Just a thing I've been wanting to write for a while. Not sure how many parts it'll have, but I'll try to update as often as possible. Enjoy, and leave a review to let me know what you thought! :D
His smile- that is the first thing she remembers. It comes easily to his face, natural as breathing, like sun on a summer's morning. Margarethe knows that smile like she knows her own voice. And she knows him as well, knows the young knight with wild honey hair who advises her father. She marked him by the grin, and his name once she grew older. Mathias. It is a bright, cheerful name, one that suits him well. Simple and honest. Margarethe has met a hundred peasant farmers called Mathias whilst travelling through her father's kingdom. This is what leads her to wonder about her Mathias' past- was he a peasant once as well, raised to knighthood for his skill with sword and shield? But there is a measured ease to him that suggests more noble origins. So Margarethe dreams of a runaway prince, exiled unfairly from his kingdom and waiting for the day when he can return. Though above anything else he is loyal to her father. He is the first to arrive and last to leave at every council meeting, and offers clever, insightful sentiments whenever the king asks for them. Margarethe treasures the rare occasions when she is allowed to attend as well- if only to hear his silken voice, watch his azure eyes smile with as much warmth as his mouth. Her father trusts him most of all. The other advisors are older by decades, yet it is to Mathias, who cannot be more than eighteen, whom he turns to in his hour of need.
As Margarethe grows, she begins to view Mathias with the discerning eye of a princess. He charms women when he has to, is respectful to the older lords, yet devotes all of his time to a sole being when their backs are turned. Margarethe sees. She sees the way he looks at pale-haired, ethereal Lukas, and her young mind cannot interpret it as anything but friendship. Lukas carries a strange aura wherever he goes, dark and enigmatic as witchcraft. They whisper about him- ladies behind their embroidery, knights training in the courtyard- how he bewitches men and women alike with his magic, how he worships only the stars and practices spellbindery in the darkest hours of the night. Margarethe hears them. She has made it her duty to hear everything and weigh it wisely, just as her father taught her. King Valdemar is not a typical ruler- in that he sees worth in everyone, no matter how lowly, and has located his daughter's natural eye for politics. But Margarethe is more interested in the twisted mystery of Lukas and Mathias than the prospect of a crown. She works Lukas into her daydream, dubbing him the prince's loyal wizard friend, sent to guide him home. When they speak in an unfamiliar tongue, it is merely the arcane language of magic. Margarethe does not question these things. She has a child's curiosity, and all the fiery determination of an empress. Together they will forge her a golden future.
'Where did you go this time?' she demands of Mathias. He smiles teasingly, dismounting his horse with not a word. 'I command you to tell me.' His lips twitch.
'Of course, Princess. I visited Lübeck, in the Holy Roman Empire.'
'And?' says Margarethe, hands on her hips. But that smile is infectious- she cannot stop her lips from curving into lips when Mathias' do.
'I brought you back a gift, of course I did.' He reaches into his saddlebags and brings out something small, wrapped in red velvet. Margarethe takes it from him with a regal nod of thanks. She is his princess; he is bidden do to as she commands. The velvet falls away to reveal a tiny statue- a wolf carved from dark jade, with ruby droplets for eyes. Margarethe's breath catches in her throat.
'But it must have been so expensive,' she whispers, etiquette forgotten amidst surprise. Mathias shrugs.
'I had some spare gold.' That may well be true. He brings Lukas things too, silver brooches and illuminated scrolls from the Viking times. And there is a small boy who lives in the west wing of the palace- Emil, he is called- who Mathias dotes on in particular. He has always been generous, yes. But not like this.
'Sir-' begins Margarethe.
'Please. Call me Mathias.' Another smile lights up his face, warm enough to melt the snow drifting down around them.
'Mathias.' The name tastes strange on her tongue. 'This is a rare gift. I hardly know how to thank you.' He lifts an eyebrow. But when his answer comes, it is utterly strange.
'Promise that you will trust me.'
'What? Sir- Mathias- you have my-'
'Please, Princess. Just say it.' A rebuke springs forward, but Margarethe pushes it away. No need to be stern, she tells herself.
'I trust you. With my life, and my father the king's.' Something softens in Mathias' face.
'Good.' He takes her hand in his own- warm, rough with calluses- and presses a kiss to it. His lips are surprisingly soft against her skin, gentle and almost caring. Margarethe shakes her head to dislodge the thought. Yes, his smile is better than any expensive present from Lübeck. Yes, her heart quickens every time he walks into a room. But she possesses discipline far beyond her years, and so Margarethe manages to consider him as nothing more than her loyal knight. Or so she tells herself.
And yet there is an undeniable mystery to him, something almost magical. Mathias loves the sea more than anyone she has ever met. He spends all of his free time down by the shore, breathing in salt air and letting the coarse waters caress his hands.
'I would swim in it, but Lukas won't let me.' he tells her one day. Margarethe thinks that is undeniably odd- and undeniably like him as well. She imagines he would be quite at home there, head bobbing above the white-crested waves, comfortable as a mermaid. He certainly has the daydream character for it. But his love for the open water goes much further than that. Margarethe remembers the time they travelled to Malmö- not a long journey, one hour at most- and how Mathias had never looked more at peace than he did then. The same faraway cast sometimes appears in Lukas' eyes as well. Once Margarethe caught him poring over a map, and the way his fingers brushed against Norway was almost tender. Both are special, different. And there is a third as well. She discovers him in the council chamber, arguing with Mathias.
'You don't understand.' someone snaps, no doubt Mathias. 'We cannot keep funding your expeditions to the East. The treasuries-'
'You don't fund my expeditions.' At first Margarethe thinks the other person is her father, but this voice is deeper, quieter. 'My king pays for it, and you think it's your money because of the trade tax. It's-'
'It's my money!' Mathias interrupts. 'I hate to break it to you, lillebror, but this is too much weight for the treasuries to bear now. So either you find your own methods of payment, or consider the East out of bounds from now on.' There is a mumbling of words Margarethe cannot make out, and footsteps thump towards the door behind which she waits. Her limbs are frozen under the influence of some strange spell. Lillebror, Mathias called the other man. She never knew he had a brother, let alone any family at all. Margarethe steps into a shadowed alcove when the door swings open. A tall man stalks out, a travel-stained cloak whipping around his knees. His hair is blond, but not like Mathias', more ash than honey. As he sweeps down the corridor, she glimpses his profile- a long nose, firm-set lips and cold eyes that flicker between teal and aquamarine. He and Mathias do not look remotely alike. And then he steps out as well. His eyes are alight with an alien fury, an expression that looks wrong on his usually cheerful face. Mathias sighs, dragging one hand through his already unruly hair. Margarethe dares to retreat from her hiding place, and is rewarded with his signature wide grin. There is something lacking in it, but Margarethe brushes that aside for now.
'Princess.'
'Mathias.' His name still feels odd in her mouth, as though it does not quite ring true. 'Who were you talking with?' He hesitates, the smile slipping.
'My lady-'
'I order you to tell me.' A short laugh escapes him at that.
'Very well. It was my brother, Princess. We were- we are not so close these days.' Somehow, though it is impossible, Margarethe feels as though he speaks of centuries long gone, a time before this castle even stood. She nods. A hundred questions are clamouring at her lips, but etiquette- or perhaps the sheer strangeness of the situation- holds them back. Mathias bows deeply and takes his leave. And she senses that he too has an unresolved query.
'Wait-' He turns on his heel at her abrupt command, hands folded respectfully behind his back. 'I have to know...tell me-' A shadow sweeps over Mathias' face, and for a second he looks far older than his eighteen years.
'Not now, Princess. But remember this- I will always come back to you.' Margarethe catches the words as they fall, clutching them close to her heart. They are another piece in the infinite puzzle of Mathias. There is an undeniable aura of mystery to him- his brother as well, Lukas to an even higher extent. It whispers of ancient times and distant lands, names breathed through snow that resound against the very core of the earth. But Margarethe does not allow herself to think upon it any longer. Dreamers and wanderers are all fools, her father says. And she takes a guilty delight in being both.