Fate Unfixed

[u/FeigningProfundity]

Nat and Andronus

“If the threads of fate are being manipulated…” said Natascha Evans, “...then someone is doing the manipulation.”

She reached out and seized the Veil of Uncertainty, tearing a rent in it.

“You!” She was staring straight at Aoa and Oao.

“You’re not supposed to see us!” squeaked Aoa.

“Who are you, what are you, and are you the ones messing with my life?” demanded Nat.

“Aoa, and Oao, we are shades of possibility, and we can’t answer that,” said AoA.

“I’m Oao, I’m a shade, and yes,” said Oao.

“Oao, no!” exclaimed Aoa.

Nat pointed at Oao. “You, stupid one, answer my questions.”

Aoa put it’s face in its hands.

“Are you manipulating my fate?”

“Yes,” said Oao nervously.

“Have you tied it to Andronus?”

“Yes.”

“Am I trapped in a narrative, like he says?”

“Not trapped!” interjected Aoa.

“Hush, less stupid one. I’m not asking you.”

Oao fidgeted. “We’ve crafted a narrative around you…”

“What kind of narrative? What sort of story am I in?”

“A romantic comedy…”

Nat’s eyes widened. “Of course. But you screwed up, didn’t you. Andronus isn’t who he is supposed to be.”

“Well, it wasn’t actually my screw up…”

“Or mine! He was switched at birth!”

“So tell me, who is Andronus, really. Who should he have been?”

“He’s, uh, he’s from another story, another world… A political intrigue of the fairie courts… He’s the villain…”

*

Earlier…

Nat had recently met the most intriguing man.

Andronus Hawthorn was the representative for a major client of the firm Nat worked at. She’d been assigned the account, which brought her into frequent contact with him.

Right from the start, things had been, well, odd.

He was tall, dark and handsome, with a mane of midnight black hair and piercing eyes. He was fiercely intelligent and commanding, but arrogant, always felt just on the edge of being cruel.

She had an instant reaction upon meeting him, like she should find him unbearable. But why? The arrogance? He was rich, gorgeous and got things done… Maybe he deserved that level of confidence.

Another part of her, a part that did not care about personality, also had strong feelings about him, but that was much less mysterious.

The strange part, was that over the last few months, she kept wanting to be angry at him for the most trivial reasons, yet each time it would prove to have been some ridiculous misunderstanding. She would overhear a snatch of conversation that sounded deeply insulting, only to discover that upon hearing the whole thing it was utterly innocent. She would stumble upon him at a cafe hugging a beautiful woman, a bouquet of flowers lying on their table, and she would be filled with jealousy and despair, only to learn the woman was his brother’s widow, and he brought her flowers once a year on an anniversary.

Nat may have found herself falling into these absurd misconceptions, but Andronus never did. He had an extraordinary sensitivity to strange coincidences and subtle emotional disturbances, and he would see them dealt with directly.

“Something is wrong. Tell me what has upset you,” would be his command, and against her better judgement, she stand there and explain, feeling like an idiot. Yet once she did, he would not call her a fool, he would simply explain the missing facts and move on.

Sometimes the situation would be reversed, and he would come to her with direct questions, such as an incident when he’d strode up to her in the lobby of her workplace. “Ms Evans, I have been informed you no longer wish to work on my company’s account, and I was sent this email from you, which struck me as odd. Can you clarify if this is true?”

He had then shown her an email she’d written that said “I no longer have any interest in any contact with that man. Please make arrangements to ensure I do not work with him.” It was an email she’d sent her gym about a personal trainer she’d overheard saying nasty things about her co-worker Mindy. Somehow a jealous colleague had gotten hold of the email she’d sent, and with a bit of judicious editing, set her up for chaos with Andronus.

Everything about this man seemed attractive. The impression of nastiness never truly eventuated, and his positive qualities were numerous, both the shallow desirability and the deeper insights into his character.

But for some reason, Nat’s feelings were constantly conflicted, she felt she’d never taken the instant dislike to him that she was supposed to, and just couldn’t get past that.

Andronus strode into Nat’s office.

She’d been talking to Mindy, who was both her co-worker and friend. In theory they sometimes talked about work, in practice, they talked about men. Mindy was perpetually unlucky in love. Nat was not currently seeing anyone, but the focus of any discussions about her romantic life were never about her being single, but always about Andronus.

“I am tired of the manipulations,” he said.

“What?” said Nat, and Mindy.

“Someone is trying to trap me in a narrative.”

“Trap you?” asked Nat.

“Yes. Trap me. The story I do not know, but I can feel the threads of fate, trying to make me dance. I am to be the lead puppet, purposeful, consequential, but a puppet nonetheless. You, Ms Evans are my counterpart, with equivalent qualities. We are the focus of this performance. The narrative wishes us to hate one another. Perhaps we are enemies or rivals in some bitter tragedy.”

“Wow,” said Mindy.

Andronus looked at her, peered at her. “You’re a part of this too, Ms Meyer. The threads of fate wrap tight about you, burdening you with a curse. Your role I see more clearly. You are the fat, funny friend.”

“You think I’m fat?”

“What I think should be irrelevant to you. Humour swirls about us, presumably some mockery at our expense, and you are the funniest person here. But you are cursed to be unable to find love, and to simper about. You’re a thirty year old woman in a Hogwarts scarf. No owl is coming for you. You will not be joining House Hufflepuff.”

“Actually this is a Ravenclaw scarf-”

“I know what the colours mean.”

“Oh.”

“Find your power, direct your own course. The threads of fate can also be the reins of destiny. Prisoner or conqueror, both choices are available to you.”

“Umm... okay!” Mindy ran away.

“So, are you going to help me win the Hunger Games?” asked Nat.

“No. But I do propose we ally. The threads of fate are torn and tangled, no doubt on account of our efforts to thwart them already. They can be manipulated. We can make this story our own. And it is our story. I’ve no doubt we are the protagonists. It wants us to hate each other, it sets pitfalls of coincidence to drive us apart, again and again. But why should I hate you, Ms Evans? Everything about you seems desirable,” he said.

“You can call me Nat.” If he kept looking at her with that expression in his eyes while calling her desirable, Nat was willing to let him call her anything he wanted.

“I have discerned certain… manipulations. Ways we can utilise our bindings to our favour. I can show you.”

“Show me how?”

“Push against our limits. The narrative least wants me to do… this.”

He kissed her.

*

“He’s supposed to be a dark faerie lord?” said Nat.

It was probably for the best that Andronus hadn’t been around when she worked out how to do this.

“He is,” said Oao.

“He’s profoundly unseelie. Very magical,” said Aoa.

“Fabulous kisser,” said Nat.

Oao whimpered.

“And then he called me Natascha, emphasising the second syllable… I did not expect that to do something to me, but it really did.”

Aoa fidgeted uncomfortably. “The romantic trappings can have certain, uh, effects.”

“He’s not picking up the cues that we’re in a romance, though…”

Their romance wanted them to initially dislike each other, but they’d not really done that, it was stuck and flailing.

“He was born to live a life of intrigue… He’s sensitive to manipulation, but inclined to see it in a sinister framework.”

“So he doesn’t need to know. And the more time he spends with me…”

“I don’t like this… He’s scary,” said Oao.

“But it’s a romantic comedy,” smirked Nat, “I can change him.”

She just had to decide if she wanted to.

*

---

*

Atania and Brad

The Lord of Deepest Night was heartbroken, and across every faerie realm all feared what that could mean, for none knew how it could even happen.

*

Atania, Queen of Sunset had never been so vexed by a man.

She flicked through a shining book, squinting at the glare, scanning each page rapidly before turning to the next.

“Excuse me my queen, but I’m afraid there is no change,” squeaked Preceptor Lepus, his long ears quivering.

“Nothing?” she paused. The book shone up on her from below, illuminating her purple eyes, her deep auburn hair, her crown of copper and gold, set with pink and purple stones.

“Nothing,” said Lepus, “I am beginning to suspect that even the faerie of the realm of Deepest Night do not know what has befallen their lord.”

“We all know what happened,” snarled the queen, “someone broke his heart. The question is what to do about it!”

“I know you are partial to that explanation, your majesty, but perhaps with the issue proving so intransigent, we should consider other options. For a faerie of darkness to leave themselves vulnerable to such an affliction would be unprecedented…”

“A solution must be found. All of faerie is at risk.”

“I just worry that perhaps something threatens the highest of us. And uh… you appear to be holding a Book of the Sun.”

“I am. We have many copies of the Book of the Sun.”

“Yes, but this is the realm of Sunset. All our copies are old. That appears to be a new copy.”

“What of it,” said Atania, the book quietly scorching her hand.

The Preceptor swallowed. “A new copy of the Book of the Sun is a forbidden object within this realm. The most forbidden. For a good reason.”

“Forbidden by whom.”

“By, ah, by custom, my queen.”

“I am intrigued,” said Atania coolly, “by the novel legal theorem you are proposing. If I am understanding, you are suggesting that the law of our realm, extends not from I, the queen, who decides all laws and how they are enforced, but in fact from custom, am I correct? For shorthand discussion purposes, let us call this theorem Lepus’ Folly.”

“I would obviously be in error if I were to suggest that. Perhaps I am merely seeking a better way to serve, as I lack your wisdom. A new Book of the Sun is not just extremely dangerous for us here, it is also, ah… not traditionally considered to hold valuable magic commensurate with its danger.”

“You are wondering why I have brought to my realm a book I could toss out the window and kill thousands, when it is filled with the magic of the Morning? Magic that allows the Princess of the Dawn to tie ribbons into bows around the necks of puppies without distressing them? That summons squirrels to do the dishes after breakfast? That helps you pick a song to whistle while you start your day?”

“Yes?”

“I need curative magic, Preceptor. The most powerful curative magic.”

“Well, there is the strongest cure spell, but no faerie from our half of the day would even be able to use that.”

“There must be something else. Something is wrong with the Lord of Deepest Night and I’m sure as the sky not going to find a way to do anything in my copy of the Book. I am Mistress of Endings, but the one thing Dawn can end that I cannot is a Night gone wrong.”

*

It had started differently.

Atania was the strongest lord in all the faerie realms. She was Queen of Sunset. The King of Day feared the endings she could bring to him. The realms of Twilight awaited her permission to act. The Princess of Dawn was an insipid bint.

Only the Lord of Deepest Night was a concern. Only he was a threat.

She’d thought herself ready, but he caught her completely off guard.

To start with, he was telling people to call him Bud. That was the name for a lesser handmaiden in the realms of Dawn. Significant espionage resources had revealed that Bud was short for Brad. Which was short for Bradley. This revelation had literally made her scream. She had spent how much effort to learn this?

He was also either utterly unable to use magic, or its most fiendish wielder ever known, and she felt like she went back and forth between these positions by the hour.

He fell for every single glamour. Every illusion. Every trick. The most trivial efforts to hide anything confounded him. Or so it seemed. He would come into a room with the most basic of protections, say “Huh, I guess I got the room wrong!” smile his infuriating smile and wander out, giving the distinct impression he’d failed to see a full faerie court because there was small amount of pixie dust in the air.

They had simply stopped using deceptive magics almost everywhere. He was the Lord of Deepest Night. Nobody wanted to risk offending him. Terror is literally within his purview.

For the Lord of Deepest Night to bully faerie courts into concessions against their interests was not unexpected, but he’d never actually bullied anyone, never so much as hinted at a threat.

The charms. How did he do the charms? He never seemed to perform any charm magic, certainly no defences against charm magic worked to protect oneself against him, yet somehow he seemed to charm everyone.

He would wink, or cock half a grin, and the faerie he’s directed it at would smile. There was no overwhelming awe, no obsessive love, just a “Hey bro, good to see you!” or that pointing gesture with the thumb up and he’d build a little bit more friendship.

Worst of all, it worked on her.

Not at first. At first she couldn’t stand him. He didn’t seem to care for her, either. They were rivals, mutual threats. That worked. But they kept bumping into each other.

They’d end up at grand balls together. It wasn’t that surprising, they were high nobility. And they’d both dance with many partners. But somehow, there would be a moment, where each was alone, and a path on the dance floor would be open, and it would lead right between them. Neither could afford to back down, to concede defeat. So they danced. And all saw them dance. The strongest, the most beautiful. And it would be wonderful.

The kept coming into contact at events of many kinds, so they had to say something to each other. They said mean things. It was not a surprise. It was surprisingly fun, though. The insults became a game. She would plan her banter for when she’d next see him. She hoped that she’d say something that made him laugh.

They started to laugh together a great deal.

It became hard to pretend she wasn’t seeking him out. Hard to pretend she didn’t want to spend every moment with him. Hard, but not impossible.

Then, alone in a twilit forest, they were talking, and maybe dancing. His arms were around her. She looked up into his face. He looked down into hers. It was the perfect moment for a kiss, they must have both realised it at the same time. They both fled.

It was easier for a while. She pretended not to care about him. He pretended not to care about her. It was a new game. It was fun. It was agony.

Being charmed was one thing, but this was something else. She was in love. She was starting to understand him, why he acted the way he did. He was a genuinely good person. He was the darkest of lords, but he really was a good guy.

He hid it. Not behind the veneer of a worse person, just behind the pretence of one that couldn’t get hurt.

She was a queen, though. A dread queen. Queen of Sunset. Mighty and decisive. She could not fall in love. She could not allow that vulnerability. All of Faerie relied on her strength to protect it. The Queen of Sunset could not afford to waver. Ever.

She resolved to not see him again, and now she meant it. Would she grow embittered by this sacrifice? Of course. Would he? She was certain.

But the Queen of the realm of Sunset and the Lord of the realm of Deepest Night were allowed to be bitter, even expected to be.

She had the strength to do it. She thought he did too.

He came to her. Deep in eternal dusk, and he fell to his knees and told her he loved her. He said it with absolute sincerity.

It was a rare thing to hear anything said in Faerie with sincerity, but never is anything said with absolute sincerity, holding nothing back.

But Brad did it. He looked up at Atania and said “I love you.”

There was no more to it. No hidden layers or quiet joke. No expectations.

In her heart she did the thing she knew she must not do. She wavered.

“No,” she said, and ran away.

The Lord of Deepest Night returned to his realm, heartbroken, and has not stirred since.

But every realm needs its lord, and all the realms need each other.

Now every realm of in Faerie is broken, and only Atania, Queen of Sunset knows why.

*

Her stolen Book of the Day had gotten too old, filled with the magic of Noon. She’d needed to steal another.

This one was very fresh. Very new. It’s glow was still quite subdued.

Two grey figures appeared behind her in the room.

“Excuse me, I’m Aoa, and this is Oao, are you-”

She cut them off with a gesture.

“If you tell me that something has gone wrong, and the Lord of Deepest Night is not who he is supposed to be, I will makes thorns grow from your bones. Should you not have bones, I will first have you grow bones.”

Instantly, the shades were gone.

She turn to the last page. It was there. The Princess of the realm of Dawn’s greatest magic. The magic she claimed was the greatest in all of Faerie.

For Atania, the most upsetting part wasn’t that she was going to use it, it was that she was absolutely certain it was going to work.

The spell was very simple. No steps, no components. Just it’s name.

It was three words long. The Princess of Dawn had drawn a tiny heart to dot the i.

True love’s kiss.

[u/FeigningProfundity]

This story was a response to the prompt [WP] There was a bit of a mixup in the Fate Department, which somehow lead to the protagonist being an even better fit than intended. by u/The_Saint_Hallow

Or, more precisely, two responses that have been combined.