idea: stricklake but in a rumbelle au
“My price…is her.”
Gasps fill the room at that, horrified and shocked and Stricklander allows himself a smile, the smirk on his lips sharp to begin with what with his fangs but sharper still in his satisfaction. Bular, beast and brute that he is, would have demanded the Trollhunter outright. It is due to his methods–
–impure as they are–
–that this demand has taken on a far more devastating toll to the young hero. Before, he would have sacrificed himself in a thoughtless and selfless blaze of glory. This, oh, this is so much worse to the young hero’s heart, a blow of unthought of cruelty.
It is so much worse and therefore, so much better.
The Trollhunter’s dear Lady Mother for peace between the Darklands and their own beloved kingdom of Arcadia. It is too delicious.
The young knight eyes burn blue and bright with outrage, and the daylight of his sword glows all the brighter with the same hatred as he glares at Stricklander, at the abomination who would dare to make such a demand. He swings the weapon at him, pointing it in such a way that Stricklander knows with no small amount of amusement that the boy dearly wants to run him through with it. His words are gritted things, torn between clenched teeth. “Get out. Now.”
Stricklander bows low, the shadow of his horns crossing the floor in a way that’s positively demonic, he’s sure. A deal with the devil is only too appropriate for such a situation, and he dressed himself accordingly. “As you wish.”
Indeed, it is no matter. Time will tell and he is sure he will win this waiting wager. He turns on his heel, his cloak flaring as he crosses to the doors. And then, he will make history as the one who–
He turns back, the confusion he feels also rippling through the room in whispers as she steps forward, and…
…well. He had heard rumors, but to see her is another thing entirely.
Her beauty is striking enough already, with those sapphire eyes and that glorious molten fire of her hair, that pale skin so unlike his own stone, but with a weak spirit it would have no effect. And hers is no weak spirit. She is a firebrand, burning bright and steady and serious with her earnest gaze and the firm clench of her fine jaw, her whole body aflame in her quiet desperation, her selfless gaze. “I will go with you.”
Stricklander can only stare as the Trollhunter rushes to her, his armor disappearing in his horror. “Mother, no–!”
“James, please.” She turns back to him, any desperate love replaced with stony resolve, a cool disdain as she looks up into his own fiery gaze. “My friends…my family…they will all live?”
Stricklander hides whatever amazement –to offer herself, he had no way of knowing she would do so, be so utterly– and inclines his head to her, the flourish made all the more mocking what with how his horns weigh the movement down. “You have my word.”
She closes her eyes, and then opens them, the blue of them all the more beautiful what with how wet they are. “Then you have mine. I will go with you, forever.”
Stricklander smiles, his teeth sharp and his stony heart victorious. “Deal.”