Summary: Lydia Martin is the princess and heir to the throne of the kingdom of Beacon Hills and Stiles Stilinski is the son of the Queen's most trusted royal advisor. Because they grow up together, Stiles and Lydia become best friends, inseparable at all times until the little girl is kidnapped when she's barely even seven years old.

The kingdom looks for her for years but with no luck, and eventually life moves on and Stiles grows up to become a knight, following in his father's footsteps and working close at the Queen's side even at his young age. Several years pass before Stiles is sent out on a mission to the edge of the kingdom and is shocked to find a familiar strawberry blonde haired girl working out in the fields as a peasant. Determined to save her, Stiles risks both their lives to escape her abductor and take the princess back home.

As they embark in a journey neither of them could have foreseen and as they start to learn about the other what they missed in the years that went by, Lydia struggles to find her place in a Court she doesn't really fit in while Stiles tries his best to help her without overstepping his bounds. And even in all their misfortune and rough life, as they begin to grow up together again as fated, they can't help but to fall hopelessly in love with each other.

Author's note: Here's the Medieval AU I've been wanting to write so bad. I've been dying to share this with you, guys!

Set in the High Middle Ages, it'll have fluff and romance and friendship and family, but there will also be angst and LOTS of hurt/comfort. Also, beware of depictions of violence (not too graphic), mentions of past physical and sexual abuse and a few characters' deaths (not the main ones, of course. I'm not that mean!), but it is a medieval setting, after all.

Now go on, go read! More notes at the end : )

Prologue

If his memory serves him right - and he has never found out that it wronged him -, the first memory he has of her is from when he was four years old.

It had been the first day of the Stilinski family at the Royal Castle and they had been invited by Her Majesty herself, no less, Queen Natalie. Stiles still remembers the moment he saw her first with such clarity that he sometimes wonders if it was all a vivid dream and he imagined the whole thing, only a fleeting moment in between all the other memories of his childhood.

He remembers walking alongside his mother, his little hand clasped tightly in her much bigger one as they accompanied his father through hallway after hallway of the then unknown building - Stiles can now proudly say that he knows each and every corner of that fortress like the back of his hand – when he caught a glimpse of it.

They had been in a particularly badly lit cloister, the cold of the evening settling itself under his skin in a way that made the young boy feel somewhat out of place, uncomfortable in clothes that were far too fancy for his liking, to what he was used to, but her giggle captured his attention and it all but soared and echoed through the stone walls. And when he found the source of the sound, long red hair was falling from the girl's shoulder as she peeked at the newcomers from behind a corner, beautiful fire tresses decorating her pale skin and her white dress alike, the most beautiful smile he has ever seen plastered on her lips.

He had remembered, right then and there, the stories that his mother used to tell him at night, and he still recalls thinking in that moment that the girl looked like an angel. She had looked right at him, giggling again when the boy all but smiled at her, rendered speechless, but then she had been pulled away from them, from him, and he had been left with murmurs of a woman reprimanding the little girl for running away from her nanny.

His mother had pulled him in the opposite direction when he tried to follow the girl and Stiles had complied – what could he have done, really? –, but he would see her again in short moments, after his family had been called to the Throne Room and formally introduced to the Queen.

He had been sitting away from the main conversation with his mother as, he learned years later, the Queen offered his father a noble position to thank him for what he had done for the Kingdom and the late King in the last war. Stiles' mother had been threading a hand through the boy's unruly hair and he had huffed in annoyance, not understanding why they had traveled from so far to talk to this pretty woman dressed in even prettier clothes so late at night, and then a door had opened and the little girl had come in running, her locks bouncing with every little step she had taken, and from that moment on Stiles had always been mesmerized by her.

Her mother had sent her a harsh look at the interruption and the girl had quickly stopped on her tracks. Stiles knew, from that exact moment in their lives, that the girl was a free spirit; trying every time she could to have her own way, make her own path. She had apologized politely and her mother had accepted her redemption, of course, being left with no choice but to introduce the young little princess to the Stilinskis albeit reluctant – The Queen had been protecting the little girl ever since the King had passed away the year before and it wasn't easy for the woman to let her daughter loose.

(She has been suffering because of that for the last eleven years now.)

Stiles still remembers the Queen's warm, melodious tone when her daughter's name rolled out of her tongue. Lydia. He can't also forget – and he has tried – that, after that night, he would use every occasion he could to pronounce her name when no one else was listening, when he didn't have to be well-mannered and use formalities to address his friend. He was Stiles and she was Lydia. In his heart, that is how it always has been.

(And how it should be, but he tries not to dwell on that thought for long.)

Before he knew it, his mother had been called to the main conversation as well to be told that they would be living in Court from then on, all the while Stiles sat awkwardly by himself in a chair far too fidgety, nervous because of the strange surroundings.

For his luck, it hadn't been long until the young princess, unsupervised at the moment, came to his rescue – the irony! If only he could ever repay the favor – to play with him. She had extended her little hand to show him a flower that he had never seen before, with beautiful lavender-blue petals and a peduncle with such a vibrant green it could only rival her eyes.

(Stiles likes to think that the flower resembles her. Later in life he will learn that, in truth, it resembles them.)

"Here," she had whispered conspiratorially as to not get caught, handing Stiles the flower for him to see up close.

He had taken it from her enthusiastically, eager and excited to learn about something new as he always has been, even as his eyelids started forcing the little boy to succumb to sleep for how late it was. He had smiled at the girl and given it back when his curiosity was satisfied. "It's beautiful," he had blurted out, his chubby cheeks turning rosy at the comment. Even after so many years, Stiles is not sure if he meant the flower or her.

The girl had chuckled and grabbed him by the hand, pulling him along and Stiles hadn't hesitated in following.

(He never has, since then. He knows in his heart that he never will, if he ever sees her again.)

She had sat on a blanket so beautiful that Stiles had stopped abruptly when he saw it. He knows now that it was her favorite blanket, all red and white and gold, fitting of a princess, one that the Queen has kept away from prying eyes but that Stiles has been lucky enough to lay his eyes on once or twice. But back when they were children, the only thing Stiles would always think about when he saw it was how his mother always warned him not to touch anything too pretty, because it meant that it wasn't for them.

(He's thankful that the Stilinskis are higher hierarchically now, he is, even if sometimes he wishes things were simpler.

But nothing ever is.)

Lydia had never cared about statuses and how it affected their dynamic, how it affected them; just had Stiles sit with her on her favorite blanket to play endlessly because Stiles was her favorite person. Granted, there weren't other kids around in the castle at the time so it was either Stiles or no one, and even though the Queen found the little boy a little too energetic and much of a blabbermouth sometimes, Lydia was happy and that was all that mattered.

So the Queen allowed it.

Neither of them would have had it any other way.

Years passed, and ever since that first day when they played on her blanket in the Throne Room while their parents discussed the future, Stiles and Lydia became inseparable. Together they explored all the hidden corners of that castle, running away from their mothers and nannies in a hype to discover new things, push the edge just a little further, and so they found themselves in the gardens often, playing with little wooden boats that Stiles' dad had built for them to play with, watching them float with the light breeze on one of the many fountains of the castle, sometimes the lake.

In the sun, Lydia's hair shone like no other and her eyes seemed to be part of the beautiful landscape, her smile as magnificent as everything else in life at Court, brighter when they were outside.

Those were his favorite times.

Then, anyway.

Ever since she was taken, life seems dull to him, more so since his mother passed away three years after Lydia was taken away from them, from him. He still has his father and his friends, Stiles knows that, but it doesn't make that feeling go away. The feeling that there is something missing in his life, and he knows it has strawberry blond hair and green eyes.

He misses Lydia.

He misses his friend.

He hopes there will come a day when the hurting stops.

Stiles still remembers that day rather vividly, much to his dismay. They had been playing in the gardens, a few family members and nobles all around in a day of celebration, a few more kids there for Stiles and Lydia to play with. The grounds had been decorated with so much color and life throughout, Spring in full force, and Stiles still remembers fleetly that Lydia was just as beautiful as everything else, maybe more.

Nothing could have prepared them.

There was no warning, no threat. Things had been relatively calm political-wise at the time, or so they thought. It came as a shock that when the kids started coming out of the maze where they had been playing hide and seek for a while, Lydia never returned. When everyone noticed that she was gone, chaos set itself among the crowd. Parents ran to their kids to make sure every single one of them was accounted for and the Queen ordered her knights to look for her daughter.

After too many agonizing, nerve wrenching moments, the Queen herself had ran frantically inside the maze to find her little girl too, with no luck.

Several more moments had passed.

Lydia had been nowhere to be found.

It wasn't until dawn that a few peasants had hurried to the castle to ask for a word with the Queen in an urgent manner, letting the woman know that they'd seen a few men taking a sleepy little girl in their arms, one whose hair could only be of the princess. Because the men had outrun them, the peasants had chosen to alert the Queen instead of following the captors. They didn't have the right means to do it, anyway.

They had shown the knights which direction the men had taken and the Royal Army had followed suit, trying to find the princess. The castle had never been as vulnerable as then, with only a handful of men being left behind and all the others spread throughout the land, knights and nobles and peasants alike looking for the little girl.

They had searched everywhere they could think of in the whole kingdom throughout the years, but Lydia had never been found. Leads had been chased and people tortured and killed over information on her whereabouts, but still the kingdom remained a princess short.

Life had never been quite the same ever since, eleven years passed now.

Still, they managed.

Her close relatives and friends have not been exactly living, but they have been surviving the best they can.

Stiles remembers every little detail about her like if no time has passed, like he can still see little Lydia beside him, laughing senselessly at his flailing limbs and graceless jokes, running along as they go in yet another adventure. He wonders what she would think of him now, a grown man so different from the little boy he was when he met her.

In all honesty, he doesn't know how Lydia came to impact his life so much. She disappeared when they were seven years old and it has been eleven years since he saw her last. He likes to think that they were a good influence on each other and that that is why he feels so strongly about her, why he never forgot a single detail.

It's the only explanation he can come up with.

Allison, however, thinks differently.

She had dragged her best friend to a fair a couple of years ago and she had insisted that Stiles would go with her see a fortune teller. The woman had foreseen that Stiles was tethered to someone very special, someone who had been missing from his life for quite some time. That it was fated that they would reunite again because their bond was just too strong for it to go any other way.

Allison believes the woman was referring to Lydia.

Stiles doesn't.

How can he believe in such things as fate or higher powers when Lydia was taken away from her family, from him, to be put through such ordeal at that young age? When his mother died when he was still a little boy, or his father injured in war?

He can't.

Stiles doesn't know if he ever will.

But he still knows by heart the color of her hair, unruly flames shaped in gorgeous curls that he wishes he could see again. He never really got to run his fingers through them to see if they are as soft as they seem to be. Not that he'd ever get a chance, anyway.

He also remembers her fair skin. He remembers thinking that Lydia looked like she was made of the ivory he has seen in the carvings that adorn a book cover he saw once. He hopes she had remained untouched much like them, ever since she disappeared.

He remembers her freckles (and wonders how different Lydia would look like without them, now that some women try to disguise the way they look by painting their faces, damned be him if he understands why).

He remembers the little mole she has behind her ear and the other one on her wrist. The birth mark where her neck ends and her collarbone begins.

Her contagious laugh.

Her bright smile.

Her eyes.

God, he will never forget her eyes.

He remembers that the last thing she had asked him was "Will you find me?" and that he had smiled and replied with "I'll find you", bowing respectfully right before they parted ways and entered the maze playfully, childish and happy grins on their faces.

He never heard her voice again.

He wishes he had kept his promise.

He wishes he had found her.

And just maybe, after eleven years of living in a gray world, Stiles thinks he can see color again.

He peeks from behind a rather large tree, studies the land in front of him scrutinizingly attentive to detail as he always is in nature, and his heart stops beating when he sees auburn in the middle of the wheat field all of a sudden, a woman straightening up from where she was crouched down on the ground harvesting just before, where he couldn't see her.

Stiles wasn't even supposed to be there. Nothing on his mission had to do with looking for Lydia, so his brain doesn't register that it's her fast enough because Stiles is left awestruck, unresponsive for he was losing hope he'd ever see her again after so many years.

He was starting to believe his memory wasn't as faithful to reality as he hoped it was.

And he's relieved to find out exactly that, because even if he's quite far from where she is standing and her hair seems limp, it's still more colorful than he remembers it.

His daze is interrupted harshly when a buzzing sound echoes through the air followed by a loud slap, a whip opening the flesh of her back quickly and effectively, a man yelling at her words that Stiles can't distinguish, and because Stiles can't believe his eyes and get back on his horse and gallop to rescue her fast enough, she is lashed twice more.

Stiles feels like he'll empty the contents of his stomach even before he reaches her.

Thankfully, he doesn't.

It could have been anyone else, Stiles is aware. It could have been any other redhead that was being shouted at on a field she was laboring on, bleeding from her now bare back and weak from the hard work and the pain, barely managing to gather enough strength to try and run away from her attacker, but Stiles knows.

God, he knows it's her.

Lydia.

Author's note: For those of you who don't know, I'm writing this fic for NaNoWriMo so I'll pretty much only write this fic for the next few weeks. Everything on my journey while writing it, including aesthetic posts, spoilers and quotes, can be found on my tumblr (I'm you-make-me-wander over there. It's a link on my sidebar, called "A love for the ages").

I've been doing some research for it in my spare time because I want it to be at least a little accurate even if it's a work of fiction, and in all honesty I find the Middle Ages fascinating so this has been a good distraction from my crazy life.

This is gonna be a really long fic!

I have quite a lot chosen and planned out for this fic already, including the characters I'll write for and their medieval roles as well as some pairings, but you're welcome to let me know if there's a particular character or ship you'd like to read in this story and setting. I can tell you that an awful lot of Teen Wolf characters are at least gonna make an appearance. The main ships will be Stydia, Scallison and Corsaac and that's not gonna change, though.

I'm not exactly sure when Chapter 1 will be posted because it'll depend on when I'll find the time to revise it, but whenever I'm almost ready to post it, I'll put a countdown on my tumblr, so keep an eye out.

As always, please review or leave me a message and tell me what you think ❤

Love, Susana