Chapter Text
Was there such a thing as being too loved?
I certainly thought so — especially after today.
The letters had begun arriving the moment I turned sixteen, each one sealed with wax and heavy with promise, asking for my hand in marriage. Dozens came. Scores. My father turned down every single one. Not because the suitors were poor or ill-mannered, not even because he thought they might treat me cruelly.
He denied them all for one simple reason.
They didn’t love me, not enough. Not the way he did.
Standing in the center of the court, clad in his feathered cloak and thorns of pride, he declared:
“Any man who wishes to marry my daughter must carry her to the summit.”
A cruel challenge. That mountain, gray and steep as a cathedral wall, stood half a day’s ride away. The climb to the top took longer still. On horseback, it would take hours. On foot, with the weight of another in your arms? A full day, maybe more, if you didn’t break your back first.
The demand was laughable. And yet... the entire castle swooned.
For a full month, I was lifted, dragged, hoisted, and flung across shoulders like a sack of grain. Contestants came dressed in velvet and armor, smelling of lilies or sweat. All of them failed. Not one made it past the forest's edge before giving up, panting and soaked through, my feet still dry and untouched by dirt.
I remember the last one: red-faced, trembling, breathing like he was choking on fire. He dropped me roughly into the grass and staggered away, muttering curses I was too tired to care about.
I dusted myself off in silence.
With folded hands and aching shoulders, I began the walk back toward the castle alone, my shadow stretching out before me.
Behind me, the mountain loomed distant, impossible.
My father’s love was a fortress, a cage wrapped in gold. No one would ever carry me to the top. I would never be married. And when the month passed, I was sure so would the court’s interest.
That, I believed in.
Carefully, the days passed. Quiet, steady things.
In the middle of tea, someone would come to try their hand. While I was fitting into a beautiful gown, I’d return with its hem soaked in mud from the now-familiar path. My stomach would rumble just before dinner, made hungrier by the walk back — longer each time, colder each time. The lonely path home. Without even the guts to escort me back.
Not once did I speak to them. I didn’t bother to memorize a single face.
The only things that stayed with me were the birdsong that echoed above the trees, the scent of flowers clinging to the edges of the path, and the sound of my own footsteps on the road home. I’d grown almost fond of that walk. It was predictable. Mine.
I missed it, strangely, once the first snowflake fell and melted on my cheek. After that, no one came.
It was too dangerous, of course. Not just for me, but for whoever carried me. Why risk the climb? A shattered leg could end a noble line as quickly as any blade. And so they all stayed away.
Bundled in layers, I stared up at the sky. The snow was thinning. The wind no longer bit as hard. Spring was creeping in around the edges, softening the world again.
And the story… the one my father had so boldly cast into the court, faded with the frost.
There would be no tale of a man who carried his beloved to the summit. That's a fairy tale I could only dream of.
Only the quiet one:
Of the girl who waited.
And turned barren.
I sat beside the throne, the one just beneath my father's.
He was speaking sharply to one of his advisers, the same frustration etched into his voice that I’d heard a hundred times before. I kept my hands folded neatly in my lap, listening without truly listening. Not many had come this year.
And gods, how I wished for a walk.
“No one shall marry my daughter if they cannot do something so simple,” my father snapped.
Simple. He always said that, and each time I had to bite my tongue. I longed to remind him not even one had set foot on the summit. None had made it halfway. Most couldn’t even find their way out of the woods.
But I was tired. Tired of repeating the same words, of hearing him bark the same stubborn pride at any man who dared show interest. So I said nothing.
Instead, I reached into the basket beside me, pulled out thread and needle, and began to embroider. Flowers… ones that didn’t bloom anymore.
The great hall doors opened again, creaking against stone. I didn’t bother to look up.
“I am here to carry your daughter to the summit.”
Not try. Not attempt. How cocky, I thought absently, threading silk through the cloth. I’d have to pause the stitching soon; the walk back always pulled at the fabric.
The king gave him leave to approach.
I rose slowly, bracing myself. I hoped he wouldn’t sling me over his shoulder as the last two had. Even being carried on someone’s back was uncomfortable, impersonal, jarring. But asking a man to carry me like a princess? Arms beneath my legs and back, as if I were precious? That always felt like the cruelest part of the test.
And then—
He kneeled.
One knee bent to the stone. A gloved hand extended toward me. His face hidden beneath a steel helmet, he still bowed low in my direction.
“May I carry you, Princess?” he asked, voice deep and steady.
He still wasn’t going to make it. I was certain of that.
But I did appreciate his gentlemanly presence.
I placed my hand in his. “Yes.”
He nodded, once.
The man was enormous. Taller than any who had come before. He towered over me, over the king, over nearly every noble I had met in my short life. And yet, he carried me with a single arm. One strong, effortless sweep beneath my knees. No grunt. No shift. No flourish.
Was he showing off? Or simply conserving his strength?
He took his first step, and so his journey began.
It was a lovely day. Much better than the rain-soaked misery of yesterday. The storm had left behind a glistening world; flowers opened from their sleep, trees sparkled with drops of light, and a gentle breeze passed by my cheek. If the walk ended early, I thought, I might enjoy tea in the garden before dusk.
Surely, he’d be tired soon.
But he didn’t slow.
He didn’t stop.
He didn’t even shift his grip.
He walked at a steady, determined pace. Quiet. Focused. Most were. Some babbled to distract themselves. A few gasped and sweated and begged me to speak. But he said nothing, not even when the ground sloped harder beneath us.
As we passed a boulder marked with old moss, I blinked. He’d already gone further than any before.
That was… impressive.
But it was here, where the incline sharpened, where the true climb began, that the real journey always ended. Every man had faltered at this bend. Some tried to press on. Others wept. A few had dropped me outright.
He didn’t.
He kept walking.
And for the first time in all these months, I felt the strange urge to speak. Not out of pity. Not boredom.
I almost felt compelled to congratulate him.
“You’re the first person to make it this far, sir.”
“Weaklings,” he muttered. Not boastful. Just stating it, like it was the truth and nothing more.
“But surely you must be tired?”
He shook his head. I couldn’t read him at all, not with that helmet hiding his face. It was strange. I’d never cared to learn about the others who carried me. Not their names, not their faces. But now I found myself wondering.
“I suppose I should ask… do you have a name, sir?” I said, crossing my arms.
“Technoblade.”
I’d never heard it before. Of course, that meant little. If he was a knight, he might have been raised far from the court. And if he wasn’t a noble, then I wouldn’t know him at all. But strength like his didn’t belong to the idle or pampered. He must have earned it.
Still, the way he held me, cradled close without hesitation, was growing uncomfortable. I hesitated to say so. This test wasn’t about how he chose to carry me. It was simply about him reaching the top, even if it was to my discomfort. Even so, I shifted slightly, trying not to squirm.
“Does this hurt you?” he asked.
“A bit. It’s just… unpleasant to stay in one position too long.”
Technoblade paused, then adjusted me. Gently. He lifted me higher and eased me into his arms properly, not over the shoulder or balanced on his back, but the way a storybook knight might carry a princess. One arm beneath my knees. The other supporting my back.
“Is this better?” he asked.
“Um. Yes.”
But now my head rested against his chest. Through the armor, I could hear his heartbeat… steady and calm, like he wasn’t even breaking a sweat. It pulsed under iron like a drum, soothing in a way I hadn’t expected.
There was always something to look at on this trail. Trees, moss, clouds brushing the peak. And yet, for the first time, I felt something else entirely.
I never ran out of things to look at, but I did grow bored.
“So… why this?” I asked, my voice drifting lazily above the sound of his footsteps. “A climb for nobility?”
“Yes,” he answered.
Just that. Most would have tried harder. Lied, even. Told me they were doing it for me, for love at first sight, for beauty that struck like lightning. Then spun some story about how they’d dreamed of me since boyhood.
I pouted.
“You know,” I said, “I could make this more difficult for you.”
He didn’t reply at first. His grip stayed steady as he climbed, his steps a little more careful now as the path narrowed and sloped.
“You could,” he said at last. “This is our first time meeting.”
Of course it was. It wasn’t like I got out much. I doubted anyone outside the court even knew my name. Still, his calm answer threw me off.
“What do you enjoy, Princess?” he asked suddenly.
I blinked. “I like the walks I get to make back to the castle.”
He didn’t laugh, but I sensed amusement in the silence between us.
“But if you give up now,” I continued, “it’ll take me forever to get back down. That’s the worst part, you know. When you fail, I’ll have to make the whole journey alone.”
He reached up gently and, without breaking pace, and patted my head.
“I’m not going to fail.”
I highly disagreed.
But then he added, “If it makes you feel better, I promise to carry you back down. So long as nothing bad happens.”
I tilted my head slightly, searching his helmet for any hint of a smirk. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
I didn’t know if he was the type of knight who kept his word. But I hoped he was.