt relieved when she saw the way Erica’s
fingertips danced over the handle of her blade.
“Oh, Allison,” Kate started, a small sigh escaping her chest. “I envy you for
your conviction.”
“Why are you here?” Allison growled.
“The gods will decide your fate this day,” Kate stated, as if it was an
explanation. “But facing the Mountain—a man of that stature and brutality,” she
made a show of shuttering as she turned to look at the man walking towards the
arena. “There’s a reason we had him stationed at Harrenhal. It would take a
curse far stronger than Harrenhal’s to kill that man.”
Stiles’ ears rang at the mention of Harrenhal, forcing him to look up. He
spotted a tall, armor clad, man moving up the ramp and into the arena. His
blood ran cold, his pulse hammering in head. He opened his mouth to speak, to
call out Derek’s name, but couldn’t make his voice come. His footsteps
stumbled, his knees weakening as panic took over.
“Derek,” Stiles weakly called. His hands trembling as they attempted to grasp
at the material of Derek’s sleeves just under his armor. “Der … Derek,” he
repeated, his voice breaking off as he finally grasped Derek’s arms.
“Stiles?” Derek caught the spike of fear in Stiles’ scent.
“It’s … ” Stiles bit back the tears stinging his eyes as he pressed into
Derek’s hold. “It’s him.”
Derek’s eyebrows furrowed before he turned to look at where Stiles was staring.
He caught sight of the Mountain—looking directly at them. There was a sickening
smile pulling at the man’s lips as he nodded in recognition to Derek.
Derek looked at Stiles before connecting everything. The Mountain wasn’t
nodding to him in recognition that they were meant to fight in a matter of
minutes. The Mountain had nodded to Stiles in recognition.
The Animal.
Derek moved in front of Stiles, blocking the Mountain from his view. He kept
his hands on Stiles, holding him close as he reassessed his plan.
“You can’t,” Stiles finally spoke, looking up at Derek. “You can’t fight him.”
“I’m going to,” Derek replied.
“No!” Stiles snapped, his fingernails digging into Derek’s forearms as he
refused to let him go. “You can’t,” he argued as hot tears fell from his eyes.
“He’ll kill you—he’ll kill you and take me back. He can’t— I can’t let him kill
you … Derek, please.”
Derek pulled Stiles against his chest, cupping the back of his head as he
soothed Stiles’ erratic breathing. “What did I promise you?”
Stiles closed his eyes, calming his breathing as he focused his thoughts on
Derek and only Derek. “That you’d kill him—you’d kill any man that thought they
had a right to touch me ever again.”
Derek turned his head to look at the Mountain, glaring at him as he felt his
wolf growl and claw at the surface for relief—for blood. “And today is the day
I truly make you safe.” He pressed a kiss into Stiles’ hair, pulling out of his
grasp to move towards the arena. He snatched the spear from its resting place,
jostling it some to get used to the weight as he kept his eyes on the Mountain.
“Even if he dies, at least you’ll have someone else to warm a bed for,” Kate
stated as she looked at Stiles.
“I think you should leave, my lady,” Erica stated as she moved to put a
physical barrier between her and Stiles. “Wouldn’t want you to get blood on
your pretty dress, now would we?”
The horn blew once more to commence the start of the trial by combat.
“Did they tell you who I am?” Derek asked as he spun the spear around in his
hands, mimicking the old routines he used to practice with Laura.
“A dead man,” the Mountain answered, practically roaring as he swung his
greatsword at Derek.
Derek dodged out of the way, spinning the spear to easily counter the
Mountain’s attack. “I am the twin brother of Laura Hale,” he started coming to
a pause as he watched the Mountain. “And the reason I came to this forsaken
shit pile of a city is for you.”
Another series of vicious attacks countered by equally cunning evasive
maneuvers.
“You raped and murdered my sister—you killed her children,” Derek announced,
keeping his eyes on the Mountain. “You put your filthy fucking hands on my
paramour.” His eyes dashed over to Stiles, watching him briefly. “I’m here to
watch the life drain from your eyes as you die in agony for what you’ve done.”
Stiles’ grip on the pendant tightened as he watched Derek fight the
Mountain—the Animal. He was thankful Erica’s threat made Kate leave, wanting to
put as much space between them as possible. He couldn’t stop thinking how
satisfied she must have been when she discovered what the Animal had done to
him. A sharp breath stabbed through his chest when Derek scuffled to the side,
managing to knock the Mountain’s helmet from his head. He almost released a
faint, joyful noise when Derek knocked the great sword from the man’s hand,
using the blade to slice across his chest.
It wasn’t a great wound, but enough to harm the Mountain into staggering back,
unaware of the poison now coursing through his body.
“Aye,” the Mountain’s voice was rough, a heavy baritone against the cheers of
the crowd. “I remember your sister.”
Derek paced, his steps slow and calculated as the spear grew heavier under the
anticipation of waiting. He saw the way the Mountain’s eyes flickered over to
Stiles, a twisted smirk of amusement.
“And I remember your boy.”
Derek’s wolf growled, his desire to tear the man apart escalating.
“Did he tell you about me?” The Mountain asked, his voice taunting as he moved
to stand at full height. He dropped his great sword, rolling his shoulders.
Derek’s eyes tracked the Mountain’s movements.
“I had him trained pretty well before you got him,” the Mountain continued.
“Moaned like the whore is he when I finished with him. Much like your sister’s
hips moved with appreciation.”
Derek saw red. His wolf snapped, forcing him forward to attack the Mountain. He
kept some distance, using his ease of movement to successfully land a hit. He
sliced through the Mountain’s calf, knowing that the poison would take its time
as he moved to fall out of the man’s reach. He didn’t move fast enough, the
Mountain snatching the spear and ripping it towards him, forcing Derek to
stumble forward.
The Mountain’s hand shot out, wrapping around Derek’s throat, his grip firm and
sure. “Never taught yourself to ignore your anger,” he commented, an amused
smirk befalling his features.
Derek grabbed the Mountain’s wrist, bearing down with his full force. His claws
tore into his skin. He stared in disbelief at the man when his grip didn’t
lessen.
“You’re just a pup,” the Mountain sneered, his eyes suddenly bleeding red.
Derek didn’t have time to react when the Mountain tossed him to the side, his
body colliding with the stone balcony that surrounded the arena. His breath was
knocked from his lungs, his head cracked against the hard stone. He rolled onto
his hands and knees, wavering slightly as he stumbled to get to his feet.
“You came all the way to King’s Landing to seek revenge, and you can’t even
stand upright,” the Mountain stated, moving towards Derek.
Derek managed to dodge out of the way, rolling to a crouched stop on his feet.
“I am glad you brought the boy back,” the Mountain stated. “I thought he was
gone for good. Maybe when we’re done here, we’ll get reacquainted.”
“You’ll never touch him again,” Derek growled, gaining his bearings once more.
“I’m going to kill you before this ends.”
“I’m an Alpha, boy,” the Mountain confidently answered. “You lost this fight
before it even started, just like your sister did.”
Derek’s eyes flared blue at the taunt.
“She put up a fight,” the Mountain continued. “She screamed and cried when I
killed her pups. She clawed and snapped her fangs.” He looked towards Stiles.
“She put up a fight unlike your whore.”
“He was a child,” Derek roared.
“Did he tell you that he didn’t like it?” The Mountain questioned, a twisted
amusement in his voice. “He used to hold his legs open for me.”
Derek’s wolf released a growl, the noise radiating from his chest as his fangs
elongated.
“Careful, pup,” the Mountain answered. “You don’t want to be showing all of
King’s Landing what we really are, do you?”
“I’m going to rip your throat out,” Derek threatened.
“Your sister said much the same,” the Mountain replied. “And then I smashed one
of her pups’ heads against the wall as the other one bled out gasping for air.”
Derek’s roar flickered between human and wolf as he charged at the Mountain.
“Derek!” Stiles yelled, knowing that he had lost his rationale.
Stiles was numb, hands covering his mouth as he held back a scream.
Blood. Screams.
Derek stood, the spear impaled through the Mountain’s chest.
“You feel that paralysis?” Derek questioned, his voice softer—calmer—as he
knelt by the Mountain. “The feeling that your whole body is slowly burning from
the inside out. That? That’s from Stiles.” His eyes left the Mountain briefly,
looking up to Stiles. “The boy you repeatedly raped. The boy you left scars on
for your own sick amusement.” He intentionally twisted the spear, conscious of
the way the spearhead twirling into the Mountain's chest.
Derek ripped the spear up out of the Mountain’s chest, quickly moving to slam
it down into the other side, puncturing his other lung. He ignored the cheer of
the crowd as he watched the red spark slowly die from the Mountain’s eyes.
“Remember my sister’s face,” Derek uttered. “The faces of her children. The
face of the boy you terrorized. Know that you die for those sins.”
Derek tore the Mountain’s throat out for confirmation, his claws tearing
through flesh sparked the burn of his eyes changing.
Derek turned away from the Mountain’s body, moving towards the small balcony
that held Allison. Towards Stiles.
Stiles was already rushing down the steps to meet Derek. His sandals were
loose, his feet kicking up the dirt as the cape of his clothes billowed under
the gust of winds. He felt light, as if a weight had been lifted from him. He
ran straight into Derek’s embrace, wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders.
He released a joyful laugh, pressing his face into Derek’s shoulder. He could
still see the spear sticking up out of the Mountain’s unmoving body—the
Animal’s.
The Animal was dead.
Stiles remembered the late nights he would stay awake after the Animal’s
visits—his head resting in one of the women’s laps as they told him stories to
lull him to sleep. He remembered how he repeated the tale of his noble fighter
to himself again and again, until he knew it by heart. He thought and dreamed
of the noble fighter, night and day.
Stiles closed his eyes, allowing the image of the Animal’s slain body to be
burned onto his eyelids. He didn’t care about the blood staining both of them
now that he pressed into Derek’s embrace—his noble fighter’s embrace.
“You killed him,” Stiles breathed.
“It’s over,” Derek answered, breathing in Stiles’ scent as he buried his nose
in the crook of Stiles’ neck. He pulled back to look at Stiles.
“It’s over,” Stiles breathed, a small smile pulling at his lips as tears fell
from his eyes. “It’s over,” he repeated, a laugh erupting from his chest as he
cupped Derek’s face.
“Back off!” Erica’s voice cracked through the moment, startling both Derek and
Stiles into look back at the balcony. She had her swords drawn, backing Allison
up behind her as Argent guards surrounded. “This isn’t how a trial by combat
works, you dumb shits.”
Derek turned to look at Gerard. He noticed that Chris was already making his
way over to Allison. “I won,” he announced, gesturing his bloodied hand towards
the Mountain’s slayed body, his other arm wrapped around Stiles. “The gods have
spoken, and Allison is innocent.”
“Stand down,” Chris yelled at the Argent guards. He looked back at his father,
waiting for him to try something in front of so many witnesses.
Gerard stood, his glare remaining on Derek. “Allison Argent is innocent of
killing the King.” He turned to look at Allison. “But not of her crimes against
the Faith.”
“You don’t have the power to try her for accusations against the Faith,” Chris
argued.
Stiles tightened his hold and Derek, knowing that this was bound to happen.
“We will send for the High Septon,” Gerard stated. “Until then, take Allison
back to her cell.”
Derek turned to look at Chris, catching the way he moved to head back towards
his father.
“Under what charges are you accusing her of?” Chris demanded.
“Infidelity and adultery,” Gerard answered. “She admitted to those acts herself
while on the stand.”
“You’d have to imprison most of King’s Landing for those accusations,” Chris
argued.
“Father,” Allison called. “Leave it, please,” she begged him.
“Prince Derek,” Gerard called to him, forcing everyone’s attention back to him.
“You’ve also broken the laws of gods and men,” he stated. “Fornication,
buggery. But being a prince of Dorne, I can’t truly hold you accountable for
those.”
Derek narrowed his eyes, looking from Gerard to the Argent guards turning their
attentions towards him.
“But I can hold the accusations against your paramour,” Gerard stated.
The guards moved forward with intent to take Stiles.
Derek pushed Stiles back, making a barrier between Stiles and the men. “First
man to touch him will die, I promise you that.”
“This is a matter of the Faith, Prince Derek. Besides, you can’t fight the
whole way to your ships,” Kate stated.
“She’s right,” Stiles lightly stated, his hand moving to grasp Derek’s arm.
“Derek, you can’t fight them all.”
Derek turned to look at Stiles, about to argue against him. He furrowed his
eyebrows when he saw Stiles’ brows softly scrunched in determination.
Stiles leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Derek’s lips. “Find me, my wolf, and
bring me home.” He let his hand slip from Derek when one of the guards grabbed
him. He let them yank him away, dragging him towards Allison.
Derek watched as Stiles was taken away from him. His glared when the iron
shackles were placed on Stiles’ wrists. His wolf growled, the Alpha spark
howling at him to do something. It was only when Stiles disappeared from his
sight that he turned to murderously glare at Gerard.
                                      ~*~
Stiles slowly paced by his cell door, his toes kicking up some of the dust,
having discarded his sandals. His hands ran along the stones as he waited. His
lip was split, a result of biting one of the guard’s fingers when they tried to
force him to look at them, their vulgar advances on him evident. He had smiled
when the spit the blood at them.
Allison had commemorated him. She knew that Derek would be doing all he could
to get Stiles out, hoping that her father was doing the same for her.
“The Faith,” Stiles started as he moved to sit by the cell door so Allison
could hear him. “What is the punishment for us?”
“It varies based on the crime,” Allison replied. “If we don’t confess, than we
stand trial.”
“Can I demand a trial by combat?” Stiles curiously asked.
“I’m sure Derek would gladly agree to that, even if the High Septon doesn’t,”
Allison answered.
“If your grandfather doesn’t banish him from King’s Landing,” Stiles stated,
his hand going to his pendant. His fingertips trailed along the design, his
thoughts focusing on the poison inside the capsule.
“He’s coming for you,” Allison stated. “Don’t lose hope in that.”
“I never lose hope in Derek,” Stiles answered.
“Which one’s the whore?” A voice questioned from the hallway.
Stiles rose, backing away from the door.
“The woman’s a lady,” another voice laughed, words slurred from drink.
“Leave him alone!” Allison yelled as she got onto her feet, moving to look
through the door’s small window into the hallway.
The men ignored Allison, one of them opening Stiles’ door.
“I’m a Argent!” Allison yelled, hoping that the men would leave Stiles alone.
“I’m an Argent, and he is the companion of a Prince of Dorne.”
The men stopped, one of them stumbling towards Allison’s door. “What did you
say?” He demanded.
“I’m the Kingslayer’s daughter,” Allison firmly stated. “And he is the
companion to a Prince of Dorne—”
“—Prince of Dorne,” the man seethed. “I spit on the Dornish.”
Allison panicked, knowing she angered the man instead of placating him. “I have
gold, endless reserves of gold.”
“I know you’re an Argent,” the man answered. “I used to be one of your guards.”
He gruffly slurred out a curse, moving the fabric of his sleeve to reveal a nub
to be where his hand should have been. “Until a Prince of Dorne cut a fucking
hole in my wrist and the healer thought it wise to remove the whole hand.”
Allison’s eyes widened, recognizing the man from the brothel the day she
greeted Derek.
“If he’s the companion of that fucking Dornishman, than I’ll take him over your
pissing gold,” the man stated.
“Stop!” Allison yelled when the other man dragged Stiles out of his cell. She
rammed her shoulder into the door, praying to the gods that it would give way.
Stiles didn’t argue or struggle with the men, letting them lead him down the
hallway and towards their outpost—the station meant to guard the prison from an
outside force. He released a small huff of pain when the man threw him against
the desk. He pushed his hands against the desk, noticing the wine jugs
scattered across the ground. He turned to look at the men when he heard the
sound of clothes being discarded.
“He’s pretty, for a Dornishman’s whore,” one of them uttered.
Stiles recognized the man stripping from his clothes, knowing it was him that
spoke of the brothel incident.
“Are you used to taking cock, or is that your Dornishman’s preference?” The man
has laughed in question.
Stiles forced a smile onto his lips. “My prince fucks like a god,” he started,
leaning back against the desk. “I can ride him for hours,” he gripped the desk,
shaking it some in emphasis. “And if I’m still not satisfied, he holds me up
and fucks me against the wall.” His eyes flickered to the man’s wrist. “You
think he’s good with a dagger? You should see what the man can do with his
cock.” He saw the anger in the man’s eyes, the lust in the other’s. “My prince
has a cock that could satisfy anyone,” he uttered. “Unlike you,” his eyes
moving to inspect both men’s groins, offering a sad frown.
Stiles let his head hang to the side when the man hit across the face. He wiped
at his mouth to see if his lip was bleeding again. He took advantage of the
men’s momentary unawareness to his intentions. He grasped the neck of one of
the jugs, hurling it with his full strength to hit the man in head, knocking
him unconscious.
The man from the brothel was faster than Stiles thought, catching Stiles off
guard as he grasped a handful of his hair, ripping him backwards. The man
slammed Stiles, face first, into the wall, using his handless arm to press into
Stiles’ back. The action reminded Stiles why he never allowed his hair to grow
long while in the brothels.
Stiles struggled, his hands pressed against the wall as he tried to slip free.
He turned his head away from the man when he leaned in to speak.
“I hope your prince fucked you enough that you don’t tear,” the man sneered,
his breath harsh and unwelcoming against Stiles’ skin. “Wouldn’t want the fun
to be over too soon, would we?”
Stiles struggled to reach the bangle wrapped around his bicep, the golden viper
head just out of his reach. He remembered Derek’s words when he slipped the
bangle on his arm the first time.
As long as you wear this, a Viper of Dorne will always protect you.
“This would be over quicker if you stopped struggling,” the man stated, his
hand pushing Stiles’ clothes to the side.
Stiles’ fingers wrapped around the head of the viper, ripping it from the rest
of the bangle. A hot burn sliced through his arm, the tip of the hidden blade
running along his skin. He slammed his hand back into the man, burying the
viper’s blade deep in the man’s groin. With a speed matching the snake, he
ripped the blade from the man, plunging it back in for another strike. He
stumbled from the sudden weight recoiling from his back, turning around to see
the man scramble and howl in pain, his hand trying to stop the blood squirting
from his body.
Stiles’ breathing was heavy as he watched the man bleed out, his hand still
wrapped around the viper’s head. His steps were weak as he moved to inspect the
unconscious man for the keys to the cells. He heard the footsteps rushing down
the steps, the sound of someone quickly moving towards him. He spun, ready to
stab the person before they could get the best of him.
“Stiles!” Derek yelled, putting his hand up in a placating manner. He recoiled
when the tip of the blade barely sliced through his hand.
“Derek!” Stiles startled, dropping the viper’s head in favor of rushing for
him. He wrapped his arms around Derek, thankful to have Derek’s arms around him
in return. He pulled back, reaching up to inspect his hand, noticing that the
wound was already healing.
“I’m fine,” Derek stated in reassurance, placing his hand beneath Stiles’ chin.
“Are you?” His thumb moved to caress under Stiles’ lip, draining the pain away
with the black veins traveling up his arm. He inspected the reddening of
Stiles’ cheek.
Stiles couldn’t help but think about the first time they met, how similar yet
different it all was. He nodded, hugging Derek once more as he pressed his face
against Derek’s throat, hiding beneath his chin. “Just tell me we can leave
here,” he begged.
“We’re leaving here—tonight,” Derek stated, running his hand through Stiles’
hair.
Stiles only let Derek part from him to retrieve the viper head blade from the
floor, wiping the blood from the blade before slipping it back into Stiles’
bangle. He placed a kiss against Stiles’ lips, looking up when he heard Erica
descending the steps.
“Good riddance,” Erica commented when she saw the dead man from the brothel.
“Where’s Allison?”
Derek grabbed the keys, tossing them to Erica. “She’s down the hallway. Chris
is waiting at the docks. Stiles and I are heading to Essos.”
Stiles arched his eyebrow in question, silencing himself when Derek lightly
shook his head—a signal that he’d explain elsewhere.
“Then may the gods be with you,” Erica stated with a nod, moving to head down
the hallway.
“What’s in Essos?” Stiles asked as he followed Derek up the stairs. He allowed
Derek to pick him up when they reached the outside streets, not trusting his
feet to touch whatever foul things called the street home.
“Your father,” Derek stated once Stiles had his arms securely around his neck.
                                      ~*~
Chris and Allison boarded Derek’s ship last minute, Erica following after them.
The bells were tolling behind them, shouts of treason behind heard as the ship
took off from the docks. Allison tightened her hold on the bow in her hands,
moving away from her father to head below deck.
Chris argued with Erica, who merely rolled her eyes at the man.
“She killed the man who ruined all your lives and sentenced Stiles to be
brutally raped for half a decade!” Erica snapped.
Stiles stared at Erica, not understanding what was happening. He slipped from
Derek’s grasp, moving to follow Allison below decks, thankful Derek let him go.
He slowly approached her, watching the way she continuously tightened and
untightened her hands around the bow.
“I killed my grandfather,” Allison announced, finally looking up at Stiles. “It
feels worse if I say it that way instead of calling him by his titles.”
“Erica brought you to him,” Stiles stated as he sat beside her.
“I asked her to,” Allison replied. “I wanted to look him in the eye before I
left—ask him why.” She sighed, lowering her head when Stiles placed a hand on
her shoulder.
“He sent those men down,” Allison stated. “He sent them down to hurt you,
because he wanted to punish Derek … He admitted to ordering Laura’s death—no
survivors. He told Ser Clegane to kill Laura and her children to make sure that
no Targaryen bloodline remained. He wanted a clean slate.” She wiped her tears
away with the back of her hand.
“I shot him,” Allison confessed. “I shot him with two arrows, and waited for
him to die.” She turned to look at Stiles. “Before the first arrow, I ask him
about you—why you were kept at Argent brothels. He said he used you as a
reminder, that sometimes people disobey, and you have to make an example of
them.” She shook her head. “Your father supported Prince Rhaegar’s marriage to
Laura, not Kate. He was the one that persuaded the Mad King to accept Laura as
Rhaegar’s wife.”
“The men that came for me the day my mother died,” Stiles started, looking away
from Allison. “My father wasn’t home—they came for me.”
“He wanted to ruin Ser Stilinski’s life,” Allison explained. “He killed his
wife and took his son to be abused and mistreated. That’s why he was angry that
Derek took you—not because it insulted Kate. You were supposed to stay at
Casterly Rock.”
Stiles slowly hugged Allison, pulling her against his chest. He let her rest
her head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”
The voyage to Essos was long but comforting—all of them felt a calm surround
them thanks to the quietness of the surrounding water. They were greeted by the
Targaryen Queen’s men, who escorted them to her residence to be greeted.
Stiles leaned into Derek’s embrace, eyes carefully watching the guards. He
turned his head to look at Allison, offering her a faint smile when she rolled
her eyes. He was thankful that she came with them.
Stiles turned to look at the doors as they opened, watching as a handful of
people came to meet them. His eyes tracked the sell-sword, the servant, and
finally the lady in white.
The lady in white didn’t have the typical Targaryen white hair. Her hair was a
sharp strawberry blonde, a common color many women in the capital tried to
replicate through dye or even wigs. A necklace in the form of a dragon wrapped
around her neck, the dragon’s head and wings on display, resting against her
clavicle. She stopped a few yards away from Stiles and the others, her eyes
scanning them before she turned to Derek.
“I’ve been informed that you are a Prince of Dorne,” the woman stated, arching
her eyebrow in hopes of receiving a confirmation.
“I am,” Derek answered, offering her a formal bow of respect. “Derek Hale of
Dorne, my sister was your brother Rhaegar’s wife. And these are my companions,”
he offered as he gestured towards the others.
“Delighted to meet you,” the woman offered with a respectful bow of her head.
“I am Lydia Stormborn of House Targaryen. And I suppose you’re family then.”
Derek offered a small smile. “I thought Dorne should see about stretching her
hand out in welcoming family back to Westeros.”
Lydia smiled in return. “I was told you brought a gift. This is a rather large
gift to receive, especially when the King wanted me dead.”
“That’s not the gift,” Derek explained. “But perhaps it will put you at ease to
know that the King is dead, and so is his grandfather, Gerard Argent.”
Lydia looked surprised by the news. “I didn’t know.”
“It was spontaneous,” Allison commented.
Lydia’s eyes traveled over to Allison before looking back at Derek. “And who
are your companions?”
“They are the true gifts,” Derek stated. “I bring you Lady Erica, knight of the
Blackwater.” He paused as Erica bowed to Lydia. “Lady Allison and Ser
Christopher of House Argent.” He caught the way Lydia’s features soured at the
name Argent. “You can thank Allison for Gerard’s death.”
Allison bowed in respect to Lydia.
“Christopher Argent,” Lydia stated, as if she was pondering something. “You’re
known as the Kingslayer, are you not?”
“Aye, your majesty,” Chris truthfully answered. “I was the one that killed your
father when he called for the city to be burned with wildfire.”
Erica and Allison side-eyed one another at the mention of wildfire, both of
them recalling the way it exploded in a ball of flames at Blackwater.
“I suppose I can respect a man that admits such things,” Lydia stated, her lips
pulling into a tight line. “Ser John told me about my father—and I am not my
father.”
“I know that, your majesty,” Chris answered. “I came here to right wrongs. I
came to help the last Targaryen find her rightful place.”
“And where is that?” Lydia asked.
“Where she wants to be,” Chris replied. “Whether it is here, freeing the people
of Slaver’s Bay, or in Westeros, sitting on the Iron Throne.”
Lydia nodded, accepting Chris’ offer as genuine. She turned to look at Derek.
“And?” She asked as she looked at Stiles.
“And my … companion, Stiles of House Stilinski,” Derek stated, looking at
Stiles.
Lydia's eyes widened at the use of the Stilinski name. She turned to her
handmaiden. “Where is Ser John?”
“I believe he’s overseeing the fighting pits, my queen,” the young woman
answered.
“Send for him. Tell him it’s about his son,” Lydia stated. She turned back to
Stiles, offering him a smile as she approached him. She collected his hands in
hers as she spoke. “I’m very honored to meet you,” she explained. “Ser John is
very dear to me—which in turn makes you very dear as well.”
Stiles offered her a small smile. “I thank you.”
“Come,” Lydia started. “We’ll wait for him inside.”
The palace was vast but welcoming, the guards backing away from them as Lydia
escorted them inside. The tones were surprisingly more humble than those used
in King’s Landing.
Stiles held Derek’s hand, leaning against his arm as his eyes scanned their
surroundings. He looked at Derek, smiling when he gave his hand a gentle
squeeze—a reassurance that everything would end well. He nibbled his bottom
lip, his thoughts drifting to thoughts of how the reunion was going to play
out.
“Stop worrying,” Derek uttered, his voice sure and calm.
“What if it’s not him?” Stiles asked, releasing a soft sigh. “What if he
doesn’t care?”
“He does,” Derek replied, turning to hold Stiles’ shoulders. “And it’s him.”
“You don’t know that,” Stiles begrudgingly argued.
“No matter what happens,” Derek started, pulling Stiles into a hug. “I’m not
leaving your side.”
Stiles silently clutched at Derek’s back, burying his face in Derek’s shoulder.
He took a deep breath, calming his nerves as they waited. His heart leapt at
the sound of distant footsteps growing closer.
“My queen,” a male voice called from behind them.
“Ser John,” Lydia replied, smiling as she offered a bow of her head. She folded
her hands together, her eyes looking to Stiles.
Derek turned to look at Ser John, taking in his appearance as Stiles remained
looking forward.
Ser John was an older man, features burdened by a life of discipline and untold
struggles. His hair was an ashened brown, crinkled lines of laughter around his
eyes where he may have once allowed a smile to reach that far. His eyes were a
kind grayish green. He locked eyes with Derek, his features furrowing some,
almost as if he recognized him.
“I wanted to introduce you to our guests,” Lydia stated as she turned to look
at Derek. “This is Derek Hale, Prince of Dorne. His sister was—”
“Laura Targaryen,” Ser John immediately, finally understanding how he
recognized him. “I’d offer you my apologies if I thought it would bring you
comfort. Your sister was a good woman—her children were as kind and loving as
their mother.”
Derek nodded in thanks, a lump forming in his throat as he thought of Laura. “I
thank you, but I don’t blame you or the Kingsguard for what happened. Gerard
Argent paid for what he did with his life.”
Ser John nodded, satisfied to know that it was true what Lydia’s handmaiden
told him—Gerard had been killed by his own granddaughter. “Well, on behalf of
my queen, I would be honored to help you in any way she sees fit.” His eyes
lingered on Stiles, curious who the man was and why he kept his back to him.
“You and your … companion?” He asked, arching an eyebrow at Derek for further
clarification.
Stiles looked up at Derek, uncertainty covering his features. He sighed when
Derek offered him a light nod of encouragement. He slowly turned, his stomach
clenching at the thought of finally laying eyes on the man that could possibly
be his father. Fear rose in his chest, thinking about whether his father even
still cared—would even want him after everything he’s been through. He forced
his eyes to look up at the man, offering a slight bow as his whole body hummed
with adrenaline.
Ser John felt as if a Valyrian blade had been plunged through his chest, left
there to pin him to his spot. His eyes focused on Stiles, taking in his
features and their familiarities. Pale skin splashed with beauty marks. Warm
honey brown eyes, almost exact replicas of Claudia’s. A mess of chestnut hair
that still looked as unruly as the day he left for the royal wedding. The last
day he saw Claudia alive. The last day he saw his son.
“Maennalys?”
Maennalys. Nalys.
Stiles blinked several times, trying to calm his heartbeat as he parted his
lips to speak. The name sounded familiar—a distant echo from the darkness where
his memories once were. “I … I don’t know,” he weakly uttered, unsure how to
react. “I can’t remember anything from before I was twelve,” he admitted with a
bitter scoff. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just thought—”
Stiles’ words broke off when Ser John quickly closed the gap between them. He
wasn’t scared of the man when he reached for him, a faint recollection shining
through. He let Ser John pull him into his embrace, his own arms instinctively
gripping at the man’s cloak. He didn’t want to let go. He wanted to be right.
“You look just like your mother,” Ser John uttered, holding Stiles tightly as
he placed a hand against the back of his head. “I prayed to the gods every
night for this. I never stopped looking for you.”
It was the feeling of a tear hitting his shoulder that broke Stiles’ resolve.
He closed his eyes, blocking out his own tears as they burned his eyes. He
released a soft sob, digging his fingers into the cloak as he clutched to Sir
John. He let Ser John hold him, his body and mind exhausted. He thought he
heard his father thank Derek, his mind focusing on the man holding him.
Father. His father.
                                      ~*~
“You’re going to leave him?” Lydia asked, arching an eyebrow at Derek.
“He’ll be safer here than in Dorne,” Derek confessed. “If Dorne is to help you
win back Westeros, I have to go back and help my mother lead.”
Lydia nodded, understanding the decision. “You should tell him,” she stated as
she watched Stiles and Ser John walking beside one another, discussing the
things they missed.
Derek’s heart ached when Stiles laughed, his hands animatedly explaining a
story. He loved the way Stiles smiled at his father, happy that he had managed
to make him laugh. “His father will protect him. You will protect him.”
“I will. As I’m sure Allison and Erica will,” Lydia confirmed. “But you should
still tell him,” she added. “He’s going to notice your absence.”
“He’s happy,” Derek stated. “That’s … enough.” He quickly turned on his heel,
leaving Lydia behind.
                                      ~*~
Derek wasn’t surprised when he heard footsteps running towards the
docks—towards himself and Chris. He nodded when Chris gave him a faint gesture
of warning before boarding the ship to give him privacy.
“Derek!” Stiles yelled, his breathing heavy as he panted from the exertion.
Derek turned to face him, prepared for the fight that he had tried to avoid. He
wasn’t prepared for Stiles smacking him. He almost stumbled from the surprise
before turning his head back to look at him.
“How dare you,” Stiles seethed, his eyes red rimmed, tears staining his cheeks
as he wiped them away. “You selfish bastard!”
“Stiles—”
“After everything,” Stiles started, not allowing Derek to argue. “After
everything we’ve been through—after all of it, you were going to leave me here?
Alone?”
“You’re not alone,” Derek countered. “You have Allison and Erica, and now your
father.”
“Not alo—” Stiles cut himself off, releasing an angered breath. “You arrogant
son of a bitch.”
“Don’t talk about my mother that way,” Derek commented.
“This isn’t a time for your comebacks!” Stiles yelled, pushing hands against
Derek’s chest. “You were going to leave me, Derek. Leave me! You’d just— just
toss me aside like that?” The tears still burned his eyes as he spoke the
words. “What about Bel and Ana? They are just as much my daughters as they are
yours!”
“I would never toss you aside, Stiles,” Derek growled. “And they are, you know
they are.”
“Then why?”
“Because I can’t protect you in Dorne!” Derek shouted, his eyes tinting red
before he got control of his wolf. “Because I can’t make you choose. I won’t
make you choose to have one dangerous life over another.”
“What are you talking about?” Stiles demanded.
“I couldn’t protect you from Gerard,” Derek stated. “If anything, I complicated
your life.” He looked up at Stiles. “Your father neverstopped looking for you.
He searched Harrenhal and Casterly Rock. He never stopped, and he would have
found you if it wasn’t for me taking you.”
“You saved me,” Stiles softly argued.
“I bought you,” Derek corrected him.
“You didn’t buy me,” Stiles stated. “You bought the pimp’s interests. You
turned his eye from me and pointed it towards gold.”
Derek swallowed the lump in his throat, reaching a hand up to cup Stiles’ face.
He kissed his lips, softly and unrushed. He showered Stiles’ face in a series
of kisses, enjoying the angelic sigh that escaped Stiles’ throat in response.
He pulled back, ironing out every detail of Stiles’ face, never wanting to
forget a moment. “I can’t believe all this time, and I’ve never told you.”
Stiles furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.
“From the moment you spoke to me, you had my attention,” Derek started. “You
saved me, in the fighting pit that night. You pulled me back and anchored me
down, when all I wanted to do was die.” He ran his thumb along Stiles’ cheek,
brushing the stray tear away. “The night after I told you—after I showed you
what I am … That night, when I held you in my arms, I never wanted to let go.
And I knew, that I loved you when you woke up and smiled at me without fear or
uncertainty clouding your judgment. And every minute, of every day, I just find
a new thing about you that I love.”
Stiles reached out, grasping Derek’s hips to pull him in. His lip quivered when
Derek pulled away, forcing himself out of his reach.
“I love you, Stiles Stilinski,” Derek stated. “I love you, and I’m letting you
go.” He turned to leave, stopping when Stiles grabbed his arm.
“You are my life,” Stiles firmly stated. “You. The girls—Dorne. That is my life
and my father knows that.”
“You’ve just been reunited with him,” Derek argued. “I’ve kept you from him for
more than a decade.”
“I love you,” Stiles stated, unafraid to admit the words out loud. “You’re a
Prince of Dorne, I’m the sullied son of the traitorous Lord Commander of the
Queensguard. And I’m not afraid anymore to say it. But I am afraid of leaving
your side.”
Derek looked away from Stiles, his wolf whimpering to lean into Stiles’ touch,
begging for his mate’s loving embrace.
“Tell Chris to stay,” Stiles uttered. “Tell him to stay, and bring my father
with us back to Dorne.”
Derek looked at Stiles, not understanding how he could think that Lydia would
part with part of her council.
“Ask Lydia to exchange Chris and my father,” Stiles stated. “Chris is better at
naval warfare, while my father is better at land. With them situated correctly,
Lydia could take King’s Landing in a matter of years.”
Derek arched his eyebrows. “And since when are you a strategist?”
“Since I decided that I wanted both my father, and my prince in my life,”
Stiles answered. “I asked you to take me home, my wolf, and you have yet to do
that.”
                                      ~*~
Three Years Later ...
The war was harsh and brutal on both sides. Losses were tallied, houses had
fallen and were never to rise again. But in the end, Lydia stood above the Iron
Throne, her name being cheered all throughout the common households in
Westeros.
Queen. Liberator. Mother.
It was easy to take King’s Landing without excess bloodshed. Lydia forces, with
Allison and Chris by her side, blocked off King’s Landing by sea, while Derek
organized the houses by land to fight beside Dorne. The North joined the fight
under the McCall banner, offering to aid in finishing what they had started
against Gerard long ago.
Chris was the one that killed Kate. He had begged her to stand down—that it
didn’t have to end in bloodshed. But with Gerard gone, Kate had lost her mind
even more. She was hungry to keep her power. She flew into a rage when she saw
Stiles enter the throne room with Derek, rushing to attack Stiles with one of
the slain Argent guard’s sword.
Chris stabbed her through the chest—straight through her heart—before she could
make it passed him. He held her as she died, some childish part of him still
remembering her as his beloved sister, the person she was before he left to be
part of the Kingsguard.
The final battle was over in a matter of hours.
No rape, pillaging, or murder was permitted by Lydia—she had grown wiser, more
merciful in her years with Allison and Ser John both voicing reason. She
brought justice to King’s Landing, freeing its people from their own prisons.
Stiles didn’t mind being in King’s Landing again. This time, it was free of the
oppression and unjust propriety enforced by the nobles. He held Derek’s hand as
they watched the small boat carrying Bel and Ana to the shore. It had been
almost six months since they had seen them—the end of the war pulling them away
from Dorne and into the Red Keep to assist Lydia with building a stable
government.
For the time being, Lydia named Ser John as Hand of the Queen, while appointing
Derek to the Queen’s Small Council. She offered Chris the position of Lord
Commander, not at all surprised when he declined, asking for her permission to
accept his retirement. Allison accepted in his stead. She was more than happy
to be by Lydia’s side at all time—and Stiles played oblivious to it all when he
caught the two of them in the archives.
Stiles suppressed a laugh when both girls ignored protocol, jumping from the
boats and into the shallow water—neither really caring if their dresses were
soaked. He gladly welcomed Bel into his arms, smiling when Ana jumped into
Derek’s.
“We missed you so much,” Bel stated, holding onto Stiles tightly.
“Sunspear is terrible without you,” Ana softly murmured against her father’s
shoulder.
“Yes, palaces are horrible places to live in,” Derek deadpanned.
“Not as horrible as being on a ship,” Bel wrinkled her nose at the thought of
being back on the ship for another minute.
“Bel hogged the bed the whole trip,” Ana complained as she pulled back from
Derek, moving to hug Stiles.
“Ana brought more than enough clothes for all of King’s Landing,” Bel shot
back, as she released Stiles.
“But we kept up our training,” Ana stated, hip checking Bel for her comment.
“Have you?” Derek asked, skeptical of their ability to focus on one task at a
time.
“For the most part,” Bel offered with a small shrug. “Is grandpa here?”
“He should be right—” Stiles started, only to be cut off by Ana.
“Grandpa!” Ana called, running over to Ser John.
“There,” Stiles sighed as he let Ana run by him, not bothering to chastise her.
“Cheater,” Bel grumped as she picked up the skirts of her dress, chasing after
Ana.
“They’re acting like they’re children again,” Stiles murmured as he looked
after them, smiling to himself as they both nearly tackled his father.
“Did you really expect a child you helped raise to grow up and not act like a
child?” Derek replied.
“Hey, it’s half your fault,” Stiles answered.
Derek smiled, wrapping his arm around Stiles’ waist as he watched their
daughters. He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ temple, stating against his skin, “I
hope they never bother with growing up.”
Stiles smiled, leaning into Derek’s side. “I agree.”
Derek looked at Stiles, taking in the sight of him—the way the light caught his
eyes, the glint of the evening sun illuminating them; the softness of his hair
standing out against the coarseness of the sand around them. Lastly, his eyes
tracked the length of Stiles’ throat, landing on the three strands of pearls
wrapped perfectly around his neck. He leaned in, kissing Stiles’ skin just
above the pearls.
“I love you,” Derek whispered against Stiles’ skin, content to stay that close
to him.
“As I love you,” Stiles replied, offering Derek better access to his throat.
They both couldn’t help but laugh when Bel and Ana made disgruntled noises of
protests at having to see their fathers acting intimate.
It had taken Stiles a long time to realize it, but home wasn’t a place or a
name. It was family.
                                      ~*~
Stiles was an unknown kindness in a cruel world. Derek’s cruel world.
End Notes
     For those who want to know, the bangle Derek gave Stiles was based
     off of this (x).
     I hope you enjoyed this! It's been a long road to get this fic done.
     Artwork is by kilaem. Rebloggable tumblr post (x).
     Feel free to join me on tumblr:
     dexterous-sinistrous is suited towards my ramblings about my writing,
     and NSFW. (It's where I serenade myself about Sterek). It's my
     trashcan of emotions. Feel free to stop by and say hi, criticize me,
     make incoherent noises with me, whatevs.
     Send me any prompts you think you'd like to have me write!
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