#mama tpn
TPN concept where Norman’s a royal tutor, Emma’s the commander Yuugo’s daughter, Ray is the prince and the Queen Isabella is waging war against the demons. On the side, she runs the tributary system where people from the Gracefield kingdom get presented to demons on a platter to limit the casualties inside the castle. Ray knows the truth but Norman and Emma don’t suspect anything until Yuugo is “killed” on the battlefield and sends Emma a coded letter in his will. All the smaller kingdoms (the farms) are ruled by the Ratri Clan, which Regent Peter Ratri heads after the assassination of his brother, King James.
Bonus: Norman speaks like that mf in Princess Bride “as you wish.” Nat’s a bard-in-training, Don’s a stable-boy, Ayshe’s a beast-keeper, and Gilda’s an armorer (she wants to be a seamstress but she and Emma are close because of how often Yuugo needs new armor)
I had this concept for a TPN royal AU a while back and I decided to write a little something for it:
“I should hand in my resignation right this instant,” Sister Krone would say, but the trio had seen enough of their tutor to take her threats seriously.
At 8-years-old, their tutor’s ward, the Commander’s daughter and Her Majesty’s son were thick as thieves, having grown up together within Gracefield castle.
As the war against the Demons raged on beyond their walls, the three children were content to spend their days studying together, their evenings sparring, and their nights dining at the Queen’s table.
“So then that’s Mars isn’t it, Sister Krone?” asked Norman, pointing at a single speck barely visible from their astronomy tower.
“Very good, Norman,” said the tutor appraisingly.
“And when Mars isn’t at the right spot, the kingdom loses battles, doesn’t it?” asked Emma, thinking of her father who would be off somewhere bloodying his sword again.
Sister Krone nodded gravely.
“Is that why you broke your bow sparring me, Emma?” jested Ray.
“I’ll break your arm next,” frowned Emma, never having been one to pay regard to her companion’s royal lineage.
“Norman will sooner throw a spear, than you can manage,” smirked the prince.
“Norman shall throw a spear, then,” declared Emma, “Won’t you, Norman?”
“As you wish,” agreed Norman, smiling.
Ray laughed derisively, “And who’s going to train him? You, whose frame doesn’t even reach half of the spear?”
Emma responded by aiming at a blow at his head, her astronomy book in hand, while Norman yelped, Ray snickered (and ducked), and Sister Krone sighed, smiling.
“Terrorizing your friends again, are we, Emma?” chuckled a voice behind them, and the children turned to face Sir Yuugo, still donning his armor (though, mercifully blood-less).
“Dad!” yelled the Commander’s daughter, launching herself at the formidable-looking man.
Crouching to receive her, Yuugo lifted Emma by the waist, holding her up with her arms hooked around his neck.
“You’re back early,” exclaimed Krone, mirroring Norman and Ray’s surprise (and relief).
“Did the demons surrender Golden Waters, Sir Yuugo?” asked Norman intently.
“You’ve been reading your strategy,” laughed Yuugo, setting Emma down, “But you’re close. That demon stronghold…may be salvageable.”
Ray felt his heart leap in his chest, as Norman, Emma and Krone cheered.
“All thanks to our excellent cavalry, of course,” said a grandly-dressed woman stepping behind Yuugo.
“Queen Isabella!” gasped Emma, and together, everyone in the room bowed, their right hands wrapped in a fist at their hearts.
Ray, who had made no such motion, felt his lip curl, as it always did at the sight of the Queen.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, and then, remembering his company, added hastily, “Mother.”
“To invite you all to celebrate, of course,” said Isabella, her smile serene, though Ray was certain she had noted his impudence, “the children can retire early this one night, can’t they, Sister Krone?”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” said Krone, bowing again.
As Norman and Emma chattered excitedly, bounding towards the dining hall, Ray let himself fall back, if only to hear Sir Yuugo and Sister Krone’s conversation.
“What was the toll this time?” asked his tutor heavily.
“150,” responded Emma’s father grimly.
“I see. And were you able to recover the -,” but what they had wanted to recover Ray was unable to catch, because Isabella had placed a cold hand on his tunic.
“Walk with me, Prince Ray,” said his mother softly.
“Of course, Mother,” said Ray somberly, following her into the hallway leading to her chambers.
“The General’s news didn’t seem to please you much,” remarked Isabella, once Yuugo and Krone were out of earshot, “Does it wound you to see your military successful?”
“It wounds me,” began Ray, dropping all pretense, “to know a hundred-and-fifty men and women died without knowing than two-hundred more will be sent as tribute in their wake without any fight.”
The Queen’s smile had slid off her face.
Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down (or the day 6-year-old Ray devised the escape plan)
“Ouch!”
“Mama!”
“Norman!”
“Emma!”
A yelp, a wail, a protest and an exclamation, all in that order. Ray covers his ears, glaring at the three of them in all his 6-year-old glory.
Isabella’s face is a perfect mask of concern and Ray is tempted by the sudden urge to push Emma and Norman away.
“Mama!” sobs Norman again, his right hand wrapping itself in a fist around her dress and his left gripping Emma’s hand.
Emma’s lips begin to twitch and Ray knows that if she starts bawling now, it will be more because of Norman’s tears and less because of her own injury.
“What happened here?” asks their mother, and again, Ray must fight off the urge to scream, to run or both.
When Emma stares forward tight-lipped and Norman simply wails, Isabella turns to him, and Ray finds that meeting her gaze does not come easy to him, not anymore.
Behind her, Emma shakes her head quickly, round, green eyes beseeching him to keep her secret, her right hand hidden behind her back, even though he was certain their mother had seen already.
But Isabella’s gaze is suspicious, and Ray remembers their deal all too well. A small accident could not have meant much, they both know, but Ray’s reluctance to tell the truth will mean the world. This is a test of his loyalties, of his vow to her just a week before.
He complies only too readily, every bit her son.
“Emma and Norman wanted to show you a candle trick they found in my book, but Emma got burnt trying to light it.”
Isabella does not say anything, but he notes the approval in her eyes. He has passed, for now.
“It doesn’t hurt!” protests Emma shrilly, her face now as red as her hair.
Norman sobs harder, “I told her to not hold it like that! How will we play tag now?”
“I want to play with Norman!” yelps Emma fearfully and her eyes begin streaming now as well.
Ray rolls his eyes as Mama pulls Emma’s hand from behind her back to examine the swollen finger.
“It’s alright,” she assures them and Ray wonders, not for the first time, if she has meant anything she has ever said to them.
“It’s only a small burn. But next time, let’s not play with fire, okay?”
“Okay,” Norman and Emma chorus in unison, sniffling.
“Now, come along - yes, you can too, Norman - to the infirmary,” she instructs them.
“Ray?” they both turn to him.
Ray has no desire to be closer to her at the moment, and perhaps it shows in his eyes because Isabella says, “Ray, will you help Susan set up for dinner?”
He nods stiffly, refusing to hold her gaze.
He waits until their footsteps have faded away before gathering the discarded matchsticks.
He cannot help but wonder, as he picks up the charred matchstick, its end still smoking, how quickly Mama had abandoned the game of chess she had started with Michelle and Olivia, the instant one of their safeties was in question.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could abandon Norman and Emma just as quickly? If she could leave them, for even a moment, so they could run far, far away?
Experimentally, Ray prods the smoking matchstick with his finger, and he is prepared for the sharp sting of its pain, for the way his fingertip balloons pink. He knows if he screams now, she will rush to him, just as quickly as she had to Emma.
He had mulled over it several times, and he had reached the conclusion that if the three of them were to grow up here, then her eye would only grow more watchful, more hawk-like.
No, it would take several burned fingers, several accidents, before Mama could take her eyes permanently off of her prized shipment.
And suddenly, the answer is in front of him, so starkly clear that he wonders if he had been blind before, as he had been for so many years.
He tucks the blackened matchstick into his breast-pocket, knowing it will crumble to ashes, blemishing the shirt’s pristine whiteness.
He does not particularly care. He is to get used to this ashiness, for it to fill up his pockets, his lungs, his very being, until Mama rushes over and Norman and Emma run far, far away - an eternal game of tag against their Neverland.
No, he would not play with fire. He would win a war with it.
Alright so if Peter Ratri is supposed to be Peter Pan, James Ratri is Captain James Hook, Smee is, well, Smee, Emma is Wendy, Isabella is Tinkerbell and the Lambda Crew are the Lost Boys then…
Does that make Oliver and everyone from Goldy Pond Jake and the Neverland Pirates??
