This was supposed to be posted yesterday, on Beltane. Why? I don't actually remember, but Beltane is mentioned in the fic, and when I had this idea less than a week before May 1st for some reason it seemed like a good idea to aim for that as a posting date; even though I just posted the last part of my DS-verse just a few days ago. Anyway, it wasn't possible to post it yesterday but here we are!
This is my version of a Modern Royalty Sterek AU! Based a bit on a scene I wrote for an entirely different fic, a really long time ago. Really, I was re-reading some of my oldest works, and thinking about what I don't like about them, and what I do. One of those fics had a tournament, and I thought the idea fit so well here... I just had to write it! Hope you all will enjoy!
The Consort's Tourney
By: Lalaith Quetzalli
Ostara is always a special day in their Kingdom. A day for mating. This year it's even more special, as it is to be the day when Prince Derek Hale, soon to be King, will take a mate; and together they will ascend to the throne, come Beltane. Though for that to be possible first a mate needs to be chosen…
"I give you, His Royal Highness, Derek Hale, son of Talia Hale, our soon to be King!"
Derek takes a deep breath before standing up. He looks around solemnly, allowing the people, His people, to cheer for him before he straightens once again and sits down. He's in the Royal Box on the tournament grounds. On the intricately engraved chair that serves as a substitute for a throne. He might not be King just yet, but he's the closest there is, since his Uncle announced he was stepping down from his position as Regent. On his right sits Cora, his younger sister and heir, at least until he has a child of his own. After her is Peter, the former Regent, and the closest thing Derek has to a left-hand (as well as the 'spare' in case the worst were to happen to both him and Cora before he could have a proper heir himself). On the further-most chair to his left sits Druid Deaton, his Head Adviser (he was actually his mother's head adviser, his uncle never liked him but neither could he changed the man's status, being only a regent, a 'guardian of the throne', Derek hasn't yet decided if he'll keep him, or choose someone else). On the back row sit several members of the Council, those in better standing currently (he has no idea how they even decide that, nor does he really care). And finally, in between him and Deaton there's an empty chair, meant for his consort, his mate… which is exactly why they're all here…
"As we're all well aware, today we celebrate Ostara." The Herald announces from where he's standing, on the very edge of the Royal Box. "It's a day for mates to come together. A day for unions to be formed, and the blessings of the God and Goddess to be sought. And this year, we'll be having a very special celebration. My Lords and Ladies of Beacon, the time has come for our King to take a mate!"
There's cheering, and whistling, and even a few catcalls among the populace. Derek forces himself to remain completely expressionless through it all. Truly, one of the things he hates most about being royal is how much of a show people like to make of things. Actually, there's a lot he hates about being royal. So much… though not enough to walk away. He's not that selfish, he wouldn't do that to Cora, not like Laura did it to him.
Laura, his older sister, she should be where he's sitting. Their whole lives it was her who was raised to one day succeed their mother as Queen of Beacon. Even after their parents' deaths, she was too young to take the throne herself (hence Peter being named regent) but they all knew the crown would be hers one day. Until the day she ran away. Laura left, in the middle of the night, without a word, with no more explanation than a note:
"I can't do this. I'm sorry."
Derek wants so much to hate her. It's her fault he's in this position! He's never wanted to be King. He was alright with being the 'spare', with being Laura's second until she had children of her own. Except that's never going to happen. Because Laura's gone, and the responsibility for the throne has now fallen on him. And if he leaves it'll fall onto Cora… Derek will never do that to his sister. He knows Cora is… to much of a free spirit. Much as he might hate it, Derek knows that being made into the heiress, into the Queen would simply kill Cora, destroy her spirit. He will never do that to her.
The reasons for his hate of his current position, of his status as to-be-King are… complicated. It's not the insecurities regarding whether he'll be a good King; though there is some of that, truth is that Peter's made sure to teach him everything he ought to know, just in case, all the things his own mother never cared for teaching him while she was still alive. Derek's actually not sure if it was just a matter of being safe, being ready, in case something happened to Laura, or if perhaps his uncle never agreed with his mother not teaching them both. He certainly learned enough about ruling when he was the 'spare', Derek knows.
No, the real reason he hates being in this position, is related to what's happening on this very day. He hates feeling like part of a show, like a prize to be won. He knows Beacon is very different to other kingdoms. In other places the prospective consorts would parade themselves, try to show themselves as the prettiest, the most elegant, the one with the best bloodline… and then the King (or Queen) would choose. It's not like that in Beacon, it's not like such things don't matter at all, but they're not the most important. They're a kingdom where the supernatural is predominant. Werewolves have been the ruling family for over a hundred years now. For them the most important thing isn't beauty, or elegance, it's strength. The Ruler's Consort must be strong, enough to stand beside their spouse, to fight if need be, and to protect their King/Queen. That's why the Consort's Tourney exists. High ranking members of the Council will sponsor a young person of their choice to be the next Consort.
The bigger reason for his hate though, comes from the fact that there's already someone who Derek loves. Someone he's loved for so long… They've been lovers for years, and if things had gone like they should have, once Laura married and ascended to the throne, once she'd had her first child, releasing him from his position as heir, he'd have been able to offer his hand to his lover. To present him to his sister and Queen, and to the whole Court, as his spouse. It'd have been perfect, with him no longer in direct line for the throne no one would have cared about the abilities of his lover, or him being male. It's one of the great things about their Kingdom. Most people can just marry whoever it is they choose… everyone but the King, really. Or Queen. Derek is half convinced that that is half the reason she ran. The other half being… Derek doesn't think Laura truly understood what it meant to be Queen, the degree of responsibility, not until Peter announced he was stepping down as Regent and she was forced to start taking on some of his duties. Derek thinks Laura didn't realize until then, just how much responsibility, how much work, came with being Queen, and she couldn't deal with it. So she ran. Leaving Derek to pick up the pieces. As heir, as future King, and to potentially sacrifice his own future, his own love, in order not to end up doing to Cora what Laura did to him.
At least, that's how he thought it'd be. His beloved clearly did not agree.
"You're an absolute idiot if you think I'm giving up on you Derek."
Which is how they came to this. There is a variant of the more traditional Consort's Tourney. When the (to-be-)King already has someone they wish to make their Consort. In that particular case, said individual is recognized as Royal Intended, a position they must then defend in order to become Royal Consort.
"My Lords and Ladies of Beacon, I give you our King's Royal Intended: Mieczyslaw Jan Stilinski, son of the Head of the Royal Guard Sir Noah Janusz Stilinski!"
Stiles steps out of the royal tent then. He's wearing comfortable yet sturdy clothes, thick soled boots and long fingerless gloves under a heavy leather jacket… Derek's leather jacket.
Derek can see the looks many of those present direct to him. Everyone knows who Stiles is. The only son of the Head of the Guard and his deceased wife. The boy who's too clever for his own good, too curious for most people's peace of mind, too clumsy to be a guard, too blunt to be a courtier (always 'too-something'). When Derek sees him, he sees the boy who was there for him when he lost his parents, who's never asked more of Derek than he was willing to give, never expected him to change, to be someone he wasn't, couldn't be. The boy who found out those responsible for his parents' death, found the proof needed to prosecute them. The same one who discovered that the old Head of the Guard, Sir McCall, had been selling information on the royal family to spies from other kingdoms. Who intervened when Lord Martin tried to marry off his daughter to a noble from another kingdom for their own benefit (going against Beacon's laws and traditions). Peter's told Derek that were Stiles not his lover, he'd have wanted the boy as part of his spy network (which is lead by his illegitimate daughter: Miss Malia)… Derek's half sure Stiles has been helping them anyway.
Being the wolf he is, and an alpha as well, Derek can smell the dissatisfaction, the derision, even outright disdain many feel towards his lover. Especially the nobles with him in the Royal Box. In that moment he wants nothing more than to roar them into submission, than to demand they give Stiles the respect he deserves… But he cannot do that, because as much as he might love Stiles, a King cannot chose who they marry. Their Consort must earn the right to stand at their side. And he must accept the results of the Tourney, for his Kingdom…
Derek never wanted Stiles to be in such a position. Not because he doesn't think his beloved is strong enough (he better than most, than anyone except perhaps Peter, and his own dad, knows just how strong Stiles is), he just knows Stiles never wanted it. To be in the spotlight, to be forced to fight, to become 'part of the show'. Yet he also knows exactly why Stiles is doing this, is standing there, on that arena, right now…
"This isn't about the throne. I don't care about any freaking throne. You know that, right? This is about you. I love you, Derek Hale. I've loved you since I was sixteen years old, and will continue loving you until the end of time! And if loving you means I must fight a bunch of gold-diggers and social-climbers and other people with delusions of a position that doesn't belong to them… I'll do it. I'll fight them, and I'll win, and I'll take the freaking crown. I'll do anything I have to, to be able to stand at your side and let the world know I love you, and you love me. And nothing, not them, not your Council, no one at all, will ever be able to keep us apart."
Derek's attention returns to the present when the Herald announces the first challenger: and none other than Kira Yukimura steps onto the arena. Derek feels a bit thrown, he didn't know Kira was in any way interested in the throne. In fact, he's quite sure he's seen her being very… friendly, with Peter's daughter so…
"Kira…" Stiles nods at her as he stands in front of her in the middle of the arena.
"Stiles." She nods at him solemnly, before her expression turns softer, and a bit sheepish. "I'm sorry about this. I know…" She shakes her head, revising. "This wasn't exactly my choice. Mother insisted."
Well that explains that.
"First Challenger, Kira Yukimura, daughter of Duchess Noshiko Yukimura." She presents herself to the Royal Box, before turning to Stiles. "I challenge the Royal Intended to a sword duel."
It's part of the tradition, the challengers have a right to choose what the fight will be with. An intended may choose to forfeit a fight if they're unable to face the challenger in their chosen specialty; that doesn't automatically mean they loose, however, it does mean that the Challenger in question gains a certain level, allowing him or her to then challenge the intended for a second time (with a different specialty) a second forfeit, or a loss, would put the Intended out of the running for Royal Consort (even if they were to have won all other challenges).
"I take your challenge." Stiles announces for formality's sake.
He doesn't have a sword on him, but that doesn't deter him for long. As he heads to the edge of the arena, where a bunch of weapons are laid out on a table, for precisely this purpose. They're forged by the royal smith, so they're good quality, though none have any markings, as they don't really belong to anyone. He foregoes the longer and wider swords being offered, instead choosing two one-handed daggers, the length of two handspans each (long, for daggers, but not quite as long as Kira's katana, which is meant to be held with two hands). He returns with his choice of weapon to the middle of the arena soon enough.
"The fight is until yielding, unconsciousness, or until one of the fighters cannot continue." The Herald reminds everyone. "Ready? Fight!"
It's soon made obvious that the two fighters know blades very well. Derek wonders how many people are able to tell not only that, but that clearly the two are very familiar with each other and their respective styles'. Derek's pretty sure they've at the very least sparred before, he wonders if perhaps it was Kira that taught him to fight with blades (it certainly wasn't him; much as Derek would have liked it, that would have called the wrong kind of attention onto the both of them).
The fight is intense, but doesn't last long. Kira choosing to end it after Stiles draws first blood. A cut to the back of her hand. Not too deep, he doesn't think, but enough to bleed in a very obvious manner (enough for Kira to be able to yield with her honor intact).
The second fight brings Derek his first real surprise of the day:
"Second Challenger, Jordan Parrish, Captain of Beacon's Royal Army." The man announces himself. "I challenge the Intended to a hand-to-hand fight."
Derek knows Jordan, has known him for many years. Since the man arrived to Beacon, after leaving the kingdom of his birth, following a terrible tragedy. He joined the army and rose in the ranks very quickly thanks to his obvious skill and perseverance. The favorite to take Stilinski's place as Head of the Guard when the older man retires. Despite some people's disagreement, due to him not having been born in their Kingdom. He's been Derek's friend and favorite sparring partner for almost a decade! And never did Derek expect him to be be a challenger, he's never shown he was interested in Derek like that unless… well, Stiles has said that he can be pretty oblivious at times, and his uncle accused him more than once during his teenage years of not noticing when nobles would flirt with him.
"I accept your challenge." Stiles's declaration makes him focus again.
Jordan divests himself of his jacket, shirt and even his vest in quick succession. Leaving his top half bare (which makes more than one lady in the stands sigh loudly). It's not hard to tell why, Jordan has very good physique, after all.
Derek can almost see his beloved rolling his eyes at the spectacle. It's almost funny because Derek has always admired his lover's body. He's almost as tall as Derek himself, muscled but still lean, wide in the shoulders but with a rather narrow waist, and a very nice butt… a delectable body all around, as far as the future King is concerned. Though because of how Stiles is always wearing several layers, and loose clothing, no one ever notices (probably a good thing, Derek can be the jealous type). Not saying that Jordan isn't attractive, Derek just isn't interested in him, not as anything more than a friend and sparring partner. It's still unexpected when he sees Stiles slip off his jacket (the jacket he very pointedly took from the back of Derek's chair this morning, slipping it on, clearly having decided to make a point by wearing it). It's the only piece of clothing Stiles takes off, walking to the edge of the arena and placing it in someone's hands… Lydia's, Derek realizes as he notices the red hue of her hair.
Lady Martin… or rather, Lady Whittemore nowadays; Derek knows she's been Stiles's friend since he saved her from a terrible marriage to that foreign lord's son. She takes the leather jacket and places it over her own arm carefully. Obviously able to tell it's important to Stiles. She's not a shifter, so she's probably unable to smell what is important about it… judging by the way several people near her turn to look at the garment, at Stiles himself, and then in the direction of the Royal Box, it's clear that some people do realize it. He wonders if they may also be able to tell that Stiles is basically drenched in Derek's scent, inside and out. He knows that Stiles intentionally did not shower in the morning, just cleaning himself up with a rag enough to look presentable for the Tourney. And Derek… he likes that. The part of him that's all wolf feels great at the thought of his chosen mate letting everyone know he's taken. Wishes he could have reciprocated the gesture, but it just wasn't possible. As it was Peter just rolled his eyes when first scenting Stiles, while Cora cackled. They're both very supportive, though that doesn't mean they won't mock and tease the two of them in private.
"The fight is until yielding, unconsciousness, or until one of the fighters cannot continue." The Herald announces the moment Stiles is once again standing in the center of the arena, with Jordan. "Ready? Fight!"
The fight is… brutal. More than Derek ever expected. Jordan manages to draw first blood, with a blow to Stiles's head that opens his brow. It's not a big cut, it barely even bleeds, but it's soon made clear that even the smallest movement causes it to reopen, and there's the risk of blood eventually falling into Stiles's eye. He doesn't seem to care about it, brushing the drop of blood before it enters his eye and falling back into a stance.
There are more blows, to one leg, to the arms, to his back. Stiles is fast, agile and flexible enough to avoid a lot of Jordan's hits, or if he cannot avoid them entirely he at least manages to keep them from connecting to the more vulnerable areas of his body. Derek doesn't miss the second looks some people start giving his beloved when, no matter how bad the hit might be, he keeps getting up, keeps fighting back. If Derek could, he'd be cheering his beloved on.
Stiles has always been a huge believer of the adage: fight smarter, not harder. Which is why he waits. He waits while Jordan fights hard, putting all his strength behind each of his blows. Waits until it becomes too much for the older man, he starts tiring, overextending… and that's when Stiles acts. He knows he could have waited a little more. Let Jordan makes an obvious mistake, it'd have been so easy then. But that wouldn't have been too honorable, and the image that'd present. For the both of them. It'd have made it seem like Stiles could only defeat his opponent when they couldn't fight anymore. And Jordan? He's the Captain of the army, he has an image to preserve as well, and Stiles isn't so cruel as to ruin his reputation just because he's annoyed that the man is trying to get Derek for himself. Really, Stiles knows his beloved is hot, and awesome, and kind, and wonderful (and has he mentioned hotter than the sun?!), who wouldn't want him? So Stiles switches tactics at exactly the right moment: Jordan overextends after a punch, just a bit, but it's enough to leave his side exposed. Stiles twists in just the right way and delivers a single punch to the older man's kidney, followed by a kick to his knee (the same move Jordan tried to pull on him earlier, yet ended kicking his thigh instead). Jordan goes down, hard.
Jordan moves to get up but Stiles is on him before he can stand, putting his whole weight on strategic points to keep Jordan from being able to knock him off. And finally, Stiles manages to press his hands to the sides of his neck. He knows it doesn't look like much, he's not chocking him or anything. But then again, most people probably don't realize just where Stiles is applying pressure, he can tell when Jordan starts having trouble to think, as blood doesn't quite reach his brain like it should.
"Yield." He orders the older man.
He knows Jordan can hear him, and he can still talk. Stiles isn't cutting his blood flow completely and he certainly isn't blocking his throat. Knocking him out in the position they are is still an option, but Stiles would prefer it if Jordan yielded.
Right around the time when Stiles is about to decide that Jordan isn't giving up and he's going to force the matter, the older man finally raises a hand, hitting the sandy ground twice.
"I yield." He calls, barely loud enough to be heard by those closest to the arena.
Stiles reacts automatically, letting go of his neck.
Jordan gasps, pressing his head to the sandy ground as he lets the dizziness pass:
"I yield." He calls once again, louder to ensure everyone hears this time.
And so ends the second fight of the tournament.
The third fight is perhaps the strangest of all:
"Third Challenger: Braeden," everyone knows what no last-name means, an illegitimate child, that's not the strange part though, that comes a moment later: "You know what? No, I'm not doing this. Your Majesty, My Lord."
She directs the first part, and a bow at Derek, the second and a nod of her head at Stiles (making more than one person react), and then she spins around and leaves the arena. It takes several seconds for the Herald to catch up and say something.
Stiles and Derek are still reeling in their own ways. They both know Braeden. She's connected to the Deatons (the Druid siblings), the illegitimate child of one of them, though no one knows for sure whom, and she's never said. Also she, unlike the, doesn't seem to be a druid, instead making a living as a mercenary, a sort of 'wandering knight'. She's a friend. One of less than a handful of people outside their direct families who're aware of Derek and Stiles's relationship. She's covered for them more than once with the nosy nobles they always knew wouldn't approve (even before Derek became the Crown Prince). They were reeling at the thought of her trying to claim Derek. Except she didn't. They cannot help but wonder who put her up to it. Who has enough power over her to convince her to go as far as signing up for the Tourney, as showing up and presenting herself… and yet still not so much that she felt she had to stay…
Stiles's mind is already going a mile a minute, considering who has more to gain… He knows Derek is planning to get a new Head Adviser as soon as he's made King. What are the chances Deaton doesn't know that? The man's not stupid, he must at least suspect. Whatever his actual relationship with Braeden, he's certainly the head of her House, so perhaps he thought that if she were to become Queen, that'd be a new avenue for him to influence the throne. While some nobles might not like it, there was really nothing keeping an illegitimate child from marrying one of the royals so…
Derek for his part is already planning on going looking for Braeden, find out if she's alright, if he can do something to help her. Also, he's quite sure he wants her in his new council, when the time comes. Someone who's willing to stand for what she believes in, even when surrounded by so many people, and after clearly having been forced in some way to be there? Yeah, she's definitely the kind of person he wants advising him.
The Herald eventually manages to pull everyone's attention. He's making a huge deal of things, of the fights fought thus far, and what's to come… it takes Stiles a moment to understand: there's just one more challenger left. One more combat, and it's all over…
"Fourth Challenger, Jennifer Blake, Wandering Druid and Former Emissary." The woman introduces herself sweetly. "I challenge the Intended to a magic fight."
Stiles straightens abruptly. He knows this is where things get tricky. He can decline the fight. With the other three victories… he could do it and no one would be able to turn him away. He's proven himself enough. It's not that he doesn't think he can do it. He's aware of his own skills. It's just… there's something off about Lady Blake. Her voice is sweet, almost too sweet… it brings to Stiles's mind the image of a house made of candy, of witches lying in wait, ready to snatch up innocent children, cook them and eat them! Sounds ridiculous, but considering the world they live in… Also, Stiles trusts his instincts, and those are telling him something's very, very wrong with Jenniffer Blake.
He tries to think about what he knows of the woman. She's supposedly born in Beacon, traveled to foreign lands, where she studied magic and was Emissary to another… and then something happened and she came back? Why? When exactly? Stiles doesn't know. It's like… he feels he should, but he cannot remember. He knows he's seen the woman in the palace more than a few times, but if she's a druid shouldn't she have been spending more time in the sacred grove and the temples? Druid Deaton was the only one who spent any real amount of time in the castle, and it was expected of him, being Head Adviser and all. Most Druids preferred to be closer to the sacred grove, to its power…
"I accept your challenge." He announces before he's fully made up his mind.
He doesn't regret it. He might be able to refuse, but that doesn't mean he should. Also, his instincts are still telling him that something is very, very wrong with Blake, and that he needs to deal with it. For his own good… and his beloved's.
"The fight is until yielding, unconsciousness, or until one of the fighters cannot continue." The Herald states, more for protocol than anything else at this point. "Ready? Fight!"
At first… nothing happens. Or so it seems, until a bird (a crow, Stiles thinks) seems to dive-bomb out of nowhere and straight at him! And it's just the first. There are more birds after that. Several pigeons, thrushes, doves, all sorts of flying animals. It's insane. At first Stiles avoids them, all the while keeping an eye on Jennifer (which isn't as easy as it sounds!), not wanting her to take advantage of his distraction to attack… only that never happens. It takes him a ridiculously long time to realize that this: the birds, that's her attack.
"Enough!" He yells.
He cannot think of the best way to undo her spell… mostly because he doesn't even know what the spell is, so much as he might hate it, he sends out a shockwave, which kills most of the birds, and sends the remaining ones away. He hates killing so many animals, innocent creatures, but there's nothing else he can do. He wonders what was even the point, yet doesn't get long to think about it, as right then he feels something, like a tickling, on the inside of his leg. He looks down in time to see something that looks like a root, slowly twisting around his leg.
"What the…?" He mutters.
He makes to give a step back, and while he has no trouble pulling one of his legs away, before he can move the other, the root around it tightens its hold on him. Stiles focuses, sending magic to his legs and pulls, hard. With considerable effort he manages to free his leg. And then another root shoots straight out of the ground, going for his arm. He manages to avoid that one, but the next gets to his other arm, and then there's one around his left foot (the one he freed first).
"This is ridiculous…" Stiles mutters under his breath.
He doesn't think that a bunch of roots molesting him will amount to much, but still, he won't risk it, just in case. So before one can grab his right foot, he focuses his spark and kicks at the ground, pushing his power through his foot and straight into the ground. It'd probably have worked better had he been barefoot, direct contact with the Earth and all that… it'd also have hurt more so… the good with the bad and all that. The kick achieves the sought effect, as the ground rumbles and shifts somewhat under his feet; it feels almost like a small earthquake, its actual purpose is to disturb the druid's magic, which it achieves easily enough. Once she looses control of the roots it takes no effort for Stiles to free himself. Then he's calling the nearest flame (on a ceremonial candle), and using it to burn the roots entirely.
"That's it!" He snaps. "I've about had it with you lady! Fight me directly!"
"Why would I want to do that?" She asks in that same sweet (too sweet) tone of voice that is about to drive Stiles up a wall. "Why would I want to do anything, when I can get others to do it for me? To fight my battles for me?"
Stiles blinks, trying to parse that, wondering if she truly means what he thinks she does and… does she not understand the point of the Tournament at all?! She's supposed to be proving herself! To prove she's strong, that she can stand beside the King, support him, in peace and in war, if her only real talent is controlling things…
The whistle of an arrow pulls him out of his mental rant abruptly. Stiles reacts instinctively ans he bends backwards, just in time to see the arrow cross the air, right where his head was just a moment before! An arrow that ends up embedded straight on one of the columns of the Royal Box! Stiles's amber eyes search the shooter instantly, finding a guardsman standing at the top of the stands, bow in hand. He's not the only one who's attention turns that way.
"Guards!" Peter practically roars.
Stiles has a feeling it won't be that easy. And of course he's right. Because the guards don't only not stop the attacker, but they turn their attention to Stiles as well.
"Fuck…" Stiles curses under his breath.
Because this isn't like the birds, or the roots, he cannot deal with actual living men and women like he did with those… In the end (and with the limited amount of time at his disposal), Stiles can only think of one thing he can do. He takes a deep breath, seeking to center himself as much as he can, he reaches into his magic, and then reaches out, seeking, seeking Blake's power and he… basically he pulls. On a metaphysical level he pulls at her magic, at the threads connecting her to all the people she's controlling, trying to use to attack Stiles. He doesn't have the time to focus enough to cut through those threads cleanly, there are just too many, some of them already wielding weapons, and the more people try to stop them, the more of them that end up being controlled… and if at one point Blake isn't able to control them she might decide that they're acceptable collateral. Stiles cannot allow that. So he doesn't bother with finesse. He just reaches for the threads and he pulls. He pulls hard, and fast, until he feels them snap.
People start dropping. Some moaning in pain, others outright unconscious; they'll probably wake up with headaches, dizzy and perhaps with the worst hangover ever, but they'll at least wake up. There's at least that.
Blake shrieks in fury. Sounding like a cross between a little girl throwing a tantrum and… well, calling her a banshee would be an insult to his friend who's actually one, and if Lydia ever found out (and she probably would, somehow, eventually) she'd kill him! A harpy maybe? The point being, she sounds both awful and ridiculous at the same time and Stiles cannot help having a mixed reaction of wanting to cover his ears, and at the same time asking her if she's thirty or three, because honestly!
"What did you do?!" She demands with a shriek. "You cannot take my toys!"
"They're not toys!" Stiles snaps in return. "They're people! Innocent people!"
"Oh, you poor little fool." She hisses at him. "No one is innocent in this world! No one!"
Stiles briefly wonders what might have happened to her, what might have turned her into… this. A moment later he decides he doesn't really care.
Blake lets out a wordless shriek and they can all hear glass breaking… a lot of glass breaking. Seconds later the pieces of glass (they look like pieces of glasses, and windows and… who knows what else!) are flying through the air. People screaming and throwing themselves to the ground and out of the way as much as they can. Several of the wolves and other supernaturals in the stands intervene to protect the humans and other supernaturals with less power around them, some even at personal risk.
There's a lot of yelling. Stiles can hear his beloved demanding the Tournament be ended. The Herald is passing on the order, declaring Blake's loss due to the endangerment of the people. Blake either doesn't hear them, or she just doesn't care… Stiles suspects it's actually both. He thinks about pointing out that her plan has already failed, but he has a feeling that if Blake had no compunction controlling others before; she probably believes she can do whatever she wants, and then use magic to make people believe her version of the story. She certainly has a lot of magic, more than a druid should…
"Darach…" Stiles spits as the obvious truth hits him.
Blake says nothing to that, just cackles.
Stiles doesn't even try to avoid the flying shards of glass, there are too many for that to be a viable strategy. So instead he just pulls on his magic and obliterates them, turning the glass into nothing more than dust. He considers his options as fast as he possibly can. He doesn't know just how much power Blake might have, though it's clearly mother than any of the druids Stiles has ever met, do. He's fairly sure he's stronger than her, but he's been using a lot of magic already, and while he's been careful enough with the civilians, she clearly doesn't care for such details. He needs to stop her before someone actually dies!
He supposes there might be a spell that would be useful, but spells are not his specialty. To be fair, he doesn't really have a specialty. He's a spark, he doesn't belong to any particular branch of magic. Granted, most sparks are called such because they don't have enough power to train in any of the branches of magic. That's certainly his dad's case. He on the other hand… he's a spark because he refuses to limit himself to any one branch of magic. He might not have any formal trainers, not have had any real training aside from what his mom managed to teach him years ago, before she died; but he's read every single book on magic he could get his hands on. In all the school libraries he's had access to, even the books in the Royal Library, which Peter allowed him to read (as long as he didn't take any of them out of the Library, as the magic in the room helped preserve them, and ensure they wouldn't be damaged). So bottom line, he knows a fair bit of magic. Enough, he hopes, to be able to do something big without any actual spells, or rituals or talismans… He knows it won't be easy, and most likely than not it's going to hurt. It's also going to cost him. But if he manages to stop Blake, once and for all, it'll be worth it.
So with that in mind, Stiles focuses himself, his spark, takes a deep breath, and once again he reaches out. He reaches for the threads of Blake's magic, the very same he snapped before. They're still there, flapping like a half torn tapestry, or a spiderweb that's only been half washed away. He grabs them with metaphorical fingers, and pulls. Though this time the objective isn't to break the magic, but to pull at it. To take it. All of it.
"What… what are you doing?" Blake demands, as her whole attention turns to him once again. "Stop! Stop it! I said STOP!"
But Stiles doesn't stop. He pulls, and pulls, and PULLS. Until he doesn't need to make so much of an effort anymore, as if the inertia were enough. He makes sure that the magic not end up in him, instead pushing it down, into the Earth. It still has to go through him. Using him as a conduit. It's… harder, a lot harder, than it probably looks. It's a lot of magic; and what's more, it's dark magic. It burns as it goes through him. Stiles bites his lip bloody to keep from screaming at the horrible pain that keeps growing and growing until he can barely think through it.
When it's over… he's barely even aware of it being over at all. It's… the pain is gone… he thinks. He's not sure he's feeling anything at all in that moment.
"Stiles!" He thinks people are calling to him. "STILES!"
He thinks he can vaguely hear the Herald announcing the end of the Tournament. Announcing him as victor. Goodie! He'll probably be more in the mood to celebrate once he can like, feel his own legs, or well, any part of his body again.
The first thing he's truly aware of, is the touch of his beloved.
"Stiles?" He can hear him talking. "Baby, talk to me?"
Stiles lets out a wordless groan, it's truly the best he can do right now.
Derek hisses, and Stiles doesn't have to ask why as, in quick succession, he recovers feelings in his body, and pain! There's so much pain! Which miraculously lessens a moment later. Not too much, but enough for him to be able to think clearly. Enough for him to realize it's not a miracle, or well, not a free one. It's his beloved wolf. He's pulling Stiles's pain. Stiles whines, unable to help himself. He doesn't like it when Derek hurts, especially not because of Stiles.
"Don… don' do… 'at." He mutters as best he can.
But of course Derek doesn't listen (he never does!). Eventually the pain becomes… if not better at least manageable. The fact that it doesn't disappear entirely tells Stiles enough about how much pain was in, if even his beloved wolf, as self-sacrificial as he is, couldn't take it all.
"Thank you…" He whispers softly.
"I love you." Derek declares.
His voice doesn't carry the impassioned intensity that most might expect of such a declaration. But then again, that's not the kind of man Derek is. When he says those words, he's not like all those intense lovers who might say them in a moment of passion and either regret them, or simply change their minds later. He says them like a matter of fact, like he's announcing that the sun has risen on the morning, or that the sky is blue, like the love he feels for Stiles is akin to the air that fill his lungs with every breath, as necessary and elemental for his own existence as the beating of his own heart. It's not a rush, but a mere fact of life, of his life.
"Love you too." Stiles whispers in return.
And then Derek kisses him. Right then and there, in the middle of the arena, at the end of the Consort's Tourney, with the Council and Nobles and so many more people watching. And Stiles… doesn't care one iota. He might have never wanted to be in the limelight, but for Derek he will endure it. He will deal with anything he has to, to be with him. The love of his life…
The feeling of something being wrong is like an itch under his skin, an itch he can't scratch. He tries to extend his senses, but ends up letting out a low groan. While he's no longer actively in pain (not to say his whole body isn't aching, because it is, but at least he's no longer in so much pain he cannot even think!), he's still beyond sore, and his magic might as well not be there, considering that even just trying to reach for it makes things worse. He supposes being basically mundane for a few days isn't too bad… except for the fact that he knows something's wrong but not what it is!
"Der…" He begins, hesitant.
From one moment to the next, the warning is too late. There are roars, shrieks, a cut-off howl and a lot of yells.
"Cora!" Derek yells, half-furious, half-desperate.
Stiles forces himself to sit up, following his beloved's eyes to where Cora is still sitting in her chair, only there are...creatures is the best word he can think to describe them. They look… mostly human, Stiles has a feeling there might actually be humans under the pieces of… armor? They look like pieces of a skeleton, but the placing makes it seem that they're actually meant to serve as armor. And there's an animal skull covering their heads, like a mix of a helmet and a mask. What calls most the attention though, are the claws on hands, and the way two of those creatures are holding their claws against Cora's neck.
They're far from the only ones, several more of those on the Royal Box and around it, keeping everyone in place, and the Guard away. Even Peter can do nothing, not without putting his niece at risk, and that's something he'd never do.
Derek's looking all around, clearly trying to think of something he might be able to do, some way to help his family, his people; when his attention, and everyone else's, is drawn in a different direction: to the woman who just entered the arena, blonde, dressed head to toe in dark leather and skin with a… strange blue tint.
"I am Kate Argent, Huntress" The woman announces arrogantly. "I challenge the Intended to a duel, to the death."
For a moment no one seems to know what to say to that, no one but Derek who just… growls.
"My lady, I'm afraid that the Tournament is over." The Herald calls eventually. "The Royal Intended, Lord Stilinski has officially been named as future consort and…"
His speech is cut off as he lets out a shriek when one of the creatures gets dangerously close.
"Do you like my Berserkers?" Kate asks in a conversational tone, a dangerous smirk that shows fang. "They're here to help ensure you'll give me what I want."
"You can't just hold the Royal family hostage!" Peter yells.
"Oh, can't I?" Kate's speech's starting to sound distorted.
Stiles wonders if it's on purpose, or if her control is that bad. Also, she introduced herself as a Huntress, but he knows that hunters cannot be shifters. It goes against their traditions or something. Most families disavow the members who are bitten; he knows some actually choose to die rather than turn, finds the practice absolutely barbaric, but what does he know? He's not a Hunter (and he never would be)!
Stiles looks around, considering the situation. The Berserkers aren't too many, but certainly enough, and with them on the Royal Box, what's more, with two of them holding Cora hostage… he will not put his beloved's sister at more risk that she already is! He briefly wonders where his dad is exactly, then pushes the thought aside, deciding other things are more important.
"Fine," he announces, forcing his body to move.
"What…" Derek's shocked, even as he moves automatically to help his intended stand. "Stiles… you cannot…"
Stiles doesn't even turn to look at his beloved, he cannot. He knows Derek doesn't like it, that he'll absolutely hate it. But this is something Stiles has to do! So he forces himself to straighten, grabbing onto the back of his wolf's neck just for a moment, just enough to connect briefly, before moving his arm away. He makes a point of dragging his hand across his shoulder and down his arm, seeking to scent and sooth as much as he can. Then he steps away from him.
"I accept your challenge." He announces.
He knows a lot of people will think him nuts. He doesn't look to be in any condition for another fight. Not yet, not after Jennifer. But they're a little low on option, and besides, Stiles will show them, he's stronger than they think he is. The fight against Jordan was about endurance, about agility, and strategy. 'Fighting smarter, not harder'. The people watching learned he could take a beating and keep standing, that he could play the long game and act at just the right time. This… this is a whole different kind of fight. He can tell just looking at Kate. Also, considering her plan… Argent honestly seems to believe that she can hold the royals and nobles hostage, kill him, and marry Derek herself. She's either absolutely insane, or planning something much, much worse. Considering that she's an Argent… everyone knows that the Argents were behind the attack that ended with the death of Queen Talia and King Consort Zachery. Gerard Argent and several of his men were found, judged and executed for it. However, both his children managed to cross the border before they could be caught, and vanished.
While the world might be well aware of the existence of the supernatural, Beacon is the only Kingdom that's ruled by supernaturals, and has been for generations. Several other countries might have had supernaturals in high ranks, some even as consorts of nobles and minor royals; there was a rumor that the Crown Princess of Denmark was a witch. Still, nothing compared to the Hales of Beacon.
The Hunters have always been a problem, but never before Gerard Argent's attack had things been as bad. The thought of Kate Argent being back, of her trying to claim Beacon's throne… Stiles refuses to allow it. He supposes it's time for the gloves to come off… metaphorically. He does a quick check-up on himself. He's still sore, put he can push through. The clothes he's wearing might look pretty casual, put they're sturdy. He might not have the jacket anymore, but it's probably better that way. He'd hate to lose it to Kate's claws or something. Aside from that, he's still wearing his bracers, which go from over his knuckles, to the middle of his forearm. Purely leather, they were crafted by an enchanter, making them as good as armor, a gift from Peter for his last birthday. Most importantly, each of them has a hidden sheathe on the inside, holding a dagger. Small, barely a handspan each; they're his favorite weapons. He prefers them even above the long daggers he used in the fight against Kira. A single twist of his wrist allows the handle of the blades to slip into his hands, then he takes a stance, and waits…
He doesn't have to wait long. It's clear that Kate either has no control at all, or perhaps it's just her insanity. She doesn't stop to make a strategy, to test his defenses, still attacking straight on. It takes less than a minute for Stiles to get the feel for her fighting style. It's clear she's had martial arts training, a lot of it; though at the same time, her half-feral state makes it so she isn't fully planning her moves, not the way a true martial arts' master would. Stiles for his part doesn't really know much martial arts. Oh, he knows the basics of a lot of them, but has never really had formal training. Not for lack of opportunity, he knows his dad would have gotten him trainers if he had but asked. It's just… Stiles has never really had the discipline for it. He's too… his mind has a way of going every which way at the same time, it doesn't fit with the control needed for such training.
"You're a being of chaos, my little Mischief," his mom used to say. "Embrace that fact. Embrace your chaos. And nothing and no one will ever be able to stop you."
So that's what Stiles does. He takes a deep breath, embraces chaos and… he lets go.
What follows is a fight the likes which no one has ever witnessed before. On the one side the Argent Huntress, obviously extremely well-trained, yet her lack of control over her shift, her more-than-half-feral state keeps her from being able to make full use of her training and prior experience. And on the other side there is Stiles, the young-man whom they just saw was able to wield a level of magic most would have sworn was impossible (Deaton cannot help but wonder how he and Marin could have possibly missed such a magic-user living in Beacon, the things they could have achieved had they brought the kid under their 'wing' at the right time…) and now, now they're seeing a whole new side of him. The way he moves, like water, or a cobra, or… it's fascinating, the way the boy can be in one place a moment, and then in another seemingly in an instant. He twists his limbs, and at times his whole body, evading attacks, striking out in the moment least expected. Even the most experiences battle masters cannot make heads or tails of his strategy, it's like… some of them have to wonder if even he knows what he's going to do before he's already doing it. It shouldn't be possible, fighting like that, yet that's exactly what the young man, their King's Intended, is doing…
Stiles can honestly say that there's no way he's coming out of this battle unscathed. That would be too much to ask of anyone, even someone who weren't as sore and worried and just tired as he is. Yet that doesn't mean he's giving up! He's never been one to lay down and surrender, not when his mom got sick and started losing herself, not when she died and his dad lost himself for a little while in his grief; not when his best-friend decided he was going to become a wandering knight in order to become rich and famous despite Stiles wandering how dangerous such a thing would be with his sickness and then, not when his childhood friend told him she was getting married and she'd be moving away with her new husband, or when he realized he'd fallen in love with the freaking prince and the likelihood of him ever being at all interested in him… His mom died, but his dad got better, Scott never came back, nor Heather, but he made other friends, like Lydia, and her husband: Jackson, like Cora, and Peter, and Braeden… and Derek, Derek loved him. What could ever be a better motivation to keep going, to keep fighting, to never give up than knowing that Derek loves him? So Stiles will not give up, no matter how many times he's pushed down he'll keep picking himself up, stand his ground, and he'll fight!
When it's all said and done Stiles isn't entirely certain how it is he ends up on the dusty ground, on his back, exactly. He's lost both of his knives, he barely has the strength to keep Kate from tearing him apart with claws and fangs, even as she holds him down, her strength superior to his (expected, with her being a werejaguar); his body is probably all black and blue by now and it's only his sheer will (and stubbornness) that makes him keep moving past the point where any rational person would have seen as 'too much' (then again, he's never claimed to be the most rational, so…). Not far from him he can see Derek snarling, more wolf than man in that moment; only the threat to his sister's life keeping him from throwing himself at Kate and fighting to tear her throat out with his teeth…
He moves. Lightning quick. Without quite giving himself time to think about things, to consider what he's doing, all the reasons why he shouldn't do it, why the mere idea should be absolutely insane… except he's rather low on options, and despite anything and everything else, he's not quite ready to give up just yet (he never will be). So he moves, does the last thing anyone, Kate included, could have ever expected; an action she cannot plan for, or shield against, too sudden for her to see it coming…
Kate doesn't even get the chance to scream. It all happens too fast. Kate falls right on top of him, and suddenly there's so much blood on the both of them… and it's hard to tell who it all belongs to exactly.
"DEREK!" Peter roars.
Derek turns around, in time to see one of the Berserkers' claws start to bury itself into Cora's throat. He howls in desperation, knowing he'll never be fast enough, even being as close as he is he'll never make it to his sister in time… and then there's a loud bang, followed by another. A corner of Derek's mind recognizes the sound as that of a rifle. A long-distance, high-powered one too. The two Berserkers dangerously close to Cora fall, their masks shattered on impact. They're dead before they hit the ground.
Taking full advantage of his niece no longer being held hostage Peter roars as he turns and punches the closest Berserker hard enough to break its mask. A second punch and the creature is done for. He doesn't notice the one coming at him from his back, but before Derek has the chance to warn him, the Berserker's falling, right as the loud bang of a third shot rings across the arena. Cora scrambles onto her feet, ready to fight, and more people rush forward to do the same. Ready to destroy those monsters once and for all. Derek destroys a couple of Berserkers himself and after that, confident that his people have things under control, he starts looking for the point of origin of the shots.
Not many people in Beacon use, or even possess guns. Even for things like hunting, those who might not be shifters (and thus possess their own claws and such) usually prefer the more traditional weapons, like bows, crossbows and blades. Mostly because they can be spelled in many ways, to ensure clean kills, for protection (so the users cannot accidentally hurt themselves or another). Guns are far more common in other countries, and while some in the army have learned to use them (mostly to ensure they're prepared for anything) none of them really like them. Peter's made a point of purchasing all sorts of guns as they've come out in other countries, but Derek wasn't aware that anyone knew more than the basics about how to use most of them.
And then he sees him: Noah Stilinski, the Head of the Royal Guard, he walks down from the stands on the other side of the arena, and slung on his back is one of the newest rifles Peter bought from one of the neighboring countries.
"Captain…" Derek murmurs, at a loss how to say everything that he's feeling, so in the end he can only say one thing: "Thank you. I owe…"
Noah's already shaking his head before he can even finish:
"You owe me nothing." Noah states calmly as he places a hand on Derek's arm. "After all, there can be no debts between family… son."
"If anyone would be so kind as to giving me a hand in getting this bitch off me?!" A voice calls loudly right then.
The two men turn instantly and Derek starts mentally berating himself even as he rushes to his beloved. Cora's near death and the subsequent fight with the Berserker's pulled his attention to the point where he momentarily forgot what was happening before that. He grabs Kate and carelessly pulls her off Stiles, not caring where she might fall. Almost having a heart attack when he sees all the blood on his lover…
"Easy, sourwolf, easy!" Stiles calls as he tries and fails to sit up. "It's not…" He winces, and revises. "Well, most of it isn't mine."
With some help from both his beloved and his dad, Stiles manages to make it all the way to his feet. He looks down at himself and can fully understand Derek's horror. He feels extremely uncomfortable, having that much blood on him, especially knowing its hers; also, the fact that the shirt is clearly a loss (scratched and torn so much it's a wonder it's managed to stay on him at all) helps make up his mind and he needs only to pull at the cloth a bit before its falling off him. His skin truly looks deeply bruised, and he suspects that he might have at least one broken rib, but decides not to mention it for the time being (Derek's worried enough already).
"Son…" Stiles turns to the side at the sound of his dad's voice.
Noah's standing there, with Stiles's… or rather, Derek's, jacket in hand. Stiles hesitates to put it on, considering what state he's in, but Derek doesn't give him a chance to refuse as he takes the garment and puts it on his beloved himself.
Stiles doesn't plan it, not really, but almost by accident his eyes end up straying to where Kate's body lay. She's dead, no doubt about it, her throat torn by Stiles's mostly blunt, human teeth. The sight is almost enough to make him be sick. Yet at the same time not. Because as shocking as it might be, seeing that, knowing he did that… Kate Argent was a deranged psychopath who intended to hurt, possibly even kill, the man Stiles loves more than his own life. There's nothing, absolutely Nothing, Stiles wouldn't do for Derek.
The next thing his dad offers Stiles is a bottle of water; which he grabs immediately, using it to wash-out his mouth several times, until he stops tasting blood… mostly. At least until he's sure he can only taste his own blood, from his own injuries, and not Kate's.
Derek holds him tight, pressing his nose to the back of his ear, and kisses to his hair. There's an edge of desperation to his action, like he almost Stiles (which, not wrong, but still); like almost lost himself, in more ways than one. Stiles himself says nothing, just holds back onto him just as tightly, tilting his head to a side, giving Derek as much access as he wants. He doesn't care what other people might think about him just now. All he cares about is his beloved…
They're both pulled out of their bubble by the Herald's voice, who announces right then:
"My Lords and Ladies of Beacon, I give you Lord Mieczyslaw Jan Stilinski, Crown Prince and future Consort to our soon to be King, His Royal Highness, Derek Hale!"
And so ends the Tourney.
xXx
The days following the Tourney are… strange. As planned, Stiles and Derek go through with the mating that very night (Derek offers to wait until Stiles has recovered more, but the spark insists, not wanting them to risk not following tradition to the letter). The formal wedding, and following coronation will take place in six weeks, on Beltane. Stiles knows that the reason for that specific tradition, those days, goes beyond the Wheel of Year. In the old times it was expected for the Queen to be pregnant with the heir by Beltane, some said it was good luck, a blessing from the God and Goddess and the magic of Ostara; on the other hand, some also believed that a lack of pregnancy by the time Beltane rolled around might mean the lack of those, or perhaps a lack of compatibility, a less than ideal mating… or something.
Of course with him being male no one expected him to be pregnant by Beltane, or so Druid Deaton claimed. He suggested his niece to be the King's surrogate.
"I'm… surprised, Druid Deaton." Stiles tells him evenly, at the same time he does his best to keep his mate from snarling, or roaring… or maybe tearing the stupid man's throat out.
"Why is that… my lord consort?" Deaton inquires, the smallest of pauses showing how much he doesn't like addressing Stiles as such.
It's almost enough for Stiles to feel satisfied. It's clear the man has been making plans, trying to get influence over Derek, over the kingdom. No one knows exactly how he managed to get the position of High Adviser in the first place; most magic users rarely choose to involve themselves in politics, unless required to, and druids in particular seem to by far prefer to remain in their own enclaves unless duty calls them elsewhere.
"Well, I'm sure that as a magic-user yourself, you must be aware that many of us are capable of doing extraordinary things with our magic." Stiles begins in a very elaborate manner, before abruptly getting to the point. "Like giving my mate the heir he will need, and really, as many children as he and I might wish!"
"But… but you're a spark!" Deaton blurts, clearly thrown.
"So?" Stiles asks, blinking at him, like he doesn't understand what the problem is.
He knows, of course. He fully understands what most sparks are, how magic-users in every single discipline look down on them, seeing them as little more than mundane. Stiles? He's an oddity, and he likes it fine that way.
After that confrontation, and taking advantage of the fact that, despite the coronation not taking place just yet, it's a given that it will happen, Derek sends Deaton away. He makes a very public announcement during the next public meeting, citing how it's the start of a new era, and the need for 'new blood' and how all those who dutifully served his mother deserve to be able to retire and enjoy their freedom… He knows that none of them like giving up their positions, but because of how Derek's framing it, they cannot fight it either. It's perfect.
Braeden is the very first person Derek chooses for his new Council. There's Kira too, and Lydia (more than one individual looks shocked by this, by the fact that the position is offered to her and not her husband; all but Stiles, and Jackson Whittemore himself, who very loudly declares that of course the position was offered to his wife, as the King obviously knows who the better person would be for the position!), Noah too is given a position in the Council, right after he announces his intention to retire from his position as Head of the Guard. Dame Graeme will be taken the post once he steps down (Jordan could have thrown his name in and been chosen instead, but after the Tourney Derek isn't sure that'd be a good idea). Derek asks Cora to officially be part of his council as well, separate from her current position of heiress; she smiles, glad to be taken in consideration and accepts immediately. Finally, Peter is offered the position of Head Adviser, which he takes gratefully. Then he shocks everyone in the room by announcing his coming nuptials to none other than Noah Stilinski.
No one knows this, but Noah and Peter have been together for a long time, almost as long as Stiles and Derek. At first it might have been just a friends-with-benefits arrangement. But that evolved as they spent more and more time together. They didn't formalize anything because of their respective positions. Mainly because Peter taking a mate could have been seen as him attempting to get an heir, to fight Laura for the position of Ruler of Beacon. And Peter never wanted that. (The only reason why Malia was never a factor was her status as illegitimate, and the lack of a King that could legitimize her…). At first Noah understood and accepted the situation, but recently… while he never stopped understanding the rather complex situation Peter was in, he grew tired of being a 'dirty little secret'. When he suggested to Peter that they probably ought to part ways… that was the day Peter told Laura he'd be stepping down as regent as it was time for her to take the throne.
That isn't the only strange occurrence during those days, not even the strangest. That goes to the odd looks and whispers that seem to follow Stiles those weeks. It's Lydia who eventually explains things to him, after nearly a month and Stiles going almost nuts trying to understand what's going on exactly.
"You have no idea the image you projected that day, do you?" She asks him, head tilted to a side in consideration. "What you looked like as you stood in that arena, following that last fight…"
"Like a bruised peach?" Stiles offers, not understanding what the point is.
Lydia snorts, the most unladylike noise ever, before clearing her throat and focusing.
"No, you were the image of a hero." Lydia admits softly. "A warrior of legend. You were bruised, and bloody, yes, but considering all the battles you'd just fought, that you'd just won… and that's the whole point. You were beaten, were cut, but you kept standing back up, you won battles that not one person in that arena could have won, not on their own. I mean, one of them, maybe, a few, perhaps, but all of them, one after the other? No."
Stiles just blinks. Truth is, he just doesn't know what to say. He'd lie if he said that wasn't, somewhat, why he chose to do what he did. He chose to fight in the Tourney, to fight all of them, even Blake, in order to prove himself, to earn the people's respect. Kate was an unexpected, but with the threat she represented there was no way Stiles could not fight her.
"Also, you need to remember that people now know what you hide under all your layers!" Lydia adds with a mischievous smile.
Stiles blushes. He's never been one to be comfortable with others seeing his body, for all that he knows that he's not exactly ugly; and he definitely knows that his beloved finds him attractive. He supposes it comes from being so awkward, clumsy growing up, and sometimes still.
Beltane comes, and with it the official marriage ceremony. A handfasting, as has been traditional in Beacon since the start. The one to preside the ceremony is the new magic user serving on the Council, an old friend of Derek´s and Wiccan Priestess: Paige Krasikeva:
"As this knot is tied, so are your lives now bound.
Woven into this cord, imbued into its very fibers, are all the hopes of your friends and family, and of yourselves, for your new life together.
With the fashioning of this knot do I tie all the desires, dreams, love, and happiness wished here in this place to your lives for as long as love shall last.
In the joining of hands and the fashion of a knot, so are your lives now bound, one to another.
By this cord you are thus bound to your vow.
May this knot remain tied for as long as love shall last.
May this cord draw your hands together in love, never to be used in anger.
May the vows you have spoken never grow bitter in your mouths.
As your hands are bound by this cord, so is your partnership held by the symbol of this knot.
May it be granted that what is done before the gods be not undone by man.
Two entwined in love, bound by commitment and fear, sadness and joy, by hardship and victory, anger and reconciliation, all of which brings strength to this union.
Hold tight to one another through both good times and bad, and watch as your strength grows."
After the handfasting comes the coronation:
"Here do I swear by mouth and hand
fealty and protection to the Kingdom and populace of Beacon,
to uphold the Laws of the Kingdom,
to speak and to be silent,
to do and to let be,
to strike and to spare,
to punish and to reward
in such matters as concern the Kingdom,
in need or in plenty,
in peace or in war,
in living or in dying.
In these ways and in all others
I will strive to govern this Kingdom wisely.
I shall bear these burdens gladly
and from this day and to the end of my days
I will serve as King of Beacon.
This I swear to uphold until I depart my throne,
or death take me, or the world end.
So say I, Derek Hale, son of Talia Hale."
Peter steps forth then, taking the crown Cora's holding out on a velvet pillow and carefully placing it on his nephew's head. He crown is big, heavy, and mostly ceremonial. Made of iron polished till it shone, with the design of two wolves (one on each temple) howling at the moon (front and center). The wolves eyes are jewels, color-changing magical jewels that, depending on the light (and sometimes on the one wearing the crown) can look either gold, blue or red; the moon is a shiny round moonstone.
Derek is then the one to crown Stiles as King Consort of Beacon. His own crown much simpler, though no less beautiful. A circlet made of polished iron, it depicts the phases of the moon out of pieces of moonstone and obsidian. In between each two phases are delicate engraving of wolf faces, each with chips of the same color-changing magical jewels for eyes.
"My Lords and Ladies of Beacon, I give you His Majesty, King Derek Hale, and His Highness, King Consort Mieczyslaw Stilinski-Hale!"
"Long live the King! Long live the King Consort!"
The coronation is of course followed by a huge feast.
"Are you ready?" Stiles asks his mate in a barely audible tone.
Derek knows exactly what his beloved's talking about, and as nervous as it makes him, he nods. So Stiles takes a deep breath and vanishes a glamour he's been keeping in place for the last few days. One that's been hiding a tiny little detail. The royal couple steps into the Banquet Hall then, and everyone freezes, looking straight at them, or rather, at Stiles. The humans might not know what's going on, but every single supernatural and magical knows, they can all hear it, the tiny little, extra heartbeat, sounding almost like a galloping horse, a brand new, tiny one… it's the heartbeat of an unborn babe…
So... what do you all think? Please tell me what you liked, what you didn't, etc. Your feedback keeps my inspiration going!
This fic is a One-Shot, It Will Not Be Continued. If someone else would like to write more in this universe, a sequel, prequel, sidestory, remix, etc. I give blanket permission for that, as well as any and all fanarts, podfics, translations, playlists, etc. Just remember to give credit where it might be due, and to let me know so I can go see your work!
P.S. To those waiting for the other movie fix-its I promised, they're coming next. I just need to do some editing and make covers for them. They'll be posted in the course of the next couple of weeks.