I’ve always liked fairy-tales, romance, quests, and happy endings - sometimes admittedly hard-earned! If you like these things as well, plus dragons (well, one dragon), magic (more than just dragons), near-death experiences (but it’ll turn out okay!), LGBTQ+ representation (because the world needs more m/m epic-fantasy-romance!), and True Love (of course), then come support Oliver and Tir and the kingdom on the edge of Fairy, at the top of the world, on their adventure.
Chapter One: In Which A Quest Is Required
Fairy-companions weren’t unheard-of. Unusual, but not unheard-of. Rare. Legendary, even.
Oliver couldn’t remember a time without his.
To be fair, technically he could; he’d been about thirteen when Tirian had turned up at the palace for the afternoon open session, looking like any other finely-dressed twelve-year-old boy, walking in wide-eyed alongside every petitioner new to court. The difference, of course, had been that for those huge storm-grey eyes everything human was new.
The difference had been that Tir wasn’t and never would be human.
Oliver stood next to his mother on the dais. Waved at assembled barons and village representatives and small children. Aimed for royal dignity; as usual missed it by a mile and a half. He never quite knew what to do with his hands, with his feet, with himself. Big and clumsy in green velvet. Crown Prince’s coronet heavy on his hair. He didn’t mind being outside amid gilded sun and autumn grass for the announcements and honors, but he’d rather have a sketchbook and a pencil and a spot from which to document the scene, as opposed to being part of it.
Tir, who could probably read those thoughts—Oliver’d worked hard to keep anxiety and stress out of the Crown Prince’s expression, but his fairy knew him too well—shifted weight imperceptibly closer. Their shoulders nearly brushed. Support, as much as possible. Tir hadn’t bothered declining his own spot on the dais; Queen Eleuthenia’d made his position as another family member entirely clear over a decade before, and none of her children would disappoint her. In any case he wouldn’t leave Oliver alone for a public audience. That much was also entirely clear.
Tirian occasionally worried too much, Oliver thought; but then again he couldn’t imagine life without that sword-slim shadow at his side, the dark elegant contrast to Ollie’s own rumpled-sunbeam height. The Crown Prince generally looked as if he’d been made by someone who’d heard about blond-haired muscular heroes but hadn’t got all the rough-hewn edges smoothed out; Tir somehow had managed to appear polished and put-together even the morning after the last Spring Festival and all the honeyed mead. Tir could show up at a formal audience barefoot and yawning, black hair falling out of a tangled knot and into sleepy smoke-and-silver eyes, and would still make everyone else feel instantly overdressed, Ollie concluded.
He wasn’t jealous, though. Tir was his best friend. His anchor, especially in moments like this. Besides, he’d once seen his fairy purchase what’d looked like the entire contents of a bookshop, scoop them all into adoring arms, and proceed to drop every single volume on his own feet.
The last prince with a fairy-companion had lived just over three hundred years ago, outside anyone’s lifetime but recent enough to be well-documented in Bellemare’s history books, and they’d fought as brothers-in-arms to hold the country together during the Great Civil War. They’d...