Chuck versus the Positively Medieval
by Steampunk . Chuckster
Summary: In the provincial town of Pinedeep, everyone knows: The only way to secure the hand of the heiress of the Walker fortune is to catch her black cat and take the key that hangs from its collar back to the heiress Walker's home where it will unlock the door and unlock her fortune. When enigmatic siblings from afar settle in Pinedeep, will the shifting winds they bring prove fateful? Medieval AU.
A/N: Thank you for reading! And thanks for the messages.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Medieval Times-though if I did own Medieval Times, I'd make the chairs in that place a little more comfortable and there would be better options for my vegetarian sisters and brothers to eat while enjoying the show.
Chuck's golden brown eyes widened and she searched them for disbelief, or worse, fear. That was the one thing she worried about the most in the last week since last she saw him.
It had been a week since he soaked in the icy creek on her property for his injuries and left her standing alone in her yard, aching for him to stay.
She had ached even more in the last seven days. Wanting. Losing sleep.
She was tired of hiding behind the pact he had made, beholden to something she did not want. And she thought, perhaps, he did not want it either.
She felt that he wanted her, too.
And if she was not wrong, she needed to make things clearer between them.
More than anything, she knew she had to do what her mother had done for her father. She had dropped pretense, dropped tradition, perhaps angering her women ancestors in the meantime. But she needed to be honest.
Sarah could not be with this man in all ways, love him in all ways, ask him to spend a life's eternity with her, if she was not truthful about who and what she was. And still, the shame sparked in her breast like flint. Because she should have told him before they exchanged vows, only…the pact had made it feel as though this arrangement would not include the intimacy and the depth—the love—she knew now that she wanted from her handyman.
She knew so much more about her feelings than she had known then.
"…Chuck?" she prompted quietly.
He was frozen, his arms slack beside his hips, jaw having fallen open, eyes stuck on her face. He shook himself slightly. "N-No. No, no. 'Tis a prank." He chuckled, tugging on his tunic, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, likely to make movement of his arm easier so that he may throw his knives.
She had watched him practicing for a few minutes before his sister appeared. His form needed work, but she was deeply enamored with the trying. Granted, the knives were wrong but beggars would not be choosers. And he would now have to sit down and sharpen his sister's kitchen knives to render them usable for cooking again, the silly man.
It had required a lot of courage, thinking everything over, wondering if the possibility of throwing her friendship with Chuck out the window would be worth him knowing the truth about her particular talents. Might she have to go without him altogether?
Spirits, it would hurt.
Deeply.
But she had yet to see fear in him, and perhaps he still did not believe it was true.
"'Tis not a prank," she said quietly. "What I say is the truth of't."
But Chuck shook his head. "No. 'Tis a prank. 'Tis not possible for a woman—a human woman—to…just…poof and there she is again, only a cat. No, no. That-That happens in fairytales. Storybooks. 'Tis not real."
"I assure thee, 'tis real. I am real."
Chuck blinked. "…H-How? 'Tis not…logical."
"Logic has naught to do with any of it," she explained with a shrug. "It runs with the women in my mother's family. All females are born with a particular skill, shifting shape into a creature and back again. Though it requires honing, practice. We each have our own…shapes we shift into. Well, we did. But as far as I know, I am the last of the line."
Chuck continued to stare, his gaze vacant. The poor man. She did not blame him. It had been a shock for her father, it had even been a shock for her when she woke up one morning under the covers of her bed, only to feel…strange. Very strange indeed. And her arms were covered in silky jet black fur, her hands not hands at all, but dainty little paws with pinkish little pads and claws jutting out.
The talk she'd had with her mother after she turned back again had taken days to sink in. She had been resentful, angry she was not normal, furious her life would never be normal. But then she had learned enough from her mother before the woman finally left this realm to be able to control her power, to tell her body when to shift to one thing, and shift back to the other.
"Last…of the line," he muttered. "The women…in thy family…they can change…into cr-creatures. Are they…they were all cats as well?"
"They were many different things." He gulped, eyes shivering, still looking as though he needed some convincing. "I have the ability to make myself into a cat, and my mother could shift into a fox."
"A fox. Hm. I see," he mumbled numbly. "And-And thy grandmother…a rabbit, perhaps. Or-or a deer…?"
"Owl."
"Ah, so birds, too? I see, I see. 'Tisn't just little…mammals but…birds, too."
"Anything, really."
"Fish? That—I would be…very upset if this power passed through my family line and my mother was a-a bear and then I ended up with the power to turn into a trout." He swallowed loud enough for her to hear.
Sarah pulled her lips between her teeth, trying not to giggle at his sweet little thought. He was comical and in the best way. Cute and comical. And he still seemed thrown off by all of this, gaping off to the side.
"…Chuck?" She carefully stepped in slightly closer and she was encouraged by the fact that he did not scream and sprint away from her. He did not even flinch. Her father and mother differed in their telling of the story of Emma's revelation, but Jack had held up his hands in surrender asking her not to kill him and turn him into stew. The fool.
At least Chuck had not made that leap.
Not yet, anyhow.
"Witches?" he asked quietly. So this would be his leap. "Thou art…witches then? Thou art a witch, Sarah? A real one?"
Still, he did not run. She shook her head. "Nay, I am not one. There are no witches in my family. We cannot do anything else, just this one thing. I can shift into a cat and back to a woman again, at will. I could not brew a potion, or change a man into a newt. I am no witch."
"A shapeshifter then…" he breathed, and then he huffed, shaking his head, holding up his hand. "This is madness. I am… How…Madness."
"I know. 'Tis much for ye to…think about…erm, and manage."
"This is…quite a lot. I am still—" But then he froze again, words dying in his throat, and his face crumbled in mortification. He even tilted backwards, his shoulders thumping against the outer wall of his house's kitchen. "Oh, no. Please, no. If thou art the little cat I befriended… The times I sat and spoke with thee about everything under the sun. So many conversations at the little cat and the whole time… Oh, no. This is too much to bear. I could not be more embarrassed." He looked at her, embarrassed still. "I shouldn't dare hope ye forget what ye heard while ye were a cat…?"
"I…remember everything," she said with a wince.
"I will die now."
"No. Please," she rushed out, reaching out to touch him but stopping herself just in case, pulling her hand back and enfolding both of them together in front of her. "I should have…" What? What should she have done? Her words died in her mouth and her shoulders sagged. "I did not mean to trespass on thy privacy. I-I was not spying, I promise thee." She winced. "Thou were't so kind to this small creature in spite of being allergic to it. And it was…different from what I am used to. I am always chased, called at, treated as either a pest or as a way to fortune and there was no in-between until a certain handyman rolled into Pinedeep with his physician sister. And the kinder ye treated me, the more I…" She tugged nervously on the vest over her blouse. "I wanted to be around thee."
She winced harder then. "'Tis no excuse and I am sure I am not easing thy anguish."
"Hm. Still entirely mortified, 'tis true." The blush was bright on his face. "I could try to pretend I do not regularly speak to cats, small woodland creatures, horses, even birds, but my actions prove otherwise, do they not?"
A smile spread over Sarah's face, warmth spilling through her. "Because thou art deeply kind to every living thing. Something to be ashamed of, it is not," she emphasized quietly, moving in just slightly closer.
Something seemed to dawn in his face then and he let out a soft mirthless huff. "Ah. I see. I have it figured out, methinks." He looked off to the side, not meeting her gaze. "I was deep in the drink that night, wallowing in the surety of mine failure to save thee from those other suitors and their plans to outsmart the cat—erm, I suppose to outsmart ye, I should say." He was handling that information surprisingly well. And she wondered how she had kept him standing here for so long, rather than running away from her, screaming to everyone who might hear that she was a witch. "And I confessed the whole of my plan. I thought to a cat who either could not understand or-or who would never be able to tell anyone, let alone her owner, what I meant to do." He nodded. "And that is why ye let me take the key that night. Because thou heardeth my plan and thought—"
"I would never have let my good sir take that key if I did not trust in him," she interrupted, shaking her head, shifting to force him to meet her gaze. He blinked, his brow furrowed. "So many years I kept that key safe, dodging knights, noblemen, princes, moneyed and privileged men from all over the land. I never would have let ye have that key if I did not trust thee as much as I did. I believed in ye as a good man, as someone with a big heart. And I knew that even if ye did not keep to thy word and leave me to live my life the way I wanted after our marriage, I knew that even if ye changed thy mind and wanted to live as man and wife, there has never been a better man to come to Pinedeep, and I know't that there will never be. That night, I made a very precise choice. I was scared, true. Very scared. But still, I…trusted ye with mine future."
"Better to end up with me than a prince?"
"Better to end up with the handyman named Charles Bartowski than…anyone else."
He swallowed hard, and he gently curled his fingers around her wrist, sliding those fingers along her soft skin until he gripped her hand in his own. He was touching her without flinching. There was no fear, though she could tell he was still in a bit of shock at all of this. Trying to find his feet.
"I have no intention of going back on my word. I want ye to live the exact life thou hast dreamed of. I intend for ye to be and do whatever thy heart is set on," he said, that Bartowski determination set in his handsome face. "I will not go back on what I say to thee."
"No, ye will not. That much I know."
It was a risk, it was a statement, it was a grabbing of her own life by its horns, and she had no idea how it would change the trajectory of her life, or of his. But she did what she wanted to do, what she had wanted to do, for some time.
Sarah stepped into Chuck's chest, cupped his face in her hands, and moved to her tiptoes to press her lips to his.
It wasn't the soft peck of her lips to his, the closed-lip, respectful kiss of their wedding day after the vows.
She was adamant, her lips persistent, and it took almost no time for the man to melt against her, cup her elbow in one hand and frame her face with the other, his lips moving against her own, kissing her back.
Sarah resisted the urge to throw her arms around his shoulders and continue the kiss with more of her adamant nature as their lips parted with a quiet smack.
Chuck looked down into her face, and he turned his hand to tenderly stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers. He seemed to make his own decision, to take his own risk, and make his own statement.
And he said: "I love you."
Everything halted, her legs and knees shivering under her weight, her fingers going slack against his face. Her jaw fell, eyes widening.
It felt as if the pieces that were hovering above their heads, above her head at least, had slowly and gently drifted down to fit right into place, where they were meant to be. She held her breath for a long moment, searching his brown eyes.
"Oh, sir…" she breathed lightly, feeling joy start to bubble up in her chest, reaching her lips and stretching them into a smile. "Thou must." And she surged up to crash her mouth against his again, this time with much more determination.
}o{
He did not know how long they stood in his yard, embracing, lips meeting, moving, battling, hands stroking, grappling.
But he did know one thing.
Two things.
The first was that he loved this woman with every bit of his being, all of his existence.
And the second was that Pinedeep was his home, his first home, his first and only home, where he would be forever. Finally.
No one would pry him from this place ever again. From this place, from the people in it, from this woman. …cat?
Chuck broke the kiss then, a perplexed look on his face as he did. "If ye are a cat…"
"I am not. I am a woman. I…can make myself into a cat whenever I wish, but I am still a woman."
Oh, he knew that. His hands were on her waist and the small of her back and he could feel the warmth of her skin through her clothing, the strength of her muscle and her lips, her mouth, everything…the way she touched him. "I know," he said quietly. "Oh, I know." That made her raise her eyebrows with a slightly smirk. "But this is magic, is it not?"
"I suppose 'tis. But as I said, I am not a witch."
"No, no. Surely not. The only reason I ask is— Well, ten minutes past, I did not know there was such thing as a woman who could make herself into a cat. And now I know there is such a thing, for she is here, standing before me, and I love her with my entire being…" She smiled wide at that, her hand sliding gloriously over the back of his neck and rubbing him there. "Does this mean…dragons could be real?"
He felt slightly ashamed when she rolled her eyes and let her head tilt back to look up at the sky with a quiet groan.
"I am sorry, I suppose it just occurred to me."
"In the middle of a kiss—a quite passionate kiss, I might add." Then she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "Unless I am not so good at it…kissing, that is."
"No, no! No, 'tis not—Thou art… The cat thing is not the only magic my lady is capable of."
She laughed, and her arms wound around his shoulders, his neck, so that she could hug him tightly. He hugged her back, turning his face to beam into her beautiful golden locks, so soft against his lips. Relief, love, joy all bundled into one and threatened to make him scream from it.
"Thou art the silliest man."
"Yea, my lady."
"I do not know where to go from here," she finally admitted after half a minute of silence, both of them still clinging.
He gently loosened his grip and pulled his head back to look into her eyes, his hands still steadfastly on her hips. There was an unsureness, a vulnerability in her. He broke her gaze for a moment, glancing back at the door that led into his rudimentary little kitchen in his rudimentary little house. Then he looked back at Sarah, her raised eyebrows, lips pursed thoughtfully, chin tilted up towards him.
"We will go inside, I will pour us both a drink, we will sit down at the table… and then we can talk. About anything, everything…nothing. We can just be." She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, a slight smile tilting at her lips. "No rules, no laws, no expectations. We can just be."
"That sounds like something I might enjoy."
"Does it?"
"Mmhm."
"Come, then. I have some wine from our blacksmith friend. A gift I have not opened yet, from our wedding."
"Say no more," she giggled.
They went into his kitchen and he tried to dispel with the nerves as he reached around her to shut the door. He was in love with this woman, she had assented to marry him, they had married, and he had just told her he loved her and instead of rebuffing his feelings, she kissed him. She was not going anywhere and neither was he.
There was also the fact that she could shift her form into that of a beautiful little black cat who moved so gracefully, so determinedly, that it strangely made sense Sarah Walker had been the cat the whole time. As he pulled Sarah's chair out for her to sit and moved across the small kitchen he and Ellie made do with to grab the gifted bottle of wine he had yet to uncork, Chuck wondered at the fact that he had never seen Sarah with her cat. He felt foolish for not thinking it was strange. Whenever he asked about the cat, she gave him a non-answer and it had worked for him at the time.
So the cat had not been the one to let him have the key; it was Sarah. Sarah gave him the key. Sarah was the cat, so of course both the cat and Sarah made that decision together… This was a mess in his mind, wasn't it?
She had entrusted him with her future, this woman.
And it seemed she did not know whether he would keep to his promise, and still she chose him. Instead of continuing her ruse, her ploy to keep herself single and unbothered by suitors, or at least in her human form, instead of continuing to flee and hide and duck suitors as her cat form and keeping herself free from the burden of marriage, she chose to let Chuck have the key. It was purposeful.
He had not realized that he was standing still, one hand on the body of the bottle, the other clasped over the cork, until he heard Sarah's voice drift to him from where she sat at the table.
"…Chuck? …Art thou all right?"
Chuck shook himself and sent her a smile over his shoulder. He was struck yet again by her beauty. It left him unstable on his feet, unstable with his quivering knees. This extraordinary woman, with her magical shapeshifting powers, with her beauty and strength of character, her sense of humor, her kindness and warmth, her intelligence, her skill sets with archer's bow, knives, and other blades… This woman could have continued her life as it was, with some semblance of freedom at least, and still, she had chosen to stop the game at him.
She laid her life, her future, her faith with him.
There was no word he knew of in his own language, or anyone else's language, that could properly express his gratitude, his joy.
"I think, my lady, I have never been better in my life."
Sarah smiled up at him and he smiled back, before he turned back to yank at the cork, making a celebratory sound when it popped out of the bottle with a thunk. He heard her giggle behind him as he snagged two of the nicer cups he and Ellie owned, before hurrying back to the table to set them down, one in front of Sarah, the other in front of the chair near hers. He poured, set the bottle down on the table, and sat.
Chuck lifted his cup. "I am sorry I have nothing finer to give you to drink from, Sarah. We are still…attempting to make ends meet."
"This cup is very fine indeed," she said kindly, shaking her head at him. "I do not care what the cup looks like, what the wine tastes like, only that you are the man I drink it with."
Oh, the flutter he felt within him.
"Let us drink then. To thy health, Lady Sarah."
He held out the cup towards her and she thunked her own cup against it, before mumbling sweetly, "To our happiness."
The flutter increased as he beamed at her, pulling his cup back to sip the wine from it. The moment it touched his tongue, he hummed wildly, yanking the cup back and looking down at it in utter shock and awe. "Spirits be damned, this is very fine wine. Our good blacksmith has been holding out on us!"
Sarah laughed, and he rejoiced in the sound, as well as the happy hum she also let out when she sipped from her own cup. "Oh, thou art right. 'Tis delicious." She sent him a wily look then over the rim of her cup and it made his blood rush. "I thought all of our wedding gifts were stored in my house?"
He blushed. "Er, uh, he pulled me aside privately and handed this to me…erm, for me. A sort of, erm, congratulations."
"Ah, I see." Amusement was in her face as she wrinkled her nose. "Man to man."
"Uhhh…"
She laughed again, reaching over to curl her fingers around his wrist reassuringly. "I am teasing thee. Like ye said, we are just being, are we not?"
"Is that Sarah Walker being? Teasing me?"
"Aye. And why not?" She sipped her wine, humming again. "And 'tis not Sarah Walker anymore. I am Sarah Bartowski."
Chuck swallowed hard, fighting to keep from coughing a little at the way the wine went down. He cleared his throat instead. "Thou art right and I am sorry. I-I keep…doing that."
"Well, do not do it any longer," Sarah said with faux criticism, her blue eyes sparkling. "Really… try not to out there where people may hear. I am thy wife and people will think it very strange if thou art struggling to remember."
"I am not struggling to remember that fact," he insisted, shaking his head vehemently. "Trust me, Sarah. 'Tis not something a man forgets."
"That he is married?"
"That he is married to thee," he corrected. "I make that distinction purposely. In spite of everything, 'tis the most significant thing that has happened to me in my life. Never will I forget it."
She watched him quietly. "And now? I know…" She blushed a little. "We said no rules, no expectations, just be."
"Now, ye know my truest feelings I have for thee. The way they burst inside of me when ye are near, and still powerful even when ye are not near." Her eyes widened slightly, but she did not speak, she merely stared. "And I hope my feelings are…not…completely abhorrent to thee." He ducked his head, slightly embarrassed again, and he sucked in some more wine quickly.
"I am sorry, did ye miss when I grabbed thee and planted a kiss on thy lips?" she asked. "Far from how a girl would react to a boy telling her he loveth her were she roiling with feelings of disgust."
Chuck bit his bottom lip and winced. "'Tis true, but I—Damn it, I am my own worst enemy." He cut his hand through the air, making a decision. "Pretend I said nothing of the sort. I only mean to determine if…" He sighed and leaned forward, and he appreciated greatly how patient she was being with him. He looked into her beautiful eyes and raised his eyebrows. "Wouldst thou stay if I cook'ed supper?"
Sarah's lips pressed into a thin line and she glanced away for a moment. He saw an inkling of confusion in her face then. "Thou would…make supper…for me?"
"Yea, my lady. Every night if ye would have it."
Now she blushed, or at least he thought so. Nibbling on the inside of her cheek, she finally cast her eyes back to meet his. "Am I not a part of that bet ye made with thy sister? Whether Mr. Garnet's grandchild be a boy or girl?"
Chuck let out a happy giggle, shaking his head at her. She was funny. "So my lady heard that, did she?" She pursed her lips innocently, eyes dancing with light. "Oh spirits," he sighed, pushing his hand through his curls and sitting back against his chair with a bit of a slump. "Now I must face the cold hard truth that none of my conversations will ever be safe with my wife slinking about in every shadow with her silent little paws."
Throwing her head back with laughter, she did at least seem contrite, pulling her arms back to cross them at her chest and hugging herself. She gave him a sheepish look. "Now that ye know my…biggest secret that no one else alive knows, I will not spy on my man." Her man? The power two words could have on a fellow; he felt slightly faint from it. "I only did before because…I liked ye and wanted to know more about this…new fellow in Pinedeep." She gazed at him then, leaning forward, propping her chin in her palm and leaning her elbow on his table. "This fellow who continued to visit my estate and help me with…another of my secrets. My training grounds. And with no ill will, no discomfort about a woman taking up arms even in practice."
"Ill will? Discomfort?" He scoffed, his ability to stop his mouth significantly hampered by her revelations to him. "Nay, my lady. All it managed to do to me was to make my already rapidly beating heart thump even more wildly in my breast. A passion awakening deep inside of me, so intense that I could scarcely breathe."
Her own chest seemed to heave with a great breath, and her cheeks went bright pink as she yanked her gaze away, picking up her wine cup and taking a long drink from it. As she set it down and swallowed, her tongue darting out to lick her lips, she muttered, "Ye have been a magnificent host, Chuck. I thank ye. The wine is splendid."
She repeated her thanks even as she rose to her feet, as if to leave.
Chuck would not let this happen again, no matter how out of their depths they both clearly felt about these developments.
She could shift into a cat, she was magic, she was something out of one of his storybooks he read, and he was also wildly in love with her and married to her and he wanted to make her happy and protect her and be with her for the rest of his days. And it seemed Sarah did not know how to handle it any better than he did.
So he stood as well, and he caught her hand in his, tight but not rough as he held her back from walking to that door and going through it again. "Stay to sup. Let thy husband prepare thy supper tonight. We can continue to simply be…whilst we eat."
Sarah pulled her lips back between her teeth, her eyes wide and startled. And then she sighed and nodded. "Yea, my husband. I will stay to sup with thee."
A/N: CUTES.
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-SC