jhameia: ME! (Default)
[personal profile] jhameia
I'm too lazy to start an AO3 account, but yay new fandom! And new fanfic! I mean, I've always used DW for fanfic? IDK, I doubt any of you are subscribing to this junk for fanfic. But still! I'm super late to the fandom which has been going strong since 2015 on Tumblr, so lots of very nice fanart. It's also a great movie.

Title: "Coronation"
Fandom: Strange Magic
Status: Finished one-shot


Fanart found here.

He remembers when his own father died, the state funeral, his mother lamenting her best, beloved husband as they buried him, covered him with moss and a seed that would grow into a tree indistinguishable from the other trees in the forest (as kings serve in life, so too they serve in death, passing into the anonymous silence of the forest). He remembers the coronation, the goblins roaring their welcome of their new king, the relinquishing of his name, the first time he sat on the throne, so cold, so alone.

So he’s there for her, when she comes crashing into his arms that night of the final death vigil, after she’s spent consoling her sister, making funeral arrangements, dictating the royal announcements. He’s there for the funeral as the king is sent on in a blazing fire, bright as life. He has never known if the king ever fully accepted his strange sons-in-law, and he’ll never know, now.

He’s there at her coronation, standing at the side of the throne where she’s asked him to stand (as Queen’s Consort, they say to the public; for support, he knows). Her face is so pale from mourning that her usual makeup stands out even more. As she flits towards the dais, her body as neutral as possible, the rippling of her wings the only hint to her emotions, his heart aches.

As soon as they have a moment alone, she clings to him and bursts into fresh tears. He kisses the blueberry tears away, muttering sweet nothings of consolation, of faith in her strength: you’ll be alright; you’re a tough girl; you’ll make it through.

“Bog!” she almost gasps. “Do you think… do you think I’ll be a good Queen?”

“You’re going to be a wonderful Queen,” he tells her gently. “You’re strong and brave, you’re wise and loving.”

She sniffles and tries to compose herself. “My father once said… that I’d be stronger, with a King by my side.”

He doesn’t reply, just busies himself re-arranging the dark purple flowers in her hair. In the Fairy Kingdom, he is not the King, just as she’s not the Queen in the Dark Forest. A quirk of diplomacy.

But she straightens, smooths out her dress, and takes his arm as she prepares for her first state function as Fairy Queen. She leans onto him ever so slightly, murmuring fondly, “my King.”

He gestures to the door grandly, and nudges it open with his scepter. “My Queen.”
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