The Arrangement {Timothée Chalamet x Reader}

Gilly and Atlas

The queen was sour, as she was not fortunate enough to see her father last night. She ties up her laces, twists her hair into a knot and stalks outside. The sun is still down, and it is still quite dark outside. She stretched out her limbs, and reaches down for a bow and sheath of arrows. She sighs. It was early, and the woman stepped out to were the targets where still set up. She planted her feet and fixed up her posture and notched an arrow. She shut her eyes and let out a sigh. Then the arrow flew and she hit her target dead on. Just as she always did.

You clean the blade of your sword as you wait for the king. Time ticked by and for each minute he was late, you grew more tense and angry. By the time he was twenty minutes late, you had had enough. You put the sword into its sheath and made your way towards the stables. You swung open the door, and walked towards your beautiful white stallion. You pet the beautiful horse and began to saddle him up. As you fastened the saddle to his back, the doors flew open. You stare daggers at the king. "Glad you decided to join me." You scowl.

"I'm here now aren't I?" He puts his hands on his hips.

"Get Atlas saddled please." You say tiredly. You point at the lean black horse who was across from Gilly, the horse you were currently preparing. "You know how to do that right?" You sounded as if you were talking to a first year.

He rolls his eyes. "Yes I know how to put a saddle on a horse." He scowls.

You take Gilly's reins and lead him from the stable. He whinnies at you and you pet his neck. You let go of his reins and let him graze as you collect supplies. Two sheaths of arrows, two bows, you attach another sword to your hip, and drag out a target, which you attach to Gilly's saddle. You drag the back of your hand along your forehead and turn to the stable door. Timothée bumps it open with his back and pulls Atlas out into the field. The pair looked grand together, both lean and handsome creatures. Both annoying buggers too. You slip your left foot into the stirrup and pull your right leg over. You turn Gilly around just as Timothée pulls himself atop Atlas. "Ready?" You ask. You hold Gilly's reins in one hand and rest the other atop the saddle.

"Ready as I'll ever be." He steers Atlas around.

"Right, follow me." You press your heels into Gilly's belly and the horse moves forwards. The stallion breaks into a trot, and he leads you into the forest. The branches block out the rising sun and you ride in near darkness. You hold your crown down as Gilly flies forwards, you glance back and Timothée is close behind. He looked very relaxed and natural in this moment, the reins, steady in his hands. He had taken the extra step and take his crown off. No one was around, so it must be alright. You break through the dense trees into the wide field. The field you used to play in all the time when you were young. You tie Gilly to a tree, loose enough so the horse could still graze, Timothée follows suit and wanders over to where you were unhooking the target. "Take this." You drop it into his hands. "Put that over there, not to close to the trees though. These arrows are a nightmare to get out of bark." He drags the circle away as you release all the weapons from your body. When he comes back, you toss him a sword. No guard, not wood. An actual sword. "Fight me."

"What?"

You put up your sword and fit your feet into place. "Fight me."

Your cheek and arm are bloody, and Timothée's chin is bruised and the bridge of his nose has been cut. You lay on your back in the grass. The sun was beginning to set and you were starving. The orange sky is blocked from your view, Timothée towers over you. His curls bounce down, and his crown tilts to the front of his head. His chin is a mix of black and blue. You had hit him with your elbow when he got close. You sigh up at him and he frowns down at you, the warm coloured sky complimenting his features. His shirt is half translucent in places from his sweat. He reaches down a hand and you take it, he pulls you up and you stare at him. You clear your throat and let go of his hand.

"You're not terrible once you try." You walk towards the target, Timothée following you like a lost puppy. You pull the arrows from the target and put then in the arrow sheath, before glaring at the three shafts buried into the bark. You hold one of the arrows in your two hands, put one boot onto the bark and pull onto the weapon. The arrowhead comes loose and your momentum sends you backwards. You windmill arm, and only stop your silly motion when Timothée grabs your wrists. You plant your feet and tense your entire body. You nod at Timothée and pry the rest of the arrows from the tree, and pile them into their scabbard and waddle back to Gilly, the target in your hands. You hook the circle to the horse, untie Gilly, and pull yourself up onto the stallion. You ride back through the forest and back to the stables where you unhook Gilly and let him out into the fields to do whatever he pleases. You walk into the castle, Timothée by your side. People stare, you did not look very royal. Cuts and bruises along both of your skin, you were in pants, and Timothée had sweat through his shirt. Both of your crowns were lopsided on your tangled mess of hair. You bid Timothée goodbye and go upstairs and have a maid draw you a bath. You soak in the bath while your servants bring you food. You eat well, finish your bath, and pass out moments later. This happens day in and day out for the next two weeks. Soon, Timothée gets fit, and you get in some good practice. One day, after you had Timothée shoot arrows with blunt ends at you so he could practice firing at a moving target—Leaving you with bruises along your jaw, neck, forehead, and then along your stomach, chest, and legs but those weren't visible at the moment—your mother met with you after your bath.

"Y/n! What happened to you?" Your mother holds your face with worry.

"Training. What did you need to tell me about?" You ask, tilting your head.

"Right, well, since you're getting married soon you must meet Timothée's grandmother tonight. She is going to be arriving soon for a late dinner." Your mother pats your shoulder. "I've been trying to tell you but you've been gone before the sun rises and back when it sets."

You stare at the woman. "What!?" You step back. You turn on your heel and run down the hall. You slide on the newly cleaned floors and burst into your room. You whistle for your maids, and they respond quickly. Two women fetch you a dress, one works on your hair, and the forth women paints over your bruises. In moments you're a changed woman, you looked quite elegant as you left your room. You find your mother in the hall by the dining room.

"You look lovely, you will enter soon, just wait a few moments so we can converse with his grandmother. Once Timothée arrives, enter with him." She instructs.

"That's it? That's all you're giving me?" You scowl at your mother.

"Fix it." She points a finger in your face. "Non of your boohoo angry y/n shit. We need this for our kingdom. If you mess this up there is no way our kingdom will survive. So try not to screw us over." She snaps. You blink at her, your mother never cursed, let alone get angry. "Understand?"

"Uh...yeah. I got it." You nod. She walks into the dining hall and leaves you alone. You were in a powder blue dress, your gloves and flats the only white things you wore. You stand with your arms behind your back, you tap your feet impatiently. There's clicking on the marble staircase and you raise your head. Timothée walks down the stairs, adjusting the ends of his sleeves. Even though he was an annoying prick, he really looked handsome, and took your breath away. He was in mostly green with hints of gold here and there in his outfit.

"My, blue really is your colour." He flirts. Sure, you looked nice. But this corset was killing you.

"Zip it." You grit your teeth together before holding his arm. You walk in together, everyone's eyes on you. Timothée pulls out your chair for you and you thank him. He sits across from you and places one of his shoes atop your flats. His grandmother (who was a strangely lovely looking woman) was at the head of the table. Timothée to her left, you to her right. Your mother was on your other side and Timothée's on his, his father beside her. His grandmother examines you and it takes everything to keep your eyes trained on Timothée. Servants make their way out and the first course is served.