Chapter Text
SAM
Sam lay on the floor, gazing up at the arabesques decorating the dome of the cupola. He had known this day would come for quite a while. His adviser and close friend, Rhodey, had told Sam shortly after the confirmed death of his parents that he’d be choosing a spouse from a crop of potential people from all over the world, from countries he barely remembered learning about in his studies of geography and diplomacy. He would have seven days to figure out who he would spend the rest of his life with before becoming king, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
And it wasn’t as if he expected anything else. His parents had met the same way. His mother, after the death of her mother, had called upon the countries they were allied with or had at least amicable relationships with to bring forth their best, and she had chosen Paul, the third son of a well-connected merchant, much to the chagrin of her aunts and uncles who had hoped for her to find someone more of rank rather than one who was invited out of politeness and gratitude towards their part in implementing better and more streamlined trade routes. And while his mother said she did not recommend doing as she did, Sam couldn’t help but remember seeing the light touches his father gave Darlene before she had to make her presence known in the audience chamber, how his mother would give his father’s hand a squeeze before they attended a festival, the soft whisper of assurances through the eyes when they knew they were hosting the ruler of another land.
Sam wasn’t sure he actually knew he noticed those things before their deaths, on board a grand ship travelling to the ends of the world, only to come upon a whirlpool if the survivor could be trusted (which, after an investigation by a few other ships, proved correct, to Sam’s brokenhearted dismay). He thought a lot about those moments, though, as those ships went off to search for any sign of their king and queen. And when the ships returned and the city had fully mourned, he thought more about those moments. Because could he have something like that with a random stranger? Someone who he would know for seven days before choosing them?
“It’s going to start soon. Shouldn’t you be heading downstairs?”
Sam glowered. It wasn’t as if Redwing wouldn’t know where Sam was. As Heir Apparent, Sam was bound to establish a connection with one of the royal falcons eventually, and while it had been later than most people in his line (worryingly so, judging by how his mother prodded him about it until began talking with Redwing at the not so tender age of twenty-five), the friendship between the two was quickly made and ran deep.
Didn’t mean Sam wouldn’t be pissed that the bird was interrupting his ruminations about this entire event, this week that was going to transform his entire life like alchemy, rearranging it into something Sam could barely recognize.
“I know. I’m preparing,” said Sam.
“No. You’re dramatically moping on the floor and spiraling into a nervous wreck,” said Redwing, flying a little closer to Sam, “Emotional connection, remember? You really do not know how to establish barriers between us.”
Which was true. Due to the lateness of his latent abilities appearing, he hadn’t had as much experience mastering the telepathy skills. Something his mother was supposed to help him with, but now he was stuck with old journals of past kings and queens, drowning in information he was struggling to understand about building mind walls and expanding telekinetic links and it just made him miss that little bit of time he used to get with his mom everyday trying to work together on this before the voyage happened.
“Which is why I need this time. Look. Just – do some charades with Sarah and tell her I’ll be down in a second,” said Sam, the falcon looking not at all impressed.
“Okay. I guess I can flail my wings and see if she understands. Maybe that will work this time,” said Redwing.
“Hey, I have enough on my plate here, Red, you don’t have to stress me out more,” grumbled Sam.
Redwing looked almost apologetic, giving Sam a little cuddle.
“I’ll…see what I can do. But I highly doubt I can stall her for long,” said Redwing, flying off.
Sam couldn’t fathom connection like that. Finding love, or even companionship, after only seven days. Was it even possible?
And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t loved and lost before. There was a girl, Leila, who had stayed for a summer when her father was visiting, when Sam was young. A childhood romance of hidden kisses and holding hands, of time staring up at this very cupola and wandering the grounds. But then, she left, and they had said teary goodbyes and they had written letters upon letters, until the letters slowed immensely until they forgot entirely. Not that Sam had thought his first love would last from when he was twelve. Though, he wasn’t sure if he expected it to fizzle as it did, into mild awareness of the event and a soft sort of nostalgia.
And then, there was Riley, who had traveled from some land way up in the north continent in the cold, burning himself with his metal clothes before Sam convinced him how unnecessary the chainmail was in the peaceful city his mother ran, especially in the royal town deep within the peaceful city. They had both been new to a more mature form of love, though, if Sam was looking back on it with clear eyes, neither of them were exactly mature themselves. Both past their adolescence and beginning their twenties, it was fire. Passionate and exciting, they found wherever place they could be alone to explore the new forms of love that they felt (“You were horndogs,” Sarah had told him a year later, deadpanned). He was only there for a few weeks, guarding a regent visiting, and had to go back with the regent in the end despite Sam offering all the gold Riley could dream of (Riley, for his part, was flattered by the offer, but unfortunately yearned for home and respected his duties). They had one last feverishly amorous night before they parted ways, happy to at least have the experience, neither bitter by their ill-starred romance, both okay with the sweet and heated memories they decidedly enjoyed.
“Sam,” said Sarah, popping her head into his view, “Seriously? You’re going to get your clothes and wings dirty, lying on the floor.”
Much like his latent yet dubiously narrow bird telepathy ability that was passed down from generation to generation, Sam came from a long line of people blessed with wings similar to (you guessed it) falcons. Sam was at least thankful those were there since birth, that he didn’t have to give his mother stress migraines over lack of very obvious wings. It was said that his ancestors used to fly all through the sky with them. From what Sam knew, no one had done that in thousands of years, if at all. Sam was quite proud to say that he was the only one in his family to be able to glide with them, though, and that was almost like flying. It was close enough. He could even make his jumps higher sometimes if he flapped his wings. And the look on his mother’s face when he had jumped off the top of their cupola when he was seven, only to soar through the air, spiraling down into her arms – it was priceless. It made up for his struggles with the telepathy (Sam hoped it did).
“Right. Sorry,” said Sam, standing up, Sarah helping dust off his back and wings the best she could, shoving him away from the small, hidden room with the cupola, down towards the audience chamber, “You should be glad you’re thinking spot is right over the audience chamber. At least you won’t be late.”
“The way you say it is like you have to find a match by the end of this week,” grumbled Sam, going along with her down the stairs, “Which, you don’t.”
“Yeah, but who you choose could determine the strategy of who I choose later on down the line,” explained Sarah, stopping Sam at the bottom of the stairwell, making sure he was in pristine shape, “And if you start this off on a bad foot, you’re not just embarrassing yourself, you’re embarrassing our home and most importantly, me. So, just go out there and find a fuckbuddy you think you can maybe fall in love with eventually. Or a good political match. I don’t care, you figure it out. I’m not here to tell you what to do.”
“Yet you’re doing that now,” said Sam, trying to hide the sudden panic he was experiencing as he wondered quite insecurely if he was supposed to have more experience with matters of the heart and body before this whole event started.
Was he supposed to hit the town before this, collect data before he tried to impress the person he’d have to spend the rest of his life with? Make sure he was very well secure in what they would want and like and know what they needed?
The problem was that Sam wasn’t sure if he could do that, even if he wanted to. Besides those two, he hadn’t really…thought much about love. There were beautiful people, sure, he understood that. There were people who he found out much later were trying to get his attention, something he felt almost embarrassed to admit he didn’t even notice.
It was too late now, because Sarah was already shoving Sam out of the stairwell, towards the hall that would lead him to the audience chamber. No time to run out of the royal town, find someone to tell him how to be a good lover, or maybe provide examples to him in constructive ways. Sam was just going to have to go into a room with hundreds of suitors and just…wing it, Sam guessed.
“Only because you’re dragging your feet,” said Sarah, and Sam really needed to find a way to breathe right about now, moving out of Sarah’s way.
“I’ll go right in, I just…I need some fresh air. I’ll be back right away, I promise,” said Sam, somehow having to plead to his little sister that he needed a few more minutes.
Sarah gave him a look over and sighed.
“Okay. But get back as soon as you can, okay? We literally can’t start without you. You’re the whole point of this chaos,” said Sarah, reluctantly leaving Sam in the hallway, finding her way to the audience chambers.
Sam snuck through a side doors, heading towards the courtyard, a walled off garden beautified with lush flora that fit seamlessly with the pillars, manmade thin waterfalls lining walls and an ornate fountain adorned with falcons in the middle feeding into narrowed channels that formed a pleasant geometric patterns on the ground, sectioning off parts of the garden and pathways.
Sam had loved these gardens, ever since he was a child. But now he was realizing they were just a beautiful centerpiece to the palace, a way between the different areas of the palace that gave people a reprimand from their duties if only for a moment and Sam wasn’t sure how he felt about them in this new context.
And he had been perfectly fine. He had jumped up, flapping hard enough to get up to the small roof that stretched a little into the closed garden, perching in the corner of the tiny roof, possibly having a panic attack, but then, the strangest thing occurred.
The man must’ve been part of one of the many suitors and their entourages, that was sure of that. The man didn’t look like he’d lived in heat a day in his life. Shoulder length, burnt umber hair getting all over the man’s face; a metal suit that must be cooking him alive; the man clumsily hobbled alone into the garden, sweating rivers. Sam watched as the man, looking almost feverish and most definitely in a fit of desperation, began clunkily breaking off his armor, starting with his right arm, his left arm stiff and awkward as it clinked the metal sleeve out of place, the gauntlet and arm of the armor falling off the right arm with a thunk, revealing an absurdly long white sleeve drenched in sweat under what must be also cooking temperatures chainmail and Sam couldn’t help but wince at that.
Who told this guy to wear a full suit of armor in the middle of September, chainmail and all? No kingdom or city-state even near Sam used that sort of protection because of the heat. This man’s party was clearly misinformed or completely misunderstood the climate they were traveling too.
The right arm desperately pulled off the left metal sleeve as quickly as possible, the man hissing at probably how hot that sleeve was, and Sam wondered how bad the burn he just endured might have been, though, his mind became more preoccupied when he realized that left arm sleeve…seemed to have no arm at all in it. Only a wrapped up piece of shoulder, and not even a complete shoulder at that, looking gnarled and jagged even with the bandaging smoothing it out.
With more thought, the man used his long sleeve to wrap around his hand, providing some minimal protection as he snapped the chest and back plates off at once, swiftly doing the same with the legs portion. The man looked as if he needed to take a moment to prepare for the next step, and Sam couldn’t blame him. It was going to be terrible taking off that chainmail. He knew from what happened to Riley. It was probably going to be much harder with only one arm to do it and no help. And Sam was about to glide down, ask the man if he needed help, but the man grumbled something in what must have been one of those northern languages, tucked between the west and the east on that other continent. But something solidified in those clear blue eyes of his, the need to not cook alive stronger than his fear of touching something that must be blindingly hot, and Sam could only gawk as the man tossed the chain mail off with intense precision, somehow missing all his skin in the process, free from any consequences from his unfortunate choice of protection.
And without the chainmail blocking his view, Sam could see that the man was wearing the most ridiculous garb Sam had ever seen in his life. This creamy absurdly long sleeved loose shirt, hand embroidered with some sort of floral design and a draw string connecting the two sides of the neck tied in a bow with tassels at the end of the strings, this open black vest that looked to be sheepskin, this large belt (or perhaps a girdle?) that gave some minimal form to his looming stature (even from above, Sam could tell the man was tall), some white trousers that, while sweat-soaked, at least looked of a lighter weight of fabric compared to the rest of his attire, and worn down leather that must be the man’s excuse for shoes.
And Sam was about to fly down to at least make his presence known, but the man seemed to flail in frustration, deciding to strip down even more (probably for the best, anything was better than whatever he was wearing), almost ripping the vest off of himself, taking off the belt much faster than Sam expected, undoing the bow on the draw string as he began to fight with his shirt, finally getting it off after stumbling onto the ground, entire chest out for the world to see, the man breathing heavy on one of the pathways of the garden as Sam noticed that the wrappings for that shoulder moved around the entire body as if to keep them in place.
For one terrifying second, Sam thought that the man would find out Sam had been watching his show in its entirety, gazing down dumbfounded as this complete stranger worked through his madness. But the man’s eyes seemed unfocused as he just breathed heavy on the ground, starfished as he was, before deciding the best thing to do next was to scramble to his feet and dunk his entire head into the fountain water, and Sam couldn’t hold back his laughter.
Luckily the man’s head was completely underwater, unable to hear the outburst before Sam could reign himself back in, the man taking a deep breath once he got out from under, shaking his head like a wet dog.
And Yeah, Sam probably should have flown down way before the man started using his royal fountain to cool off, but Sam was pretty sure no one else saw what happened. Sam decided it was better late than never, starting a quiet descent behind the man, schooling his smile to be more “The King of This Palace is Right Behind You” than “Who Are You and Why Are You Hilarious?”.
“If you needed water, I’m pretty sure that’s one of the beverages being served in the audience chambers,” said Sam, the man clearly spooked, turning his gaze over to Sam to say something (probably apologize profusely) before his eyes registered the wings, mouth going slack, and Sam knew most people had never seen such a thing.
His family line was the only one that had wings, and it wasn’t as if it was an extremely well-known fact. Sam’s only solace in entering that audience chamber later was that people might be too distracted by his wings to notice how big of a mess Sam was. He’d even gone all out and had Sarah help him dust the wings with gold specs, helping them catch the light at every turn, though, Sam wondered if he unfortunately lost some of that when he was laying down in the cupola room earlier.
“An angel has come to judge me?” whispered the man as if he wasn’t sure if he was still suffering from some form of heatstroke or something, speaking Sam’s language perfectly even with the heavy lilt of his accent, surprising Sam; most of the ones who came from more northern climates didn’t bother to learn Sam’s native tongue, bringing in a translator, or speaking garbled half-sentences or only knowing polite and easy phrases.
That threw Sam a bit. It took a moment for Sam to react to that, the two of them just staring at each other, blinking, Sam forgetting to put on that kingly persona he was supposed to have with all the suitors and their companions.
“Was it the fountain? I don’t think I can fix plunging my head into the fountain,” said the man, as if trying to figure out why an angel would have flown down and started talking to him about water in the audience chambers.
Sam doubled over laughing.
“I’m not a – you’re fine. You looked hot. I understand,” said Sam, wiping away a stray tear, “You are just – so weird. And I’m not an angel. It’s just a…family trait.”
The man rubbed the back of his head, sheepish, as if he remembered something.
“Oh. Right. I’m so sorry. I know some families have those sorts of things, I – I’m sorry for my rudeness,” said the man, realizing he was shirtless and quickly lunging for his super gross sweaty shirt, scrambling to put it on, finding the belt as he said, “I’ll clean this up in a moment, I’m sorry. I was just at a breaking point.”
Sam smiled, oddly endeared to this strange tall man constantly apologizing and stripping (and unstripping) all over the place. Maybe Sam wasn’t the biggest mess at this week-long event. That was nice to know.
“Yeah, please don’t try to pick up all the extremely hot metal with your bare hand. I’ll call some people over who have protection that can remove those pieces safely,” said Sam, noticing now that the sleeve to his missing arm was tapered off closed near the top, not wispy and long like the other, “And that’s drenched in sweat. Did you bring other clothes? Do you need to run off and quickly change? I can try to stall. No promises, though.”
The man hid a laugh under his hand, glancing over at Sam, obviously trying not to stare at the wings.
“I don’t know. The country I’m from isn’t exactly big. Our tent is a ways away,” said the man, tucking hair behind his ear, looking embarrassed at the state of himself, “I should have thought this through more. I wanted us to look good for this event. A connection to a wealthy city-state like this, even if it was just more trade connections, would do us so well. I should have thought of other ways to show off our metalwork prowess. I’m going to ruin this for everyone.”
Sam frowned. Then. Had an idea.
“Okay,” said Sam, clapping the back of the man’s back, the man surprised at the touch (did people just not touch the guy often?), “Then you’ll borrow some of my clothes. They’ll be better than whatever you’re wearing, anyways. I’m sure we can find something in your size, do some quick adjustments.”
The man almost looked ashen at the thought, shaking his head.
“What? No! I can’t take your clothes. There are so many different events that are happening this week, you must need them all for each of them. I can’t have you modify any of them for me,” said the man, and wow, he really didn’t know who Sam was at all.
Sam decided to keep that his secret for now (not that the man wouldn’t figure it out soon enough), Sam simply smiling as he said, “Oh, I have too many clothes. I have clothes to spare. One modified outfit won’t hurt me. Can’t have you looking bad on the first day. Those first impressions can be brutal. You want to do your – I want to say kingdom? – proud.”
The man relaxed into Sam’s touch, and Sam felt satisfied, happy to take pity on this sweaty, sweaty man and perform a good deed. Sam ushered the very confused man into the palace, giving the man no time to argue as he called over the head seamstress once he spotted her touching up one of his aunt’s dresses, saying, “I’m so so sorry for interrupting, but could you please help this man. He…fell into the fountain and he’s completely drenched. Needs an entirely different change of clothes and he has no time to head over to his tent. Do you think you can help him?”
The head seamstress gave the man a look over, manhandling him a bit to figure out his measurements, the man clearly bewildered but trying not to cause a scene.
“Nice build. Hiding a lot under that flittery thing, aren’t you?” said the Seamstress, giving the man a jovial grin, “He’s a little taller than you, a bit wider in the shoulder and thinner in the hip than you, but not by much. Easy fix. I can get him something to wear in ten.”
Sam nodded, all-smiles, feeling much better, less stressed.
“Well, it was very nice to meet you, Mr…?”
“Uh – Barnes. James Barnes,” said the man, stumbling over his words, so very confused.
“Heir Apparent Samuel, at your service,” said Sam, giving a little stage bow, leaving as he added, “I’ll see you in the audience chambers in ten. I’ll try to stall for you.”