Archive of Our Own

George’s first memories are of vast fields and candid smiles.

He was no older than nine, yet his lithe frame was that of a seven-year-old. It’s not like he didn’t like it, he cherished it even. When he laid down on the flowerbeds, he would sink right in and they would hide him from the cruel world if only for a brief moment. When he ran through the tall grass, he would disappear from sight and they would take him to an adventure in another reality if only for a fleeting second. When he stood upright, he would barely reach the same height as his younger friends and they would make him feel like he has forever to burn with them.

He was due to grow up soon, but for now he could bask in the ignorance of youth.

George moves his gaze from the clouded skies to the low hanging branch hovering over them to watch his youngest friend scale the slope of the trunk, the wild strands of dark hair flowing in the slight breeze as untamed as his demeanor. He resists the urge to call him back down just so he can smooth out the creases in his tousled shirt and wipe away the dirt on his face; it would only make him feel older than ever. He does, however, nag at Sapnap to be careful which only earns him a stuck-out tongue from a petulant child and wheezing laughter from the other petulant child sitting next to him. He sends Dream a formidable glare for someone of his age and is pleased when the other quickly breaks out into lighthearted apologies.

They fall into an excerpt of their own, giggles bubbling up in between overdramatic acting and playful quips. If there’s one thing they easily fall into, it’s bouts of theatrics and wild scenarios. It’s just so fun to make a story out of nothing, to spin the threads of their tales as they see fit. It’s just so fun to fall into roles to see if they can pull it off, to explore the characters they can play. Besides, it’s one of the only things they have control over, after all.

This time, George plays the part of a betrayed friend and Dream the one asking for forgiveness. He won’t lie, it does turn out rather entertaining especially when Dream starts to offer the most absurd of things for repentance. He ends up picking flowers instead and giving him a bouquet as a peace offering, picking the most vibrant of colors that George can see and describing to him those he cannot. He can see the azure of hydrangeas and of the boundless skies, while he cannot see the vermilion of poppies and of Sapnap’s wild eyes. He can see the ochre of dahlias and of worn parchments, while he cannot see the coral of peonies and of delicious berries.

He may not be able to see color properly, but he knows the emeralds of Dream’s eyes are the most radiant of shades.

George does not hide that thought. He says it out loud bluntly, and that earns him more of the colors he cannot appreciate in their entirety. That earns him carmine spreading on Dream’s cheeks and a blur of scarlet in the form of Sapnap and his bright attire to jump down on the ground next to him and ask if he thinks the same of his eyes too. He laughs and assures him exactly so; he smiles and ruffles the hair on their heads and tells them that he’s sure they’re the brightest people to ever be part of his life. He tells them that he’s sure they’re the most precious people to him, and that he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

This is the first time he’s ever been so sure of anything.

And so, he spends the rest of his free days like this. They run and play, and they pretend that no world exists outside of their own. They laugh and spar, and they pretend that they won’t be holding real blades soon. They talk and smile, and they pretend that the timer for their time together does not count down. They hold no other wish than to remain like this for the rest of their lives. They’re beyond happy, beyond ecstatic. No one should have dared to take it away, but they do anyway because the world demands too much of them. The world demands too much of the people living on it, and the three pay the price of their childhood for it. It is cruel, and it is merciless, and it is the world they have come to know.

Sapnap bawls. He bawls and clings and screams, but it does not change anything. Sapnap is seven and his hands are far too small to be holding the hilt of a sword, but he will be anyway. Dream cries. He cries and sobs and whimpers, but it does not change anything. Dream is eight and his hands are far too weak to hold up an entire Kingdom, but he will be anyway. George does not bawl or cry. He sits and stares and contemplates, and his silent and grounding presence calms the other two down. George is nine and his hands are just barely big and strong enough to pull them all into a warm hug, and so he does. For a moment, he could pretend everything was alright.

Even as children they had known from the start that this wouldn’t last long, but it didn’t make it hurt any less when the time to leave had come.

“I’ll wait for you.” The young Dream had said on the afternoon before the night the other two were due to set sail, with droplets welling up in emerald eyes and rolling down splotchy red cheeks. The tears shone in the light like diamonds, like the mark of his family and when they dropped to the ground it felt like an oceanwide gap was slowly building in between them. “No matter how long it’ll take… you’ll both come back to me, right?”

George had no power to take away the bitterness of parting, so all he could give was the sweetness of a promise.

-

It had been a decade since he’d last seen Dream.

It had been a decade since he’d last seen the boy with the wild eyes, messy hair and boisterous laugh, a decade since he’d last been on the colorful fields that they called home, a decade since he had been sent across the seas of the Center to the Kingdom of Spades. It had been a decade since his heart had started to yearn, and even the knowledge of Sapnap being in the same country as him does not ease his longing. After all, he’s in one of the top schools studying while the other had been sent to a lord’s castle to train for knighthood. Nevertheless, he is not one to slack off despite the emptiness he feels.

George reads up on languages, literature, and trade relations; he spends his time with his nose buried in a book and scrubbing ink stains off his notetaking hand. He learns of essential life skills and etiquette; he spends his time trying to cook a variety of dishes and washing heaps of laundry. He learns of combat and archery; he spends his time sharpening blades and shooting arrows. Everyday tasks have turned into tests, and he is told to excel in each and every one of them no matter how seemingly obscure. Everyday tasks have turned into distractions, and he uses the need to improve endlessly to keep his mind off just how much he misses the other two. He was training to be the perfect Ace, after all, and the sooner he was deemed worthy then the sooner he would be able to see them once again.

Eventually, he has grown old enough to be allowed out of the school grounds and he wastes no opportunity in contacting Sapnap. George is elated to see him again, even if he has grown far taller (“By like one inch!”) and even if he’s teased for it (“You’re two years older than me, this is huge already!”). They hug and cry, and they mutually agree to never speak of it despite their swollen eyes and damp faces. They talk about their years alone and make plans for future meetings, and they find that everything is a bit more bearable now that they’ve found each other again even though they were still missing their third puzzle piece. In their time together, George does not miss the way Sapnap’s muscles are more defined and Sapnap does not miss the way George’s gait is lighter and more graceful. George does not miss the way Sapnap’s body has begun to pack up bulk, and Sapnap does not miss the way George’s body has begun to move with subtle elegance. It’s no wonder they decide to test their strength, and the difference is clear almost immediately.  

Sapnap was to be a knight, and George was to be the Ace. Sapnap was trained to fight, and George was trained to kill. Sapnap was trained to ride horses and go into battle, and George was trained to travel under the cover of night and eliminate single targets. Sapnap was trained for honorable duels, and George was trained to ambush and assassinate. However enduring Sapnap may be in a head-on fight is also however swift George may be in an ambush. They embrace it either way, because it’s a nice change of pace from the usual. Whenever they meet, they spar and whenever they spar, they learn. Sapnap learns to watch his back, and George learns to guard his front. Years pass them by quickly, but it was never really dull enough to be intolerable anymore.

George was trained to be the perfect Ace, and now the time to put it into practice has come. The prince had finally become of age, after all.

As the ship draws closer to his destination, he wonders just how much has changed in his time away. He wonders if his family’s home was still cozy and warm, if his room and all his little trinkets were still there. As he gets on a horse and takes off towards the distant capital, he wonders if the flowers were still as vibrant, if the skies there were just as blue, if Dream was still waiting for them after all that time. He wonders if he would still welcome them with open arms, if he would still lift them off the ground a little when they embrace. As he passes through the towering gates and nods curtly in response to the given directions, he wonders if Dream’s eyes had lost their brightness, if his hair had lost its shine after being locked away in this palace for so long. He wonders if his laugh was still as boisterous, if his heart still had room for George and Sapnap. As he pushes past the mahogany doors to the royal chambers, he wonders if things would still be the same.

The east is the land of the rising sun, of gentle golds washing over cities of marble to mark another glorious day for the empire. It is the land of riches and silks, of treasuries filled to the brim and arrays of fine clothing as vast as the seas off its capital’s coast. It is the land of vanity and blitheness, of contests and festivals and glittering medals meant to be shown off than serving as a real measure of anything. It is the land of the Kingdom of Diamonds, the wealthiest and the third largest and the one set to crown their Queen on this fateful morning.

Dream is the embodiment of his kingdom, George realizes.

The finest fabrics of bronze and amber are draped on his fit frame, the softest fur lining the edges of the olive-green cape that pools up at the heels of his leather boots. The sunlight from the window reflects off the gilded hoop earrings that dangle from his ears and the glitter embellishing his neck like twinkling constellations on skin, like lively stars on a night sky. Freckles dot the dusted pinks of his cheeks and his sun-kissed complexion, obscured beneath the long strands of flaxen hair that frame his face delicately so. The mark of his lineage is clear in the golden diamond tattoo on the back of his hand that extends beyond his long puffy sleeves, showing off to the world the place he was meant to rule. There are diamonds to his title, diamonds in his jewelry, diamonds on the expanse of his face and neck and diamonds in the glint of emerald eyes when they meet his own.

They say time makes the heart grow fond, and George was no exception to the rule. Tears had been their farewells, and right now they would be their greetings.

“George.” Dream breathes out sharply, soft and breathless like words spoken too loudly would shatter the visage of his childhood friend stepping foot into his personal room. George aches to prove to him he is real, but he cannot overstep the lines their roles in society have set.

“Your Highness.” He remains in his place, bowing respectfully with a small smile that holds large amounts of fondness. “I am George of Fidelis. I am to be your Ace, to serve by your side from the shadows for as long as you see fit.”

“You’ve changed.” You’re different. Dream steps closer, molding the boundaries as he sees fit, defying the unspoken rule with his power. “You’re much more… elegant.” Graceful, unlike the clumsy George his memories hold dear.

“As have you, my prince.” You too. George does not move, keeping within the boundaries as he sees fit, obeying the unspoken rule with his fear. “You’re much more regal.” Unreachable, unlike the affectionate Dream his heart longs for.

There’s tense silence in the air, like both of them are not quite sure what to do with themselves, like neither of them know how to play with the cards they’ve been dealt and the responsibilities they’ve been handed. It only makes sense, after all. George is nineteen and his hands are already roughed up with calluses from years of training, Dream is eighteen and his hands are already full of responsibilities too big to ignore. They were still young, far too much so to be the backbone of an entire Kingdom. They were still inexperienced, and it shows in how George fumbles over words too eloquent for him and how Dream squirms in garments too extravagant for him. If they were to be unfit for their titles at all, then they might as well be unfit for their titles together.

“You need not call me by my title in private.” Dream does not hide the underlying plea for George to call him by his name instead, does not hide how he seeks for a semblance of the past.

“The Queen would have my head, your Highness.” George jests, knowing full well how the thrones are empty and will remain so until they find suitable candidates., if at all. Playful banter is familiar grounds, and they seek it like a desert dweller to water. Playful banter is reminiscent of their childhood, and they slip into it when the world outside their little bubble has faded into an afterthought.

“And I’m due to be Queen, am I not? You will serve me, and you will follow my command.” Dream opens up his arms, inviting. There’s barely contained anticipation in the expectant look on his face, in the trembling of his hands that both of them do not miss. George twitches, but keeps still and does not give in. Not without verbal consent, not without a clear order. “Come, George, and greet me as an old friend.”

And who was he to disobey his Queen, to turn down his friend?

George crashes into Dream, nearly toppling them both over with the force of his excitement. His arms wrap awkwardly around the multiple layers of fabrics and his face is itchy from the mass of fur it’s pressed against, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of being whole again. He’s lifted off the ground briefly and the grip is so tight it almost hurts, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of being where he belongs again. No discomfort would not be worth the feeling of finally having his best friend in his arms once again after a grueling ten years. It feels like finding the right key to a locked door after thousands of tries, like two puzzle pieces slotting together perfectly as if they had never been apart. Even though they were still missing their third puzzle piece, the world suddenly feels a lot more forgiving.

“It’s good to see you again, Dream.” He whispers, knowing full well the other can hear him with how close they are.

“I missed you.” The hug tightens ever so slightly, like Dream is trying to keep him in place and stop him from ever leaving again. George doesn’t mind at all. “Sapnap too. I missed you both so much.”

“As have I, Dream. I missed you too, more than you could ever begin to fathom.”

“You speak all fancy and shit now.” Dream mumbles into his hair, a hand coming up to slowly thread through the strands. It’s soothing.

“And you’re as foul-mouthed as ever.” George responds into the crook of his neck, the hot breath warming up his skin. It’s relaxing.

“Is that so much of a bad thing?”

“It’s a you thing, that’s for sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dream giggles softly, and George finds that the wheezing breaths are still there and unchanged after a decade.

“It means that you’re… you. Someone entirely unique that can’t be simply classified in just one word.” George smiles gently, and Dream finds that the shyness is still there and unchanged after a decade.

“I’ve decided to take that as a compliment.”

“That’s because it is.”

They pull back eventually when the distant hum of busy streets reminds them of where they are and what they’re supposed to be doing. Dream’s face is shining and George cannot tell if it’s from the warm sunlight peeking through the large window, or the joy on his expression and mirth on his eyes. He’s sure he’s reflecting that on his face too, especially when he steps back to give a full bow and offer a gloved hand as per his training. It makes them both chuckle a little.

“Shall we head to the ceremony, your Highness?” Dream nods and slips his hand into his. George is about to lead him out when Dream suddenly gasps and rushes to his bedside table to pull out a porcelain white mask with a simple smiley face crudely drawn on it. It’s not the oddest thing he’s seen, but it does raise his eyebrows as well as a few questions.

“Could you help me put this on?” George nods in response, going up behind him to clasp the mask in place. He does what he’s told, but curiosity still leads him to pry.

“What’s it for, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m the only ruler right now, and I have no siblings nor children. I was advised to hide my identity so I wouldn’t be an easier target.” George hums in acknowledgement as he fixes Dream’s hair as best as he could. He’s quick at it, even without a brush. Soon enough, they’re walking down the halls with idle chatter never ceasing even as they make it to the main doors where the transport is waiting on the other side. George stops abruptly in his tracks though, which makes the other look at him inquisitively.

“I shouldn’t be seen outside this palace with you, they’d know me to be the Ace.” Dream looks crestfallen, and George is quick to assure him. “Don’t worry, I’ll watch you from afar. The moment you walk through these doors once again, as Queen, I will be right here for you.” Dream brightens up and nods understandingly, then is promptly escorted out. George exits through one of the back doors and takes his steed with him to the heart of the city, rushing to make it there in time to slip into the crowd.

George keeps his promise, obviously. He wouldn’t miss Dream’s coronation for the world. He waits with bated breath as the carriage arrives and his best friend steps out, his gaze seemingly sweeping over the entire crowd to look for his Ace. George doesn’t know if he’s seen, but he still watches avidly as Dream walks on the carpeted path to the altar with the poise and regality only a Royal could have. The people fall silent at his commanding presence, and are awed by how he exudes power. He is beautiful in every sense of the word. He is beautiful in his gait, in the sureness in his step as he takes his rightful place. He is beautiful under prying eyes and scrutiny, remaining as vigilant as ever. He is beautiful in the light of the brass chandelier that hangs precariously above them, in the gentle glow that makes the stars on his body twinkle. He is beautiful as the Queen of this Kingdom.

His velvet cape billows behind him as he leaves his sentiments past, leaves any trace of his identity as Dream. He is to be Queen now, and the Queen is adorned in his Kingdom’s riches: in the gold of countless accessories, in the gold embroidering expensive textiles, in the gold of how much he is worth. He is to be Queen now, and the Queen does not falter in his vows, does not waver when tested as per tradition. He is to be Queen now, and the Queen passes all his trials and proves himself adept to the citizens under his rule, proves himself capable with little effort despite the crushing pressure placed on him.

Even though they are far too young, George cannot help but think that Dream is meant to rule. Even though they are far too inexperienced, George cannot help but think that Dream is worthy of his title. Even though the crown is far too heavy, far too bejeweled, George cannot help but think that it is right where it belongs when placed lopsidedly on Dream’s head.

And so, Dream is crowned the Queen of Diamonds.

-

Dream had always been arrogant.

It’s not like his pride is rooted in nothing. He’s skilled, very much so. He is intelligent, and that is without a doubt. He is adept at combat and knowledgeable in politics, but when focused he is blinded. He is headstrong and often charges ahead, he is impulsive and he is impatient. He is like a storm that thunders tempest, ripping apart everything in its path. He is like an inferno that blazes fervid, burning down everything in its vicinity. He fights only for himself, and does not think to account for anyone else. He wins, but in his victory he loses. He is swift, and he is untamed, and he is Dream. George learns that early in his life, from when they were kids frolicking about without a care in the world. He also learns that early into Dream’s rule, from when he had his first few meetings with his royal council.

George is sat in one of the hidden passageways leading to the meeting room, the sound of discussion muffled through the wall but still audible. He peeks through a small gap, attentively paying attention to everything lest someone pull a quick assassination attempt on Dream. It’s not too uncomfortable and while it can be slightly claustrophobic, it’s nothing he isn’t trained for. After all, when the Ace has no errands to carry out, he is tasked to protect the Queen from any sort of harm. He works for no one but him, after all. The only time he is permitted to leave his side is when dismissed or tasked with direct orders, and even then he is still reluctant and wary. While it may sound dull, such is simply the life of an Ace, and George was one of them.

Dream looks like an entirely different person out there, faced with the expectations of the world around him. He looks like an entirely different person donning royal robes and sitting at the head of the table with his mask obscuring his usual expressive face. The disparity between the Dream he knows and the Dream he has come to serve is almost always disorienting, it doesn’t even feel like they’d even remotely be associated with each other. George supposes it makes sense, because out there he is not Dream. He is the Queen of Diamonds, the sole ruler to a vast empire.

“We’re running out of funds, you say?” He clarifies, as if trying to make sure he read correctly the last of the meeting’s agenda. Someone raises their hand, and the Queen nods at them in acknowledgement.

“Yes, your Majesty.” The noble is now passing around papers, presumably reports, for everyone to skim over and for the Queen to read in complete detail. He hums as he looks down at the sheets and gestures for them to carry on. “We’re just a few more months away from total financial ruin.”

“Natural disasters have also ruined the fields.” Another speaks up after similarly being given permission to. “I’m afraid our reserves are running low.” There are bated breaths at the silence that follows the statement, waiting to see what the Queen will do at the first big hurdle that has come his way.

“I don’t quite see the gravity of the problem here.” The Queen tilts his head in question, and there’s an almost childlike innocence and ignorance to his demeanor. George knows he is deliberate, though. “Just raise the taxes for the lower class more, and the treasuries will be filled. There’s no need to think so hard about it.” There are murmurs of agreement throughout the room, and soon most of them are nodding at the proposal. Unfortunately the unanimous cooperation is abruptly shattered by a fist banging on the table and the screeching of a chair against the floor as it’s being pushed back.

“But, your Highness, the peasants have no more bread!” A particularly defiant member of the council is stood and had spoken up out of turn for the nth time. George already knows her fate, and pities her accordingly. “They’ve ran out and are starving!” The Queen’s annoyance is palpable, but he hides it with a dismissive hand motion and a nonchalant remark.

“Then let them eat cake.”

Humanity is greedy, and their greed has become the defining factor for their survival. Living comes at a price, and money runs the world. The world demands too much of the people living on it, and the lower class pay the price of their lives for it. It is cruel, and it is merciless, and it is the world they have come to rule.

The meeting is adjourned shortly after. The nobles slowly file out of the room, leaving the Queen alone to his devices. He takes his mask off just briefly, treading his fingers through golden strands of hair and burying his face into his hands with a tired groan. Oh, how George wants to console him, to pull him close, to do anything to get his vibrant and bubbly friend back. Yet even if the coast is clear, George does not move. Not without verbal consent, not without a clear order.

“George.” It comes out almost like a whine, and it’s quite endearing. “Comfort me, will you?” George chuckles and pushes at the door to the secret entrance so he can slip out and stand next to his friend.

“I apologize, Dream.” He pats his back reassuringly, urging him to stand up lest the position becomes too uncomfortable. “Shall I escort you to your throne now?” Dream gives a weary nod and allows himself to be led out of the stuffy room and into the throne room. He immediately slumps down on the cushions and waves off the stack of paperwork he has to sort through. George is quick to prepare his scheduled afternoon snacks and tea, hoping they rejuvenate him in the process. For a few minutes, they relish in each other’s company as Dream skims over blocks of text and George polishes his blades. It’s only a matter of time, now.

“My Ace.” The Queen speaks up with underlying malice to his tone and a dangerous glint in his eye. Even if it is not directed at George, it still makes a shiver run down his spine. “I’m sure you know what to do.”

“Of course, my Queen.” The Ace sheathes his dagger and bows respectfully before moving to head out and fulfill his errand. “You need not utter another word. It shall be done.”

An hour later, he is stood outside the rowdy noblewoman’s home and peeking through her window to see her alone in her study. A sad fate, really. She is young, and caring, and has not yet learned what it meant to make sacrifices for the greater good. Though it is debatable if it were a necessary sacrifice in the first place, if the upper class had any right to do this. Surely it was unfair for the majority of the population to suffer endlessly while the ones at the top barely felt a dent. Surely it was unjust to demand too much of them, to make them pay for the fancy parties and fine dining the nobles were to indulge in.

She was most likely suggesting for equality amongst the classes, for a chance for the peasants to speak for themselves. She was most likely suggesting for the rich to give up their endless treasures to fill the growing gap between them and poverty. She was most likely trying to say that she found the current system of government corrupt and heavily biased, and unkind to those who have a fate they cannot control.

And George agrees with her, but who is anyone to question his Queen?

With little effort, he slips in through the open window and sneaks up behind her. She still does not notice, absorbed in the documents that were soon to be stained with her blood and rendered unreadable anyway. He easily cups his hand over her mouth and digs the blade into her neck, and it is swift and merciless. She struggles vehemently in his hold, but quickly weakens as the life slips out of her in form of vermillion rivers that soak his hands and her nightgown and the floor. He feels no remorse, really, not when he was commanded to do so. She was righteous, yes, but that did not mean she was to be treated a heroine.

This is not the first time he had spilled blood for his Queen, and this will not be the last. George feels nothing as he wipes the crimson from his blade and leaves her to bleed out, knowing this is all for him. He flees into the cover of night, making his way back to the palace.

“I trust that you’ve succeeded.” Dream had clearly been waiting for his return, still seated on the golden throne the same way he had hours ago when he gave out his command. He looks positively angelic under the ethereal glow of moonlight evanescent, the silver framing the contours of his features in a way the images in George’s mind never quite could. His memories could never do him justice, the lines always too harsh and colors too dull for his delicate and vibrant visage. George does not hide his awe, and Dream does not hide how pleased it makes him.

“Of course, your Highness. Death is sure to befall me before failure.” George promptly closes the door behind him and bows curtly before walking up to kneel before his ruler. Dream moves to stand in front of him, bringing a hand under his chin to tilt his head upwards and make eye contact.

“Except I do not wish for death to befall you at all.”

“Then I will simply not fail.” George does not waver even in the face of those fierce emerald eyes, does not stutter even in the makings of a dangerous pledge. “My duty is to serve you, and to protect you from all forms of harm til the very end of my days.”

“And why is that, exactly?” Dream’s hand moves to cup his cheek, his palm warm against his jaw and his thumb tracing over his cheekbones. George does not know if the hand is meant to tease or to test, and yet he only smiles as he soon pulls it away and takes it into his own.

“Because you are the Queen of Diamonds.” George kisses the back of his hand, for the first time. “And I, your loyal Ace.”

-

George is strolling through the streets of the Kingdom of Clubs.

It’s the first time he’s been here, really. The capital city looks rather homey compared to the minimalistic buildings in the Kingdom of Spades and the extravagant homes in the Kingdom of Diamonds, and he’s rather intrigued. The architecture of Spades is clearly for utility, and the architecture of Diamonds is clearly for show, but the architecture of Clubs just looks to be for comfort. It makes him want to spend hours sat on one of the benches, sketching the outlines of his surroundings lest his memories fail him. It makes him want to explore the interiors, to see if they’re as warm and welcoming as the exteriors make them seem, but he’s not here for a long vacation. He’s on an important errand.

Dream had sent him to pick a purchase up, secured in a box and tucked under his coat for good measure. Apparently it was for an important family heirloom, but George honestly couldn’t care less what it was. At the very least, it gave him a breath of fresh air outside the castle walls. He appreciates how often Dream sends him out on even the most mundane tasks outside the palace grounds; he probably knows how much George hates being holed up constantly. Sure, both his instincts and his sense of duty yell at him to go back and never leave Dream’s side ever again, but little harm can come to him when he’s in his palace surrounded by a hundred guards. It’s not like he couldn’t protect himself either with how he decided to train vigorously after the first assassination attempt on him, so George could enjoy his time out here without being too worried.

While he’s looking through the marketplace for nothing in particular, he bumps into someone and sends them both tumbling to the ground. He apologizes profusely and helps the stranger up, getting a lighthearted laugh and dismissive reassurances in return. The man apologizes for being careless, and offers to take him to late lunch as compensation. George is about to refuse, but the man insists and he really can’t turn down such hospitality. Were all people of this Kingdom this friendly?

Despite his initial reluctance, he does end up enjoying himself. The man is pleasant company, and also quite funny. They exchange tales and stories and jokes over Clubs native cuisine, and it’s quite a refreshing experience for George. He rarely ever gets the chance to actually sit down and talk to someone that isn’t Dream or Sapnap, having always been absorbed in his studies then his duties immediately after. It’s a pleasant sense of normalcy, at least. He supposes it wouldn’t hurt to make more friends if they were to go as good as this, even just around the palace staff would be a good place to start.

It had been so long since he met someone new like this, and before he even knew it time had begun to chase the sun away to make room for the blanket of night. George promptly says his goodbyes and promises reunions, and the stranger nods understandingly. His smile was charming, and George would be swayed if he didn’t already have a different smile burned into the back of his eyelids. He mounts his horse and rides off in the direction of his home, easily navigating through the wide hallways of the palace to make to the throne room.

George wasn’t surprised to see Dream sitting on the throne again; he always seems to wait for him to get back. The multicolor skies of sunset paint themselves on his freckled face with light through the stained-glass windows, like watercolors on the canvas that was the expanse of his sun-kissed skin. George finds that there’s a startling lack of merlot, and finds that he wants to paint them on him in the form of gentle love bites. The candlelight of brass chandeliers makes golden hair shine warmly, and it makes him look like a precious treasure bathed in an expensive glow. Emerald eyes are wild and wide when they catch his, and coral lips part ever so slightly in surprise.

“You’re late.” Dream says, more as an observation than anything. He doesn’t seem immediately irritated, so that’s good. George bows curtly as always, and walks up to carefully hand him the box before kneeling in respect.

“I apologize, your Highness. I was preoccupied.”

“With what?”

“With a friend.”

“You have friends in the Kingdom of Clubs?” Dream sounds like he’s in disbelief, and George can imagine the confused look on his face. His emerald eyes probably have a curious glint, seeking answers far and wide; his hands probably itch to grab a pen, trying to take notes for future reference. Dream has always been inquisitive, always seeking knowledge because he hates being left in the dark. George is more than happy to cater to his needs.

“I just made friends in the Kingdom of Clubs.” He is not quite sure, but it feels like the atmosphere around them is starting to freeze. “He was amicable, and I enjoyed his presence.” The statement hangs in the air, dangerous and still and charged with an indecipherable tension. It makes a sensation akin to fear bubble up in his gut.

“You do realize this is punishable, correct? You deviated from your original order for personal intentions.” Dream’s voice is laced with… something. It’s new and raw, and George does not know how to handle things he’s unfamiliar with so he defaults to a neutral response.

“I do. I am ready for whatever justice you see fit.”

“No, not for you.” Dream stands up and walks over, coming to a stop right in front of him. “For him.”

“What?” George looks up in surprise, staring up at the other in bewilderment. Dream’s hand rests on his head and treads fingers through his hair, and the normally soothing gesture feels rather mocking at this point. Patronizing, even.

“He was a hindrance to my Ace.” Dream regards him what George now recognizes as jealousy. Burning, fervid jealousy that threatens to consume his fragile soul. It’s so very clearly explosive and threatens to blow at the first stray spark. “And he kept him there, causing a delay. Had it been a more serious delivery, it would cost grave consequences. Had it been a life-or-death situation, it would cost the blood of an innocent. It’s an act against the Queen of Diamonds, and therefore the Kingdom of Diamonds.”

“But─”

“George.” He gets cut off almost immediately, and it’s firm and harsh but not entirely directed at him. “I’m sure you know what to do.”

“Wait. That’s─” George pales and stands up abruptly, scrambling to stop or at the very least curb Dream’s impulsiveness. He wouldn’t dare go against him at all if it weren’t such a grave response to such a simple problem. “That’s far too much, that’s a straightforward sign of aggression. War would break out!”

“Then let it!” Dream shouts, rage and envy making itself known by seeping into the usually calm atmosphere of the throne room. It poisons, and it spreads, and it makes them choke. “We can take Clubs on with no problem. We need money anyway; we could just seize their richest provinces after we win!”

“Dream.” George starts tentatively, softly. He doesn’t want to set him off further. “Don’t you think this is rather rash?”

“Are you questioning me, my Ace?” Dream has simmered down, but everyone knows that a calm anger is only the eye of the storm, the prerequisite to lashing out magnificently. Even still, it is sharp, and it silences George easily and makes him swallow down all his words despite the growing lump in his throat.

“Of course not, my Queen.”

The Ace is beckoned over, and he can only escort his Queen and guard him as he spends the rest of the fleeting daylight plotting for an all-out attack on the capital. It was a valid point, really. If any Kingdom was the least militarily adept yet expansive, it would be Clubs. They weren’t the richest, but they weren’t the poorest either. If one were to look at it logically, it only made sense; he was inclined to agree with it after careful deliberation. The Queen really was scarily good at making his personal goals align with his responsibilities. It’s something to both awe and fear.

The day eventually comes to a close, and Dream is rightfully sprawled out on his bed after hours of work. George moves to sit on the bed next to him, playing with the hairs at Dream’s nape when he refuses to face him and only gives a small petulant huff. It’s really quite immature and now that George knows the root of it, it has only become endearing.

“He really was just a friend, you know.” He drawls, and he can practically feel the eye roll that earns him.

“Likely story. You’re a dashing, young man; who wouldn’t approach you to shoot their shot?”

“You think I’m dashing?” The cheeky grin surfacing on George’s face matches the crimson that blooms on Dream’s.

“Everyone does.” It comes out in a mumble, almost a whine of defeat, and George finally decides to have mercy.

“He did fancy me, but I did reject him.”

“You did?” Dream perks up, alert and attentive now that he said that. “But why?”

“Because of you.” George whispers for his secret to be taken away by the night breeze, reaching only their ears. His hand traces a pattern down Dream’s arm to his hand, intertwining their fingers. “Because I’ve always had someone in my heart, and that just so happens to be you.”

“Oh.” There’s a sharp intake of breath and Dream is sitting up to finally look at him and how honest and earnest he is. George has poured his heart out for him, and now Dream drinks in the sight of him so raw and vulnerable and emotional. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” George mutters for no real reason, trailing off breathlessly when Dream scoots closer and uses his free hand to cup his face and tilt his chin upwards. He had never quite seen Dream’s face this close, had ever quite known just how many tiny freckles dotted his cheeks and how long his eyelashes really were. They’re so close it’s almost suffocating, their breaths mingling and tangible on each other’s lips. George can see the way Dream’s eyes glance at his lips and linger just a bit too long on them when a tongue darts out to wet them nervously. It feels like an eternity before he finally meets his eyes again, almost shy as he makes his request.

“… may I?”

George’s answer comes in him finally closing the distance between them. His eyes flutter shut, and he relishes in the feeling of the kiss. It feels right, he feels whole, and Dream feels so good against his lips. His hand comes up to grip at Dream’s shoulder and use it as an anchor to pull himself in deeper, to press against him even more. Eventually they have to pull apart, and he’s pleasantly buzzed yet still unsatisfied. He wants more, and he doesn’t think it’ll ever be enough but that barely matters when he can always just kiss him senseless again.

“Oh, I…” Dream’s voice breaks a bit, like he’s trying to collect the pieces of himself that George made into a hot mess. The sheer rush of serotonin when he realizes he made Dream this flustered is almost addictive. George only giggles when he takes a little too long to say what they both already know. “I like you too.”

“I could tell.”

.

.

.

Of course, George still finds himself slipping through the shadows at the corners of the battlefield later. He had a duty to fulfill, and he had sworn to heed every command given to him by his Queen. The Kingdom of Clubs is painted in streaks of carmine, from the bloodshed that stains the muddy ground to the fires that flare up to lick the night sky. It’s a hauntingly beautiful sight that surrounds the stranger he had befriended just a few days ago.

It seems both of them understand what’s going on. The man in front of him only smiles and spreads his arms, welcoming death’s embrace. George makes it swift and merciless, hoping it is painless as he jumps into the hug at the same time the knife buries itself into his target’s chest. Life seeps out of him, and George holds on tight like it’s going to keep the man’s own shade of carmine from seeping out and joining those of a thousand others’. He whispers apologies and regrets, not caring if they won’t be heard any longer. The body grows limp and weak in his arms, and so does his resolve.

This is not the first time he had spilled blood for his Queen, and this will not be the last. George should feel nothing as he wipes the crimson from his blade and leaves him to bleed out, knowing this is all for him.

So why do tears run down his cheeks?

-

“Your Highness.” George blinks at the unusual sight in front of him. “Pardon my curiosity, but just what exactly are you doing here?”

The maids and chefs look rather shaken, and he can’t exactly blame them. The Queen is standing there in full royal attire in the middle of the still rather unorganized kitchens, and it looks like he headed here right after breakfast because the remnants of cooking are halfway through being cleaned up. He’s mostly silent, walking around the room and looks to be scrutinizing the different utensils and equipment. George has absolutely no idea what he’s doing, but he isn’t exactly against it. Seeing him here is a pleasant surprise that makes his heart flutter.

“My Ace.” He comes to a stop and turns to face him. George can tell he’s smiling, no matter how monotone he may sound. “Could we speak alone?” He doesn’t even bother giving them a direct command or a second glance, doesn’t even bother acknowledging their presence. Even then, they’re clearly listening because they quickly scramble out of the room and close the doors behind them.

“Must you be so theatric, my Queen?” George sighs fondly once he’s sure they’re out of earshot. The Queen ignores his question and instead moves to unbuckle the clasp behind his head. He takes off the mask and sets it down on the nearby counter, revealing a toothy grin and sparkling emerald eyes. The porcelain cover holds so much power, really. The smiley face crudely drawn on it has marked itself into people’s nightmares. It’s a symbol of tyranny, of corruption and of blatant ignorance. It’s a symbol of so much pain and suffering, and yet when you slip it off only Dream remains in its wake.

“You’re here to make my snacks, are you not?” Dream is eyeing the bag he’s holding. Ah, right, he just came from the market after buying a few missing ingredients.

“Yes. Brioche, as per your request.” George walks over to set the bag on the counter, rolling up his sleeves and starting to take items out one by one. He turns to give a confused look when Dream hasn’t moved from his place. “You need not wait for them here; I will deliver them to you when they are done.”

“I want to stay, though.” George takes in the earnest look on Dream’s face and smiles. He could’ve just asked, really. He didn’t have to go about things such a roundabout way, but George decides not to make fun of him when he’s testing out the waters. It’s rather endearing, at the very least.

“If you say so.”

George moves on to preparations as planned. He lets yeast rise, then eventually adds in the rest of the ingredients one by one. He struggles briefly with mixing and putting them in at the same time, so when Dream taps on his shoulder he just wordlessly passes the carton of eggs to the outstretched hand ready to receive them. He’s a surprisingly quick learner and avid listener, carefully taking note of the measurements and steps that George recites off to him from memory. They work in relative silence, and George entertains all of Dream’s soft-spoken questions about certain procedures. Thankfully, brioche-making isn’t as delicate of a process and there’s quite a bit of waiting time in-between certain stages so they manage to talk in detail.

Dream really is blissfully ignorant of everything. It shows in how he thinks breadmaking is an easy process, in how he thinks you can just shove a mix of ingredients in an oven and it would become whatever you so desired it to be. It shows in how he cannot fathom more intensive processes, in how he doesn’t fully understand just how much work goes into every molecule of food that ends up on his plate. He has grown sheltered, spoiled, and unaware, and no amount of intelligence could possibly beat actual experience when it came to lifestyle. It’s a pity, George supposes. A fault of the system, and they were all victims to it. Some were just more fortunate than others and ended up with better upbringings.

Eventually, the talks dissolve into whispers against heated skin and lips are used for kissing instead of talking. It’s a feeling George could never quite get tired of, the feeling that he could get lost in everything Dream could offer to him. There’s always something new to discover, something interesting to commit to memory, something so little and minuscule that contributes to what makes Dream himself. Time passes by like it’s nothing when he’s in his lover’s arms, and it feels like some kind of magic in and of itself. Before he even knows it, they’ve been occupied with each other for far too long. 

“The brioche is about to burn.” George murmurs when they part, cheeks aflame and lips swollen. Dream only grins and pulls him even closer, peppering his face in more featherlight kisses. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. His touch is of passionate blazes and his words are of sweet honey, and George can do nothing but melt to them.

“Then let it. We have plenty to waste.” We have the world at our disposal. “Let it burn and show just how little I care of the world outside of you.” His heart skips a beat at hearing that. Dream has always had a way with words and words just so happen to tug at George’s heartstrings. Or perhaps he’s just weak to love.

“You’re quite selfish, you know?” George chuckles, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment in hopes of hiding just how much Dream affects him. “Your greed is insurmountable.”

“Can you blame me when greed has given me you?” When greed has given us this? When greed has given us a magnificent palace to hide in and a luxurious bed to share? When greed has given us the comforts of a lavish life to burn with our love? When greed has given me the world so I could give it to you?

“That was oddly poetic of you. Have you been spending your time in the library?” George teases, and the fire of his heart flickers and dances and licks playfully.

“Not at all. Just with you.” Dream does not tease, and the fervid inferno of his heart blazes and flares and swallows them both whole.

“And do you plan to do anything about that?”

“I’d rather not. I like it here.”

And that makes George think and remember. It makes him think of nights with tangled limbs underneath silk sheets, of how the sunlight trails its gold-dipped fingers on freckled skin every dawn. It makes him think of afternoons with fragrant tea and sweet pastries, of how the aroma of flowers in the gardens cling to royal garments and blesses dipped collarbones with florescent fragrance. It makes him think of sunsets with watercolor paints and orange glows, of how the peeking stars twinkle yet cannot match the brightest shine of the one in his arms. It makes him think of candid smiles and aureate hair and burning emeralds, and there really isn’t any other answer.

“What a coincidence. So do I.”

-

George had known this day would come.

He had already heard the furious protests of the growing crowd as indignant voices inside his head, he had already seen what remains of the Royal Army fall in vivid recurring dreams. He’s known for years that the Kingdom was doomed to fall when they plucked the budding Dream from the ground at the young age of eighteen and expected him to blossom into a magnificent bouquet all on his own. He’s known for years that power corrupts, and greed is only something you feed it with. He’s known Dream for years, and is aware that he seeks control more than anything. He’s aware of how his silver tongue only spits out words for a bigger gain, of how his masterful fingers only searches for more threads to pull and weave into his own personal tapestry of the picture he wants to see.

He is no fool. He is no stranger to the atrocities of Dream’s rule, and is quite familiar with the death and destruction it leaves in its wake. He is no stranger to the troubled poverty clawing up at their doorstep for an ounce of mercy, and is quite familiar with the screams and blood of arrogant nobles buttering up their flattery for an ounce of control. Dream has spared no one, and no one will spare him. The people demand blood, and will not rest until the supposed Queen is executed. He knows that this is retribution, that this is vengeance and well deserved and yet…

George still finds it in himself to defy it.

He pushes past the mahogany doors to the royal chambers and spots Dream standing at the balcony, an unreadable expression on his face as he oversees the carnage that is sure to reach him too. He is no less dignified than the first time George had seen him after his time away. He is still draped in the finest fabrics of now faded bronze and amber, and his now frayed olive-green cape is still lined with the softest fur and still pools up at the heels of his now worn leather boots. The scarce sunlight from the window reflects off expensive golden accessories he hasn’t worn in years like snuffed out constellations on skin, like dying stars on a clouded night sky. Merlot taints his previously sun-kissed complexion in the form of distinguishable eyebags, obscured beneath the messy strands of dull flaxen hair that frame his face haphazardly so. The mark of his lineage is still clear in the golden diamond tattoo on the back of his hand that extends beyond his long and wrinkled sleeves, showing off to the world the place he had ruled. There are diamonds to his title, diamonds in his jewelry, diamonds on the expanse of his face and neck and diamonds in the glint of emerald eyes when refuse to meet his own.

Dream is dressed in the exact same fit he has worn during his coronation four years ago, George realizes.

Dream isn’t stupid, and George knows that. He too must’ve known this would happen, but it still takes an incredible amount of strength to be so calm in the face of death. It still takes an incredible amount of strength to still be so dignified and regal to the very end, even if it was born of the crushing pressure placed on him. Or was it arrogance that fueled him, or even spite or pride? Hubris was every great figure’s downfall and he supposes if it had taken them this far, then there would be no reason to stop. Regardless of Dream’s intentions, George had already made his decision a long time ago.

This is the second time he’s ever been so sure of anything.

“Take it.” George pulls Dream into an embrace, pushing a change of servant’s clothes and a cloak to his chest. It should be simple for the so-called Evil Queen of Diamonds to take the opportunity handed to him, to force one of his servants to take his place. Except George knows that he isn’t holding the Queen, he’s holding Dream.

“What?” The way Dream’s voice breaks makes George’s heart constrict, but he does not waver. He never has, and he never will.

“Go change into these and leave. Please, hurry.”

“Wait─”

“They won’t know. You’ve had the mask on ever since your coronation.” George rambles, because it’s all he can do to distract himself from his impending doom. Death in and of itself is terrifying, but death is even more terrifying when it’s Dream’s at the hand of someone else. “No one has seen your face, and not many people have heard your voice either. The servants have all fled and the guards will soon be slain or captured.”

“That’s not the problem here, George! Don’t…” Dream pushes him away harshly, expression lost and broken and trying to gather the scattered pieces of himself to have something to show to the people. “Don’t take the fall for me. I’m not such an ardent being that I will fight my fate and avoid what I deserve.”

“And I’m not such an obedient being that I will simply sit back and accept it.”

“And I refuse to allow exactly that!” Dream’s anger is scary, but not when he has tears streaming down his cheeks and statements full of choked up sobs. Dream’s commands are imposing, but not when they sound more like begging and frantic wishes. “As the Queen of this land, I order you to step down right this instant and take the nearest passageway outside of the palace. I do not wish to see you here any longer.”

“It is imperative that I save my Queen.” My love. My best friend. I aim to protect you.

“And it is imperative that you heed my order.” My plead. My prayer. And I, you.

“From the Ace to the Queen, it is my duty to protect you from all forms of harm til the very end of my days.” George bows once again, as a show of his place beneath Dream on the hierarchy. “From me to you, it is my wish to keep you safe no matter what.” George takes him into his arms once again, as a show of his place right next to Dream as friends since childhood, as equals in everyday life, and as lovers behind closed doors.

“George, I─”

“Please, Dream, don’t fight it any longer.” His grip on him tightens ever so slightly, and his voice cracks just before he presses their lips together for a kiss as fleeting as their time together. He whispers lowly, like he’s holding all the secrets of the world in the hot breath tangible on Dream’s skin. “If not for our titles, then for us. If not for the Ace, then for me.”

Dream nods numbly as George breaks the hug to rummage through his closet for a change of clothes for himself, and for him that is enough. They switch outfits in suffocating silence; even if they’ll regret keeping their words to themselves, they can’t bring themselves to fill it with more than rushed whispers and bitter affections that grow increasingly desperate with each second that passes by. They don’t have much time left. They will never have enough time left, not when they know everything will be over the moment Dream slips into the secret passageway right in his bedroom.

“I wouldn’t condemn you if you revealed this to all be a ruse.” Dream mutters against George’s lips when they kiss, chaste and incessant like they’re trying to commit the feeling to memory. “I’d be grateful, actually.”

“It’s not. I’m being completely, entirely serious.” George buries his face into the crook of his lover’s neck, littering more affections on the dip of his collarbone. He bites, and nips, and marks Dream his own and hopes that they never heal and never fade. He hopes the splotches of merlot are never washed away from the canvas that is Dream’s skin even when he becomes a mere memory.

“You love me too much. Far too much.”

“And you reciprocate, do you not?”

“Of course I do.” Dream’s hand slides up from George’s waist to his face, and he cups his cheek and makes him look into fierce emerald eyes brimming with diamond tears. He’s still as angelic as ever, no matter what the people say of him being the spawn of Satan. “It’s why I can’t bear to leave you like this.”

“You have to, though.” George brings his own hand up to rest over Dream’s, interlacing their fingers and squeezing tight. “You need to go right now.”

“And why is that, exactly?” Dream’s thumb rubs his cheekbones, and it’s reminiscent of a time that has long passed. It’s reminiscent of simpler days, of blooming buds of love and of dancing around feelings. George does not know if the hand is meant to reassure or remind, and yet he only smiles as he soon pulls it away and takes it into his own.

“Because I am the Queen of Diamonds.” George kisses the back of his hand, one last time. “And you, my beloved runaway.”

He pushes Dream into the small hallway revealed in the corner of the royal chambers and swiftly moves the door back in place, watching as it seamlessly becomes one with the wall. Without wasting a moment, he picks the mask up and brushes himself off before going back into the hallways to head towards the throne room. The further away they are from the passageway that Dream is going through, the better. They might investigate the entire palace eventually, but for now he’ll stay in an easily accessible place to buy time for everyone making their escape. Besides, he also has a part to play.

Without a doubt, people will be skeptical. After all, no one had seen the Queen’s face ever and it would be quite easy for any scapegoat to be placed. They aren’t stupid, and are likely to know they’re dealing with a double if they are not as refined. However, people are also bloodthirsty. So long as he acts like who they envision the Queen of Diamonds to be, they would likely execute him with no further questions. So long as he is as regal, imposing, and dignified as Dream, they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Luckily for him, he knows his lover best. If anyone were to take his place and do so effortlessly, it would be him.

People seem to forget that the Ace is a Royal too, and he is there to prove exactly that.

George is sat on the throne, alone and silent except for his own rapid heartbeat and the thundering footsteps that gradually get louder and louder. He does nothing about it though, still lounging about idly and even dining with the light set of biscuits with tea he had prepared beforehand. After all, it was around that time in the afternoon when Dream had his snack, and he’s sticking with that routine the same way Dream’s stubborn self probably would. The drink is herbal and bitter and the pastries are saccharine and sweet, yet he thinks nothing is as bittersweet as watching his lover depart. There’s nothing he can do about it now, though, so he simply sits and waits and thinks of the lovely past and the unreachable future. Eventually, the doors to the throne room burst open, and he mentally curses fate for what it has handed him.

Sapnap is there, leading the ragtag group of rebels. They look as appalled as he feels, though it’s probably more from seeing the Queen so calm and collected rather than having your own childhood friend going after another. This probably isn’t the time for it, but he finds himself admiring just how much Sapnap had grown the last time he saw him. He’s gained a lot more muscle and height, and he carries himself with a confidence he most certainly did not have four years ago. It’s a pleasant development, but equally a shame that they couldn’t have reunited under better circumstances.

“Why, hello there.” George hears himself speak, levelheaded and placid and things he is most certainly not. “What brings you to my castle?” Sapnap raises an eyebrow, the grip on the hilt of his sword loosening ever so slightly.

“You cannot possibly be this daft as to not be aware of the ongoing revolution.”

“Oh, I’m aware alright. I just think you’re being quite unreasonable.” He smirks, and revels in how everyone seems to know he does even when it’s obscured by the mask. He feels himself truly slip into the role, and it’s almost scary just how easy it is to be so uncaring. Perhaps that’s why Dream was so ruthless. “Oh, come on now, it can’t be that hard. If the crops have been destroyed, then simply replant. If you’ve ran out of bread, then simply eat something else. If your homes are damaged, then simply rebuild them. If you have no money, then simply get more.”

“You.” Sapnap growls and points the sword at his throat, and he can feel a thin rivulet of blood trickle down and stain the collars of his shirt. It should be threatening, really, but George isn’t scared when he knows Dream is probably long gone by now. “You are absolutely deplorable.” The blade moves swiftly, and he braces himself for the impact but it never comes. A weight slides off his face, and he realizes the straps of the mask had been cut.

The porcelain cover falls to the ground with a loud crack, and George feels himself freeze ever so slightly. His face is revealed to the world, and while most don’t know of the truth, it’s still daunting. It’s still daunting because one person knows, and if just one person knows then the illusion could be shattered so easily, not unlike the fragility of the mask that served as Dream’s primary form of protection. He does not waver, but he does refuse to meet Sapnap’s eyes.

“I actually prefer the term justified, thank you.” He chokes out before glancing tentatively.

George knows the exact moment recognition flashes over Sapnap’s features, feels his sharp intake of breath and sees the way his jaw hangs open ever so slightly. How he feels right now is probably indiscernible and far too complex for him to fully sum up with a single word. George can’t even begin to imagine just what is running through his mind at this exact moment. He wants nothing more than to be able to explain everything, to be able to hold him close and cry into him as he spills all of his sentiments, but he cannot. Not yet. To Sapnap’s credit, the mix of emotions bleeding through the cracks in his façade quickly steel into a stoic look.

“Do you really have nothing else for your people?” He plays along, and George wishes he could thank him a million times over at this exact moment. The sharp pressure on his neck is alleviated ever so slightly, but it is soon to be replaced by shackles on his wrists when someone from the crowd approaches with rope to be used to bind him. “They demand reforms, and this is all you give?”

George’s hands are forced behind his back, and his mind decides to dig up old memories. He remembers the flower fields, the vibrant colors, the incredulous antics that made up the brunt of his days. Ah, that’s right. He’s been in a similar situation before, except back then it had been wooden swords and vine handcuffs and stuttered lines. His childhood had prepared him for this very moment. He had been an actor from the start, and he will be an actor to the end.

“What else can I say?” George smiles, sickeningly sweet and to the disgust of everyone else in the room. “You’re interrupting my tea time, after all.”

.

.

.

“George.” He is dragged out of his light sleep by heavy footsteps just outside his cell. He looks up at the dark-haired knight opening the door, but does not move. It’s not like he can anyway, with the handcuffs binding his wrists and the weights keeping his ankles in place. He comes up to kneel next to him and whisper what only both of them know. “It’s you, is it not?”

“Sapnap.” He stares into wild crimson eyes, the flames in them crackling with a mix of emotions he can’t discern. He does not flinch when a hand protected by a metal gauntlet makes contact with his shoulder, already used to the biting coldness of solitude and sinking heaviness of his heart. “Why do you partake in my web of lies?”

“For the same reason you spun it in the first place.” Sapnap’s face is shining and George cannot tell if it’s from the gentle moonlight peeking through the small window, or the river of tears streaming down flushed cheeks. “You hold him dear, and so do I.”

“Then why did you lead the charge against him? Had I not taken his place, he would be set to execution.”

“I am a squire before I am a friend, George. The code of chivalry has taught me many things, and one of them is justice.” He squeaks a little when he’s abruptly pulled into a tight hug, the armor should be freezing against exposed skin but he quickly learns that the cold burns and that Sapnap’s company keeps him warm through his loneliness. He leans into the semblance of normalcy and he is embraced tighter in return, and for a moment he could pretend everything was alright. “However…” Sapnap pulls back a little to meet his eyes as he utters words that, for the first time in his life, render George speechless.

“It has also taught me the meaning of an honorable sacrifice.”

“Sapnap—"

“I respect what you’ve chosen to do.” He is held close once again, and all he can give are everlasting sobs and broken gratitude and apologies. “And I will ensure that it is not in vain.”

-

Dream goes to the execution, obviously. He wouldn’t miss his last chance to see George for the world, no matter how bitter it may be. He waits with bated breath as the prison doors open, and his lover is being escorted out to the guillotine just a few meters away.

George is breathtaking, is stunning beyond belief. Even in torn and simple wear, he carries with him the regality of a Royal. Even with bare feet pricked by the pebbles on the ground, his gait is no less dignified. He may have been dirtied, but he is no less beautiful. He is beautiful in every sense of the word. He is beautiful in how he does not waver, in how he keeps his gaze ahead of him despite the crowd demanding acknowledgement. He is beautiful under glaring eyes and biting insults, remaining as stoic as ever. He is beautiful in the light of the torches held high, in the harsh glow that makes the defiant flame in his eyes blaze up. He is beautiful as the supposed Queen of this Kingdom, even in the face of death.

Dream wonders if George would have been a better Queen, if he would’ve worked better as an Ace to him. Surely he would have been greater, surely he would have done more than Dream could ever wish to achieve in his rule. He had always been wiser, kinder, more patient and understanding. George was calm where Dream was impatient, and was resourceful where he was frustrated. Maybe in that other world, they could have ruled peacefully. Maybe in that other world, they had more time with each other.

Dream is done with his wishful thinking. George is being lowered down on his stomach now, body flat against the old wood and head poking out through the neck hole of the mechanism. His expression is apathetic, almost bored even, and Dream wants to applaud him for his nonchalance. Deep sienna irides sweep over the crowd almost lazily, until they meet with vibrant emeralds and make eye contact.

George’s façade falters ever so slightly, almost imperceptible but Dream was never one to take his eyes off the subtleties of his lover. The corners of his lips twitch, and Dream knows exactly what he wants to do. He pulls back the hood of his cloak, feeling vulnerable despite the fact that no one around him should know who he actually is. Dream smiles as gently as he can, despite the visceral mix of emotions threatening to bubble up and spill over. He keeps his gaze on the way George’s expression softens, on the way his lips curl up to return the smile, on the way his eyes flutter shut and crinkle with joy, on the very last moments of him being on the mortal realm.

The executioner holding the rope lets go, and the blade drops swiftly. There’s a single thump then the sound of something being dropped into the prepared basket. Finally, to the people, the Queen of Diamonds was dead.

Dream stands there numbly, eyes thankfully filled with tears and obscuring the morbid scene in front of him. He only sees blurred red, and he can’t tell if it’s George’s blood or the tendrils of despair coiling around him. Everyone around him rejoices, but he can’t even bring himself to keep the smile on his face any longer. He can’t bring himself to smile at all with the burden of guilt weighing him down and the regret seeping into his very bones. He doesn’t know how long he remains in place with his head hung low and his regret ran high, but he jumps ever so slightly when a hand comes to grab his shoulder.

“Dream?” It’s quite a low, almost tentative whisper, but the fact that this person knows him is enough to make him terrified. He attempts to scramble out of the firm grasp, breathing frantic and eyes wild. “Hey, hey, it’ll be okay. Calm down, it’s just me.”

“Sapnap?” Dream blinks repeatedly as he finally processes the sight of his best friend standing right in front of him. Before he can think of the implications of such, before he can rationalize how badly it would end for him if Sapnap were to reveal who he was right now, he’s crashing into his arms and crying into his shoulder. To Sapnap’s credit, he doesn’t seem at all surprised by the gesture or fazed by the sudden weight on him, and instead he returns the hug and even pats his back in an attempt to comfort.

“Hush now, we wouldn’t want anyone to stare.” Sapnap reprimands, but it’s gentle and kind and it’s everything Dream needs and yet doesn’t deserve. “Why don’t we leave this place, huh?” He nods curtly as they pull apart, wiping his damp cheeks with the sleeves of his cloak and following the other out of the rowdy crowd.

“Where are you taking me?” Dream asks later, when the prison building is merely a gray dot in the distance. His voice is hoarse and his eyes feel swollen, but he pays it no mind.

“To the woods. To a new life.” Sapnap looks at him with an inferno flaring in his vermillion eyes, and Dream realizes quickly that it’s fueled by determination and passion. “I made a promise to George, after all.”

“Out of obligation, or of debt?” Dream cannot help but doubt, especially when the whole world has turned against him several times before and he feels like he has nothing left. He cannot help but be suspicious, especially when the only person who has stood by his side all this time is now dead. He and Sapnap may have been friends, may still be friends, but their morals and principles have clearly changed them more than they’d like to admit. There’s always a price to be paid, there’s always an underlying motive, because things just aren’t that simple anymore.

“Out of friendship.” Sapnap is resolute. “Out of wanting the best for both of you despite the circumstances.”

… except maybe they are. Maybe they can still be.

Dream hums in acknowledgement. He lets his guard down, because he has nothing else to be taken away from him aside from his life. He lets himself trust, because if he cannot trust the one George believed in, if he cannot trust his own childhood best friend, then he has no one left. He’s thankful for his presence, for the promise of company in the foreseeable future. He expresses his gratitude by nudging his hand against Sapnap’s own, a silent message in the language of subtle affections they’ve been fluent in since they were children.

“You still have the tattoo.” Sapnap observes as a matter-of-fact, still looking at the hand that has brushed his. It’s something to fill the charged air, to pull Dream out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Of course I do. It’s not so easy to wash off.” It’s not so easy to wash off his mark, his sins, his lover’s blood on his hands. It’s not so easy to wash off the evidence of his brutal rule. He abruptly snaps out of it when something is being pressed onto his hands, the sensation rough and new and quite unlike anything he’s ever felt before. He spares an inquisitive glance and his raised eyebrows ask a silent question.

“Wear it.” Sapnap elaborates, even helping slip them on his trembling hands. He doesn’t stop holding them, using them to pull Dream along while gently rubbing circles into the clothed skin. Just when had they begun to shake? “No one will think twice about a lumberjack or blacksmith with leather gloves on.”

“Is that going to be my new beginning?”

“It can be, if you so wish for it to be.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” He really wouldn’t. “As long as it’s with you.” And the gentle smile that comes after tells him that it is.

A comfortable silence befalls them as they come to a stop near a horse tied to a fence that Dream presumes is Sapnap’s. He fiddles with his new gloves while his friend prepares their steed for travel. He decides he likes the way they feel, so different and raw and it’s something his spoiled self was never made to experience. He decides he likes leather more than silk, likes the scratchy fabric of his cheap cloak more than the velvet of his capes.

A hand is offered to him, and he looks up to see Sapnap has already mounted his horse while he was lost in thought. He doesn’t hesitate when he takes it. He doesn’t falter when he hoists himself up the side and sits behind his best friend. He doesn’t look back when they move away from the capital and into the multicolored horizons framing the wilderness.

.

.

.

“I have nowhere else to go anyway.” Dream says later, burying his face into Sapnap’s nape and letting his tears be carried away by the winds. The ride is rough, and the weather is a little unforgiving, but he feels the safest where he is right now with his arms wrapped around Sapnap’s waist and chest pressed flush against his back. He doesn’t need to see it to know that his best friend is smiling, bright and hopeful no matter how melancholic they may feel.

“Then let’s go home.”

And they do. Except home wasn’t quite home without George in it, without their third puzzle piece.