Disclaimer: I don't own Disenchantment!

Title: Bean up and down that road

Summary: Sometimes, being a queen means getting shot in the left tit.

...

Sometimes, being a queen means getting shot in the left tit.

That's a lie. She's lying. Bean doesn't have to get shot in the left tit. Being queen means she doesn't have to do much of anything. She doesn't have to get up every morning and listen to people whine. She doesn't have to go out on the battlefield. She doesn't even have to read out proclamations. Being queen means Bean can do nothing but sit in her room, get blackout drunk, and occasionally throw a jester off a cliff and she'd be putting in exactly as much effort as Odval and his creepy ass secret society expect of her. But fuck Odval and his weird eyes and vies for the throne in particular. She does it anyway.

(Until she's married, that is. Then she's supposed to do all that and pop out babies.)

(Sometimes the people who come up to her during the day don't even have problems. They just want a shot at wooing her. And it's goddamn terrifying to be sitting there, fiddling with a seashell necklace, knowing that one day she's going to have to choose from the horde of jerks throwing themselves at her feet.)

But Steamland waits for no hungover bitch. It's not even noon when they try to pillage Dreamland, casually totting around fucking handguns like they aren't the scariest thing in the entire world. And Bean can't just sit around and watch people die, that's messed up. Queens should be on the battlefield, wielding swords and horses. It's the only way Dreamland can see that she's serious about these plans.

And, well. One of those dickbags has the gall to aim at Zøg.

(Everyone still tiptoes around the shooting incident. Even Bean. It wasn't your fault, some nice people say. You half-assed your aim, others cry. But she just. She can't watch blood soak this man's cape again. Not today.)

Therefore and henceforth or whatever, Bean gets shot in the left tit. And things get a bit... blurry.

Zøg's trying to get her to lay down. But Bean can't just take a nap right now; when Dreamland needs badassery, it can't settle for Mertz and Turbish. He's grabbing her wrists, pushing her down with his body weight. Fat bastard, thinks he can hold her down. Bean's dealt with this type of shit before. She headbutts him, bites his nose with her sharp teeth, shimmies her boots between them to brace and push.

"Could really use some help over 'ere!" she just barely hears him bellowing. Blood pounded through her ears as she fought. "She ain't goin' down easy!"

Elfo's in her face. Damnit, Elfo, she's got work to do. He's sitting on her collarbone, light as a candycane, shaking her shoulders. "Stop, stop! You'll make it worse!"

I need a knife, she realizes. I'll die if I don't get the bullet out.

"Move," she slurs, headbutting Elfo next. "Need a... I need a..."

"Yeah, you need a nap," Luci counters, dangling a pot over her head. Is he pulling a backstab again? "Save the violence for after the organs stop rupturing, alright?"

He upends it over her open face. It's not hot, but damn does it sting her eyes. She tastes Mary's sleepytime tea and chokes. They could've at least stirred in some damn whiskey. Damp hair flips inelegantly around her face as her struggling softens.

"I gotta..." she wheezes.

"Relax, Beanie, I gotchu." Thick, meaty hands hold hers tight as the tea takes effect. Zøg's chin is wobbling, but only a little. "Just go to sleep. I'll be there when you wake up."

Bean, woozy from blood loss, manages to say, "Don't tell me what to do, you're not my dad," to her Actual Literal Dad before passing out.

It's stupid to think your child will live forever, isn't it?

Zøg hadn't thought so. It's true that he's lost a lot of people in his life- Yøg, Dagmar, Oona- but his children? They've always just been there, being a pain in his ass. Even before he abdicated, Zøg had never once been afraid his kids would go missing or die. They'd go off on various adventures, make wacky antics, then come home. Especially Bean- her mother was a sturdy bitch, and Zøg had always known his daughter was too.

So, to see her shot like that. Bleeding like that. It kicked him right in the ass.

Religion was a weird topic for Zøg. He'd never been particularly faithful before, but his time at the monastery had helped him find a spark of comfort. So he held Bean's hand through the night and prayed. A lot. God only answers every twenty-fifth prayer, so by God was Zøg gonna pray a hundred times in a row. Sometimes they were threats- "Hey, asshole. Take her from me and I'll go up there and punch ya right in the schnoze!"- and sometimes they were pleading- "Look, we all know this family is going to Hell. At least give her some time topside. Take whatever ya want from me, but not Beanie. Never Beanie."

Bean'll be okay. He knows that. The castle knows that. The bullet hadn't gone anywhere near her heart- her passing out was more a matter of stress and drugged tea to keep her complacent during movement than actual injury. But it still hurt to watch her breathe so slow, the crumple in her brow, the bright white bandages across her chest.

She looked human.

Bean stirred once during the whole night. The clock had chimed four owls when Bunty came in to putter about and look busy. Zøg knew exactly how much the woman cared about his daughter, and he knew it hurt her just as much to see her like this.

"I always did love 'er hair," Bunty sighed, reaching up to tuck a lock behind her ear. "S'the one good thing her mother gave her."

"She took after me for the rest of it," he joked, but it fell flat. Bean wasn't attractive to most average young men. They wanted a dainty housewife who'd stay home and have kids. Bean took shots to the tit and charged through flaming houses with a knife in her teeth. She was strong. Muscular. With big, freckled cheeks and teeth that had to have come from his line. "Thank God."

"Thank God," she agreed.

Bunty pressed her index and her middle to Bean's forehead, and the girl came alive, snatching her wrist. Bunty let out a small yelp as the queen opened her eyes, gazing blearily around the room.

"Where's... the battle..." she asked.

"No more battle, ma'am," Bunty soothed. "Ye drove those bastards off real good."

The hand fell away, landing on her chest. She patted the bandages with renewed vigor. "Bunty, I need... I need a knife. The bullet-"

"Yer little friends got it outta ya long 'fore I laid eyes on you, ma'am. They had to knock you out to do it."

Bean stared at her blankly. "It's gone?"

"Aye, all gone."

She let out a tiny croak Zøg read as relief. "Dad? Is he... did he get blood on his cape?"

Zøg squeezed her fingers. "Right here, Beanie."

Bean didn't seem to notice. She stared up at the handmaiden with buzzy eyes, fighting off what must've been a shit-ton of sleepytime tea. Bunty leaned over to kiss her forehead. "S'all safe, ma'am. Get some rest. A queen needs her rest."

Her eyes grew squinty and wet as she fell back against her pillow, arm haphazardly thrown across her waist. "Thank you," she whispered, almost as if she was praying. "Thank you."

Being a queen is about writing letters to the man who shot you.

That's also a lie. It's not directly to him. Bean was pretty sure that guy died not long after. But it's to Alva, who authorized the attack, so it feels a bit like writing a callout post.

Bean gnawed on the feather. "How do I politely say 'hey, jerkwad, you shot me'?"

Luci, lounging on top of her headboard, flicks his tail. "Forsooth, young asshole. I took your brother, and you took my tit. Ergo, we are now even."

"Yeah, sure. It's a rough draft anyway." Bean scribbles it down on parchment. She'll ask Odval for a more regal response later. "If you were a rich dick with no boundaries, what would you be willing to take for a ceasefire?"

"'Xactly what I want."

"Damnit," she sighed. "I really don't want to do that."

Elfo kicked his tiny elf boots and shrugged. "Then don't. Royalty is all about doing what you want."

"He has guns, guys. This is a serious danger to Dreamland."

"And your tits," offers Luci.

Bean grabs a seperate parchment and starts a list of things she needs to do when she's no longer bedridden. Number one is go to a pub- she misses her drinking buddies- but directly underneath is asking Odval if he had any secret bullshit way to get weapons from Steamland. He and the Arch-Druidess had been shacking up for years, maybe she'd let something slip. He seemed to know how to use the damn things, judging by how he'd handled the one she shot her father with.

A tiny, claw-filled knock betrayed a furry little head poking around the corner. Jasper took a long sniff of the room. "Wow. Beer and wet boots."

"And loneliness," Luci says eagerly, "Don't forget about the loneliness."

"Bear Boy, I'm really busy right now, so if you came all this way just to insult me-"

Jasper does a little bear walk over, crawling onto the bed. "Hey. You're not gonna die, are you?"

"Not this time."

"That's good. I really don't want the fat man in charge again. Or, worse, Derek."

"I've lived through both and lemme tell ya, not a great time." Bean scratched her elbow. She was itchy as hell on her chest, but the last time Bunty caught her scratching she'd gotten a good broom-smacking. "Jasper, you're an opinionated and unfiltered bear. If you thought you might have to do something you didn't want to do-"

"I wouldn't do it," he replied firmly.

"Even if everyone else dies?"

Jasper paused a moment. "Well... maybe. But I'd half-ass the whole thing."

"She's being paranoid," Elfo whispers to the cub. Bean swats him over the head.

"I am not! This is serious. Guns are a huge advantage, and one bullet can kill the healthiest soldier."

Jasper cocked his head to the side. "What's the boomstick guy want, anyway?"

"Besides our entire kingdom?" she asked. "My hand in marriage."

He made a face. "After he shot you?"

"I'm pretty sure Alva would see that as 'extra flavoring' to our 'romance'."

"Human mating rituals are gross. Bears just follow each other around for a while."

"Oh, he did that too."

"But you're not receptive?"

Bean gestured to Jasper with her quill like a teacher who points out a correct answer. "Yeah, and he doesn't care."

Jasper shuddered. "Gross," he repeated, and curled up at the base of her bed for a nap.

Zøg visits her in the dead of night. He's not sure if he wants her to be alone, or if he just wants to make sure she's still breathing. Bean is both of those things, and she's also awake, squinting against the candlelight as she writes.

"Beanie," he says. It comes out more like a whisper.

Bean perks up, smiling. "Daddy," she whispers back, reaching a hand out. He eagerly crowds in beside her, holding said hand. She's a lot more put together now. A lot stronger. It's comforting. It's terrifying. Like a ghost.

"I been doing the royal stuff while you're out," Zøg tells her. It's probably not news to her- but it feels important for her to know that the kingdom isn't crumbling. Less stress. "I ain't even killed nobody!"

She leans against his side and sighs. "Thank you."

"No infection or nothing?"

"Nope. It's not even a deep wound. I'll be back on my boots before you know it." She fixes him a buck-toothed grin. "Alva wrote me."

Zøg snarled a little at the name. "Pretentious asshole. I oughta-"

"No, I wrote him first."

"Why the devil didja do that?" he asked, agog.

"Because he's a threat, and I can't exactly storm the castle and beat him up until he stops." Bean does a halfhearted shrug. "Dad, I need to ask you a big favor. Like. Huge."

"Sure, I'll kill 'em."

"That's a little favor and you know it." She gently swatted his shoulder. "Alva wants to meet later this week to iron out some final details in a ceasefire, and I can't really get out of bed. I need you to go in my place."

Zøg somehow managed to balloon into twice his size. "Talk to him? Sure, I'll talk to him. I'll bring my favorite talking tools- an axe and a crossbow."

"Dad, this is serious," she chided. Bean bumped their foreheads together. "Please. Listen to me. I don't like it either. I kind of hate the guy. But he's a serious threat to our kingdom and he's willing to lowball the hell out of his deal to stop all of this. All I need you to do is go there, grumble a little, and get him to sign a document. Can I ask that of you?"

She's shaking. Zøg cursed himself for how much pain Bean was clearly in. Scratch that- he cursed Alva. Alva's stupid guns with those stupid bullets. They'd almost put both of them in the grave. Arguably, they actually had put him down under.

"Sure, sweetie," he manages. "I'll take the paper. You just rest up, okay?"

Bean's eyes fluttered closed with a thankful sigh. She sank down in her bed. "Thank you, dad." She squeezed his fingers one last time and let go. "Alva'll probably make some small talk. Say some weird things. But I've looked through the whole contract, and this price... it's doable. I promise it is."

"Of course, sweetie," Zøg echoes. He takes the parchment and tucks it into his pocket.

Sometimes, being a queen means listening to people mock your choices.

That's a lie. She's lying. They always question her decisions.

"And you agreed?" Snarla says. "Are you daft, kid?"

"First off, rude," Bean says. "Second- why are all my half-siblings visiting me? It's weirding me out, man."

Derek looked up from his needlework and shrugged. "You got hurt. That's when families are supposed to meet." He inched closer. "You're really gonna marry that guy?"

"I guess?" she said. "I doubt Alva will wanna reneg that part of it now."

"Didn't you kill his brother?"

"Sort of, but Skybert did try to throw me out a flying machine. I think Alva sees it as even."

Snarla flew over to pat Derek's head. "Hey. Hey. Do the boundaries thing we talked about."

"Oh! Right." Derek crossed his arms and looked away. "I don't want you marrying that jerk. I won't come to the wedding."

"Hey, you think I want to marry him?" Bean gestured pointedly to her boobs.

"But you're saying yes!"

"I'm saying yes to avoid a damn war, Derek. I'd literally rather marry Merkimer- at least then I don't need to worry about having kids." Bean pinched the bridge of her nose. "You were too young when you took the throne. Odval and the Arch-Druidess didn't care about it. But I'm not. And if I have to marry, I'd rather it be to stop a war than for political favors."

"Not out of love?" he asked, upset.

Bean's hand went to her neck, fingers clenching around a starfish. "I can't marry for love," she said slowly. "Not as the queen of Dreamland."

"Then abdicate!"

"Oh, yeah, that's a great idea. Why didn't I think of that? Why don't I make sure Dreamland never stops being so goddamn sexist by letting my fourteen-year-old brother take control?" Bean blew a raspberry. "I'd rather die drunk and unhappy than drunk and reinforcing the patriarchy."

"That's reinforcing the patriarchy too, love," Snarla tells her. "So yer really doin' both."

Bean throws her hands up, ignoring the throb of her wound. "See, this is why I don't want to be visited by all my half-siblings. 'Oh, Bean, you should know the full ramifications of your actions', 'Oh, Bean, why don't you do this new invention we call self-care?', 'Oh, Bean, I care about your mental health'. Can't I down booze until it kills me in peace?"

"Nope," said Derek, who popped the p to be extra annoying.

The trip to Steamland takes a good day of travel by carriage. Those fancy machines do it in half the time- but either Alva's an idiot or Alva's vindictive, as he sends none of those.

Zøg's always hated riding in a carriage. It's fancy king shit, sure, but there's nothing to do. At least on horseback you get the chance to, y'know, connect with the horse? All Zøg can do is stare out the window or stare at Odval's grim face. And he kind of hates Odval for- well, a menagerie of reasons, but the chief of which was probably the witch burning. Odval claimed not to know about Penderghast, and he hadn't been there for the coffin, but he had been front and center when his baby girl was almost cooked alive.

But Bean let him live. Crazy kid said he still had a lot of wisdom and stuff. Zøg couldn't recall ever asking Odval for wisdom. Then again, maybe that was part of the reason Dreamland was so head over heels for Bean nowadays. She thought of that sort of thing.

"Dreadful day for a carriage trip," Odval grumbled, staring out into the decent weather. "I told Her Majesty that Dreamland drawing up a ceasefire after being wounded showed weakness, but when has she ever listened to me?"

Maybe they're more alike than Zøg likes to admit.

"Beanie knows what she's doin'," Zøg reminds him. "She's met this guy before. Says she's suckerin' him real good."

"I can only hope so." Ovdal held out his hand. "Would you mind, Your Majesty? As a bit of light reading."

"You haven't seen it yet?" he asked, surprised. "I thought Bean woulda asked you for help writin' it."

"She requested help with specific phrasing, but I have no clue what that document holds."

Maybe I shouldn't, Zøg thinks. Odval isn't exactly high on the trusted advisor spectrum. But Bean would've known Odval was coming- would've been riding with him had she not been shot. She would've warned him if it wasn't for his eyes. Zøg shrugged and handed the parchment over. "Tell me the juicy bits."

"Of course, sire."

Odval lifts his hat while he reads, letting all three pour over the page. His face doesn't falter. Zøg had gotten quite a few barely suppressed eyerolls during his time as king for bad grammar, but Bean seemed to know what she was doing. Or maybe he was just not in the mood to be a jerk about it.

"Well?" demanded Zøg, when the silence went on too long. "Is he bein' suckered or not?"

"Very much so. Restrictions on weaponry and access, a devoted promise of not endangering the castle or lands for risk of beheading, and a notably smaller amount of dividends. I'm trying to see why on Earth he'd agree to-" His eyes widened. "Ah. There it is. Second page."

"They always hide the juicy bits on the second page," Zøg said, having watched Odval do this many times.

Odval touched his chin curiously. "This is. Unexpected. It seems Steamland's only true request was Tiabeanie's hand in marriage."

Zøg felt a pit open up in his belly. And for a belly as big as his, that was like an ocean of pit. "He wants to what?"

"That would explain the willingness to settle. Being married would make Gunderson half-Dreamland royalty- he'd be given more privileges than the rest of his country. Tiabeanie must've planned this out to give official law should he betray her."

"He wants to what?" Zøg repeated, dumbfounded.

"Marry her, Your Surliness," Odval said slowly, as if he hadn't worked that part out. "Alva Gunderson fired on the woman he intends to make his wife."

Sometimes being a queen means getting gently shaken awake in the dead of night by a reptilian hand.

That's a lie. That's just a perk of having a weird stepmom.

"Wassat? Who's dead?" Bean slurs out, sitting up in a jerking motion. Her bed has gotten ever-so-crowded the past few days. Luci and Elfo took the top of the mattress, keeping an eye on her from doing something stupid. At the foot of her bed is her half-brothers, who are there primarily to irritate her. They're remarkably good at their jobs. "Oona?"

"Crazy Girl," she says, and it's so soft and warm it makes Bean's heart do a little diddy in her chest. Oona hugs her close. "I heard news! Turned ship around as fast I can. Only goes so fast."

As a kid, Bean had hated Oona. She was living proof that the world was moving on from Dagmar, that she was no longer the apple of her father's eye. But now the blue-skinned woman was one of her greatest comforts. She buried her face in the woman's cool shoulder and wished, not for the first time, that she was part Salamander. Maybe things would've been better if she were Oona's biological daughter.

"I was in middle of raid," she continued, "when I hear hostages talking about Dreamland child getting shot in chest. I was like, 'Is Bean? Or is?' and they said, "Ahh, dread pirate Oona!'" Oona waved her hand in a go on motion. "I said, 'Yes, yes, we get to that in bit. First things first. Crazy Girl?' They thought you were dead!"

"Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated," said Bean, a mite bit embarrassed. "I'm not even really bedbound. Everyone's just losing their mind over a little bullet wound."

"Nothing to scoff at. They almost killed poor Zøggy. Show?" She pulled her shirt off and carefully unwound the bandages. Oona watched intently as she traced around the impact zone. Her face crumpled. "Oh, dear. So close to liver!"

Bean poked the top of her tummy. Useless fun facts weren't usually her style, but she knew all about destroying that particular organ. "Livers are here on humans, Oona." She pointed at her chest. "This is near where my heart is, and we only got one of those."

Oona holds her even tighter. The Salamander looked out across the room- for what, Bean wasn't sure. Medicine? Bandages? Her eyes fell on Jasper and her eyebrows rose. "Zøggy got Derek pet?"

"Don't you see the resemblance? Dad dated a bear."

"Ah. Good for him." Oona gave her a quick pat down, hand coming to rest on her cheek. "You need rest, Crazy Girl. Go back to sleep."

"Are you gonna leave?"

"Yes. Be gone by morning."

Bean ignored the kick in the stomach that was. It was more than enough that Oona came all this way to check on her. If she wanted the woman here more often, she should've been less of a dick as a kid. "Before you go, I wanted to ask you something. About Yøg. If that's cool."

Oona's face softened. "My love? Yes, of course." She settled onto the bed next to her and stared off into space. "Is not so bad to talk about now. Or is?"

"Right," she said after Oona didn't go on, taking it as permission. "I know that the marriage between you and dad was about that bridge in Dankmire. Was it... did you come here for Yøg, and then you met dad?"

She nodded. "I was always intended to stop war with marriage. I was not the smartest of my siblings, nor the prettiest, but I was class clown. They thought I would be charming to Yøg."

"How'd you fall for him, then? If it was all one big, forced thing?"

"He did what I never expected," she answered. "He made me laugh. Only man in world who has ever done it. When he... when it happened. Zøggy and I both knew our roles, and we agreed to be wed. I thought maybe I could be happy with an imitation." Oona reached out to tuck a white lock behind her ear. "Why such questions, Crazy Girl? Suspect the mage and advisor again?"

Bean swallowed down the confirmation. Oona would stay if she knew that Bean had proof of treachery, and that wasn't fair. Not when Bean still needed them. Not when she'd be forced to walk amongst them. "It's complicated. I guess I wanted to know what to look out for? The life lesson, or whatever."

"Lesson is simple," Oona said with a flourish. "Ocean is better than any fake marriage."

"I know you mean that in relation to your career," Bean said slowly, a handful of seashells around her neck. "But that resonates more than you might think."

"Is it accident? Or is?" She asked, smiling a little. "Is. I have no idea what we're talking about now."

Zøg's plan is simple. He's going to ignore the fuck out of it.

Because, well. Bean's an adult, right? And she's queen. And this wouldn't crack the top ten weirdest proposals Zøg's heard or been part of. Maybe this was some weird version of foreplay. Maybe Bean was into getting shot. And he'd kind of meddled with her love life enough as it is, what with the whole Bentwood thing.

He just doesn't expect Alva Gunderson to look, sound, and just generally be so... punchable.

"Your Majesty!" he greets, shaking his hand. Zøg's not a man of hygiene, but he's definitely gonna dip that appendage in boiling water when he gets home. "An honor, truly. I've not had a man of your stature inside these halls before. A tremendous occasion."

Zøg squints at him. He's not sure if his instant dislike of the Steamlander is from parental rage or a gut feeling. "You use a lot of them fancy words, huh?" he grumbles.

"It's a long ride," Odval says by way of apology. "Steamland holds a few bad memories as well. We were imprisoned in one of those freak shows."

"Oh, my. Sounds like quite the adventure!" Alva flops down into his office chair. Zøg suddenly understands why Bean wanted thrones from Steamland, because they look comfortable. "I hope the experience didn't leave a bad taste in your mouth for our city in general."

Zøg snorted.

"Of course not," Odval lies, handing over the scroll.

"Oh! Parchment. You're all so quaint." Alva pulls out his reading glasses. "Do you use quills over there as well?"

"We occasionally use leather and an awl for braille."

The man chuckled, and it felt demeaning. Like a parent watching their kids play king. Zøg's fingers clenched into fists. He turned to the second page and his face lit up. "Ah, there it is! I knew Bean would see the light eventually." He flicked his glasses off and pocketed them. "I do apologize for all the rigamarole, fellas. It was a necessary evil."

"Necessary," Zøg repeated. "For what?"

"Why, for Bean's hand, of course! She's a very important piece to this pie. With her by my side, I'm sure our merging will be seamless."

Zøg felt his mind go blank. It was a weird feeling. Like wiping chalk off a blackboard. He could see the fragments of words as they were written, but they were blotchy and disappearing before he could grasp them.

He glanced at Odval.

Odval cleared his throat. "My apologies for my impudence," he says, but it's not sincere. "But I wish to clarify. You fired on Dreamland to... force Bean into marriage?"

Alva made a so-so sound. "It's not the whole thing. It's just a big part of it."

"...You are aware that Bean was shot during the battle, yes?"

"An unfortunate side effect," he said, and didn't apologize, and maybe Zøg's being old-fashioned but he thought Alva probably should apologize for shooting the woman he intended to marry. "I've tried to be more subtle before. Really, I have. I masqueraded as a worker when she was undercover here, trying to make friends. She trusted me. She had so many funny ideas. I thought it was great! But then she ran away, and I haven't had a full conversation with her since."

He tricked her, Zøg realizes dimly.

This man made a fool out of his baby girl.

"She's got such a bright mind. I want her to know all about science, and how the world actually works. She calls it stience. She's so funny that way." Alva laughed a little; and though it was sheepish, the intent behind it was filthy. "I know I can teach her so many things."

The veins in Zøg's forehead began to pulse. Alva Gunderson didn't consider Bean to be his equal. He wanted to marry her because he finds her 'ignorance' charming. He thinks it's funny.

As far as Zøg's concerned, what happens next is not his fault.

A pudgy fist went right into Alva's jaw. The man twirled mid-air and fell back into his chair with a groan. The skin was already purpling and swelling as he shook his sore knuckles off.

"Not happenin'," he growled.

Alva rubbed the wound and stared up at him. The confusion in his eyes only made Zøg more furious. "I don't understand. Did I say something wrong?"

"My daughter ain't no punchline, and my kingdom ain't no classroom." He shrugged. "Maybe we are ignorant. Maybe we don't got your stience. But we do know love, and this ain't it. No deal. You aren't having my daughter."

He scrambled to his fancy boots. "But- but Bean already-"

"Ya got no proof of that," Zøg says, grabbing and tearing the scroll to shreds. "Odval?"

"Sire?"

"Let's give 'im the treatment he gave Bean."

Odval gave a morose nod. Zøg was happy to see the man on his side for once, even if it was probably for some weird political nonsense Zøg couldn't comprehend. "Right away, sire."

Being a queen means wearing commoner clothes.

That's a lie. She's lying again. Bean just likes the way boots and a tunic feel on her. She looks in the mirror, spinning on her heel. It's not fancy. It's not frilly. But it's worker's gear- a sign that she's gonna pull her weight again.

You can't even see the scar! A nice bonus.

Grabbing her coin bag, Bean stuck it into her belt with beer at the forefront of her mind. She could have a stein before work, then spend the evening getting properly trashed at Luci's Inferno. Luci had been acting casual about the whole thing, but he'd told her he had some seriously powerful stuff waiting in the back. He'd been worried too.

Then her door gets kicked open. Zøg marches in with his full yelling face on- chest puffed up, shoulders squared, a lion about to roar. Bean, too sober for the obvious bad news, pinches the bridge of her nose before he can open his mouth. "Dad, can this wait? I already have stuff to repress tonight."

"I shot 'im in the leg," Zøg says, deadly calm.

Bean's eyes flew open. "You what?"

"Shot 'im in the leg," he said again. "Figured if he could be so blasé 'bout you, he could get some turnabout. I also clocked him."

She felt her heart sink. Damnit. This was going to cause a huge deal in the kingdom. "Dad! Steamland'll have proper reason to cause a war! Like, a real war! With a lot more guns!"

"Ahh, he won't bother. Told that jerk that if his men ever set foot in Dreamland again, I'd shoot him in the dick. Got it all written down and signed, too." Zøg looked strangely proud of that. "Odval helped."

Bean whined. "I need a drink."

"No, you need to talk to me. What is all this?" He waves his hands around vaguely. "Tryna marry yourself off to that douche? That's a Zøg move. What happened to marryin' who you want?"

"Who I want doesn't matter," Bean said. "Steamland gives us a huge tactical advantage, and-"

"Beanie," Zøg interrupted. "I asked ya' a few weeks back if you were happy. Well, now I'm askin' this; why are you tryna make yourself unhappy?"

Bean swayed and plopped back onto her covers. This was exactly what she was hoping to avoid. The same thing she was fighting to avoid when Derek and Jasper stayed by her bed, or when Elfo stopped with the passive-aggressive comments to hold her hand, or when Oona turned the entire ship around to see her breathing. The concern. She didn't know how to handle something she hadn't had most of her life.

Zøg plopped down beside her and lit a cigar.

"I'm just..." she struggled to find the words. "I'm not a good queen, dad. I know you're busy making a third new life for yourself, but I'm just... me. At least people would cower when you yelled. So I'm trying to be better. Steamland is everything Dreamland could ever need- better food, great supplies, technology that'll push us forward a thousand years. It's important."

"But you don't wanna marry him," Zøg surmised.

"No," Bean admitted. It was one of the few facts she was sure of anymore. Her name was Tiabeanie. Her mom was a monster. She didn't want to marry Alva Gunderson. She had a bullet scar on her left tit.

"Beanie, you're the best goddamn thing this kingdom has had in at least three generations," he said, holding his hand up when she went to argue. "You care about the people here. You listen to them- actually listen to them, even when they're being jerks. You stand beside armies and you follow knights on their quests. You getcha hands dirty. It's easy to beat yourself up, make yourself unhappy for some impossible goal. Don't. Don't be like me'n your mother."

Bean blinked at him. "You said you loved Dagmar."

"Oh. Right." He laughed and ruffled his hair. "I keep thinking'a Oona. Since she was there and all."

"Yeah," she whispered. "Me too."

Zøg clapped his hands together. "C'mon, kid. Let's get a drink."

"But-"

"The kingdom can wait half an hour. I got some super old booze in the cellar we can split." He elbowed her good-naturedly. "I bought it for when ya' got married. But this is way better! Ya got both your tits and no dead weight. Let's celebrate!"

"Yeah," Bean says, feeling something warm in her chest that wasn't shrapnel. "Let's do it."

Author's Note: Me, binging all of Disenchantment in three days: I am very normal about this show

Me a week later, six-thousand words in hand: Yup. Totally normal.

-Mandaree1