Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m telling you, I know what I saw!”

The old man swayed in his seat, ale sloshing violently over the rim of his tankard. A shadow of unshaven stubble darkened his cheeks, and the deep purple circles under his eyes made him look positively haggard. A fire crackled in the inn’s hearth, casting dancing shadows over his dark countenance. Despite his current state of intoxication, nothing but sincere faith was written in his face. None of the others seemed to give his severity any heed.

“Credit where credit’s due, my friend,” laughed one of his companions, giving him a rough slap on the shoulder, “you have always come up with the finest of stories. I would almost believe this one to be true.” 

A roar of laughter rippled through the tavern. More hands assaulted that broad back, a well-intended but ultimately mean-spirited show of understandable disbelief. The plump, rosy-cheeked woman working behind the bar gave him a brief, empathetic smile, then pointedly moved his tankard out of his reach. 

They couldn’t be blamed for not believing him or his tale. Everyone in that tavern knew that his stories grew more implausible, his fables more fantastical, whenever a drink had touched his lips. They often revelled in his tall tales, and the hearty laughter he shared with them once he inevitably realized the jig was up. But this time, he was more steadfast than usual. They tried their best to coax the truth out of their old friend, but seemed to dig up nothing but his ever-growing ire.

For his tale, while tall as usual, contained not a single untruth. That strange night, with those strange sights, would be etched into his mind’s eye until his dying days. 

He pushed himself away from the bar, stumbling away from the small gathered crowd and out of the door. The air was still soft and balmy, but the howling wind carried the first bite of the approaching winter. Suppressing a shiver, he ducked deeper into his collar.

His dark eyes were drawn skyward, to the twinkling stars punctuating the velvet darkness of the night like too many holes poked into a thick blanket. He sighed, deeply.

How could he ever forget? That evening had begun like so many had ended. He had been stumbling home after a particularly hard-celebrated night at this very tavern. In the depths of the forest, he had first believed the drink and the darkness to be playing tricks on his mind. This itself was not out of the ordinary for him. What had given him pause, however, was the sheer persistence of these unusual perceptions that had plagued him. 

First, he had started hearing snippets of echoing footsteps. These were easy enough to mistake for his own feet slapping against the wet soil, so he had paid them no heed. The curious indentations left behind in the fresh, cool mud could just as easily be attributed to travelers who had passed through earlier.

His hazy mind had failed to register the early warning signs that anything was amiss that night. He had not even realized that the forest – which, on such a sweltering summer night, should have been more akin to a grand symphony – had gone entirely silent around him. 

All those subliminal hints of something strange, something different being afoot, had hit him all at once when he’d seen a lone figure sprinting away in the distance.

He had willed his senses to sharpen, silently cursing himself for his eternal estrangement from that cardinal virtue of temperance. He had realized quickly enough that this time, his mind was not the one playing tricks on him. 

The dark tendrils of the forest and the fog swirling inside his head concealed most of the details making up this distant figure. Based on the number of extremities and its general posture, he had confidently assumed it to be a person. The long, golden hair and the tattered remnants of a beautiful gown led him to the assertion that it – she – was probably someone of import. Or of great wealth, at the very least. 

He had squinted, gears turning in his mind like wagon wheels tracking through thick mud. He could not reconcile the woman’s tattered clothes and bare feet with that unmistakable air of regality she carried. Then, he’d realized with a shock that she was probably in great peril.

He had yelled after her, to no avail. No response came, and her golden curls disappeared between the thick foliage.

He’d considered running after her, to offer his assistance. However, he had not been foolish enough to miss the more unsavoury intentions she might mistakenly infer from such a gesture. Plus, he had not trusted his legs to carry him at any greater velocity than a brisk stroll.

This had meant that he was stuck with his final option. Guided by equal parts chivalry and curiosity, he turned to the direction that the maiden had fled from in such a haste, and resolved to find whatever – or whoever – she had been trying to escape. Perhaps he could aid the strange woman by obstructing anyone coming after her. 

This is how he found himself in a clearing at the heart of the woods, no more than a few dozen yards from his usual path. A great meadow spread out before him, soft dandelion puffs and tall grass swaying in the warm summer night’s breeze. The air had been thick with the sweet scent of lavender, and countless stars blinked above him in the dark, moonless sky. 

And at the center of this clearing, a great stone tower clawed its way up to the heavens. Thick, oily cords of ivy coiled up the spire, drawing his eyes upward. He had seen light flickering beyond the milky glass panes of the windows. He still remembered it clear as day, how that light occasionally got obscured by dark figures moving around inside. A chill still rippled over his spine each time he recalled that foreboding terror that had clutched around his heart and pinned his feet solidly to the ground.

Similarly, he could never hope to forget how the very stars in the Heavens above seemed to flicker, before dimming entirely, as the earth rumbled and ruptured and that proud towering spire crumbled to dust before his very eyes, leaving nothing but rubble in its wake. 

And the next day, and for all the days that followed, it became crystal clear that he was the only person left in the world who remembered that a tower had ever stood amidst those ruins.

Chapter Text

Strong, skillful hands gave the strings one last tug, finally snapping the rigid undergarment into place. The soft, sturdy fabric stretched between the gently curved boning and encircled her waist in a snug embrace. The laces were tied quickly and efficiently by deft fingers, ensuring that the garments stayed in place as long as it needed to. An accidental brush of a finger against the bare skin of her back sent a shiver down her spine, gooseflesh erupting over pale, exposed shoulders at this casual, unintended kindness that had become such an utter rarity in her life.

“Is the room too cold for my Lady’s liking?” asked a young chambermaid, with a pointed look at the fire already roaring in the chamber’s hearth. Her clear voice rang with a polite concern that was almost convincing. 

“No, that is quite all right,” she told the young woman, emphasizing her words with a thin smile. She even forced her eyes to soften like she knew they would have, if her mirth had been at all genuine.

The only thing she had learned about corsets since her first acquaintance with the garments was the following. There were few things which divided mankind more utterly and more frivolously than this frilly piece of fabric. What was unbearable suffocation to one, was a daily essential for the other. What one considered treacherous, unforgivable deception and harlotry, the other saw as a pinnacle, nay, an essential cornerstone of traditional feminine beauty. All stood too divided by the contents of their opinion, to notice how united they were in its fervor.

Lady Haley, however, thought the tightness was oddly comforting. That dependable pressure around her frame made her feel protected, very nearly safe. To her, what was seen as a staple of Courtly femininity, had the comforting firmness of armor. Or at least, what she’d imagined armor to feel like.

It made her feel like she might not fall apart, after all. Like this was a role she would learn not to suffocate in.

The maids and the tailors had been working on her for weeks. They had circled her like hungry vultures, measuring and prodding at what seemed like every inch of her body. They had hummed at every pleat, frowned at each fold, and squinted at every blemish they could uncover. Haley had quickly learned to let it all happen, to try her best to hide her discomfort. Speaking up wouldn’t change anything, after all. So instead she wore a polite smile, nodded modestly at the tailors’ many suggestions, and tried her best to give thoughtful comments when she deemed them appropriate.

And whenever the timing of her response was off, or whenever she forgot that her eyes also ought to smile when her mouth did, an excuse for her absent-mindedness was easily made. After all, who would be anything but understanding of the nerves of a young bride on the precipice of her new life?

Today, they were making adjustments to the garment that was to be her wedding gown. Lady Haley was standing on the little velvet riser, positioned in front of a gigantic mirror on the wall. The ostentatious golden curlicues framing her reflection were a pale imitation of her own unruly locks. However, ever since her arrival, they had instead been forcibly contained and pinned in painfully tight coils against her scalp. Not a hair out of place. 

While several hands were hoisting her into the many frilly skirts, she allowed the smooth, cool fabric to slip through her fingers like water. Each layer was spun so delicately that she could see right through, and count each individual line running along her palm. Layer after layer was added by busy hands under careful scrutiny of the tailors, who seemed united in their unwavering belief that more would always be better. 

After a while, she simply stopped counting.

Only when her skirts fanned out wider than she was tall, were they satisfied. Haley did not envy herself for the upcoming challenge of finding a way to move – let alone gracefully – in this billowing cloud without accidentally tearing it. She resigned to having to take very small steps wherever she went.

Not like there was anywhere she could go. Her new family, her new purpose, her new life were all within these castle walls. Why on earth would she ever want to leave?

She had once again drifted off, so utterly lost in the maze of her own thoughts that she had not realized that the tailors had started securing the countless skirts with their gleaming silver pins until a sharp stabbing pain ripped her out of her ruminations. She quickly withdrew her hand, only just managing to catch the soft yelp of pain before it could leave her throat. The culprit – a young tailor, slightly trembling hands indicating a relatively fresh graduation from his apprenticeship – turned beet red and apologized so profusely that his words jumbled together as they tumbled their way out. 

Lady Haley did not register any of it. Her eyes were fixed on the minuscule, crimson pearl that was welling up on the tip of her finger. It reminded her of something that had plagued too many of her waking hours, no matter how desperately she’d tried to bury the memory. She swallowed against the lump forming in her throat, and not even the distant murmuring of the remorseful young tailor could keep her from falling back into that eternal well of her mind. 

She was no longer in that dressing room, perched precariously atop that riser, pushed and pulled by countless uncaring hands. Instead, Lady Haley once again found herself returning to where it had all begun.