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Part 161 of 15 Minutes
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2016-06-15
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2017-03-20
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2/?
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Crown of Blood

Summary:

Stiles had been raised aware of the crimes of her father. She had been raised to know the ill deeds he’d done. She had grown to know that the crown prince was her brother by blood but to her he was nothing more than an unwitting thief.

Notes:

Greetings, and welcome to yet another 15minutes of my madness, if you are not yet familiar with the whole 15minutes thing let me bring you into the light of knowledge, so each fic of this series (and it is one it seems) is written with the troublesome amount of time that is 15minutes and each fic is requested by one of my friends (6 usually at times not though depending on whether or not Lady Fortuna has smiled upon me), they point me down a road which to take and of I go but as soon as the time is up the story ends so know that not all tales end the way I’d want them too, and there will be plenty of mistakes. If you cane bare it you are welcome to stay and read and hopefully enjoy the stories my mind is able to provide, if not well I wish you all the best and hope you shall find what you are looking for.

But to this little tale of an AU requested by my friend who is at the moment sporting the name Quizzical-Python she had me listen to a song by Heather Dale called Mordred’s Lullaby, she did not deny me from using the words of the song to inspire me this time but all she asked was for Stiles and the Sheriff to be in it, for Scott and Melissa to be in it as well, as well as a mention of Claudia and possibly Peter, and for it to be an always female Stiles Stilinski.

And I know this is stupid short, and that's all my fault I kept starting it over and over again... I just couldn't get the ball rolling, sorry.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text


The cheers were loud and deafening as the King and Queen steeped out to greet their people who loved their royal family without effort, the young prince with the crooked jaw and floppy dark hair waved cheerfully at the crowd bellow while held tightly in the arms of his father the good King John Stilinski who looked very much like the proud parent, the proud king who’d managed to father and heir after many years of failures.

Stiles watched curiously as the king, her father, raising the young prince a little bit higher so all could see their future king and his greatest joy. The masses cheer even louder, the young prince waved happily down at his people that cheered for him.

Stiles doesn’t cheer, or wave at the young prince or the king or his queen, she hates them all too much to show them even a pretense of love and devotion. She may not be seven springs old as the prince is but she had hatred inside her that would bring shame on even most men of twenty springs.

`Look at them child,´ Stiles hears her uncle Peter whisper in her ear, voice just a little bit too growly to pass as human, and sure enough as she peers past the sheltering hood that gave her uncle some shelter from unwanted gazes which was all well and good since Peter’s eyes glowed unnaturally blue.

` Look at what you have been denied´ Stiles hears her uncle whisper in her ear voice growly causing her to whimper and press closer to him fearful that someone would catch on to his uncles secret, Stiles knew even at this young age that if Peter’s wolf came out amongst these humans nothing good would come of it she’d seen it once at a market when stray had accidentally flashed his eyes at a merchant, she’d wept for months and still had nightmares from that dreadful day when she saw a werewolf get captured and hung from a nearby tree before an aging hunter came with his sword and cut him in half from just above the sunken belly of the starving werewolf, his young were stoned before burned to death while their father screamed for their lives to be spared.

Stiles knew humans were evil, disgusting creatures, and she was determined that once she came of age she would risk her life to become one for better be a wolf than a human as uncle Deucalion said.

`Look at the proud queen Stiles,´ her uncle, her mother’s little brother urges her and Stiles does look at Queen Melissa, ` look at her joy Stiles,´ Peter snarls viciously eyes glowing dangerously blue as the glared up at the royal couple and their son, Stiles like everyone else in their small family knew Peter would’ve gladly killed the king given a chance since he’d always been very close with Stiles’ mother which was why she’d with her dying breath asked Peter and not Talia to care for Stiles, to raise her right.

`You my dear are the proof of how he betrayed her loyalty.´ Peter says with an angry growl, `How he violated your dear mother.´

Stiles watches as the dark haired lady in fine robes and jewels kisses the young prince’s cheek before doing the same to the king, all smiles and joyfulness, love and devotion. She takes in the appearance of the man her mother had introduced to her as her father, a man who had left her and her mother to die at the stone circle but two years prior when the ground was frozen and deep snow was quick to cover his tracks.

`Look at his joy,´ her uncle growls, and Stiles does look and she does see before her a man not weighed down with grief, a man who had not spent a day grieving the lives he’d taken on that cold night, the king looked truly like a man who had been blessed with joy and the good life one not touched by sadness or despair or even guilt; but the cheerfulness the King displayed was drained from his person the second his eyes caught sight of Stiles who like her uncle did not wave at him or his family with eager hands and lips drawn up in smiles.

The king looked suddenly dreadfully pale.

`Time to go my little princess,´ her Peter says before pulling up the hood of her traveling cloak to hide her better before they start to dart hastily through the crowed, his arms secure and protective around her, Stiles did not fear capture as she trusted Peter to keep her safe even amongst these dreadful humans.

`Blow the whistle my dear child, ´ her uncle tells her as they vanish down a dark alley that reeks of waste and foulness, `Time for us all to head home.´

Stiles does as she is told and slips out the small wolf-shaped whistle, the wooden carving of a wolf howling at the mood warm since cradled against her chest beneath layers of fabric, the sound the whistle makes is too low for her ears to hear but she knows that her cousins and uncle Deucalion hear it as clearly as if she’d cried out for them from the tallest tower of the kings castle.

Their cart old and stolen as so many things in their lives are appears soon enough drawn by one of the few wild horses they had managed to trap and tame, uncle Deucalion was seated at the front with Derek both dressed once more in the dull brown robes carrying one of those wooden crosses around their hidden necks. Stiles glares up at the cross, her kin had been safe before this new God came with his lies calling her kin monsters and abominations.

Quickly Peter strips Stiles out of her cloak and fine clothes, replacing smooth soft fabric’s with smelly rough ones that will leave her skin itching for hours, Peter hands the finer garments over to Laura who is dressed the same her brother stuffing the pretty dress and cloak inside a large sack, before pulling the brown and dreary robes over his finer clothes Peter hands Stiles over to Laura who starts immediately to cover Stiles’ pale skin in dirt and matting her hair with oil.

`Take care nephew, ´ Stiles hears Peter say as the cart starts to move and he’s seated down beside her with a heavy leather bound book with the tales that were designed to have old gods abandoned for the sake of this one called God, Stiles doesn’t like the book but she understands the value of it much like she understands the value of trading furs for wheat.

`I think the king recognized his daughter.´ Peter continues to say while removing both his and Stiles boots which like Stiles clothes were hidden inside a large sack. Derek says nothing and sets the horse down into a slow lazy pace that would not raise suspicions amongst anyone, not even the guards at the gate who all bowed their heads at the sight of the wooden crosses and dreary robes.

It’s only once they are far from the city walls where the shadow of the tall tower does not reach them that Derek urges the horse to quicken its steps, and it is only once the fields end that the tension eases in their bodies and Stiles dares to lean into Peter’s side and Cora does the same with her sister, Stiles wonders as she watches the great city grow smaller and the fields stop reaching after them whether or not she would one day get a chance to avenge her mother.

Chapter 2: Season of Harvest

Notes:

SO, I've been sitting on this for... well since I posted the first chapter, and now I'm just deciding to try something new and try to be brave so here goes. In the next chapter Stiles encounters her brother, the prince....

Chapter Text

With the death of summer and the decay of fall, the season of harvest came to be and with it the Harvest Festival. Caravans with goods from across the mighty seas and from over the great snowy mountains, they had travelled far and wide even crossed the dangerous marshlands, and all came with their rare goods and colourful characters.

For many the short but joyous visits from the great travellers of the wide world was truly the high-light of the year, for the birthdays of the royals gave little to those who did not dwell within the castle walls. With the caravans came a brief moment of wonder and delight, and for a little while one could escape everyday life and its hardships by gathering around a fire at night and listening to the tales told by men and women who travelled far and wide.

But there was also trading to be done, and it was the salts the caravans carried that was the most sought out item, and everyone be they a small farmer to a woodcutter or a simple hunter would try and get just enough salt to last them through the year. Fine herbs and spices, colourful and fine fabrics, jewels and pearls might be desired and admired but never bought for those were the finer things that belonged to those of higher birth.

Stiles did not understand the desire for shiny trinkets, she did not understand the fascination for pretty stones, even now as she stood before a display of colourful stones that gleamed and sparkled in the midday sun, she could not see why many died for these little things.

What use had they? One could not consume them and thus stave-off starvation? Certainly, she’d heard that some healers claimed that if one consumed a ruby it would heal the sickness in your blood, while pearls would mend thy bones and so on, but like flakes of gold these claims had no real merit.

A fine little stone as the one in her hands had no real use other than to be worn, it was but a trinket to show wealth and power, it was a thing to show you were above those less fortunate ones.

Stiles does not care for these stones, they would do her or her kin no good. Perhaps if she be but a child she might’ve been fooled to want one, but Stiles was a young woman of sixteen now and she was no fool.

Breathing in the fine scent of spices and herbs, Stiles hands the crimson stone back to the old merchant she was determined to trade with, unlike his brethren the man had a fine selection of herbs she would need to keep herself and her kin healthy and alive.
`A fine stone indeed sir, ´ Stiles responds respectfully thus earning herself a wide and pleased smile from the fairly toothless man, his dark eyes glimmering with glee at the thought he had her caught in his fine net of jewels but Stiles had no intentions to trade her fine furs for silly stones.

`Very fine. ´ she admits and the little stone was very fine, it red of it reminded her of her uncle and the comfort his ruby-red eyes gave her when fear snuck into her heart. The stone would’ve been a fine gift for him, and perhaps one day she could find the means to gain such a stone to gift him, but that day had not yet arrived.

`But I have no use for such fineries. ´ Stiles informs the old man draped in fairly fine furs, knobby old hands covered in a pair of knitted gloves, the man was old and looking at him Stiles believed this was his last travel unless he intended to die on the road.

Stiles reaches down for the rolled-up pelts she had yet to trade, the bundle was now light in its weights compared to what it had been earlier that morning; Stiles had already successfully traded away a lesser furs for a barrel of salt simply by the wit of her mind and the skill of her tongue, and perhaps she’d used some of her feminine charm as well but that was not something her Uncle need to know in order to gain two large sacks of grain for three fox pelts.

`Oh but such a beautiful young lady ought to have fine jewels such as this, ´ the old man said, lifting the pretty stone up for her to admire once more, ` to bring the colour of her eyes and the blush of her cheeks out so fine and well. You’ll catch yourself a fine husband I’m sure, with a little help of…´

`I might not wish to catch such a husband, sir. ´ Stiles chuckled settling the bundle back up on her back, `What good will a husband who is distracted by shiny things do me? ´

`Nothing good, I would say. ´ an unfamiliar voice says from behind her, startling her enough for her to reach for her dagger, but she does not grasp the hilt or reveal the fine sharp blade to this man who comes to stand next to her. Her hand stills when she sees the crest of the Argents embellishing more than just his cloak.

She’d be a fool to take on a man of the Argents, and Stiles had not been raised a fool. Her uncle had raised her to survive, to prevail even if everyone else fell she was to go on. She knew when to fight and when to run, she knew when to stand firm and when to hide. And to take on an Argent in public would be an act of pure madness.

`Exactly, ´ Stiles responds voice calm and steady even if her heart was beating like that of a rabbit chased by hungry wolves, or a lone werewolf chased by Argents and their hounds.

It takes her no time at all to recognize this man as Lord Christopher Argent, widower of Lady Victoria Argent and father of young Lady Allison. Stiles has seen this hunter before under different and less pleasant of circumstances.

Stiles could never forget the face of the man whom she’d seen kill without mercy werewolves no older than four winters, how could she forget the face of the man she’d watched in horror set ablaze the druid who’d been known to help those the Argents and the King believed to be unnatural. Stiles would never forget the face of a monster, and Lord Christopher Argent was a monster as were all those bound to the name Argent.

There is a strong will in her to run, to blow the whistle, to return swiftly to the safety of the forest and into the waiting arms of her no doubt anxious uncle. Her instincts however would bring nothing but ruin if she surrendered to them, it could be the death of her family and pack if she gave in to the weaker urges of her nature.

Steadying her mind Stiles turns her attention back to the weatherworn merchant who had seen much and lived to tell about it.

`No diamonds or pearls will be of use to me good sir, ´ Stiles starts her voice light, amused, although she feels only dread heavy in her stomach, a cold chill in her bones as she stood so close to the Hunter who took the lives of Ennis and Kali as well as the child Kali had been carrying inside her growing belly.

`Will keep me healthy and strong during the cold dark months. ´ her voice does not quiver as she catches the pale eyes of Argent move over her and the roll of furs she carried.

The face of the old man falls a little, clearly the old man had wished to keep the precious dried herbs all to himself or for the apothecaries within the great walls of the great city, or perhaps to simply sell them for a grand price to the Kings own personal physicians.

`Very valuable they are. ´ the old man tells her as if she were a small child.

`No simple furs will do. ´ the toothless man tells her, but although he attempts to play a little game of trade with her Stiles is not fooled, she’s seen the way he has been eyeing her bundle greedily long before she’d moved her dealings to him. He’s been watching anxiously to whom she’d hand the thick white coats of the Winter Wolves and the silver coat of the Silver Fox, and above else the dark rich fur of a full-shifted werewolf.

Stiles had cried as she skinned the fine coat off of Boyd’s once proud and strong body, it may have been his wish for his coat to be used to help keep their pack healthy and strong, but it had still been a dreadful thing to do even if by then the young beta was already gone to join his mate in the afterlife.

If it wasn’t for the good of their pack, their family, their survival Stiles wouldn’t part with the last piece of the good and true werewolf who never judge her unkindly for being born human. But if Boyd’s death could help stop the cold hand of death, to keep the bodies strong when weakness threatened then Stiles could not waste it by clinging to what was left of him.

Carefully Stiles lifts the bundle of goods on the none to stable table, her heart racing terribly as she unrolls her goods for the old man and Argent to see. The greedy want in the old eyes is clear, and the surprise in Argents grey eyes is even clearer.

`And how have you come by this? ´ Argent asks as his gloved hand runs over the dark fur of Derek’s best friend, and Stiles can hardly breathe as she fears what will come next.

`My brother and I found a dead wolf, large unlike any we’d ever seen sir. ´ she lies effortlessly after all not many knew the difference between wolves and full-shifted werewolves.

`Dead? ´ the Hunter enquires, she knows he doubts her tale and she is tempted to run but if captured she would be tortured and later burned to death, running was not an option for where one Argent was found many more were expected to be seen in seconds if something were to happen. Like the werewolves’ they killed the Argents travelled in packs.

`Yes, sir. Dead. ´ Stiles says as surely as she would say that the sun would rise tomorrow.

`Last winter, after the great storm. It had been trapped under a fallen tree, dead, the poor thing. ´ Stiles tells the eager ears listening, she knew even a werewolf couldn’t survive getting crushed by a great tree which fighting against the cruel chill of a winter storm.

Stiles can tell that Argent is weighing the truth of her lie, and she hardly dares to breathe as she waits for his judgement.

`And how did you get the tree off of the wolf? ´ Argent asks her and Stiles thinks quickly for an answer that didn’t involve unnatural amount of strength or magic.

`It took us a good while sir, we had to dig it out from beneath the tree with shovels and pickaxes. ´ Stiles responds quickly enough to arouse no suspicions and lightly enough not to alert the Hunter that all she said were lies.

Argent gives a strange look which would perhaps make any other human quiver and break, but Stiles is no simple human, she’s been raised by werewolves and knows how to tell lies that would be seen as truth and nothing but the truth.

`A great deal of work for a piece of fur. ´ Argent states trying still to see if there was more to this story of hers.

Stiles nods, agreeing very much that a great deal of work had been done to get Boyd’s fur to where it now lay before an eager merchant and a suspicious Hunter.

`But it is worth more here than it would be beneath a tree. ´ Stiles says calmly enough, avoiding to gaze up at the Hunter for fear he might see the sadness in her eyes, humans were not meant to feel sympathy towards such beasts as wolves and certainly not werewolves for to humans these creatures were monsters with no place in the civilized world.

`Very much so, yes. ´ the aging merchant says while nodding his head vigorously enough to fool anyone to think he was years younger, `Waste it would be to leave such a fine pelt for nature to claim. ´

`So, you are interested in a trade? ´ Stiles enquired knowing very well that the man could not resist having the skin of a werewolf to sell to either the King himself or some highborn who’d spin some tale about slaying the beast himself.

`Oh yes, of course – of course. ´ the merchant says, his head nodding with an eagerness suited better for a child than an old man.

`And what of your brother? ´ Argent enquires, his hand traveling still over the rich dark fur, it makes Stiles ill to have a Hunter touch a part of Boyd like this, for one such as Argent to find any enjoyment in the death of someone she’d cared and loved made her blood burn with such anger she feared she might come undone.

`What of him, sir? ´ Stiles asks before turning her focus back to the merchant who moves to gather an assortment of large jars and leather pouches as well as a few wooden boxes, opening each so Stiles could gaze at the goods the man was willing to offer for a trade.

`Where is your brother? ´ Argent asks predictably, a man such as Argent always had seemingly harmless questions, and Stiles knowing how to play a game of deceit better than these merchants surrounding her has response ready, but before she is able to give her reply a sturdy looking man with dirty-brown hair appears calling out to his master with an air of urgency.

Stiles pretends not to be interested in the two men and their exchange of words, while being fully committed to their conversation, seeking to learn whether or not her companions had been found out and if she ought to give the alarm.

She is so focused on the two Hunters, one a Lord with a reputation surely destined to overshadow that of his father and the other a man of not much birth and little value, she is so focused on these two men that she doesn’t pay any attention to the merchant who is working on giving her an unfair trade.

`What now Bergan? ´ Argent hisses at the man who reeks of ale and cabbage stew, the stench of the man is enough to cause Stiles’ already uneasy stomach to take a turn for the worse, Stiles could not stand cabbage in any form since her seventh winter when meat was scarce and everything but the cabbage was struck with one disaster or another.

`A message, ´ the man Bergan wheezes before a coughing fit takes a hold of him, so sever are the wet sounding coughs that the unsteady man bumps into Stiles nearly causing her to lose her footing in the muddy ground, only the hastily constructed table saves her from making a mess of her traveling cloak and dress.

The coughing man gives her no apology simply a glare indicating she was in the wrong somehow, she was clearly of lower birth and of no real standing in society that much her clothes could tell anyone with seeing eyes, any lack of judgement on Bergan’s part or misfortune could easily be blamed on her and none would question it.

`A message from the King. ´ the unpleasant man Bergan says once his breathing settles, and Stiles can suddenly breathe again, and she decides to ignore the two Hunters and focus on not getting handed the poorest quality of herbs which the merchant has indeed made an attempt to do. No longer fearful for the safety of her kin Stiles allows some of her annoyance surface as she confronts the merchant.

`Good, sir, ´ and she says this voice full of displeasure, `do you think me a fool? A child born the day before? ´

The merchant pauses, gazing up at her with none too innocent eyes all wide with false alarm and hurt, the man would never do well on a stage by the looks of things, his expressions were far from convincing and she could positively hear her uncle judge the old man and his performance.

`My dear child, no. Not at all. ´ he says, hand no less over his old heart.

`Then why would you try and give me these? ´ Stiles asks reaching out to take a handful of burned and not dried sage, already burned sage would do o favours to anyone but the man who snuck them in on a trade.

As she glares at the other none too fine herbs and roots, Stiles is quick to declare none too kindly, `I see no reason to trade with you, not when all you have to offer me are these worthless goods. ´

She starts to make a move to leave, preparing to roll her fine furs when the old man overlooked by so many due to his age and weak amount of goods takes a firm hold of her wrist, the grip is surprisingly firm and will leave a bruise.

He offers her quickly one apology after another, none of which are what she is seeking, and all are as genuine as her love for the King is.


`Tell you what, ´ the merchant says as Stiles still pretends to be ready to leave, `I shall give you fine goods, ´ as she gives the old man a look of disinterest, the man who’d reached an age most could never comprehend reaching doubled the amount Stiles had apparently agreed too at some point.

`And I’ll give you, ´ the merchant looks around for a minute before picking up a fairly large piece of ginger, `And you can have this for free. What say you? ´

Stiles is tempted, she really is, but since she doesn’t know what the amount she’d agreed upon when eavesdropping on the conversation between the two Argents, she worries whether or not she’ll still get tricked out of getting a fair trade for Boyd’s sacrifice.

Stiles looks down at the what’s left of Boyd, seeking help and guidance in making the right decision, not expecting Argent to speak on her behalf to the merchant.

`You would steal from this child? ´ the Lord Christopher asks, startling Stiles out of her anxious thoughts as well as startling the old man enough to knock down a jar full of Chamomile.

`Steal? No, my lord. Never my Lord. ´ the old man says and it seems he is as fearful of an Argent as Stiles is, which was no great surprise since an Argent could accuse you of any crime and you’d end-up hanging or burned to crisp before the sun had set; the Argents were as much the judge, the jury, and the executioner, no one questioned them without fear of punishment.

`Give her twice the amount you’ve just offered, ´ Argent tells the old man who looks absolutely appalled by the idea he’d have to give such a great amount, and perhaps it is that look that has the Hunter adding two more ginger roots and twenty cinnamon sticks to the trade.

Stiles can’t help but look at the Hunter is disbelief, she’d never imagined she’d get such a fine trade of medicine for her furs, not even with the help of Boyd. Medicine was expensive, valued highly in these parts due to the hard land, but there she was getting enough of everything to surely leave not only her uncle speechless but the rest of their village as well. If Stiles took great care, and if the blessings of nature were on their side, and if the ancestors kept their pack safe Stiles could possibly make this grand amount last for two dark seasons.

`Thank you, sir. ´ Stiles says earnestly to the Hunter who waits for the old man to gather the herbs and roots for her, clearly Argent doesn’t trust the old man not to withhold something, and so he stays watching and demanding to see each pouch before it is used and weighed no doubt to make sure there were no stones in the bottom to alert the true amount. It is an intimidating moment, even without Bergan breathing down their necks demanding the merchant to hurry for the King was waiting.

Stiles might wish the Argents dead, burned alive or hacked to pieces, she might like to see their bodies decaying off of tree branches while crows pick out their lifeless eyes, but Stiles was still grateful for the help Lord Christopher had provided in dealing with the old-man who had no problem sending a girl home with very little.

`Take care child. ´ Argent says as the trade is done and it is time for them to part ways, it seemed the King had summoned the Argents and it was a matter of great urgency, no doubt some monster of sorts needed hunting or some invading forces needed chasing, perhaps even a thief has stolen the royal jewels or an assassin killed the crown prince.

`This world is a dangerous place for a young girl. ´ And with that the Hunter leaves, giving her a short bow half-heartedly mimicked by Bergan who follows his master like a loyal hound as he hurries onwards to follow his own masters call.

There is not a soul in sight that doesn’t make way for him and only a few do not bow their heads in recognition of Lord Christopher Argents standing in the world, it makes Stiles fume with just anger.

`More so because of men like you and your King. ´ Stiles dared to say once the hunter was out of earshot.

The world had indeed become an unsafe space for her kin and thus herself long before her birth, Stiles could be burned before cheering masses if anyone so much began to think she was friendly with werewolves, she might also be ripped to pieces by horses or hacked to death. And gods forbid if the King learned she still walked this earth, no doubt her life would be in even greater peril.

Slowly Stiles began to make her way towards the end of the field where the caravans had gathered, now and again pausing to pretend interest in some goods when in fact she was seeking to find any signs that the Hunters were following her. Her behaviour caused some of her kin to stay back, each seeking any signs that something was amiss.

Stiles waits to hear the small birdcalls from within the sea of people before breathing out a sigh of relief, the tension in her body easing ever so slightly. Stiles had a bad feeling that come morning she would be suffering an ungodly ache within her skull, but that was the price of living dangerously.

Moving out into the surrounding fields, where many had left the waggons and carts, each guarded either by a member of the family or a trusted hound, Stiles wonders what life could’ve been if the past had played out differently; would she ever have been born, probably not, and if she had would she have grown-up within the city walls or simply lived outside it in one of the many fine houses of the Hales? Would she have been made to learn how to defend herself, how to be cunning and cautious, how to hunt and kill?

Stiles was certain that if she had been raised in a fine house with servants, her skin touched by the finest of fabrics and bathed in warm water, that by now she would be expected to be in search of a husband for come spring she would be sixteen and a lady of highborn ought to be at least betrothed to some fine gentleman by sixteen if not since birth. Not that Stiles cared to be married or mated, she had no need for children, no need to carry on the tainted blood of King John or to fear what might happen if the King ever learned of these supposed children.

No, Stiles would never risk having children as long as the King and those loyal to his crown remained living.

Notes:

So in my head this had happened before the fic started, years ago werewolves were hunted and killed until it was believed they were all dead and gone, which is why Peter and the remnants of his family tend to hide away in the great forest, and years ago as King John a man heavy with worry for his son and heir who was born weak and fragile comes across Claudia during a hunt, and with the right of his birth he well takes what he wants and leaves his seed in Claudia and so his daughter is born, a child the king doesn’t accept as his own because one it’s would confirm his adultery and because he has no use of a daughter or so he thinks. As when his son grows weaker and becomes closer to death than life John’s adviser the druid Blake gives him the keys to save his son by capturing the life-essence of his daughter, and so he arranges to see his daughter and her mother who thinks he’s there to accept her daughter as his own which might ensure their family to at least live a bit more comfortable, but instead of any such thing he nearly kills Stiles and Claudia before hurrying back inside the great walls of his city but Stiles didn’t die.

Now I know no one cares about the ideas that started to dance around inside my head as I wrote this but maybe someone will like to know them so here we have what I was imagining would happen later on in Stiles life, she continues to grow as one does unless death intervenes and she grows up to be a fairly beautiful young lady of 15, and one day as she tends a market a less than honorable character attempts to let’s say abduct her but fails miserably not because her cousin Derek comes to her rescue but because a knight and the young princes step in, oh yes Scott is there with his closest friends to stop it and she recognizes Scott of course she does but she keeps the loathing she naturally feels towards him from making itself known. Now I was imagining that one of the nights perhaps Jackson or Isaac becomes let’s say infatuated with her, and even Scott is drawn to her (and maybe he thinks it’s love but don’t very no incest here) and so once they ask about her family to which she quickly replies she has none simply to protect her kin they insist she come with them because now that they had saved her life they were all honor bound to make sure she remained unharmed, and so she ends-up in the castle but thankfully the old king has been blinded by time (karma!) and so he can’t see her enough to recognize her as the daughter he’d almost killed…. and now my friends are telling me to stop.

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