Chapter Text
Epilogue
Tony woke up a little before Peter did.
It was barely dawn when Tony heard a gasp and a whimper beside him. He started to roll over but the weight of the bed shifted as Peter flew to sit up. The Prince panted for air, struggling to recover his breath and remember where he was after the nightmare.
Tony was about to sit up. He was going to ask if Peter was okay, and offer to get him some water, and wrestle with the apology he’d already given, for actions he couldn’t fully be forgiven for.
But before he could do anything, he felt Peter climb out of bed and heard him shuffling around as he dressed for the day.
The bedroom door opened and then closed, Peter’s footsteps crossed the solar and faded away.
Tony opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, just barely visible in the early light.
Not for the first time, Tony wondered if this was, in the end, an untenable situation.
In the six months since Beck’s attack, Peter and Tony had settled into a relatively quiet routine. They kept busy with personal engagements and affairs of state; they signed a new law to protect and compensate the families of fallen soldiers. They worked on integrating Arachne’s law into Ferrum’s, focusing on rehabilitation and restitution; they were months in and nowhere close to finished, but Jarvis in particular had been excited to reform Ferrum’s legal code.
They exchanged more letters with Steven Rogers and James Barnes, arranging new trade accords and designing a prosthetic prototype. They started to hear from other nations too, neighbours tentatively reaching out when Ferrum’s army didn’t march again for the first time in a decade.
Peter had been particularly excited about a missive from Kamar Taj. It was a country oceans away, and Tony only recognised the name because of what he’d once heard Peter tell Davis: that Michelle Jones had wanted to study there. Kamar Taj was proposing a scholarly exchange with Arachne, the sharing of knowledge and resources and students between nations; it had upended Peter’s whole day and left him breathless with excitement as he tried to make plans and arrange a reply to go out that same evening.
Winter turned to spring. Betty had given birth to a healthy baby girl; Bradley Davis had finished his term of service and signed on to become Peter’s armsman; more recently, prospectors and miners from all over Arachne began to reach out to Peter. In turn, Peter recruited Bruce and Jarvis to help resume operations in the mountains by restoring old claim records and family deeds. Tony had asked if he was okay with more and more ‘outsiders’ learning Arachne’s secrets; Peter said they couldn’t keep thinking of all Ferrumeans as outsiders, “and anyway, Bruce has been interested in the rains since before you arrived. Maybe he can figure out if the legends are true and there’s a connection to be found.”
And things were good. And they were enough. But they weren’t quite… easy.
They faced practical difficulties: like accepting the lightning-silver crown to be truly lost, or trying to get the Arachnean people to trust Tony and Peter. Or attempting to contact and rehire castle staff from Benjamin Parker’s reign; it was something Tony had thought would help Peter feel more at home, but it proved difficult to find people willing to return.
And those sorts of things still paled in comparison to the empty homes and untended graves dotting Arachne’s landscape. To the scars on Tony’s chest, or the nightmares that haunted Peter.
Time had helped with most things, and perhaps would continue to do so. A few Arachneans trickled back to their old jobs at the castle, Tony’s wounds healed and his body grew strong again, Peter slept through the night more often.
Tony sat up, looking at the empty space beside him. He reached to press against the brand on his chest, studying the rumpled bed sheets.
Peter had his friends and the deciding voice regarding the affairs of his country. He had plenty of time to spend in the library and the still room, continuing to study politics and law and medicine and many of the same things he had busied himself with before the war. And he had said no to Tony’s repeated offer of an annulment, despite the option staying open.
But Tony still couldn’t help but wonder… even with time, could Peter really find peace in this life? When Peter woke up from nightmares, did he wonder if his reality was somehow worse?
At least in dreams he could see the people who had been taken from him.
Tony knew firsthand what a relief that was.
He stood up and dressed slowly before stepping out of the bedroom and turning toward the still room; the door was open and he ventured over, listening to Peter’s quick movements and the soft murmur of his voice as he muttered to himself.
Tony stopped in the doorway, looking in on Arachne’s prince. Peter was at the table, sitting next to the two potted lemon trees he’d been growing. They were a little over a foot tall now and dark green; their glossy, fragrant leaves were suspended over their pots, and Peter tilted his head to look at something underneath the leaves.
He was writing out a list onto a spare piece of paper, and when he looked up he smiled at Tony. And there was no flicker of disappointment or fear or anger in Peter’s face; he wasn’t suffering from fever or weariness or hunger. Tony almost felt like Peter was genuinely happy to see him; maybe a part of him was.
“Good morning,”
“Good morning,” Tony returned his smile and stepped into the still room.
Warm morning light was filling the room in a soft haze and Peter made a gesture toward his paper, “Just writing out directions for the lemons before I leave tomorrow.”
Peter had already instructed Tony on how to take care of the seedlings three times, but the King still curbed his own laugh as he crossed to the table to look over Peter’s shoulder.
“I’m sure that will be helpful,” he said, “thank you.” And his hand drifted to Peter’s back, giving a soft, comforting little touch before pulling away again. Tony asked, “Is there anything else we need to get or pack? Anything we’re forgetting?”
“Not that I can think of,” Peter looked up at him. Tony looked at the little spot on his cheek, the tiny white line of a scar. It was barely visible, even in the bright morning light, even when he focused on it.
“And when you get to Rogers’ court,” Tony prompted, “What’s the first thing you do?”
“Connect with your spymaster Natasha Romanoff.” Peter recited, then he grinned, “Discreetly. And ask for her ring size.”
Tony nodded. A couple months ago, they received word from Natasha that she’d recognised a certain former Ferrumean knight lurking in the slums of Sciath Réalta’s capital. The process of extradition had taken some time to start; Rogers maintained that he wanted nothing to do with Tony, but at length Peter had convinced them to let him visit to negotiate. Publicly, Peter was traveling to connect directly with Barnes about their project, and to work on bringing Arachnean refugees home.
This wouldn’t be Peter’s first trip outside of Arachne, but it was his first time to Sciath Réalta and his first experience representing his country by himself. And, of course, he hadn’t traveled as the Prince Consort of Ferrum before.
“You feel confident about everything?” Tony asked, though he expected Peter was probably a better negotiator than him, “I know you told me you traveled to King Adrian a few times, so you know what you’re doing, but…”
“Well, those were mostly social visits,” Peter answered, gently lifting the leaves on the lemon trees to look at the stems. “Ben and May were considering his daughter Elizabeth as a marriage candidate for me.”
Oh? That was news.
“What went wrong?” Tony asked.
Peter shrugged, “King Adrian reneged on pacts he’d made with Ben, a few trade agreements and a border treaty… He couldn’t be trusted, so Elizabeth and I never finalised anything.”
Tony nodded, feeling his stomach twist up. The only thing he could think of was that he had done much worse than reneged on pacts. It wasn’t Tony’s fault that King Adrian had broken his word, but still. Tony wondered if Peter ever thought about what his life could’ve been like.
What could Benjamin have offered on that battlefield to save his family, if Peter had already been married?
Tony let out a soft breath; this was just another way that their days weren’t quite easy. But Peter was always saying they could at least keep trying to move forward.
Tony pushed the unpleasant thoughts away, trying to stay focused again on the future, on what he could still control, could still change. He returned Peter’s smile and chuckled, “Just don’t let Beck open his mouth. Identify him, gag him, and bring him back.” Then he snorted, “Better yet, just push him off the mountain on your way home.”
Peter laughed aloud at that, a sound that always struck Tony as sweet and earnest. Tony heard it more with each passing day, and each laugh felt like a victory. Like Tony had managed to make another right step, however small, toward keeping Peter safe and well.
“He’s owed due process, Tony. I’m going to bring him home and he’ll be given a fair trial.” Peter stood up and folded his paper over once, but then he glanced at Tony, “He’s not going to hurt anyone again.”
Tony lifted a hand to touch his chest, and the knotted scar next to his brand. He didn’t say it, but he was going to feel better once Beck was locked away for good.
“Tony,” He looked at Peter, whose eyes were fixed insistently on him. “Don’t make all of this about him. That’s exactly what he wants.”
Peter wedged his paper underneath one of the lemon pots, “I’m putting this here for you,” and he waved Tony out toward the solar, “Come on, we need to go to breakfast.”
All week, the windows in the castle had been cast open and fresh white paint had been applied to all the walls. Doorways were decorated with garlands and the halls were filled with bouquets of gardenias and daffodils and daisies. Per Peter’s suggestion, Tony had worn a white shirt today to celebrate the beginning of summer, and there was a vibrant energy in the castle as they made their way through the halls.
Tony tried not to think about the fact that a year ago today, Ferrum had invaded Arachne. That the warmth and bright decorations and joyous celebrations had been cut short and then soured by some of the darkest days in Arachne’s history.
But if Peter was thinking about that too, he didn’t mention it. He just asked, walking half a step ahead of Tony, “You’re sure about making this offer?”
“I’m certain,” Tony nodded, “And this is a good day to do it, too.”
A smile twitched on Peter’s lips and he nodded. Then they turned into the parlour for breakfast, where they found Betty and Bennett and Eleonore Brant waiting for them.
“Peter, hi!” Betty jumped up and skipped toward them. A long, white linen dress swirled around her ankles, and a crown of yellow freesias and roses was settled on her head. Betty shifted the white sling wrapped around her torso and leaned in to kiss Peter on the cheek, “Welcome to summer, Peter!”
“And summer welcomes you,” Peter grinned, Betty shifted the sling so the baby was facing him and Peter leaned toward her. “And Happy Selios to you, Serenity May.” Peter waved at her and Serenity blinked back at him. She whined and wiggled her arms free in the sling. Betty moved to pull her out.
Serenity gurgled when she was placed in Peter’s arms, fussing for just a moment at the loss of her mother. He went to greet the others with hugs and kisses and holiday greetings before everyone settled at the table for breakfast.
“Your Highness, would you like to hold her?” Betty offered when Serenity was back in her arms and she passed the baby to Tony. Serenity grinned at him and reached her arms out, pressing her fingers against Tony’s lips.
Everyone said she looked like her dad: pale copper skin; wide, dark eyes; and flat tufts of black hair. Tony cooed to her as breakfast was served, smiling when Serenity babbled back.
“Where’s Brad?” Betty asked as they started to dig in to fresh fruit and cheesy omelettes and sweet pastries and cold milk — Peter had informed Tony they didn’t eat meat on Selios.
“He has training today. Armsmen train every day, even holidays.” Peter answered, “But he’ll join us for supper,”
“I wish you could come out with us tonight,” Betty said, “But you’re leaving early tomorrow?”
Peter nodded, “As soon as the sun’s up, but I shouldn’t be gone more than a month.”
“Still a shame to leave so quickly after the holiday,” Mrs. Brant said.
“Yes, but I already put the trip off nearly two weeks so that I could be in Arachne to celebrate,” Peter shrugged and added, “But it might be better to keep Serenity away from any smoke tonight at the bonfires,”
Serenity batted her arms a little and Tony reached, wiggling his fingers into her hand. She cooed and grasped onto them, marveling at her own ability. Tony looked over when Peter kicked him under the table, “You need to eat, Your Highness,” Peter smirked, eyes bright as he looked at the two of them.
Tony shifted the baby in his arms. She squawked when he pulled his hand out of her grip but then settled on mouthing at the collar of his shirt. Tony reached for his fork and took a couple of bites, he watched the emotions change on Peter’s face as the Prince thought through what he wanted to say next.
“Betty, we have a proposal for you…” Peter hummed, perhaps wanting to be careful with his words, “Since Tony and I can’t have children, we’ve decided that — with your permission — we want to name Serenity May our heir.”
Betty’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. Across the table, Mrs. Brant gasped aloud.
Bennett kept eating, but he grinned at his plate, “That sounds awesome.”
After a few moments, Betty managed to compose her expression and she leaned forward, as if this conversation was dangerous, “Can that happen? Is she even —”
“There’s no legal precedent against it; this choice is up to the King.” Peter said quickly, and he tilted his head toward Tony. But despite his confidence, Peter turned his fork over anxiously in his hand and his leg was bouncing under the table. Because no matter what the law said, there was a cultural concern. Even Peter had hesitated when Tony first made the suggestion to him.
Peter had shaken his head, “She couldn’t be queen, Ned and Betty weren’t…” But then he’d trailed off, flushing as he realised what he’d been about to say.
“Being a bastard doesn’t stop anyone from advancing in Ferrum,” Tony had answered, keeping his voice measured. He had raised an eyebrow, always cautious that something could be taken or applied the wrong way.
But Tony had asked not just for Peter’s sake, but for his own. Serenity May’s father was dead because of Tony’s actions, after all. Wouldn’t lifting up his daughter, providing for her, be the best way to honour his memory?
Peter had come around to the idea immediately.
Now the Prince went on, his eyes fixed on Betty, “Once she turns five, she’ll come to the castle each day for tutoring. She would learn fencing and martial arts as she gets older, once she turns fifteen she would officially accept or decline the inheritance of the crown. And at twenty-five…” Peter trailed off.
At twenty-five, Serenity May Brant would take the throne.
Peter added, “If she wants to take the name Parker she can. But that will be up to her.”
Mrs. Brant was sitting very still, and she looked a little like she wanted to snatch her granddaughter out of Tony’s hands. But finally she cleared her throat, “Prince Peter, surely there are cousins or nobles… others who would have claim to such a title first.”
“No one with a clear claim, and definitely no one who grew up here and understands our customs. Anyway, the decision is up to myself and Tony,” Peter said calmly, “I keep thinking about the future Ned didn’t get to have, and the changes MJ wanted to see in Arachne. I know that this isn’t an easy request for your family to answer, and that she will face opposition and questions and doubts. So if the answer is no, then I understand. But I think naming an Arachnean as heir will go a long way toward healing Tony’s reputation, and naming Serenity as that heir will force many people to confront their own prejudice.”
Everyone was quiet for a while.
In Tony’s arms, Serenity’s eyes fluttered shut. She let out a content little sigh, drawing everyone’s attention.
“You have time to decide,” Peter said finally, “We can talk more about the details when I get back, we wouldn’t need to declare anything official for… Another year, at least. But I want you to know the offer is open. It will mean some parts of her life will be much harder, I’m not denying that. But…”
Bennett said, “Sounds like an easy decision to me,” and he reached to nudge Betty next to him, “This means Ser becomes royalty, Betty.”
Betty glanced at her mom, and Tony wondered if Mrs. Brant was working through her own prejudice at this very moment. Reconciling Crown Princess and bastard and granddaughter into the same person.
That would understandably be a lot for someone to wrap their head around.
Betty pushed the fruit around her plate a little bit, but finally she fixed a thin smile toward Peter and then Tony, “I’m so honoured you’ve asked,” She said, “And I’m… very interested.” She eyed Peter, “We can talk more about the details later?”
“Of course,” Peter reassured her, and Tony watched the Prince’s shoulders relax a little. Then their conversation shifted to discuss plans for the evening and different traditions and rites during Selios. As they finished eating, they’d hit an impasse discussing history.
“It’s true, we fasted on both holidays when I was a girl,” Mrs. Brant told them, “Or at least my family did. But when I got married, your father’s family only fasted on Selfall. So I changed.”
“Have you ever heard of fasts on Selios?” Betty looked at Peter.
“Not a complete fast,” Peter said, “Just the provision against meat. But we could look it up. The library has some books about the holidays.” And everyone started to stand up. A servant stepped forward with Bennett’s rudimentary wooden crutches, and Betty hurried around the table to retrieve Serenity from Tony’s arms.
“Of course now she sleeps,” Betty sighed, but she smiled at Tony, “Thank you, Your Highness.”
Tony hung back behind the group as they made their way out to the hall.
Bennett said, “Wouldn’t this explain the line in that Selios song? On the day we break our fast / Winds of winter sing their last.”
Peter shook his head, “But I don’t even think my grandparents fasted, we’d have records or writings about it from holiday parties. Mrs. Brant, did you grow up on the coast or near one of our borders?”
“Prince Peter!” Everyone turned around, and all those sets of eyes brought a quick blush to Victoria’s cheeks as she hurried to reach them. “So sorry to interrupt, Prince Peter, but the dessert tonight calls for vanilla and —”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I should’ve thought of that when I gave you the recipe.” Peter dug in his pocket for the still room key, “Here. Just give it straight to King Anthony tomorrow, I won’t need it before I leave. Oh, do you need oranges? I don’t —”
“We have some, My Prince. From Kamar Taj’s most recent gift,”
“Right, good. Save and wrap the seeds for me?” Peter asked, “Be sure not to let them dry out. Oh, and remind me when I get back, I want to move some things down to the kitchens for you.”
“Of course, My Prince,” Victoria curtsied to him and then to their guests before retreating again.
“A vanilla dessert with oranges?” Betty smiled, “Dare I ask, Peter?”
“It was meant to be a surprise,” Peter laughed as they continued, “but yes it’s the custard from your engagement party, May’s recipe.” And Betty grinned at him.
Tony glanced at the diamond ring on her finger, her hands wrapped tightly around the baby in her arms. If the thought of her engagement, if the thought of Ned, ached, Peter and Betty didn’t show it. It must be painful, at least sometimes, but Tony thought that it might eventually be like toasting Morgan on her birthday or remembering Pepper’s allergy over a strawberry pastry. As much as that hurt, it also remembered and cherished the people they’d lost.
Outside, Tony reached for Peter’s shoulder and tugged a little bit to pull him back. “You head on,” He nodded toward the library, “I’m going to walk in the gardens,” He tilted his head to the east of the courtyard. He didn’t want to intrude on Peter and his friends, didn’t want to linger with all the unpleasant memories that his presence would bring.
“Alright,” Peter nodded, “We’ll find you later,” He waved as he walked ahead with his friends.
Tony turned and headed into the gardens, winding his way along paths sprinkled with flower petals blown astray by the wind. Every plant seemed to be in bloom, vibrant pinks and yellows and purples and blues dotting green hedges and thin trees.
Tony sat down on a bench facing a row of aspen trees. He twisted the wedding ring on his left hand, slowly tugging it off. He turned it over, letting the heavy gold weight settle in his palm.
He watched the sunlight glint off the metal, but it quickly faded as clouds blew over the sky. Gooseflesh crept up the back of Tony’s neck, and he looked up as the light faded around the gardens.
A few months after Peter refused the annulment, Tony had asked about a new wedding ceremony. New vows. Or different rings. Tony had suggested forging one like he’d made for Pepper…
At first, as ever, Peter’s protests had been pragmatic: it was a silly use of money, and wouldn’t change anything legally.
And then when Tony pushed the matter, insisting that an iron ring made by his own hand would cost next to nothing, Peter had finally explained that it wasn’t possible to change how their relationship had started, so it would be wrong to replace the symbol of it. They could only go further, go forward; they could keep exploring, and look back to see the progress they had made.
Peter had said something similar about Arachne’s crown. It was useless to continue looking for its pieces; they could have a new one made instead.
Won’t that be more fitting for our newly united country? Peter had laughed when he said it, but Tony couldn’t help but wonder if Peter meant it. If he was really content. Tony tried to give Peter freedom and choice and independence and care whenever he could, but was it enough?
Hopefully, if Tony kept up like this, Peter would come to feel safe and happy and treasured enough to tell him.
Maybe Beck’s extradition and punishment would help. Or maybe, as Peter had said this morning, Beck didn’t really have anything to do with their story or their future.
“It’s going to rain, Tony!”
Tony looked up and smiled as Peter came toward him. He straightened his back and gestured next to him on the bench, “That’s alright. I've come to like the rain here. Where are the others?”
Peter sat down next to Tony and looked up expectantly at the clouds. “Reading,” he said, “The library has plenty to entertain everyone, we’ll see them again at dinner.” Then he turned to look at Tony, “You like the rain?” He repeated with a mischievous smile, “I thought it stained and ruined everything.”
Tony couldn’t help the laugh that he barked out, remembering how disgusted he had been when they first arrived in Arachne. They’d been scared of the rumours of weird and dangerous effects, their army grumbled over mottled stains that turned everyone’s clothes into the same brown patchwork. And before long they’d needed to anticipate clouds, mud, and a downpour nearly every day.
Tony slipped the ring back on his finger. He reached for the Prince’s hand and held it tightly, looking over at him.
“No,” he said finally, “It doesn’t ruin everything.”
And he wished there was some way to preserve the look on Peter’s face.
And then Peter kissed him.
Tony inhaled sharply, and he leaned away the slightest bit out of shock, but Peter squeezed his hand fiercely and leaned in to deepen the kiss. After a moment, Tony closed his eyes. All he could feel was Peter against him and the bench beneath him and the drops of rain beginning to fall around them.
When Peter pulled away he was blushing deeply, his neck and cheeks flushed. And their white shirts were tinted by the rain, turning —
Violet.
Tony raised his eyes upward, holding a hand out to catch the delicate purple raindrops.
Peter grinned up at the sky, “Well that took long enough,” he said. Then his eyes shifted down to his hands, and he added, “A purple rain, I mean. It’s been…”
“I know.” Tony said, swallowing hard, “What, umm… What does rain mean for the fires tonight?”
Peter held his hand out to catch the droplets, and answered easily, “We light the fires no matter what. If it rains, then it rains. Sometimes the fires stay lit, sometimes they go out. Everyone’s grandmother has a different opinion about what that means,” Peter snickered, “To say nothing of all the interpretations for each colour of rain.”
Tony nodded slowly. He thought back to the mantra he’d been clinging to for months. How could he make this better, how could he work toward a better life for Peter.
Finally he said, voice husky, “Peter, if you want to celebrate tonight with your friends we could put off your leaving until tomorrow afternoon. Or even another day if you’d prefer.”
They’d planned to make an appearance after the feast, to light the first bonfires. But then Peter wanted to turn in right away — or at least that’s what he’d said.
Peter shook his head. He leaned into Tony’s side, twining their fingers together. “No, that’s alright.” He said, “I actually… there’s something we need to work on tonight.”
“Oh?” Tony wondered at that. Maybe Peter wanted to refine their questions and notes for James Barnes, though they’d already gone over everything multiple times. Tony tilted his head toward the castle, “Maybe we could talk about it over a cup of tea?”
Peter chuckled, “What, you’re not afraid I’ll kill you?” But he stood up from the bench.
Tony climbed to his feet smiling, “Oh, I’m sure if you truly wanted me dead, Prince Peter, I’d be dead.” He nudged Peter with his elbow and they started to walk leisurely along the garden path. “Anyway haven’t you had like a hundred days to do it?”
Peter laughed, “I think it’s been more than a hundred.”
“Well, don’t sweat it. I’m sure you’ll have plenty more chances when you get back.”
Peter looked over at him, humour and something else — some softening look of respect or affection — on his face.
Tony clasped his hands behind his back and prompted, “What is it we need to work on?”
Peter broke eye contact, turning his face away. The rain obscured a bit of his expression, “Well… You remember when you offered me an annulment?”
“Yes?” Tony said, feeling uneasy.
Peter still wouldn’t look right at him; their gait slowed a little. But after a moment Peter said, “I was thinking… we could consummate the marriage tonight. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t want it to come up while I’m away and we can’t do anything about it.” He bit down on the corner of his lip, and his eyes darted to meet Tony’s for just a moment; the bright colour of the rain seemed to illuminate Peter and the gardens all at once.
Tony fought it, but he felt a grin slide onto his face anyway, “Is that right?” He laughed, “Yes, I’d hate for that to come up all of a sudden during your month away.”
“Fine, I take it back,” Peter huffed and he started to walk again, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “You’re the worst.”
Tony grinned and sped up to stay beside him, grabbing his wrist to pull him to a stop. Tony said, “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”
Peter didn’t answer, at least not out loud. But he reached to hold Tony’s hand again. Tony looked at him, appraising the light of the smile on Peter’s flushed cheeks, his blush darkened by the colour of the rain.
Here in the gardens of Arachne’s castle, they weren’t standing very far from where they’d been married. But now Peter wasn’t angry or scared or exhausted like he’d been on that day. When they’d stood unhappily side by side, speaking vows that weren’t honest in a place that wasn’t home.
This was Peter, wholehearted and true. His grip was warm and firm under the cool rain around them, and his wedding ring was smooth against Tony’s hand.
Now, seeing the certainty in Peter’s gaze, Tony tilted his head toward the castle, “Well, lead the way, Your Grace.”
Peter laughed again. He squeezed Tony’s hand and turned away from where they’d been married, guiding him home along the garden path.
The End