A/N: THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.

I was not supposed to get this obsessed with The Royals. When I say obsessed, I mean can't stop counting the days until the series starts again; checking for new trailers and spoilers on the internet. But I love this programme. Now I'm not going to say that it's the best thing on television because it isn't. Some things in the show just don't feel real to me (for example, King Simon seemed too away in the clouds to be a king for me). BUT the show started getting better, and 1x08 and episodes after were amazing.

And I love Eleanor. She is an amazing character. Only Mark Schwahn can wonderfully vulnerable characters and not make them feel like sticks in the mud; only he can make you really feel for them. I love her rawness and her brutality in her character, and we see hints of her vulnerability and caring side. I think she's also one of the strongest characters in the show too, and I really hope the show begins to reveal that side of her. So I decided to do a character study of her. I hope you all like it.

IMPORTANT FOR STORY:

The story isn't written in a linear fashion. I think that's pretty obvious but just in case anyone gets confused.

This story goes beyond 1x10 and into series 2

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The Royals or any of the characters; I also do not own any quotes/lyrics used in this story

rubik's cube

Oh I'm like a kid who just won't let it go
Twisting and turning the colours in rows
I'm so intent to find out what it is
This is my Rubik's cube
I know I can figure it out

Athlete, Rubik's Cube

You've heard people compare life to a lot of things: a country road, a box of chocolates, a rollercoaster. But none of those describe yours. No, if you would describe your life it would be...a Rubik's cube. One of those puzzles that is almost impossible to complete. You spend hours and hours trying to get it right, trying to get the colours to match up. You try what feels like a billion combinations, yet the answer slips through your fingers like water, like dust.

That's what your life is like. You know this. And some days you don't think you'll ever be able to figure it out.

"It breaks my heart to say it, but I'm disappointed in you."

You can't get your father's words out of your head. For once you don't go digging in your drawer for drugs or lashing out at others, or looking for someone to take the pain away. You just sit there and think. Why can't I just sort my life out? Why do I do these things? Why can't I be a proper princess, why can't I be the quiet, kind, considerate girl that Beck's wants? What's wrong with me?

That's the last thing your father ever says to you.

For a moment you allow him to rest his head against the back of yours, allow his hands to stray over your body. You think, just for a moment, how easy it would be to stay like this. Exactly like this, frozen in time. You know him, you think he's actually being sincere. "I wanted to see you."

You press the panic button.

You're not entirely honest about the reason.

"Eleanor needs to go on a diet."

"Helena-"

"She's a princess. Princesses can't be fat."

Your hand falters on the handle of the door. You remember the dress you were wearing, the glittery purple one you got specially for the Year Five concert, the one that you had hanging outside your dresser all week. Princesses can't be fat. Your eyes go hazy and you back away, blinking. That's the first night you make yourself sick. You only do it for a few months before you stop.

That's when the smoking starts.

You're lying on the damp grass with Robbie, tracing the night sky with your fingers. You're so high right now your hands feel like sausages and all you want is to grab the stars from the sky. Robbie's been smoking pot and you're both laughing, laughing so hard at nothing and right now you're fucking in love with the world, you can't hate anything –

Robbie sits up and his eyes are sober, God knows how. "Promise me you'll always be here El. Don't leave me." There's something frantic about his look, nothing you can really grab hold of, but it's enough to stop you from laughing. You grab his hand and promise: you, Robbie and Liam against the world. You can take it on. Robbie will rule and the three of you will be in control.

The world doesn't know what's coming.

He's nervous and that makes you smile. They're all so nervous, these boys who don't know what to do around you. They see you on television, smiling and waving or (more often) standing solemnly. They think you are demure, think you'll smile at their jokes and teasing. When you're upfront with them they don't know what to do. He's no exception.

Until he is.

The nervous guy changes. He wears a smirk that makes your skin crawl, and his sweet words are darts laced with poison. You have gravely underestimated him, and now he controls you. You are trapped and you can't stand it.

(Underneath all of that, something you won't dare admit, is excitement: a little whirl in your stomach that yearns for this. You're broken, you've known this for a long time, and this only proves it. He has no idea how easy it would be for you to have a word with Price, to throw his ass in jail and delete the video.

But you don't.

Later you will curse yourself for this.

Much, much later, you will be thankful.)

You don't lose your virginity until you're seventeen – quite a feat for a princess really, but you've waited. For a long time you're unsure why – but with Beck you know.

He is everything a boy – a man – should be; more a prince than you are a princess. He is charming and when he smiles the world around you fuzzes. You, cool and calm under the eyes of a nation, blush and stutter and mess up your words and giggle too much. Yet he doesn't mind.

You sleep with him and its freaking perfect: he is gentle and understanding and it's everything people say it is. You want to shout out loud, want to tell the papers what you've done, how you feel.

But you can't, because he has a girlfriend.

And then his girlfriend becomes his wife.

On that day you drink yourself into oblivion but even half-asleep you still know what's happening, you can't forget him in the church with Robbie there as his best man, grimacing towards because he knows how much it's killing you.

(That's the day you stop believing in fairytales, for real.)

You stay by your father's bedside, even when you find out he's not your father. It doesn't matter to you, and you couldn't care less about no longer being a princess. Your heart goes out to Liam though, because he was ready. He could have been the King of England – fuck, you know he deserves it. He has been raised only to be knocked down and you could kill because of that.

It's the queen's fault.

You want to strangle her with your bare hands but only get away with yanking the stuffing out of some pillows, not nearly your best. You don't ask who your real father is. You don't care. Your father is lying in a hospital bed, that's what matters.

She tells you about Robbie killing himself and you feel yourself fall apart from the inside. But you don't think about that right now, in your rage. No, quiet contemplation will come later.

You lose your security detail but who cares about that? You tell yourself this, but in truth you lost it when he left. You watched him throw himself to ground, watched his face –

And you know, deep down, he didn't attack your father. You know he isn't in love with the queen. You just want him gone and it terrifies you because you shouldn't care. He should be nothing to you, less than nothing, but somewhere along the way he snuck through your borders, those walls you have built oh so high, and now it hurts.

You thought he was on your side.

But the queen controls him, like she controls everyone.

It will be fine. It'll all be fine as long as your father wakes up.

Robbie and then your father. You wonder why the good people die when the queen and the fucking pervert Cyrus lives. You toast God for his brilliant job in screwing up your life.

The last time you and your mother loved each other were when you were six, you think. There's a photograph to prove it. You were all in the garden – you and Liam and Robbie and you're racing round pretending to be a lion and they're chasing you and you love it.

Then your mother comes out, looking so motherly in white and even now, you wonder, if that was all design. "Eleanor, what have you done to yourself?"

"I'm a lion!" you yell and let out a roar. She pretends to be scared and you chase her through to the main room where she grabs you and tickles you. She doesn't care about you getting her muddy; she's laughing.

That's the last time you are sure that your mother loves you.

He controls you and you hate it: the way he makes demands, the way he effortlessly stops you from taking your life back, the way he reaches for you with his hands. You want to slice him open and leave him to rot.

(You ignore the part of you that aches for his touch.)

"Why are you nice to her?" you hiss.

Beck blinks. "Well – she's your mother."

"She's the enemy. You know what she did."

"She's your mother. I know your hurt right now but you'll forgive each other."

You laugh but you don't find it funny. Yes, Beck is Prince Charming but the world is no fairytale, even if he's finally left his wife for good. You will never forgive your mother, never, not for what she's done to you, done to Liam –

Not for taking him away your mind hisses but you push it aside. He is nothing to you now. He is guarding Liam, but that is all. He's not getting anywhere near you.

Except you see him everywhere and damn, how does that even happen? You bury yourself into Beck's chest and ignore him. He is nothing to you. Absolutely nothing.

"You have to trust somebody sometime."

You want to laugh and laugh when he says that. Who knew he could be so funny? You've just found out your brother has been murdered, probably by someone in your family, your father has been stabbed and he's telling you to trust someone?

You don't need anyone.

(Except he's with you and though you want to dig your nails into his fucking chest, you know he'll protect you.

But no, you don't trust him)

You love your father, maybe more than anyone else in the world. He looks at you and sees not who you are but who you could be. He believes in you, will bet on you when your mother no longer wastes her money. He dances with you, swings you round the room and makes you smile and you back away into the crowd. Another pointless dinner, another important event, but it doesn't feel so bad now. Your father sees you as perfect, and for a little while that's what you can be.

You push. He pulls.

That's the way it goes.

You love Ophelia. Not because she's kind and a decent human being, something you rarely find in the palace, but because she makes Liam smile. Liam, your twin soul, the one who you can always count one. Liam will be king one day and whether he admits it or not, it freaks him out. Ophelia will keep him grounded. Ophelia will keep him sane.

You watch her in Monaco as she leans against Liam's shoulder and you feel yourself soften, feel secure. Liam will be okay. Liam's the one that will always be okay. There had always been something uncertain about Robbie, something that maybe only you had noticed. He had a wildness to him that you shared. You've been thinking about him a lot here, what with Beck being around.

And because it's easier than being alone, you crawl into his bed and let him hold you. You love him, you know that – he's the one you've always wanted, if you had him you would be perfect – but that's not the reason you go into his bed. With your eyes closed you can trick yourself into thinking he's Robbie, that both your brothers are here.

You close your eyes and let yourself dream.

You've been drinking since you were thirteen, but it's around the age of fifteen or sixteen that you struggle to control it. Going out clubbing – something about it makes you feel good. When the music plays you move your body to it and you feel alive, you feel in synch with the world and it gives you a place to be. Even when that fades, the drugs don't. And when that begins to feel weak, more alcohol does the trick. More, more of everything, and soon you can't stop.

It's not just you. Robbie sneaks a few when he can and Liam joins you more often than not. But there's a difference between the way they do it and you do it. For them, it's a lark; for you it's a way of life.

Beck's perfect. He's with you now and he's perfect –

So why the fuck aren't you?

You lie to yourself. You tell yourself he's what you need. You hide your disappointment that your dreams haven't quite come true. You tell yourself it will happen. You kiss him and pretend –

He's everything you want, he's everything you need, he is everything inside of you that you wish you could be –

You deepen the kiss and push the song out of your mind. You're having sex with Beck again for the first time in years and you can't wait. He's laid out petals and candles and music and you're on the bed kissing him –

He says all the right things, at exactly the right time –

But –

You're both naked now and he's kissing you, moving inside you. He should be all you can think about, he is all you can think about –

But he means nothing to you –

You go harder.

But he means nothing to you –

You bite him when you kiss him and he yelps, and it makes you think of him because he wouldn't have yelped, he always liked it rough –

But he means nothing to you –

You both come at the same time and he rolls off you, panting. You let out a groan. It's easily disguised as satisfaction so he doesn't know that it's not, doesn't know that it's frustration.

But he means nothing to you and you don't know why.

But the song's wrong. You do know why.

When you were little you wanted to be an ice-skater. Your mother scoffs and says it's a good thing that you never have to work for a living. In the winter you go down to the ice rink a thousand times, the floor clear while you swirl round, pretending that you're flying.

By the time you're ready for university, you don't care. It doesn't matter what you pick, because you're never going to use it. Your father is thrilled when you pick history but in truth you don't go that much. The media hangs around for a little while but you're not a big deal as Robert or Liam (far from resenting it, you thank God for it) so they back off. When they do you go walkabout, disguised in a dark blue hoodie and black leather jacket, hood up.

When you see Ophelia's father, you're scared he's going to report you. But he doesn't see you. All he does is clutch a book and cry.

You watch him a lot. People are polite but they glance at him out the corners of their eyes, but he doesn't care. He must miss his wife so much. You deliberately don't think of Beck who's been married about three months now. It hurt – but then, there's still a chance with Beck. Even royals can get divorced now. Price's wife is gone forever.

You wonder if you will ever love someone like that. You're pretty certain no one will ever sit on a park bench and cry their eyes out over you.

You end it with Beck on a cold summer day. You've got your arms crossed and you're looking out the window. Anywhere but him.

"But – I don't understand Len." He reaches for you. His hands touch cold skin and you back away. "I thought you loved me."

"I thought I did too."

It's not just about love either. You always thought that being with Beck would be perfect – not just a perfect love, but it would make you perfect too. That someone like Beck would bring out the best of you, smooth out all your wrinkles and faults. And yeah, you don't use anymore and you've stopped drinking, but –

It doesn't stop the pain inside you.

It doesn't make you happy.

Beck doesn't make you happy.

He doesn't fight very much. He packs his bags and gives you a kiss on the cheek as a goodbye. You watch him go from the window. You don't feel much of anything, and right now you're pretty glad. You're pretty sure you just made the biggest mistake in your life, and soon that'll hit.

Thank God for drugs.

You love autumn. You're in the garden lying on a blanket with Liam, escaping from the queen and your grandmother. The two of them make the palace feel like a cottage. You're lying on the ground, looking up at the trees. You're high as kite right now but feeling oddly calm, like the world is soaked in alcohol and every move you make has no impact, like you're moving in jelly.

"The leaves are so beautiful," you whisper. You reach out as if you're going to grab them, though even in this state you know that's impossible.

Liam laughs from behind you. "You're so stoned Len."

"It's still beautiful," you argue. You can't stop looking at them. It's early October so the leaves haven't gone that grey-brown colour yet: they're yellow and orange and red, all the colours of fire. That's what you have on your insides instead of a heart; a fire, burning away. That's how you'll eventually destroy yourself. "It shows you how beautiful dying can be."

You feel Liam's eyes on you. It's been less than a month since Robbie died.

He moves closer to you. "Are you okay Len? It feels like it's been ages since we properly talked."

You don't answer, just close your eyes.

"One day you're going to realise just how strong you are." He lies down next to you, shoulders together. "Once you figure it out, the world'll feel like it's been hit by a asteroid."

It was supposed to be all of us. You, Robbie, Liam. All three of you were supposed to hit the world, knock it off its axis. Without Robbie it feels like you're trying to run a three-legged race with only two. "Liam?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for loving me."

He grips hold of your wrist, tight. "Always Len." You turn your head and move closer to him, keep yourself warm. The two of you lie there, together, always.

You will get rid of Cyrus. You don't know how, but you will. You and Liam are going to do what your father would have done and end the monarchy. You will lose everything that you have left just to watch your mother clean floors. You will burn the palace down if you have to.

So help you God, you will do it even if it means the flames engulfs you too.

The drugs are gone. That stash of E that you had taped to the bottom of your desk, just in case, is gone. You promised Beck that you had gotten rid of all your drugs, but who cares if you lied to him now? He's gone and he's never going to know. He probably won't even care after what you've done.

But they're gone.

And you know exactly who took them.

You find him in the hall, dutifully following your brother. You grab hold of his arm and jerk him backwards.

"Len?" Liam calls. "What are you doing-"

"I need him!"

"But he's my bodyguard." Liam's eyebrows knit together. "Are you just going to let me walk around without protection?"

"He'll be returned to you shortly, though perhaps not in the best condition." You yank him into your bedroom, items shaking as you slam the door. He hasn't even tried to fight you, and now he stands in the centre. "What have you done with them?"

"With what?"

You want to grab his hair, but memories of – well, they stop you. "With my drugs, you asshole. The ones I had taped under my desk."

He frowns but you know him too well: you can see the little glimmer in his eye that screams victory. "How should I know? I haven't been in your room for months."

"You're the only one who knew about that hiding spot. Now tell me!"

"I thought you didn't take them anymore," he says. "Thought you were clean." There's a trace of mocking in his voice and you know he's going to make some crack about lover boy.

You scoff. "C'mon. We both know that was never going to happen."

"I don't know that."

You snort again because you're sick of people lying to you.

He glares at you then, and you feel a wave of indignation. Who is he to glare at you? "What?"

"You're just going to count yourself out? Throw all of it away?"

"It's not your job to make me good."

"I know that. It's not Beck's job either – it's yours. All of this lashing out, taking drugs and self-destruction – it stopped being cute a long time ago."

"Like I'd take your opinion."

"It's up to you," he concludes. "You've proven you can do it. You're not addicted to these drugs, not properly. You can stop because you have. You just don't want to."

Your body is trembling and you feel your hands turning into fists. "You have no idea what it's like. You couldn't live, day after day, with what I have to-"

"Okay first of all, I was your bodyguard for months, so I know what you go through. And it's not easy. A normal person would break. But..." He looks at you. Looks at you like he can see whole galaxies beyond your eyes and you don't know why but it makes you want to cry. "You're not a normal person El. You're strong. You're stronger than everyone in this place, even stronger than Liam. Why do you think the queen and Cyrus tear you down all the time? They know that if you believed in yourself, just for a second, you would destroy them."

You can feel the tears pricking in your eyes. It's not just because it's been a long time since anyone has ever said something so lovely to you. And it's not because his accent slips when he talks to you, like he feels comfortable enough to be himself.

Only Robbie used to call you El.

Only your father would push you this way.

Only Liam would say something like this.

And he's doing all three.

Something in your face makes him back away. "I broke up with Beck."

His hands rest on the handles of your double doors.

"I'm sorry," he says, though he doesn't face you. "You seemed to really care about him."

"Not enough."

You want to ask him to stay. Your hands are on fire, you want to kiss him again, you want what Beck couldn't give you. But that would be too easy. Too much like the old you. And if you're going to do this, you have to do it properly.

You let him go.

And then:

I wake up and carefully move off the bed. The place has an untidy feel to it, but one I kinda like. I go into the kitchen in bare feet, tip-toeing over the cold floors and onto the balcony. The sun is rising, the city just starting to wake up. I love the way Rome looks, so old yet beautiful, like it knows the secret of aging just right. I've made coffee and sip it slowly, watching the colour stretch out into the world.

I feel his hand on my stomach and his nose presses into my hair. "Come back to bed," he whispers.

"It's too beautiful," I tell him. But I lean against his body, enjoying his warmth. "And I need to remind myself that yesterday wasn't a dream."

"Yesterday?" I can hear the smile on his face (I love his smile, the real one it took so long for him to show). "I don't remember anything special about yesterday."

"Really?" I turn round and face because, well, this view is much better anyway. "You don't remember the country voting to abolish the monarchy? Cyrus trying to kill Liam and running off into hiding? Or the queen-" and I have to laugh because, of course, she's not queen anymore. "Or my mother being arrested for trying to rig the vote?"

He lifts his head. "Can't say I recall any of that."

"So you don't remember arriving in Rome twenty four hours ago, absolutely exhausted and you half-drunk, and getting down on one knee and asking me to marry you."

He looks at me. "That depends."

"On?"

"Your answer."

I look at him, properly. Jasper, the one that's always been there for me, even when we were at each other's throats. The one that I knew would protect me in the craziness when Liam and I were trying to dethrone Uncle Cyrus. He would drop everything, literally everything, to help me. Even when paranoia made me distrust people I had known for years, that never applied to him.

If I'm fire, he's the oxygen that keeps me burning.

I can't stop the grin on my face, so wide it's actually stretching my muscles. "I always thought the name Eleanor Henstridge was a bit too long."

(The truth is, you'll never get a straight answer when trying to figure out your life. If life were that easy, it wouldn't be worth it. What you really need is someone there to help you pick up the pieces when it falls apart.

I have that.)

"As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live."

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: First Part

A/N: Just a few things:

1) I shouldn't ship Jasper/Eleanor as hard as I do. But I am a sucker for a twisted relationship, and this one is insanely fucked up (sorry for the language, but it's true). I honestly think the two of them care about each other, especially since 1x08 (those Jasper scenes were SO CUTE!). They had better be endgame.

2) You can see I switched narratives towards the end of the story (using "I" instead of "you"). I did this because this story was all about Eleanor believing in herself and learning to trust herself. The "you" (I think it's called second-person narrative) narrative was to symbolise that she wasn't in control of her life, like it was a story being told; and when she finally did trust herself it went to first person narrative because she had finally taken charge.

Please let me know if this fic was any good. This is the first time I've written The Royals fanfiction and I'd like to know if it's any good. Thanks!

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