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taskignored · 1 year

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Archeon dynamic and the culture of the Humans

This is just a continuation of this post. Just some ideas I had to tweak the acotar world, at least on the human side of things.

So in canon the humans are matriarchal, they have queens. But this lil detail literally does nothing for canon, the only thing that is relevant to this detail is the queens who basically just show up, disagree, betray their kind, and are never really shown again (in any meaningful way iirc, it's been a hot minute since I read). Not to mention everything else is extremly patriarchal. First, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I think in the real world a matriarchal society would be more socialist. So that means a Kingdom Queendom is iffy. But this is fantasy and i reserve the right to have badass queens decked out in heavy armor roaring commands at their bloodthirsty warriors.

So instead a way this matriarchal culture can be emphasized is to first change the Archeon dynamic.

This means that mama Archeon would have been the bread winner and her husband could be some eccentric trophy husband who likes to build things (inventor if you will) and woodwork. A man who occasionally invites other fellow carpenters over to build and talk. And when he's not doing that he's talking to other wealthy men and trying to introduce their handsome sons to his very talented daughters. Nesta is still the apple of mama Archeon's eye, but instead of trying to catch a husband, she's being raised to inherent and manage the ridiculous wealth and estate of the Archeon family. Elain is a woman who is very popular and basically the socialite of the family, she sets up community gardens and was working to get a degree to show the youth how important the natural world is. Feyre was a professional child athlete, mostly in archery (surprise). As she got older she dabbled in a bit of competitive shooting with guns and had the hobby of painting, something she really enjoyed. All three daughters are very educated and older, so no illiterate baby Feyre venturing into the freezing cold (plus Feyre was/is a badass markswoman pro).

The Archeons are still a family that owns a very successful company that sells general supplies to woodsmen, only to fall on hard times when Mama Archeon makes a mistake and ends up going bankrupt. Alas, it was their lavish lifestyle that damned them, hate to see it. Anyway, Mama Archeon still gets sick after they lose the majority of their fortune leading them to lose the rest trying to treat her. They all still end up in a small, cramped house with three rooms total. Mama Archeon dies, but not before telling her children to look after eachother and to take care of their father. So now they are broke and trying to survive.

Nesta is the Head of the House being the eldest daughter. She still has connections though, so for now she works for her dear friend Clare Beddor. Elain works in a plant nursery and is a private tutor, she also still has friends and connections that don't evaporate into the aether after she and her family have fallen from grace. Feyre enters competitions to earn some money and teaches marksmanship to people who are willing to pay. The only time she hunts to survive is in the winter when times get tough. Their dad takes care of the house and occasionally takes commissions to build gizmos or fashion wood carvings for people. All of them are trying to save up to buy a new home that's a bit larger than what they are stuck in right now, no one is a slouch.

Okay, that's the Archeon situation. Now for the real stuff, which is human culture.

The humans in this au are very martial. War is almost all they know from centuries full of it.They place great importance on their warriors. Everyone is expected to know how to fight in some capacity, they should also know some of the basics of science since I think they'd be really reliant/proud of it.

Humans aren't stupid (in this instance), so I think they'd know why they have such an edge on the fairies. This would lead to them venerating iron, steel, science, and blood. And this brings up something that's really interesting, in my opinion at least. And that's culture, it shifts and changes as societies age, it's kind of it's own organism. So with that thought process, I figured that as the centuries churned past and the war dragged on, the humans changed from an enlightened race that was trying to protect their world from these aliens into these grim soldiers who almost always assume that war will always be there, waiting. They changed from a society that was focused on technology, the advancement of their race, and prosperity into one that is focused on churning out the next great general. The next innovator that'll make something to put those filthy abominations down when one crosses the wall, or when the war resumes in earnest. Since, to them, the war never really stopped, did it? They'd be surrounded by reminders in the form of their fortresses and war machines.

So how does one reflect that attitude in a society? The first idea that comes to mind is religion. They'd have churches built to the things they live with constantly, they'd have gods for these sorts of things. So there would be a god of blood, science, innovation, and war. All of these concepts have a great role in their lives which would lead to these gods being the four "major" ones, with the old ones being "forgotten" and "dead." An idea I had for this was, since they were a society that wanted prosperity for themselves in ages long past, they could see the gods of these venerated concepts as dead because the fairies killed them. These deities stopped having such a role in the publics' lives that they just kind of fell to the way side, there but gone. The priests and politicians would use the idea of these much beloved gods being dead as a way to stir the pot and rouse anger.

-The god of blood could have massive churches where they occasionally sacrifice an animal on this god's holy day or smthin. I'm just thinking of the massive cathedral in blood borne when I think of this. Basically blood is a big deal, it's the gift from the gods to protect the creatures and people of the old world from the fairy incursion. And no red blood should be spilt without a good reason. Good reasons include melting fairies and/or venerating this god via sacrifice (kinda brutal).

-The god of science could basically be the one who lobbies against magic. They teach people to learn as much as they can about the natural world, and anything magical is an insult to this god.

-The god of innovation would probably be the one to encourage experiments. If the god of science is a teacher, this one is the one applying those teachings. Think of their priests as that one chemistry teacher who seemed a little too excited to set something on fire. Unhinged scientist.

-And then the god of war. This one would mostly be associated with iron and steel, I think. Protect each other and the world. The battle priests' motto is "All's fair in war." And they take that literally, biting, scratching, kicking, it's all fair game to them. In war, I feel I should stress that.

Another way to express that attitude is to make hunters a thing. Hunters being humans who go out to cull any fairies that cross the wall. These people would be very respected, and recognized by the government as an official group/organization. They would probably venerate the god of blood and maybe an old god of the hunt.

The matriarchal angle could also be further emphasized by giving the slice of human territory that is on the island a baroness. The queens aren't going to bother with a tiny territory, they'd give it to someone else let's be fr. The territory could actually be called something. Idk what. The Halting Steps Barony since that was where Jurian made his final stand and the war halted? If someone has an idea for it pls tell me.

I'm half asleep rn so this might be edited later, just wanna post this real quick

#acotar au #anti sjm #Iron Blood

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lilyharvord · 3 years

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Hey! I just recently finished reading all your fanfics and I was wondering if you are planning on writing more about Shade and Coriane... I can’t stop reading your story “Forelsket”!!! Coriane and Nik are too cute!!! Anyways, I finished the Red Queen series a few days ago and I just can’t help but feel like we needed a 5th book so I’m just reading all the fics that I can and yours are DEFINITELY the best! Thank you so much for sharing your incredible writing!

You’re so sweet!! Thank you 🥰

I’d love to write more about Coriane and Shade!!! (: As for Nik and Coriane, I love them. Like I love them unconditionally. Talk about a match I never intended to happen but then it did.

Welcome to the Red Queen Family!!!!! We definitely needed a 5th book and the more I comment and give my hot takes on how the series could have worked a little better, the more I definitely want a fifth book *side eyes my mountain of WIPs* if I only had TIME.

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queen-susans-revenge · 2 years

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Star Wars Rebels season 3 recaps

"Secret Cargo"

This episode opens in one of those little moments I just love to think about: the Rebels are hiding out in a field of space junk to make a rendezvous with a mysterious top-secret VIP, and they're bored. Hera, Zeb, and Ezra are all sprawled around the cockpit watching Chopper project a news program from the HoloNet. Sabine's still back with her clan and Kanan, we're told, volunteered for a supply run. But this scene is cozy and domestic: even the boredom is a luxury, one that quickly evaporates when an Imperial probe droid shows up.

Hera powers down the Ghost (and Chopper) in an attempt to escape detection, but it doesn't work. They shoot down the probe but not before it transmits their location.

The mysterious top-secret VIP shows up, accompanied by Gold Squadron. They just want to use the Ghost to refuel, and they've all got real chips on their shoulders, complaining that Phoenix Squadron's heroics have made it harder for the rest of them by prompting the Imperials to tighten security. I don't see how this makes sense as a complaint. If the Imperials weren't ALREADY oppressive and tyrannical you wouldn't be in a war with them in the first place, right?

Anyway, speak of the devil, refueling is interrupted by the arrival of Imperial ships. Ezra jumps in one of Gold Squadron's Y-Wings with Hera's approval ("Just remember what I taught you!") The mysterious VIP's transport is disabled by enemy fire so she boards the Ghost instead and we learn it's none other than Mon Mothma. Hera's a little starstruck, but Mothma's happy to roll up her sleeves and pitch in. Turns out Mothma needs to get to an important meeting on Dantooine, and Hera's just the pilot to fly her there.

We cut to Thrawn, who has figured out that Mothma's probably on the Ghost. He knows Hera well enough by now to accurately predict the route she'll take to avoid blockades: through a nebula, where Imperial capital ships can't follow. So Thrawn sends prototype TIE Defenders to harry her through the "Archeon pass," and orders Governor Pryce and Admiral Konstantin to take up positions on the other side.

Back on the Ghost, Mon Mothma continues making herself Hera's new bestie by bringing her a cup of caf, and they have a girlbonding moment over their mutual commitment to the Rebellion. I looked up the writer for this ep too because I admire their willingness to include these small moments, the cozy domestic boredom just before the story starts and the little side convos in between big plot beats. It's these kind of scenes that really let characters breathe and audiences feel like they are truly getting to inhabit the world. Anyway so the writer for this one is Matt Michnovetz, a name that wasn't immediately familiar to me, but he's got an impressive list of credits and I'm gonna keep my eye out for more of his work in the future.

Maybe I just like that Hera's having a good day for once. At least she is until the TIE Defenders show up. She barely manages to shake them off in the nebula, but the Ghost's shields are stressed and its power drained when they come limping out, and then of course Pryce and Konstantin are waiting.

Mon Mothma skirts the edges of a war crime by pretending to be willing to surrender, and drawing Pryce into a negotiation of the terms.

"She'll never keep her word," Hera warns.

"I know. I'm stalling her while you figure out a plan."

Pryce quickly loses patience for the negotiations and captures the Ghost in a tractor beam. Meanwhile Ezra and Gold Leader, in the Y-Wings, finally manage to deal with the last of the TIEs...but they don't seem much of a match for the two Star Destroyers.

At least until Hera has the genius idea to, uh, set the nebula on fire by attacking it with proton torpedoes. This causes a humongous explosion which very conveniently destroys all of the bad guys but none of the good guys. Whew!

"Phoenix Leader, that was some of the best fighting I've ever seen," raves the previously pissy Gold Leader. Ezra gets kudos too. "Kid, you can fly in my squadron any day!"

Mon Mothma wraps everything up with an inspirational speech about liberty, and hope, and allies, and at the end she throws in that she's resigning from the Senate to go be a guerilla fighter and this Rebellion that already has uniforms and ranks and shit is definitely a real thing NOW. Yay! I just think it's nice Hera made a friend.

And now I am going to plug the accompanying chapter of Fade to Red, because it picks up at the end of this episode, with Hera and Kanan going to a fancy party to celebrate Mon Mothma endorsing the Rebellion. He wears a tux! With the collar loose! Hera wears a little black dress and gets drunk tipsy and she just has a really good time, okay. It's like Hera's Good Day, Continued and Uncensored. It's such a purely nice chapter.

#star wars rebels #secret cargo

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king-maven-calore · 3 years

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Cal’s birthday / Halloween special sneak peek:

Silvers are vampires and the Scarlet Guard is a rebel group with plans that include the crown prince 😏

(This hasn’t gone through edits yet. For any questions go to my ask. ily all <3)

The Mercy Trials were the great equalizer. They took place at the same time in every village and city from the Nortan empire, starting on the fall equinox and ending on the winter solstice. Participation was mandatory for every mortal ranging from 15 to 25 years old.

Winning granted citizenship and comfortable life in the capital. Archeon, the safest place in all of the empire.

Losing meant you could never participate in the trials again... or death. It was a risk the people of Norta were happy to accept.

The crown prince had always looked forward to the Mercy Trials since he was a little kid. Being a warrior himself, he enjoyed dissecting the strategies that the red-blooded contestants crafted to win each instance until they made it to the arena. In the arena, the best fought on hand to hand combat until one remained.

The king’s advisors would then handpick a few other winners, a celebratory feast would take place, and then the caravan would leave for Archeon.

This year it was different.

This time, however wrong it may be, the prince had a favorite.

The warrior with the purple mask had impressed him from the first moment he had laid eyes upon them. Test after test, they had proved new, ingenious ways to overcome them until the prince could only look at them while the trials took place. There was something familiar, a tug at the back of his memory, about the way the warrior moved, or the shape of their body, barely insinuated behind the baggy gender-neutral clothing they wore.

The royal houses sat silently at their luxurious boxes surrounding the arena, watching with bored eyes at the bloodbath taking place below them. On the other half of the circular arena, the spectator stands, brimming with common folk, were frantic chaos of shouting, chants, and bets as heavy rain punished their backs.

Red mud splattered the dark stone of the high walls protecting the audience from the fighters' rage as alliances broke down into smaller groups that would inevitably dissolve as well. Twenty fighters in two opposing teams. Then ten. Then five; two against three.

The purple mask had allied themselves with a fierce, much taller warrior clad in red. Back to back, they took down their opponents.

“They must’ve trained together,” the crown prince leaned over to talk to his younger brother. He didn’t need to raise his voice. The boxes were separated from the arena by thick glass windows, so the sounds from the exterior barely reached them.

The younger prince was draped over his chair, propping his sharp chin on his fist, leaning his elbow on the armrest.

“What makes you say that?” he drawled just to indulge his brother.

“Same weapon choice.” Dual daggers. “Similar fighting techniques.” Astounding brutality, taking into account neither of the warriors were bulky. They were both lean and fast as vipers.

“What a tragedy,” the younger prince yawned. “They practiced together, they made an alliance to get this far, and now one of them will have to betray the other.”

“Uh, I didn’t think of that.” He leaned forward on his cushioned seat, paying attention when the purple mask got cornered by two others. “But it was inevitable. So, is it really a betrayal?”

“You could say it adds some drama to this otherwise barbaric display,” he answered under his breath.

“Maven,” the king’s booming voice startled them both. He twisted his head to the side, to look back at them and give the younger prince a reprimanding look. “You should show a little more respect for tradition. You know well how the Mercy Trials came to be. Or do you need Cal to refresh your memory?”

“We created the trials as an act of mercy for the mortals. The gods forgot about them, leaving them to their own devices in a world plagued by creatures capable of destroying them.” Cal said diligently, realizing too late how Maven must have felt at the unnecessary correction. “I’m sure Mavey knows the rest.”

“Yet we sheltered them. We give them a chance to take a seat at the table with us.” Maven finished the last part of the speech through gritted teeth.

“That’s right, son.” King Tiberias didn’t acknowledge his youngest son's effort. “It is important to select the strongest among this-” his lips quirked down in a disgusted scowl “-this rotten kind, and give them the privilege to serve us.”

The purple masked warrior finally neutralized one of their opponents, shoving a dagger to the back to their knee, at the cost of turning their back to the second.

Cal held his breath when the opponent took advantage of that and put the purple mask on a chokehold. During the fight, they had both lost their weapons so now they had to rely on their physical strength. Bad news for Cal’s favorite, because they were short and scrawny while the other was a massive beast.

It all seemed lost, until purple mask tucked their chin down, elbowed the opponent on the ribs, ducked down out of the choke, and tripped them to the ground in a single fluid movement. The crowd went wild.

Wait.

Cal rose from his seat, heart pounding in his ears. That maneuver.

#RQ fanfic #marecal

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commorsicoclub · 4 years

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The Commorisco Club (5)

Chapter Five: Magnus

She tried to remember the words to the song she last heard on the radio before demonic forces pulled her into the Netherworld. The melody came easy enough, but she could not remember the words to it all and merely ended up repeating the chorus over and over.

Much like Danny was returned to the room by his devourer, Mickael was returned a little while later by the Demoness, Lyra. She had him wrapped in a swathe of purple brocade and though the human was clearly unconscious, she was murmuring sweet nothings to him, one hand petting the boy’s head.

“Such a yummy treat,” she said quietly to him, nuzzling him affectionately. “You did so well. Mmmmm. Sleep now, my sweet boy. You deserve it.”

Michael was laid down, still wrapped in the ornate fabric, and Lyra took her leave. Not but a few moments later, Egan walked into the room and curled up in his hands lay the prone form of James, still damp from the demon’s saliva and stomach juices. Egan crouched down to the nearest cushion and deposited his spent meal down into the plush surface before wordlessly leaving. So when the door opened again roughly a half hour later, she was sure Rolland was back with Valarie and did not bother rolling over to confirm. She continued to stare at the wall facing away from the entrance, still trying to remember the lyrics to the song.

“Well, well, well, it does seem that I’m late for my dinner.”

Every neuron in her body fired at once as a seeping dread sent tingles down her spine. Trembling instantly, Erin slowly pulled her arms close to her body and bite her lip to try and keep her teeth from chattering. She could hear the steady taping of his shoes and he took slow easy steps around the other sleeping forms until the sound stopped. She could sense him behind her. Above her. Though her mind was rapid firing warnings and screaming at her to run, hide, do something, she remained still. As still as a frightened rabbit. She would do as Rolland said and just allow it all to happen. He would eat her regardless of her feelings, so she did her best to remove feelings from it.

A sense of a great something shifted above her and there was a sudden pressure at her back, fingers. They pressed down into the cushion beneath her and Erin involuntarily rolled back and into his waiting hands. Despite herself, she cried out in alarm and made to grab at the fingers for stability. One hand cradled her back and the other curled around her legs. She felt the brush of warm air as he huff an amused laugh.

“Hello, my Pet,” he purred. His dull purple eyes lit into glowing violet and they drank in her image. His hands were warm, hot even, and it made her skin prickle. She began to squirm as she was want to do, but stopped herself. She looked away from his glowing eyes that were full of desire and want.

“You look tired,” he mused softly, slowly standing and bringing her closer to his chest.

She kept her gaze turned from him and tried to concentrate on keeping her hands from trembling. “R-Rolland says...that I’m well enough...for feeding...”

He hummed, amused. “Hm. Does he now?”

“And he told me not to struggle,” she said, everything in her tensing. “Or fight you...because you’re late for the meeting and he isn’t happy...”

“Heh, well Rolland is rarely ‘happy’. But that is awfully considerate of you to oblige my tight schedule.”

Her efforts to maintain an air of placidity broke and she began to cry. “Please….please just get it over with. I’m so tired of all this waiting. Everyone else was already eaten and I had to sit there watch all of it. And I...I just want to sleep and for this not to be real for a little while. Please. I won’t struggle. I’ll...try not to. I’ll be good.”

There was a very long pause and she began to dread that she may have angered him. Then his voice fell over her, low and smooth. Gentle. “Very well, Pet.”

She felt the heat of him first and then the dark of his mouth encompassed her. With a slow, deliberate ease, he slipped her onto his tongue and took the first half of her into him. His tongue stretched out under her to form a broad place for her to lay, its thick sides curling up around her shoulders, and she felt a familiar heat seep into her clothes as the pooling saliva began to soak them. She wondered idly if she was really that tasty. She felt his lips close in around her thighs, gently undulating as his jaws moved back and forth rhythmically and he began his real tasting of his somewhat willing meal. From the back of his throat, a gust of warm air blew up and out his nose. A sigh of delight followed by the vibrations of pleased hums. He seemed to enjoying her very much. But the sound of his enjoyment of her, the way he salivated heavily and the eager attentions of his tongue broke her resolve and it dissolved into the pools of saliva around her. Her best efforts were not enough and she shook with emotion and fear. It was dark and hot and wet and she hated everything about what was happening and she wanted out. She wanted out now.

“No. No, please. Let me out!” she cried, reaching up with her hands to slap the hard palate above her. “I can’t, I can’t do this again! Please, let me go. Please!”

He hummed around her, not stopping the undulations of his jaw or tongue. His fingers were at her calves, holding them firmly, but no hurting her. They began to rub them lightly as those he meant to soothe her, but all it managed to do was remind her of her first visit to his belly. He let her squirm and cry and plead as though waiting for her to lose the spark of defiance. When she did finally stop and melt into a blubbering pool of tears, he ushered her in further with a pull of his tongue. Several things happened in quick succession. She felt the top of her head hit the back of his throat and sensed the gullet below open to receive her. She made a jerky movement as though to start up her struggled again, but the muscles gripped and she sank into him as he took a hard swallow. She fell deeper into him than she had the first time he had done this and the extreme way in which he was getting her down set her into panic mode. Her hands were free this time and she made use of them by pushing against the flesh of his esophagus, but they slipped and there was nothing for her to gain any purchase. Her back half rested in his mouth and though she sensed his wanting to continuing on with his tasting of her, his decision to get her down quickly took precedent. He swallowed again, softer this time since he had a firm grip on her and she was not going anywhere but down. One more gentle gulp and she fell, slipping through the Demon, passed his lungs and heart. In short order, she slide smoothly into his belly. A sudden welcomed weight in his middle.

She bristled against the cloying pressure of the supple flesh, moving as though to get away from the feeling, but there was no where to go. Her worst fears were made real. She was in a demon’s belly again. Swallowed up like nothing. Everything that mattered about her, every effort she ever made in her life, her triumphs and failures, and every significant moment of her short years...no longer meant anything. She was not a person anymore. She was food. And no matter what she did from now on it would not matter. Because time and time again, he would come and he would swallow her. He would keep her in the center of himself and take what wasn’t his and discard her until she was useful again.

Through the stomach walls and layers of flesh beyond, Erin thought she could hear him saying something to her, but her mind was far too broken to care. There was a pressure against her and she was vaguely aware of his hand rubbing at her form. All sensation became muted and she closed her eyes and for a moment when she was her most vulnerable...she wished he would just digest her. For real. Kill her. Have it all end.

Because she could never live like this…

The first pulse brought her back to awareness. Her strength was leached from her as his stomach set to work and pulled what it wanted from her. Another pulse and she felt her own stomach flip flop with unease. The sensation of being drained was alarming and unpleasant and with a third and final pulse, she met with the dark abyss of sleep and in she fell.

……………………………………………..

Voices were the firs thing to breach the fog. Far off mumbling and conversation. A laugh. She felt something over her shoulders, soft and welcoming and in her mind’s eye she was wrapped in her favorite comforter in her room at home, and listening to the rain tap against the window. There was a securing pressure against her back and below her and then she thought perhaps she had fallen asleep on the couch. But no, that wasn’t right. She wasn’t at home anymore…

Her eyes opened and half of her vision was blocked by plush white fabric, intricate designs were embroidered through it and all of her was wrapped in it. She felt warm and was surprised that she didn’t have a headache. She didn’t feel all that terrible either. Just...very tired. Tired in the same way after she would go on a run to try and cure her insomnia. She blinked, trying to focus in on the images beyond the field of fabric and with slow recognition, she saw Archeon. He was standing behind a chair, drinking from a goblet. He was laughing. The person in the chair...she saw the white suit and his name popped into her head. Rolland. He had been the one who had eaten Valarie. She was crying when she went down. He hadn’t cared. He looked awfully content now, sipping out of a goblet of his own. Another voice spoke then, feminine and cheerful. Archeon said something back, but their words drifted unintelligible above her head.

She was so tired…

A hands drew in from above her and gripped the edge of the fabric and pulled it over her and the sight of the gathered demons vanished. There came a light pressure against her back and a gentle voice whispered to her, “Sleep now, Pet. All is well. Shhh. Just sleep.”

She closed her eyes and wordlessly obeyed.

…………………………………………………………………….

She awoke to the ticking of a clock and it did not take her long to understand she was not in the velvet room. The thing under her was not covered in velvet and was actually quite lumpy and what was more, she was wrapped in delicately embroidered cotton. But of everything else, she was most confused as to why she did not feel as terrible as the first time she had woken up after spending the night in a demon’s stomach.

She slowly pushed herself up and her arms only wobbled a little. She labored to pushed the bulk of the fabric away from her head and took the first survey of her surroundings. It was much larger than the velvet room and as she took in the sight of it all she almost laughed at the absurdity of what she was seeing. The room looked like the Victorian era ate too many Halloween decorations and threw up. The walls were covered in dark wallpaper and there was an ornate fireplace to one side, the grate looking like the gruesome fangs of a terrible creature, and within the fire glowed...green? The fire was green. A large window encompassed the farthest wall, but the dark curtains were drawn closed, though slips of light could be seen through the gaps. The fire was the main source of light and while bright enough to see, the room was cast in an ominous haze of black and green.

She carefully untangled her feet from the fabric and slowly stood up, her back cracking. She was studying the corners of the room when a velvety voice from behind her spoke up. “Good morning, Pet.”

She whirled around, but her feet were caught in the many folds of her blanket and she slipped. She landed hard on her back with her head smacking painfully against the floor. She saw stars and curled into herself, wrapping her arms around the offending goose egg that was sure to be there tomorrow. Something grazed her arm and she opened her eye to see a large hand reaching out from the dark. She cried out and began to scramble away, fervently kicking at the fabric to try and free herself as well as the hand. And the long and wicked looking clawed nails.

“You’re not winning yourself any pity points here, human,” the demon said, almost laughing, cupping his hand and moving it to block her path and gather her up all in once fluid motion. She tensed and waited for those fingers to pull in and grab her up. Maybe dangle her over his face and taunt her with his teeth in the same way Archeon had to Danny. But he held her there, still and unmoving. She felt the fabric at her feet pull away and then his other hand moving to meet the other and he held her loosely between his cupped hands. Erin sat there, quivering with her heart in her throat and then the demon spoke again. “Now, I am going to remove my hands and you are going to stay where you are. If you start flailing around again, I will grab you and we will try again. Understand?”

She waited for a few moments, biting her lips anxiously, and then nodded.

“Good,” he purred, sounding pleased. And true to his word, he slowly eased back his hands and Erin was left exposed. She slowly turned her head, almost too afraid to look at him, but when she saw the glowing purple eyes, she was no long there in that room. She was tied up and laying on a plate, waiting for a monster to come for her and slip her passed his teeth and tongue and for all sound to disappear behind a deafening GULP.

And then there was light and she was blinded, the suddenness of it startling her from her abject terror. She rubbed the dancing spots from her eyes and heard the demon chuckle.

“If you are so afraid of the dark, Pet,” he said teasingly. “You only need ask for a light.”

Her vision cleared and looking up, the room no longer appeared as though every corner hide a secret danger. The wallpaper was a strange periwinkle like color and the mantle that had, in the dark, formerly looked like the gaping jaws of a large animal, was quite normal if not overly ornate and carved from a deep rich mahogany wood that was polished to a brilliant sheen. A gold clock sat in the center of it and was the source of the insistent ticking. The fire was still green, though.

And for the first time, she truly saw her demon as he was, instead of glimpses from the shadows.

He wasn’t the tallest of the demons, maybe just a tad bit shy of Archeon’s height, but he was lean and broad shouldered. Or at least, his clothing gave him that silhouette. His face was almost boyish with his shaggy black hair, but there was something in his face that aged him without it imprinting on looks. A sharp intelligence behind his eyes that was more intimidating than the curling horns on his head or his height or claws. Or appetite.

The orb of light left his hand and floated up to hover above them, buoyant in a nonexistent tide, and it was then that she understood where she was sitting. She was on a desk in the corner of the room. To one end of the desk was an ink pot and a quill sitting in it’s stand. The Demon sat before her in his chair and she could make out the tall wooden back that rose beyond his shoulders. He reached out towards her again, she gasped, shutting her eyes tightly and mewling in fear. She waited for something to happen, but instead, there was the rustling of fabric and the squeal of a chair being pushed back. When she worked up the courage to look, the demon was standing, haven retrieved a folded coat from atop the desk. That was the lumyp thing she had been sleeping on, she realized dimly. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, the edge of his mouth switching in a small smirk.

“Such a skittish little thing,” he said indulgently and shook his head. He spent a moment flinging out the coat before refolding draping it over the back of his chair. Once he had finished his small task, he pushed in the chair and walked further into the room towards one of the walls where there was a floor to ceiling build in bookcase. The shelves upon which every available slot was filled with a book or tomes or scroll of unknowing origin. He scanned the books on the shelf for several moments, running a clawed finger nail along their spines in search of something. Erin looked back at the chair. He had pushed it in, but she bet that it wasn’t to far down for her to climb onto the seat and then on the floor and then...to somewhere. She had expected to wake up in the velvet room, not his personal office. Something felt off and she wanted no part in any of it. If she could make it back to the velvet room before he noticed…

“Uh-uh-uh, human,” the demon said, one finger pointed at her accusingly and the other still scanning the books. He was not even looking at her. She bristled at being caught, even though she had only just got onto her hands and feet and barely had she even moved. “Stay right there.’

He turned his head just enough to pin her with one glowing eye. “If I have to go chasing you about, I may have to consider a second helping.”

She quickly sat down and put her hands on her lap, shaking her head fervently in response.

“Good girl.” She gulped nervously, waiting for him to find whatever it was he was searching for. After several minutes, he cursed and scowled. “Damn you, Rolland. You never return anything you borrow.”

With a frustrated sigh he ran a hand through his hair and turned back to the desk. As he approached, she opened her mouth and in a small, nervous voice asked, “Please, sir...I...why am I here? Why aren’t I back with the others in the velvet room?”

“The velvet room?” he asked, a single brow raised in confusion as he sat back into his chair. And then he laughed as understanding struck him. “Oh. Ha! The velvet room? You mean the larder.”

She frowned and furrowed her brow, a sinking feeling in her belly. “...the larder? T-that’s...that’s what you call it?”

“Well,” he admitted, setting his head in his hands and regarding her with a toothy smile, eye glowing in wicked delight. “That is where the food is kept.”

She shrank away, the hunger in his eyes sending her nerves sparking with unease. “Is...is that why it looks like a stomach?”

“More or less, yes,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Archeon’s little joke. He’s very proud of it.”

Erin did not find it funny in the least and the morbid idea that their place of respite from their demonic bellies was inside a room designed to look like the inside of a stomach. She found herself feeling angry at how easily they tossed about jokes involving their very real terror. How little they mattered.

“It’s sick.”

“Oh? How so? Granted, I didn’t think it was the most creative thing to have thought of, but his execution must be commended. Why? Does it upset you? Hit a little too close to the mark?”

She sniffed miserably and crossed her arms over her middle. “Yes.”

“Regardless of the shape, it is still what is it,” he said. “It won’t change the reality of why you all are here.”

She snorted humorlessly. “You guys are really good at making sure we’re well aware of why we’re here. Rolland made a speech and everything. Right before he ate my friend as she cried and begged him to stop.”

She stared at the desk’s surface for a long time, the horrible memory of poor Valarie sobbing and her please for mercy as she disappeared between Rolland’s lips. She nearly jumped out of her skin when something brushed her back and before she could see what what happening, his fingers were wrapped around her middle. With Valarie’s cries still echoing in her head, she started thrashing. “Please,” she begged as her feet left the desk and her eyes were shut tight. “Please don’t...”

His hands came together and he rose from the desk. “Child, you’re going to give yourself an apoplexy at this rate.”

“Please don’t! Please, put me down!”

She felt him move, walking away from the desk and her mind began to conjure all sorts of horrific things he was going to do to her. “Please...” She felt the tears dribble down her chin and she couldn’t hear what he was saying anymore. She couldn’t hear anything beyond the panicked fluttering of her own heart. Something brushed up against the back of her knees and she jerked her feet away only to have the demon set her down. She opened her eyes more out of worry than curiosity and as his hands pulled away, she was left sitting on the mantel. She could feel the warmth of the fire below her feet.

She looked around bewildered and then looked to the demon, questioning.

“Unless you’ve somehow forgotten,” he said with a light laugh, leaning in just a bit to whisper in a teasing tone, “I’ve already had you for my dinner, Pet. And though a second helping sounds delightful, I’m far more interested sampling your thoughts than your taste right now.”

“My thoughts?” she asked warily. “About...about what?”

“Anything really. A conversation with a living human? It’s never been done and if it ever has, it was a short one of not much interest. It’s quite challenging to hold a conversation if your partner is abjectly terrified of you. So boring.”

“So...that’s why you brought me here?” she asked, not quite understanding his meaning. “To just...talk?”

He nodded. “That’s right.”

“...about what?”

“Well, before we get into specific subjects, let me introduce myself properly,” He said as he reached out to pluck her left hand from her side and deftly held he between two fingers. Unsure of his intentions or what he was doing, Erin stiffened and waited. But to her surprise, he gave her a small bow, his horned head dipping down with the movement. “My name is Magnus,” he said and then straightened. “At your service.”

She stared at him for a moment, unsure how to feel about him bowing to her. But in the spirit of equal exchange, she gave a small awkward bow back and said, “My name is Erin.”

His smile seemed genuine enough. “Tell me, Erin; When you woke up, how did you feel? When compared to the first time, I mean. Post feeding.”

“Not as bad. Just really sleepy and...and hungry. The first time was awful.”

“Yes,” Magnis admitted sheepishly. “In hindsight, we should have taken...certain things into consideration. We were a little too enthusiastic. This time, however, I wanted to know where the lines are. How much of you to drain. To find the line where I get what I need from you, but you do not spend the next two days too poorly to even move. So I took much less this time.”

“Oh. So, was...was it enough?” she asked. It would be nice to know that she could wake up and not feel as though she had been binge drinking. “To..like, make you...full?”

“No, not hardly,” he said with a heavy sigh of disappointment and the quickly put his hands up when he saw her face, “But before your little brain starts sending out those panic signals, know that I anticipated this. I made sure to eat before coming to you. Hence why I was so late. Ghouls are plentiful, but they can be tricky to catch and not nearly so appetizing as you humans.”

The morbid part of her mind reared up and she asked, “We really taste that good to you guys?”

Magnus placed his elbow on the mantel and regarded her with a lazy smile, purple eyes flashing for a moment. “Enough to wait 78 years and spend 400,000 gilders each just for the chance to sample one of you.”

“How much is that?”

“A very substantial amount,” Magnus replied and licked his lips. “And you were worth every bit.”

She frowned as she eyed him, leaning away and he laughed at her. “You’re far too easy to tease,” he said and patted his stomach. “Don’t fret so much, I am perfectly content. You’re safe from my belly for now, Erin.”

Though he meant it as a tease, Erin felt the weight of the words and could help but shrinking down a bit. Another reminder that she and every other human there were just food.

“You have such sad eyes,” Magnus said abruptly, his voice low. A single clawed digit held her chin when she would have turned away from him. Her dark hazel eyes were studied by his large dull purple ones. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours.”

“...my eyes?”

“Two different colors...”

“Actually its very common in humans,” she said. “And it’s hard to be happy knowing you’re always gonna be someone’s dinner regardless of your feelings.”

“Why does that upset you so? Even knowing you will be perfectly fine later.”

“Because it means I’m not a person anymore. Just... just your food.”

He tilted his head and crossed his arms, a small pitying smile on his lips. “And just who’s to say that you can’t you be both?”

She blinked at him, and furrowed her brows in confusion. Was he mocking her? “What?” she asked him. “Both?”

“Yes. Why can you not be both a person and food? I wasn’t aware they were mutually exclusive.”

She gaped incredulously at him, the notion that he may just be an idiot entered her mind. “Because food...food doesn’t have feelings or rights or protections!”

He seemed to consider this for a moment and said, “Well, on the matter of rights, that is true. You’re regulated to whatever we allow, but the other two in my experience thus far seem to still hold true.”

She glowered at him.“… are you’re just trying to confuse me?”

He regarded her with a patient and indulgent smile. “No, little one, I am trying to expand your mind and allow you the chance to think beyond what nature has programmed into your prey minded intuitions. Because no matter how many times I may tell you that I will not harm you, your prey-drive kicks in and you panic when you are in my mouth. Thinking that you are going to die despite all the empirical evidence that says otherwise.” He smirked “And the way you’ve been flailing about today and weeping like an injured Impling, I can attest to the truth that you do in fact have feelings. Too many for your own well being, if I am honest. And as for protection. Well, how many other foods can you name that survive their own ingestion?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he spoke over her to add, “...and your friends do not count.”

She didn’t have an answer, but he seemed to expect one or at least for her to respond. So meekly, she admitted, “None.”

“None!” He said in triumph. “Do you understand my point yet?”

She shrunk down a bit into herself, nervous to admit she was having trouble following him. Magnus sighed in resignation and walked closer to her spot on the mantel, cupping both hands around her. His face was very close to her now and she was very aware at how easily he could take his ‘second helping’. “Erin, you are still you. Even we here do not have so great a power as to strip that from you. Humans are rare and priceless and so much attention and energy and notice is spent solely upon your taste and value as a delicacy. The rarest to be had. A status symbol for those lucky few able to afford such a meal.”

His words made her feel ill and she turned her back to him and ducked into the shadow of his hands as though to hide herself inside. He continued to talk to her. “And we here are luckier still that we are able to enjoy that exquisite flavor over and over without further investment of time or funds. So, beyond all that, I want to know what else there is. Beyond humans as mere morsels to salivate over. You have an intelligence and consciousness about which I am deeply curious.” He used the meaty side of his finger to tap her on the head. “What is going on in that little head there?”

And then he stuck out his tongue and licked her.

She squealed, freezing up completely and shuddered as the hot and slimy muscle climbed her back and shoulders in a quick swipe. She arched away from him and whined in equal parts alarm and disgust and when she turned to him, red faced and quivering, she was met with a very smug and impish grin. He was far too pleased with himself and chuckled at her flustered response. “The extra tastings are just a bonus.”

She stared at him, her insides twisting with so many different emotions and they battled it out on her face as she tried to decide if she was scared or disgusted or offended or…

He laughed as he stepped away from the mantel, one eye closing in a cheeky wink. “See? Did I not say you have too many feelings for your own well being?”

Her face felt hot and in that moment, she decided she really wanted to be mad. “DON’T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN!”

His lips pulled back into that smug grin, violet eyes glowing. “I try not to make promises that I have no intention of keeping.”

“YOU ARE SO GROSS!”

He hummed, licking his lips and in his velvety voice said, “And you are so very tasty.”

“Augh!” She cried, worming around in her own shirt, the damp saliva clinging to her back and her shoulders. She could feel a drop of it rolling down and it made her quiver in disgust. “Gross, gross, gross. Oh god, I feel so gross...”

The demon seemed to take pity on her and pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, rolling his eyes.

“Here, you whiny little thing,” he said and began to wipe his drool from her back and shoulders. “If you react so fiercely to a small tasting like that, it’s probably very lucky you’re unconscious when I bring you back up after feeding. There is much more...wet.”

“You’re gross!” she barked at him.

#NDCC #soft vore #scared prey #gentle pred #demon pred #male pred #extra licks #teasing #human prey #female prey #endosoma #mouthplay #fearplay

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hobbitsetal · 4 years

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all for Ifan (I don’t think anyone else asked for him?? but if so pick whoever you want!)

no they haven't!! Their physical weak spots he's not a particularly tough man overall, but if you hit the bridge of his nose, he is Not Happy. and if we do that thing we talked about, he may have a bad leg... Their emotional/moral weak spots he's petty, he's prideful, he believes his good intentions justify his actions, if he considers something "his", he gets aggressively protective of it even when it's not actually his... he also really really wants Malachi's approval and he wants to be considered a good man, which...buddy. you gotta do good things to be a good man. Scars or painful spots (*whispers* the leg) he's got one on his side from that stab wound he got in Sabline, he'll probably acquire more... Best places to kiss on their body Lesa goes for the lips and sometimes the lobes of his ears. he pretends it doesn't affect him. it definitely does. Guilty pleasures he will never admit to his family how much he likes Terasian music and dancing. it's wild, it's uninhibited, it's uncivilized...and it's really really catchy. Their vices (physical or emotional) hoo boy, it would be faster to list his good traits! all of his previously listed moral weak spots, plus his tendency to hoard power and manipulate people, his secretiveness, his use of bribery to get what he wants...anything that makes him a good spymaster makes him a bad person. Their tickle spots sides and neck Bad memories/experiences getting stabbed wasn't fun, that time Priya broke up with him, the time Cahan punched him, the time Malachi told him he's a bad person, the time Lesa left and it was his fault...he doesn't like experiencing consequences to his actions Humiliating memories see above XD getting tackled by Cahan and getting shut out of negotiations by Lady Delza were also unpleasant Fears/phobias getting arrested in his own country, his family thinking he's a horrible person, going down in history as a villain, his country getting annexed by Sarkine, dying, people laughing at him... Bad or petty habits he is pettiness incarnate. he will avenge himself for stupid slights, actual or perceived. he's a nervous eater. he will pretend he did not finish off the fruit tray. he'll steal Lesa's food. he has to have the last word. Grudges and vendettas Iva Archeon, Rhys Windlow, anybody who's ever gotten in his way. What gets them flustered Lesa's flirting definitely does it, people calling him out on his crap, people seeing through one of his cons or manipulations Ingrained habits/forces of habit he taps his right forefinger when he's thinking or he's getting annoyed with somebody What it takes to make them cry a fair amount, actually! if he genuinely contemplated what a terrible person he is, that would do him in. losing a loved one. maybe if he were badly sick or injured. Dark secrets/’skeletons in the closet’ every illegal thing he's ever done in the name of Litoria. that time Lesa and Malachi made up a comic opera and fooled him into thinking it was a real thing. the faery whom he manipulated into spying for him (it did not end well). Regrets he does truly regret the people whom he's hurt, particularly Lesa. he regrets everything that happened with Kieran. and he very much regrets his hairstyle when he was 16. Things they’ll never admit any of his regrets or insecurities, how many contingency plans he has, whether or not he has a plan to take out Malachi should Malachi ever turn against him and join the bad guys, whether or not he thinks that plan could succeed People they’ve hurt or indirectly killed, and how it affected them hoo boy...Kieran is the most obvious; that devastated him and really brought home the consequences of his choices. hurting Lesa, though the effects of that are more cumulative. that one really forced him to examine himself as a person and conclude that he is in fact terrible, and forced him to work on that. What-ifs/Alternate Timelines what if he never met the Baltiens and never met Cahan? he'd probably have become a government official and would have made it to middle management. his superiors would have prevented him from rising any further, his peers would be a mix of allies and back-stabbers, some people would admire him, some would dislike him, multiple people would agree he was probably capable of better things than rewriting tax laws. what if he never met Lesa? he'd probably become more arrogant and insufferable without her to prick his ego, might possibly have quarreled irreconcilably with Malachi, would probably not have accomplished everything he does, would have died alone in a bar fight while trying to pick up information. what if, after his fight with Lesa, he never recognized his own toxic traits and apologized to her? he would have sublimated his conscience, become even more ruthless, annexed Sarkine, and turned into a shadowy villain who ruled behind the scenes for the good of Litoria. Turning points in their life meeting Priya and Cahan, meeting Lesa, meeting Malachi, Kieran, quarreling with Lesa... People who’ve influenced them greatly Malachi, because his good opinion and down-to-earth sensibility is very much something Ifan needs in his life. Lesa, because she challenges him and laughs at him and keeps him humble and happy. Priya, because her goodness and self-sacrificial nature is inspiring. his parents, because his dad's business acumen and his mother's social adroitness shaped his childhood. his sisters, because Hitty and Rania's skills at gossiping and navigating the pitfalls of Litorian high society shaped his ability to connect with and manipulate people. Lady Delza Hidav, because her political skill and her ability to look at the big picture and draw people in to shape it affected his own spymaster capabilities.

#mute #the trio #my writing #my ocs #Ifan Kovar

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elane-in-the-shadows · 5 years

Text

Red Queen Fan Fiction - In The Meantime Chapter 7

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Find this on wattpad and on AO3

A/N: FYI, I haven’t read the Shade short story yet, so comparisons are futile. Any canon divergences – or blatant similarities – are happening by pure chance. If there are blatant similarities, I’ll grin up to the moon, and if there’re divergences – well, I’ve been working on these headcanons for two years and can’t throw everything overboard at this point ;-)

Returning

He still had his ability after all, or they couldn’t have had teleported out of Whitefire into the tunnels.

Diana let go of his hand and Shade snorted at his former doubt, which had been stupid to begin with. How could his ability have left him when, just minutes ago, he’d used it to kill a dozen Silvers?

He stemmed his bloody hands against the damp wall. Almost he was able to pretend his hands weren’t stained with blood but only with common dirt. Dried into black, Silver blood looked as ugly as its Red variant, and its smell made him as sick. Shade tried to clean off the worst of it with the condensed water on the tunnel wall, not caring that it was dirty in its own way, if only it helped him not to throw up.

Diana seemed as if she’d like to throw up as well, whether from the horrible battle, teleporting, or due to her numerous wounds, he could not say. She leaned against the wall, exhausted. Her head was thrown back, her palm rested on her stomach, on her bruised ribcage. The older wound on her cheek was torn again.

He took a deep breath, another attempt to calm himself, to get loose from the weight on his shoulders, both from what he’d already done and what he was still about to do. Save Mare.

He had to focus on that, on his ability. But still, she was nowhere he was able to jump to, if she even lived. He sighed. “Come,” he said to Diana, and offered his hand. “If not to Mare, I can bring us to Kilorn.”

Slowly, sheshook her head. “Spare your power,” she declined. “Nor would we get on the train now.” With a groan, she stemmed herself away from the wall and stumbled toward him – again, without talking his hand. “There’s a safe house in Archeon that’s closer.” She looked at him, her gaze once more burning with intent. “Hopefully, with an informant who knows what the hell has happened in the meantime.” She told him where to go, and in the end, she touched his palm with such a reluctance that he barely felt her fingers at all.

“King Maven was hailed even before everyone knew the old king was dead,” Will Whistle told them in the bare, but comparatively comfortable safe house. “And then, it was more important to announce the arrests of the murderer and traitor prince Tiberias, and of Mare Barrow, the fraud. They’re in the Bowl of Bones now,” he added, along with the details of the morning’s shifting events.

“The arena’s cells are made of Silent Stone, negating abilities,” Will finished.

Shade’s eyes widened. “What?”

“To assure no interference, besides from those Arvens. They can tolerate the silence, as they’re somehow involved in its creation,” Will explained.

Shade buried his face in his hands. “That must be why I can’t get to her…” he muttered.

Will cleared his throat and Shade raised his head, seeing Farley nod at Will. As if she could hide any of her own shock coming with Will’s revelations. If anything, she seemed tenser than before. “Anything else?” she asked.

“I don’t understand any of this,” Shade burst out. “Farley, you said the crown prince said no to you, to any kind of coup. Why would he kill his father?”

Farley opened her mouth, but he went on, “Was it brotherly affection? If not Mare, did he want to save at least his brother from prison?”

Will cackled. “Oh no, there’s no love lost between the Calore brothers, Shade. If you let me finish, please?” he chided him, turning serious again. “Just a minute before you two arrived, the execution was announced. Of Mare and Tiberias. Seems like our new King Maven prefers a specific kind of feast for his coronation.”

Shade frowned, but Farley left for the bathroom with a rushed “excuse me”.

He stared after her. “She has to take care of her injuries,” he said.

Will shrugged. “Shade, you see, it probably has to do with the whisper queen. Everything must have. Likely … Maven’s whole recruitment was a trap, planned by the queen.”

Shade cussed, then calculated. It seemed so obvious in hindsight, but … well, he’d never spoken to Maven, only believed in Farley’s reluctant trust in him.

“Then we did everything wrong,” he said quietly.

Will moved over, and briefly touched Shade’s knee in reassurance. He didn’t like that, and suddenly, he understood Diana’s distance that denied any kind of comfort or closeness. He straightened his posture, shaking Will off. “The battle isn’t lost,” he claimed. “We still can – have to – do something.”

Will’s answering smile was mirthless, and Shade wondered how long and full of relapses Will’s own struggle had been.

“Indeed,” he heard Farley say, who was just returning from the bathroom. She’d gotten rid of her bloody and torn jacket, her shirt baring bruised and bandaged skin. She tried her best to appear commanding, although that was obviously difficult for her. She even stood uneven.

“As important as Mare Barrow is,” she glanced at Shade, “our priority is evacuating Naercey. Will you assist us with your skill and connections there, Will Whistle?”

The corners of Will’s mouth twitched. “Sure, Captain.”

Haste and urgency had taken over Naercey. Of course, Shade and Farley weren’t the first to return to Naercey, although they hadn’t been sure if the news of threat and betrayal had reached their comrades. But they had to know enough to warn the inhabitants, so the evacuation could begin. People were moving from dwelling to dwelling and transports were loaded and leaving. Shade offered his help and was put to work fast enough, shortly briefed that transports were sent off single and in irregular intervals to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

“The mersives have left too, and will return soon,” a woman told him. “There’re only so many safe houses in the surroundings, and the mersives can go to larger bases.”

Shade nodded and went on to follow his instructions. The road ahead was less important to him than going back to save Mare. He knew he didn’t do as well as he could, with his hands shaking and his thoughts straying off like his eyes that searched for familiar faces that appeared in the distance and flickered away from his blinking, tired, gaze.

He couldn’t believe it was only early afternoon, still the same day, when his group released him. There was no time to rest, and too much to do to save as many as possible. He felt so exhausted, not least because of his teleporting fight in the morning, although the lack of sleep they all had suffered took its visible toll as well.

And the uncertainty about Mare, he thought, then yawned and stretched.

“Hey.”

He flinched too hard. Even as he turned and saw Farley, his heart continued to beat faster. It’s just the exhaustion, he told himself. But that was a lie. He felt unguarded at every moment, his confidence was shattered and he was overwhelmed by danger and forlornness.

Farley hardly looked different, certainly not better. She’d finally changed into fresh clothing, but wore her wounds visibly, including a careful, tired stance.

So different from the woman from last night.

She rolled her shoulders. “Time to talk about Mare,” she said. “Well, I have time. You?”

He nodded, then cleared his throat. “If not, I’d make some.”

She tilted her head. “Of course.” She smiled wryly. “I’m not of much help here, so all my focus is on Mare now.” He blinked. “You know, since I’m at fault for all this …” Her grimace had to be painful with her injuries, with the way it stretched the old wound on her jaw, re-opening the cut he’d stitched himself.

“What?” he gasped. She stared him down until he shook his head. “I understand, but … we all agreed to the operation. Especially the other officers.”

“Oh sure,” she hissed. “So far, Naercey isn’t under attack, but once it happens, when Maven, his witch of a mother, or whoever the fuck is in charge now, starts it, I’ll gladly blame them. For now, these people are losing their homes, Shade. Whether they flee or risk staying, I brought this upon them, with my arrogance and foolishness.”

It was easy to see beneath her grim face and dark humour. He knew she had a point. But he also noticed how much she needed to say this, to confess and acknowledge her guilt to someone.

He stepped toward her, reaching out with his hand. She flinched, maybe out of pain, maybe because she was still scared of him. But then she leaned into his touch, let him cup her mostly uninjured left cheek. Her gaze seared him and he believed he saw in it a yearning for his closeness.

“It’s quite self-absorbed and arrogant to take all the blame onto yourself, Captain Farley,” he said quietly, before she moved away. Eyes downcast, she gulped and her expression changed from bitter to sad.

She wants me, he thought, only that she thinks she doesn’t deserve to be with me.

She looked up with a snort. “Mare,” she reminded him.

“How could I forget?” he said.

She irked him, no, almost angered him. She was playing him again with the way she ignored him and their relationship. She freely wallowed in her own guilt and became distant to “punish” herself, but what about him, and his sins? He’d killed today, many people, and he didn’t know how to deal. He was back at the Choke, in the bleakest days of his life, shocked over those Lakelanders he’d killed there. Today, they’d been Silvers instead of Reds, yet they’d died for his self defense as well. It didn’t change the disgust, nor the dark pit of shame he felt that made him doubt he was right to be here, to be a rebel fighting with all he had.

I can do this, he told himself, I’ve proved it already.

I only do not enjoy it.

He wished he could talk to Diana. He was sure, believing he’d already witnessed it, that she wasn’t perfectly okay with all of it either. But she continued to avoid him, so he went to Kilorn who had no such qualms, and was happy to see his friend, to give him a hug and to plan to free Mare.

Kilorn was occupied with packing the explosives that were to be used in smaller amounts, piece by piece. With his nimble hands, Kilorn showed quite a talent for it, one he’d used in the morning too, when they’d destroyed Archeon’s bridge. Shade couldn’t match and Kilorn taunted him about it. Jokingly. Softly. Shade didn’t know how Kilorn managed it, to be funny despite all this, and yet he was grateful for it.

“You’re staring after Farley like some lost puppy,” Kilorn remarked the next time his shaking fingers dropped something. Shade cursed and Kilorn took it away from him, shaking his head. “No use here,” he muttered.

Shade cleared his throat. “What do you mean? She’s not even here.”

Kilorn shrugged. “But you search for every little glimpse of her, instead of looking at the work.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, his head lowered in embarrassment, and to hide his blush. He still felt Kilorn’s gaze on him. Then he rose. “Mare is our priority,” he claimed.

Kilorn nodded, “Of course.” Yet his face appeared so curious, so understanding that Shade was tempted to blurt everything out. He opened his mouth, tongue tingling. He wanted to talk about it, about her, about them. But in the end, he lacked the words to describe it. What was between them now? Were they in love? In a relationship? He could say what they did, or had done, but that wasn’t what he really craved to figure out.

Kilorn began to smile, still soft and not making fun of him. He was happy for Shade, whatever for, and for now, that was enough.

Shade squeezed his hand. “If I’m so useless, I better take a rest,” he said and took his leave.

He had every reason to be tired and still, he paced Naercey for a while first. If he was honest, he just wished to encounter Diana again, by accident, so he could claim he kept his distance as she seemed to wish. But the sun started to set and he longed to rest like he’d told Kilorn. He entered the building where most of the Scarlet Guard were staying, if on packed bags now. Shade prowled the corridors, noticing how his steps slowed the closer he came to Diana’s room, where they’d spent the last night together. Although “night” was hardly accurate, given how short the episode had been. It seemed so long ago now, his sense of time warped by the onslaught of the morning.

In front of her room, he stopped. He wasn’t sure what to say, but now he was here, he could at least tell her to go to bed after this awful day. That woman never considered her own needs.

He took a deep breath and entered. Immediately, he froze on the threshold and gaped. Because she wasn’t up and planning or giving orders, but asleep on her pallet. Weapons were placed around her, easy to grab, but she didn’t stir. Shade hadn’t been quiet. If she was as alert as the weapons indicated, she should’ve woken up. Yet she slept on without a tremor, more at peace than he’d ever seen her. He couldn’t imagine she’d ever intentionally let down her guard in that manner, so only exhaustion could’ve taken its toll and she’d relented.

As much as that relieved him, as stunned as he was, it meant he had no reason to stay. He respected her privacy and left to let her sleep.

The next morning, the sky was overcast with foreboding, dark clouds. The air felt heavy with heat and humidity, adding another weight onto the backs of those left in Naercey. All of them, whether soldier or civilian, cast glances around, at the sky, into the distance, as if they expected the assault to arrive from the air or on the ground at any second. Even when Captain Farley roused her soldiers, giving them their orders and instructions for this operation. Shade listened and tried to maintain and show determination, but like the rest, his whole body was tense, and his eyes wandered furtively just the same.

“Rise, red as the dawn!” Diana finished with a shout and Shade and the others fell in.

They’d lost; they’d been down. But they’d go on. Always.

The drive with the undertrain continued in similar fashion, an odd blend of weariness and enthusiasm. When the train reached its hidden stop, the team members jumped off with careful motions. It was a little walk to the Bowl of Bones, but it was also safer this way.

“Kill or take out any patrols you encounter,” Farley ordered, with gritted teeth. Strange to kill on the way to safe someone else. Shade didn’t think her nap had been restorative enough, if anything, she looked worse and he could only hope she felt better.

“We should be fast enough their absence should be irrelevant,” she went on, “but we have to use Maven’s neglect of the tunnels as long as possible. For now, he has other jobs to do before he can – ” She stopped as Shade spun around in front of her, halting as well.

“Why don’t you stay back, Captain?” he said.

“What – “

“Aren’t you injured enough already?” He looked her over, eyes lingering on her visible limp. He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Someone has to secure the way back to the train,” said he. She opened her mouth, but he continued. “No need to have everyone close to the detonations,” he insisted, staring into her eyes. “Those are often a strain on bystanders, no matter the precautions.” She gaped, not believing he challenged her, told her, who always walked to the front, to stay behind. But he’d decided he would win this one glaring duel against her. And eventually, her gaze waned.

“Take them and run,” she said snidely. “I guess you don’t need me to carry those two.”

He nodded and before he got on, he took her hand and squeezed it. “See you in a few minutes.”

Her sneer softened slightly.

It took longer than a few minutes. Once they’d reached the space beneath the arena, the techie among the group produced a screen and as fast as he was, he needed a moment to find pictures of the events above. As they watched, the detonation specialist hesitated to act. “Fight’s too unclear,” he insisted, but Shade saw more than one finger on the triggers after the bombs had been placed. It didn’t make him any less nervous. His fingers and toes twitched, and the throbbing pulse of his blood drowned out the sounds around him.

Kilorn touched his hand in reassurance, and after a thankful glance, Shade started to focus back on his comrades’ discussions as his eyes fixed on the screen where he saw Mare dancing in a lethal battle.

Finally, the metal girl ran away, leaving the arena almost empty but for the condemned. “What are you waiting – ” Shade cried out, but a guard held up a hand to halt him.

The techie pointed at the screen; at the darkening sky, to be exact.

“Get ready to trigger ten seconds after the first lightning strike,” the lead detonator commanded. Indeed, the sky was lit up white and purple with lightning before a minute had passed.

Silence fell upon them, only broken by a few gasps until the thunder began to rumble, audible even down here, even over Shade’s hearing protection and his rushing blood.

Just seconds later, another kind of thunder reverberated through the tunnels, the sound of explosions timed to be unremarkable in the lightning storm.

Unremarkable to those above, hopefully. Not to Shade, not to the team. Shade grabbed onto anything he could grasp, and still he stumbled from the recoil. So did the others, and they were shaking and blinking and hugging themselves and each other, hoping the ringing in their ears and the dizziness were temporary.

The detonations were successful, and now, there was a small hole in the ceiling, creating a direct view to the sky and into the arena.

Shade crawled toward the opening. No one followed yet, some of the team had actually been thrown back. For a moment, he closed his eyes, relieved he’d made Diana stay back. Then he reached the hole, pulled himself up, and the first thing he saw was a lightning strike hitting the ground just two meters away from him. His sister Mare was merely another short distance away.

Shade began to grin.

The little distance was still potentially deadly, he knew. Soldiers were marching into the arena, guns ready. Mare, the prince next to her, continued to bring the lightning from the sky into the arena to halt her opponents. But she strained under the effort, not able to go on like this for much longer. That didn’t quench Shade’s amazement at seeing Mare’s power in the flesh for the first time, made glorious rather because it was hard on her. But the threat combined with the rush of his comrades as they joined him sobered him.

Shade hadn’t touched his pistol. But the others, Kilorn being one of them, were less reluctant. They shot the enemy soldiers, taking down many by this absolute surprise, but not enough to eventually defeat them.

We’re back to hit and run.

Shade used the chance of the moment when Mare was out of the center of attention for a second and jumped toward her, grabbing her and the prince to vanish at the next breath.

A few more bombs secured their escape, smashing parts of the tunnels as a result, as Shade couldn’t hope to teleport all of them back to the train. He would if he had to, now that others carried Mare and the prince as they ran. Shade glanced at her at every other second, worried by her unconsciousness. He told himself she was taking her first teleport as badly as Diana, but Mare was no less injured than her either. What the combined shocks had done to her remained to be seen.

The manacled prince had woken, unlike Mare, as they reached the undertrain. They had to shove him forward as he beheld the vehicle, although he didn’t stall in a way that sabotaged them or their escape.

Getting in and getting started was a matter of heartbeats under Farley’s command. She didn’t display excitement over the success apart from the smile that lasted a split second when she saw Mare, now carried in Shade’s arms. Even when she glanced at him every now and then during the drive, she stayed next to the prince, keeping watch over him like he was her personal trophy.

Once, Kilorn touched his shoulder in relief, a tear rolling down his cheek. He needed a moment to look at Mare cradled on Shade’s lap, before he was urged to resume some errand. It was merely to maintain alertness, Shade guessed, as the danger wasn’t over, might not ever be. He leaned back, eyes closed, finally feeling the greatest weight lifted off him, as he and Mare were finally together again.

That small peace, however, vanished as he opened his eyes, and by chance, found Diana’s gaze. It spoke of the gravity of the things to come, and Shade inclined his head in understanding.

Hitting and running and fighting would continue, and they had no idea how the game had changed, now that Maven Calore had taken the throne of Norta by betraying his family, the Scarlet Guard, and Mare.

Then Mare opened her eyes.

A/N 2: And so we've reached the end of Red Queen. There are some holes between the one-shots I wrote for Glass Sword that I might fill, although I believe the canon short story covers similar same points. I don't know if I'll compete there, I guess I might as well simply bow to the perfection it is ;-)

@elliemarchetti @lilyharvord @mareshmallow @clarafarleybarrow @carstairsjames @inopinion @sarcasm-and-procastination @eurydicel @selenbean-beany @marecalrandomstuff @thelightning03 @mareven0123 @gisabarrovv

#red queen #red queen fanfiction #shade barrow #diana farley #captain farley #mare barrow #maven calore #cal calore #kilorn warren #shade x farley #farley x shade #victoria aveyard #in the meantime #in the meantime ch 7 #angst #relationship angst #returning #yes yes mare wakes up the moment shade thinks about maven that was instinct

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rain0205-blog · 5 years

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Terminal State

Summary: She tried leaving, submerging herself in work to escape the horrors she had seen. The horrors she kept seeing. She never wanted to go back to that life. But when the Empire takes her home, she’s forced to face her past. Can she move on? Can she cope? Or will she require a bit of help? still bad at summaries, still working on it. ever so slightly more than slight AU gadioxoc

Unwanted Guest

...

Gladiolus was not going to sleep tonight, he and his companions were bunking in a camper with a strange man only known as Ardyn. The first time they had encountered the stranger he was in Gadlin Quay, informing them of the lack of ferries to Altissia and giving them a strange coin. Later on in Lestallum, after they had come back from the cave behind the waterfall, this man seemed to be there waiting for them. Noctis was having headaches as of late, strange ones that didn't affect anyone else, however, he was seeing the astral known as Titan and since they couldn't physically go and have a look, they went toward the outlook which is where Ardyn was waiting for them. Conveniently, he was willing to take them to the Archeon as what seemed to be a good gesture.

They decided to go and Ardyn insisted on Noctis driving the car. It wasn't a very long drive, they had only made it as far as Coernix Station where it was decided that they would use the camper instead of a haven - due to Ardyn's insistence. Gladiolus didn't trust this man at all. The vibes he was getting were completely negative and he wore a scowl on his face more often than not since they agreed to go on this journey with him. On top of that, every time he made eye contact with Ardyn the man simply smiled in a suspicious way, like he knew something intimate and personal and wasn't going to share it The guy even looked shady, amber coloured eye that hid some sort of ulterior motive behind them. His hair was long, purplish or red, hard to see based on the different lights hitting it, and his age was difficult to pinpoint but it seemed older than his appearance. The worst of it was his smile, that wide, amused smile that occupied his face filled with deceit and what looked like a hint of jealousy. Words flowed out of his mouth in a thick, accented voice and carried with them an insult lying beneath every single one of them. His demeanour, in general, was suspicious enough and it put all of them on edge, making him an extremely unwanted guest.

After they had eaten with awkward conversation, everyone except Gladiolus had gone to bed. Instead, he was out at one of the tables reading one of Athenacia's medical texts that Ignis had borrowed. The Shield had taken to doing that a lot lately despite having brought his own books. While he didn't understand a lot of what he was reading, it only made him admire her more for being able to know all of this stuff. Being a doctor was hard work, he was aware of that, however, he never knew how much actually went into it. Since the invasion, he usually selected a book at random and starting to eat through it during drives or when he needed a distraction from his thoughts; and since he had arrived in Lestallum they seemed to be racing when he wasn't focused on Noctis. After the conversation he had with Gin in the hospital, more questions seemed to rise within him. The voice message Athenacia had left him was listened to at least twice per day, not having the heart to delete it. She knew that something was going to happen that day, but she seemed to have it in her head that he and the others were in danger as well. Specifically, she had mentioned more than once that she was relieved they were okay and to keep safe. The more he listened to it, the more it worried him. Had she known that the city would fall? How? Was she indeed a spy? Gladio didn't believe it. Cor didn't believe it then he didn't either. The Marshal is probably the one that convinced her to pack up a bag in the first place, never trusting the Niffs from day one and rightfully so, however, it still rose a bunch of questions. If she knew something, why wouldn't she tell him?

The large man sighed, leaning back in his chair and closing the book. He wasn't really focused on it anyway and he was sure it was because this one was mostly on the infectious disease and he didn't want to lose his dinner. The other one he was reading was a lot better, containing different poisonous ailments pertaining to all over Eos and the different courses of treatment. Gladio grabbed that one from the bag and actually continued from where he marked his page. Did Athenacia really know all of this? How could one person possibly memorize all of these facts and then use them in a split second while in the middle of a battlefield? She really was something else. The door to the camper opened, then closed, and immediately his body felt defensive. Ardyn behind him. Gladio's face went back to a scowl as he tried to focus on the words in front of them. Their guest sat in a chair on the opposite side of the table. The Shield didn't acknowledge him, not wanting anything to do with him despite that he could feel the amber stare burning into his soul it seemed like. That amused look still occupied his face and it made Gladio even more uneasy about everything.

"Those are quite the books. Looking for a second career?" Ardyn spoke in his thick accent and amused manner.

"They're not mine," grunted Gladiolus, not even bothering to raise his eyes.

"I had thought not. None of you appear to be this far advanced in medicine."

"They belong to a friend," Gladio looked up with suspicion.

Ardyn's eyes seemed to brighten, "Ah yes a friend. All friends are important, but ones you take an interest in can be the dearest to your heart. Tell me, did this friend make it out of your once fair city okay?"

Gladiolus just shrugged, "Doesn't matter."

"Uncertainty can be a trying thing," his expression was almost bored, "But I find that some things, or even some people, turn up in the most unusual of places."

Gladiolus just narrowed his eyes. Ardyn only offered that same smile before wordlessly standing from his seat and leaving the Shield alone again. The words running through his head caused him to frown, sounding like he was trying to toy with him. Nothing about that guy made any sense and the sooner they got to part ways with him, the better.

Shaking his head, he brought his attention back the book he was reading. What he also liked the most about this one was the bestiary listed, and that included daemons. As a combat medic, she would need to know all of these while out in the field. He flipped the page, coming to one he hadn't the pleasure of running into. Arachne. They spit out level six poisons which are only responsive to two types of antidotes. The wrong one can speed up symptoms which lead victims to expire. Gladio's frown deepened as he took in the words, looking over at the images on the page. Listed there were the antibodies that were needed to fight off the poison and what would happen if the victims were left untreated. Flipping the page again, he wondered how in the hell Athenacia was able to deal with all of this. Some of the diagrams made him feel queasy, he couldn't imagine having to be up close and personal with it.

Sighing, he leaning back in the chair and looking up at the stars. Sleep would elude him tonight and not just because he was on guard duty about Ardyn. At times like these, Gladiolus found he couldn't stop thinking about Athenacia, the girl occupying his mind completely when he wasn't busy watching Noctis. He really missed her, never realizing how much until she wasn't around. After the way he acted, he was lucky she even gave him a chance again the way she did. Her last words to him swam through his head and he again wondered how much she knew about the signing ceremony. At least she was armed, wherever she was. Somehow in the pit of his gut, he knew that they would cross paths again soon, he just hoped that when they did she was alive and well.

...

Athenacia's heart raced as she looked through the binoculars stationed at the lookout point of Lestallum. The Archeon, Titan, was awake and the Empire was on the way, but she also saw four specific people right in the way of the astral's wrath. Whatever Gladiolus and others were doing there, she hoped that they would make it out alive. The quakes from the God had stirred everyone else to the same place so that they could have a proper look. Iris was fretting right beside her, the only reason that she had come this far and stayed in the first place.

The young doctor had not really meant to come into Lestallum again at all. After using a mild sedative on herself the other night, she woke up with a splitting headache. Athenacia knew why, of course, on her way down she managed to hit her head on the door of the truck. It was stupid, she really should have planned that out better but the poison didn't help. Thankfully the sun was only just starting to rise so no one had been by to go through her stuff. The other benefit: it was dreamless, even if it was for only an hour. Clearly the dosages were measured wrong, a problem that she fixed immediately. Her ankle was still twisted so she used her magic to heal that up, and magicked her laceration where the Arachne had struck her. It left a faint scar, hopefully one that would fade away before long. Once that was finished, she gathered all of her things, ready to leave.

The physician took off from that spot, going back to her aimless wandering around Lucis, however, supplies were running low and she needed some clean clothes. Unfortunately, all of that was in the humid city, so she begrudgingly made her way back in her truck. While filling it with gas, Iris had caught sight of her and insisted that the woman meet her brother. Athenacia was not interested in that whatsoever, but didn't say something about it. There would be plenty of opportunities to slip out before Gladiolus returned to the city for any reason, despite how much she actually did want to see him. The flaw in that was, Iris wasn't going to let the young doctor out of her reach, especially after Talcott was also informed of "Tia's" return. It wasn't entirely unpleasant to have them along while she did her shopping, in fact, a woman's opinion on new clothing was a welcoming approach. Athenacia was able to get a few decent items without exhausting her savings, wishing to delay the notion of hunting that would expose her to more people. Then an earthquake shook the very ground beneath them. Someone had screamed about the Archeon and they all found themselves in the outlook area to see what was going on.

Iris was the first to look and she spotted her brother instantly. That was when Athenacia's breath caught in her throat. Once the young Amicitia had let the doctor take a look, she couldn't take her hazel gaze away. The doctor watched Gladiolus and Noctis run away from the God while also trying to fight him off. It was nerve-wracking, especially when the Empire had shown up with their dreadnaughts. Now they all waged battle against a God. What were they thinking? Seriously, a God? She just couldn't bear to watch it anymore and as she took her eyes away, someone else had pushed in between the two women in order to get a better look. Athenacia went to stand on the other side of Iris who was just a wreck. Talcott had taken the doctor's hand tightly as he looked on with the wonder of a young boy and the worry of a child. The three of them watched but all they could see was an army of airships and clouds of dust coming up from where the astral would swing his giant arm. Each strike made the doctor more nervous than the last, something that Iris was also having trouble coping with.

"What are they doing there anyway?" asked Athenacia.

"Noct needs Titan's blessing," answered Iris.

"Excuse me?" she frowned.

"I don't know much about it, just that he needs the blessings of the Gods."

Titan's blessing? Whatever for? Is this what the Oracle meant when she said she had to aid the King? Is the truth of the stories Cor used to tell her as a young girl before bed coming to pass? But it couldn't be real. None of this was making any sense. Athenacia was so cut off from everything the last few days that she had no idea about what was going on around her despite being in the outside world. It was a good thing she decided to come back to the city today or else she was sure she'd be caught up in action at the Disc. That was the sort of attention she didn't need.

Her eyes snapped into focus as a blinding golden light surrounded the Archeon. Talcott squeezed her hand tighter while Iris shoved her head into the older woman's shoulder, all of them shielding their eyes from it. And then he was simply gone. The physician's breath caught in her throat once more as her eyes widened. The explosion took out the nearby dreadnaughts - which caused Iris to wail and latch onto the doctor with tears in her eyes. Athenacia put a comforting arm around the girl while she continued to watch the scene before her. If only she could see down here, to know what happened to Gladiolus and the others. Fear gripped her heart as she pictured them dead, bodies strewn among the ground lifeless, the sort of things that cropped up in her nightmares. A breath escaped her when she saw a single dreadnaught make its way out of the Disc. There was no help for it, she would have to remain in Lestallum until she heard some more news of what went on down there. Assuming they had made it out alive - and she sincerely hoped that they did - she was going to wait around until they contacted Iris. Hell, she was going to sit around in the shadows until they came back for her, because Athenacia had to see for herself with her own eyes that everyone was okay.

...

The next morning Athenacia slipped out of the bed in the hotel room of Lestallum quietly. Ordinarily, she would have stayed in her truck for the night, however, the distraught young Talcott had clung to her in the hopes that she would stay. Jared had chided him but Athenacia assured the man that everything was okay. The truth of the matter was, the boy provided her with some comfort as well and she didn't want to leave him just yet. Iris had managed to sleep only after her brother had told her that they were all safe and would talk when he got back. Athenacia had no idea when that was going to be but she definitely wasn't going to be sleeping in the same room as his sister. Despite the fact that she looked different, Gladio would recognize her instantly, of that she was certain. Besides, she just wanted to observe from a distance and get back to... well whatever it was that she was doing.

Sighing lightly, she pulled the covers back over Talcott to rest under his chin. Keeping a light smile on her face, she looked over at Iris who was also snuggled into her bed. The doctor then padded quietly across the carpeted floor toward the bathroom and shut the door behind her with a soft click. Taking a look at herself in the mirror, she was shocked at her own appearance. The dye was starting to grow out a bit but that wasn't really an issue she had. There was dirt all over her face and it dawned on her that it had been a long time since she had a proper shower and probably stunk something fierce. Her hazel eyes were still puffy and bloodshot with those same dark circles, however, she seemed to look a little better than usual. Hair was matted and greasy from not having been washed in a few days, a scrape on her cheek from her hunting and she could see the scar on her arm from fighting the Arachne with a few contusions here and there. Nothing serious at least.

Tearing her gaze away, she grabbed the tie from the end of her braid and pulled it out, placing it on the counter before beginning to unlace the braid with deft fingers. It was a bit of a struggle, all tangled and knotted together. Once it was finished, she fanned it out across her back, her eyes catching that ugly scar on the right side of her neck. Athenacia took her finger and traced over it, most of it dirty from her poor treatment of herself. The blemished skin only made her feel more disgusted and she pulled her wavy hair over her shoulder, hiding it again. Turning her back on her reflection, turned the water on in the tub and got the shower going. Steam started to billow out and she began to peel off her extremely dirty clothes, leaving them on the ground before stepping in. Athenacia sighed in relief as the scorching hot water turned her skin red instantly, basking a moment, closing her eyes and releasing a content sigh as the water fell off of her. That familiar tranquillity took over and she was reluctant to leave it. When she opened them again, she could see the dirt coming off of her so she grabbed a cloth to begin scrubbing. Her skin was raw by the time she was finished, her pressure increasing as images from the devastation of Insomnia and her own monstrosity of power came into her mind. Tears escaped the bottom of her eyes, the blood not coming off, just like when she was in the war. The cloth was thrown away in disgust, dirty from her and the clear water suggesting that she was clean. Athenacia knew better, she would never be clean with all those lives on her hands.

The doctor wiped the steam from the mirror when she was finished, wrapping a towel around her slender frame and stared back at the ugly scar that now gleamed in the lighting above her. This thing would always remind her of the failure she was, all the screams that filled her ears whenever she closed her eyes. Clenching her jaw, she grabbed another towel and began to dry her hair with it. When she was finished fussing with it, she then began the methodical twisting of her hair, leaving it in that braid that perfectly hid that ugly scar, the identifier that put everyone in danger while she remained. The towel was tossed aside before she rummaged through one of the shopping bags from yesterday, pulled on her clothes and having another look at herself. Her damp hair was hiding her left eye while the braid came down her right shoulder against her neck and stopped just short of her last rib. To help hide her blemish, she wore a sleeveless shirt that didn't come against her neck but didn't hang too low from her collarbone either and was a darker pink. Her light jeans with a tear in the upper right thigh and lower left knee were a little loose on her hips but her belt helped with that. Sighing again, her fingers ran along where her necklace would be. Eventually she would get it back, for now, it was where it belonged. At least she hoped it was.

Athenacia carefully opened the door, picking up her dirty clothes and placing them with her bag. The younger two were still sleeping soundly and she didn't want to wake them up. Pulling on her boots, she debated on strapping her weapon to her back or not. Chewing her lip in thought, she decided against it, knowing it would make her stand out walking around the city with a weapon. The goal was to blend in, not attract unwanted attention. Down the stairs of the hotel and out the door, the unmistakable smell of breakfast foods starting to cook, invading her nostrils and reminding her of the last time she ate. Her stomach began to reprimand her for the poor excuse of sustenance she had been feeding it, placing her hands there and walking to the smell that stood out to her nose the most. The physician paid for her food while making minimal eye contact with the vendor and began to eat quickly. Shoving a rather large last bite in her mouth, she began walking the streets, doing her best to blend into the crowds. It was almost nice to try and feel normal again and be around other people.

Memories washed over her as she gathered food for the upcoming trip in the market. The first time she had ever come here was with Cor and she didn't have time to really enjoy it. With the Glaive, she wasn't able to do much exploring but thankfully the foods she liked to eat the most were right near the hotel. It wasn't the same as Insomnia, nothing was ever going to be like that for a long while, however, she was still happy with what this place had to offer. It was too bad that she couldn't just stay here and live with the rest of the refugees. If only she knew why that strange man was chasing her down. Surely he could have just killed her and got it over with, instead he was playing games with her, leaving her with one eye over her shoulder and in constant fear of being. Sighing, she held her bags tightly and began to walk away from the crowds of people. Cor taught her better than this, to not let the enemy inside her head or else she had already lost the battle.

Athenacia was again caught up in her thoughts - only this time they were on Gladiolus. The images of him, the Prince and all the chaos that surrounded them while basically at the astral's feet played over in her head. Gladio... she wanted to see him so badly, missed him more than she realized. It was easier before she had actually seen him for herself, even if it was through a lens. The dangers surrounding him was much more serious than previously thought and if there was something she could do to help, she wanted to. There had to be a way for her to get a message to him, a way to meet up without bringing the enemy to them with the target on her back. For now, the safest place for her was away from all of them.

The doctor grunted as someone had bumped into her, knocking her off balance a little and pulling her from her thoughts. Instantly she looked back at the man with a frown on her face and her eyes met his. He was taller than her, with piercing green eyes and messy untamed black hair on top of his head. There was a scar on his chin that was obscured by his short beard, but his eyes were studying her a moment and she felt scared that this man knew her despite never seeing him before in her life. Shaking his head, he turned around and kept walking, not bothering to talk to her or look back again. Athenacia breathed a sigh of relief and then continued her journey, looking back one last time to make sure no unfriendly eyes were upon her.

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nessianqueen · 6 years

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Dark thoughts I have

What if Nesta doesn't go to the illyrian mountains, why do we all believe she will just obey Feyre when she keeps repeating "your not my high lord" all the time. Maybe she will just demand her fortune ( which we have no idea what happened to it, I mean did papa Archeon spend it all in the ships ??) And go explore the continent like she said.

Or what if ( this is gonna get crazy but bare with me ) she gets so angry and frustrated she loses control of her powers and they winnow her away, she arrives in Hybern.( I don't know why and there is no textual evidence that I can find but I have this idea that nesta might become queen of Hybern) Anyway she meets this new group of people who won't judge her right away, for mistakes she made when she was a girl, they'll acknowledge that it was wrong but will try to understand her. And might see the whole picture not just what Feyre has to say. And she will be able to have her own inner circle filled with bad ass people, and she will better Hybern and make them see how they were manipulated for years and open the boarders and trade and it will be a great country. Maybe she will meet someone in the process and will fall in love with him and he will love her and fight for her and with her 😂 and not worry about what others might think. Obviously there will be a point where she will have to meet the inner circle again and she will, she will go with her new friends and family and will explain her side of the story and her reason for her actions, and if she has to apologize to Feyre she will and if she doesn't they will sit down and have the most honest and heartbreaking conversation ever. And she will see cassian again and would know that he is her mate but he wasn't willing to fight for her and she wasn't either and that he will never be completely ok with her and she will stay with her new love and he will find someone to love too, even if it'snot as fast. She will be the best damm queen the world has seen. The relationship between her and the inner circle will never be one of a family but they can be friends and it would be ok.

Or she can just go to illyrian, become a warrior an inspiration to the women, slowly fall in love with cassian and become mates. Fix whatever is going on in illyrian and live happy. Like we have all been thinking.

Ok I'm done don't take this as me not loving any of the characters because I do, i love the inner circle, I love nesta and I ship Nessian. But I also wonder all the other directions this book could take and this is what happens when I do . And ACOFAS broke me and i have all these nesta feels and I just want her to be happy.

#nessian #nesta archeron #acofas #acomaf

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inopinion · 6 years

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“Don’t give me space. That’s the last thing I want with you.” -for Evane

This Prompt Post, from a long, long time ago. Sorry for the wait.

@lilyharvord, @mareshmallow, @anyone-anything-canbetrayanyone, @adraxsteia, @runexandra, @mom2reesie, @iris-cygnets, @redqueenfandom, @wrenskonos (hope I didn’t miss anyone). @scarletguardsource

Please hit the reblog to share with friends.

“Are you… okay?” Elaine spoke while she slipped through the shadows into Eveangeline’s room. With her characteristic ease, she eased down on the edge of the mattress before becoming fully visible in the dim lighting.

Evangeline groaned in a weird monotonous tone that raised the hairs on the back of Elaine’s neck. Her hand snapped down to grip Evangeline’s limp arm.

“You have a stroke?”

Another groan and then, finally an answer, “Can you just kill me?” Evangeline rolled over, dramatically pressing her face into the pillows and screaming into the stuffing.

“You aren’t going to marry him.”

“Tell my parent that.”

“I did. And I’ll do it again, and again, and again.”

“You did?”

“And I told him.” Elaine laid her cheek on her girlfriend’s back and pulled her legs up on the bed.

“What did he say?”

“Mostly a bunch of stammering. Looked like he’d been crying. I don’t think he’s anymore thrilled by this than you are.”

“Cal cried? Why? Am I that bad?” Evangeline made the final flop back onto her back.

Elaine situated her head on her shoulder joint and squeezed her arm across Evangeline’s middle. “He’s got it bad for that… for Mare.”

“I’ve never wanted to be one of them more than I do right now.”

Elaine sat up on her elbow. “Excuse me? You want to be a red? Weak, powerless?”

“At least when they love someone, they can be with them.”

“You won’t marry him,” Elaine insisted. Evangeline softly huffed and wiggled uncomfortably. “You wont.”

“You married Ptolemus.”

“To stay with you! Marrying Cal is a one way ticket to Archeon. Assuming they even win this damn war. And if they don’t, you have a target on your head.”

“And so do you. If they lose, Maven’s coming or the Rift.”

“Yeah, but if you don’t marry Cal, you’ll be here with me when they come. And we will give them a hell of a fight.”

Evangeline mustered a similar grunt to the start of their conversation.

“Fine, I’ll go find a book.” Elaine hoisted her self up to sitting only to be pulled back down, almost strangled in Evangeline’s hold.

“No, don’t.”

“It seems like you need some space, some time to think.”

“Don’t give me space, that’s the last thing I want from you. If you so much as step outside that door, I don’t know if I’ll have the strength to say no.”

Elaine wrapped her arms around Evangeline and held her through a long, sleepless night.

#chaoslaborantin #prompt #evane #Evangeline Samos #Elaine Haven #Red Queen #Fanfiction

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autumnphile · 6 years

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A Court of Thorns and Roses

SYNOPSIS:

Feyre's survival rests upon her ability to hunt and kill – the forest where she lives is a cold, bleak place in the long winter months. So when she spots a deer in the forest being pursued by a wolf, she cannot resist fighting it for the flesh. But to do so, she must kill the predator and killing something so precious comes at a price ...

Dragged to a magical kingdom for the murder of a faerie, Feyre discovers that her captor, his face obscured by a jewelled mask, is hiding far more than his piercing green eyes would suggest. Feyre's presence at the court is closely guarded, and as she begins to learn why, her feelings for him turn from hostility to passion and the faerie lands become an even more dangerous place. Feyre must fight to break an ancient curse, or she will lose him forever.

DISCUSSION:

Feyre Archeon

Feyre begins by having a strange, cold, withdrawn mask that hides her warmth and compassion. She is very stubborn and keeps her promises, although she is quite a natural at lying. She has a fiery, rebellious, daring side to her that hates rules, and is very curious as to the world around her.

“She stole a life, now she must pay with her heart”

This quote absolutely summarizes all the happenings in the book. It all started when she’s out in the woods, hunting for them to have a meal that day. She found a doe then quietly arched her bow to an aim but then not far away from the doe, she spotted a big wolf-like creature. She realized that the wolf is aiming for the doe also, without thinking she released her aim after the wolf (she thought it is a Fae) lunged for the doe. Suprisingly, the wolf doesn’t even fight, it just stared at her and waited for it’s death. Atleast for some sort of reason, she might be the one to save them all.

The day after she killed the wolf. There was a loud bang at their door and it flew open, revealing a big beast-like creature with claws and horns. It stormed inside, questioning who killed the wolf. Shaking, Feyre confesses and asked for the price. The beast was impressed by her nerve and tells her that she could fulfill her debt by spending her life in Prythian.

She arrives (consciously) in the Spring Court at a nice, seemingly empty manor. She is taken into a dining room by the beast who, with a flash of light, transformed into a blond, young man with a mask. Tamlin.

“I love you, thorns and all”

Living in the immortal world of Faeries, Prythian, it was very hard for Feyre to cope up with the surrounding knowing that Tamlin once warned her by the dangerous creatures lurking at their lands. Slowly but surely, Feyre was really falling for Tamlin’s care and gentleness to her. It was only a matter of three days after Tamlin sent away Feyre back to their village saying his bid of goodbye, which may be the last “I love you, thorns and all”

Feyre realizes it all when she heard the news of the Beddor Family. She returned to Prythian and found out that Tamlin and all his men was summoned to Aramantha’s throne, now that Tamlin’s cursed has been void and that the entire Spring Court will be now on Aramantha’s ruling.

Feyre made a bargain to Aramantha which Alis strongly advised to her not to make a bargain once she entered the cave. But she still did for her love to Tamlin and the rest of his court. She fought until she managed to complete all the task with the help of Lucien’s healing and Rhysand’s.

Rhysand made a bargain with her, for winning the bet and offered to heal her wounds and fever. Feyre agreed and now is sold to Rhysand (which he tattooed her) for she will spend every week of her soul each month for the rest of her life at the Night Court with Rhysand.

Feyre died at her third trial after she managed to answer the riddle which was given to her by Aramantha before the trial all started. Tamlin’s power returned and lashed out Aramantha’s body. He weeped for Feyre’s body but the other High Lords offered their healing to Feyre and she awoke, becoming an immortal High Fae and will live the rest of the centuries with Tamlin.

This retelling novel of the Beauty and the Beast is truly a High Lit! The writing was so so so amazing which comes along with a seductive romance, it literally made me so eager to read the next book. Can’t wait to know what will happen next. The Court of Mist and Fury here I come~

By: autumnphile

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #feyre archeron #tamlin #rhysand #lucien #aramantha #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses

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tmiquotepage · 7 years

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SILVER WAR: AN OFFICIALLY UNOFFICIAL FAN FICTION

Description: War has come. Mare, Cal, and the rest of the Rebellion against King Maven have taken the final step and an all out war across the continent ensues. Blood will be drawn on both sides of the fight. But whose side will run dry first? **This is my fan fiction version of what could happen in RQ4. Spoilers for all the previous RQ books!**

One

Mare

I fight the urge to punch yet another wall. Pain radiates from my scarlet-marred knuckles all the way up my arm and my shoulder, not doing anything to dispel the thoughts plaguing my mind.

Cal chose his crown. More than that, he’s chosen it over me. After swearing up and down for months that he didn’t want it, the smallest promise of getting his kingdom back has lured him away from whatever I thought we had. He didn’t choose me. He’ll never choose me.

I wish the thought would hurt more. I wish I could bring myself to cry or scream or even punch the wall one more time. But I don’t have any emotion left. All I have is the twinge of my abused hand and the sense of utter and complete emptiness. Between the battle, and Cal, and everything else that’s happened to me in the past year, I’m simply drained.

“You’re not saying anything,” Farley states plainly, arms crossed over her chest. “Not like any of the Barrows to keep their mouths shut.” Though her face is a mask of disinterest, I’ve known her long enough to recognize the slightest concern in her voice. It should infuriate me, but the lick of anger that shoots through me dies before I even really feel it.

“What am I supposed to say?” I mutter. When I said it in my mind, it came out as a haughty retort. Instead, it comes out flat. The muddy ground slops around my boots as I turn to slink back against the cool rock wall behind me. I can’t meet Farley’s gaze—not right now, not like this—so I cast my gaze down to the battered flesh of my hand.

I poke at one of the dark bruises, nearly black beneath the skin. The pain is biting, but momentary, and I barely have time to wince before it ebbs back into a dull ache. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve fractured a bone or two. Maybe even broken one.

I’m reminded of Gisa’s hand, after that chaotic day in Summerton, what feels like a lifetime ago. Her slim fingers, better suited to sewing than thieving, catching on a Silver’s bag as she tried to rob them. To help me, I recall. To help steal the money Kilorn and I would need to pay Farley to escape conscription. Gisa’s been healed since, as I’m sure I’ll be soon enough. But I don’t think the image of shattering bones and bruise-painted skin afterward will ever be purged from my mind.

“This alliance had to happen, Mare,” Premier Davidson interjects, breaking me from my reverie with his patented calm tone. I meet his impassive gaze with a glare. How dare you lecture me on what had to happen? You don’t know me. You don’t get to talk to me right now. Ignoring the flurry of messages I try to convey through my eyes, Davidson just continues. “With the war in the Lakelands over, the King is finally able to dedicate his time and forces to defeating the Revolution. With a King on our side, the rightful King that Maven helped usurp, we will be more powerful than ever. And with the Reds and Newbloods and Silvers behind him? Tiberias will be undefeatable.”

His name is Cal, I want to snap at the Premier. Tiberias is his father. But the words don’t make it past my lips. I can’t find it in me to fight for him right now.

“Fighting together,” Davidson continues in his placating voice, “we can wipe Archeon off the map, and the boy king along with it.”

Even the thought of Maven cuts through me, sharper than any blade of Evangeline Samos. After all he’s done, the pain he’s caused and the blood he’s spilt, I want nothing more than to storm the capital and separate his twisted head from the rest of his body. I want to display it on a pike for all in the kingdom to see that true evil can be defeated.

But the Premier doesn’t know Cal like I do. He doesn’t know about our conversation, about Cal’s musings on whether or not his brother could be fixed. If, by some miracle, someone could reverse the irreparable damage Elara inflicted on him growing up. Davidson wants Cal and Maven to kill each other. He doesn’t know that Cal, for all his posturing and planning, can never hurt his brother if there is any chance that he doesn’t have to. Even a miniscule chance. Even this fool’s chance.

He believes Cal is a weapon to be wielded. He doesn’t know that Cal will break with the Guard and go his own way the moment his needs aren’t being met. But again, I don’t tell Davidson my thoughts. I’m too exhausted. Instead, I simply shrug at him and drop my gaze. “Whatever.”

To my side, Farley scoffs. Though motherhood has softened her at moments, I can tell she’s getting fed up with my angsty teenager bullshit. I’m surprised she’s tolerated it as long as she has, actually.

The Premier stares at me, awkwardly fidgeting with one hand. His lips work overtime, trying to form words before he can even figure out which he wants to say. In the end, he says nothing, as we are interrupted by subtle whoosh of air as Arezzo appears beside Davidson. Once, I might have jumped at the sudden intrusion. Now, I barely notice. So much time with Shade helped me in that regard.

My gaze falls on the teleporter’s shaking hands and wide eyes as she reaches out and puts a hand on the Premier’s shoulder. Her voice trembles as she speaks. “Sir. You’re needed in Command.”

He furrows a brow, a question forming on his lips. But, before he or anyone else can get a word out, both Arezzo and the Premier disappear. I’m left alone in the street with Farley. Both of us wait a moment before speaking, still processing what’s just happened.

Farley takes a step in the direction from which we’ve come. “Come on. Let’s go see what the fuss is all about. I’ll be damned if the Princeling shuts me out of a meeting now that he’s got his crown back.”

She’s already a good distance away before she realizes I haven’t moved with her. She halts, turning back to me with a questioning gaze. “Mare?”

His crown. His crown. The words swirl in my head incessantly, taunting me, driving me as mad as the boy who currently wears the dreadful crown of fire and flames.

It was easy to label Maven as the evil brother the night he snatched that blasted piece of metal from his father’s still-cooling silverblood. A child driven by a lust for power. Strength. It was easy to make him a villain. But right now, I can only think that Cal may be exactly the same, if not worse. A man promised the throne his whole life, only for his brother to steal it out from under him. He's vengeful. His bloodlust unmatched. If given the chance, would he be a better ruler than Maven? Worse? Or, in the worst of worse possibilities, could he be exactly the same?

“I wish I’d never met him,” I mutter under my breath. I only realize I’ve spoken aloud when Farley cocks her head to the side in confusion.

She crosses her arms again and steps back toward me. “Cal?”

I nod. “Don’t you think about it? How different the world would be if I had never come into the picture?” Maven had asked me something similar one day at Whitefire. The day I’d had the opportunity to drown him in the bath. The day I’d been too weak to end all of this. He’d asked me if I would take it all back. Going to the Palace, losing my brother, causing so much death. My answer had been easy then. No. So what’s changed?

Cal, my mind taunts me. Cal’s changed. I’ve felt true heartbreak, and it somehow hurts more than anything else I’ve endured so far.

Farley shrugs, though I can see her composure slipping. She’s pissed at me for even thinking about this. Join the club. “Dwelling on the past is pointless, Mare. We can’t change what happened. And even if we could, nothing that’s happened is entirely on you. This revolution would have happened with or without you.”

“Maybe,” I acknowledge, leaning my pulsing head back against the wall and shutting my eyes against the beaming sun above. Exhaustion and the migraine poking needles into my brain make my bones feel like nothing more than dead limbs on the winter trees back in the Stilts. “But not with the Newbloods.”

Farley pauses, considering this. To my surprise, she doesn’t argue. “You’re right. We would have built our forces, but never enough. It would have been a bloodbath. Especially for the Reds. Without you, without the Newbloods, no one would have thought any sort of revolution possible.”

Tears prick my eyes, though I don’t know if it’s from sheer emotion, the throb in my head, the biting ache in my hand, or all three working together against me. “Do you ever wonder if maybe it would have been for the best?”

The ugly question hangs stagnant in the air for a moment, neither of us willing to touch it immediately. Eventually, Farley tries. “You don’t mean–”

“I mean,” I cut her off, “that a lot less blood would be running in the streets of Norta, of the entire continent, right now if I’d never gotten that job at the palace. If I’d never gone looking for a way out of conscription.”

Farely bristles at the insinuation. She’s the one who gave us the astronomical price for escaping conscription. I guess in her mind, by blaming that for all our troubles, I’m also blaming her. I’m not, but I don’t get the chance to explain before she’s doling out her words, each sentence like another blow. “If you’d never gone looking, you’d be dead by now. Kilorn too, probably. The boy’s great at fishing and talking, but not exactly fighting. Not to mention the dozens of other Red soldiers, murdered every day on the front lines.”

“Are they any better off now?” I shoot back. “Look around. Blood flows in rivers all around us. It’s everywhere. That’s all I see anymore is blood. We kill them. They kill us in retaliation. It doesn’t even matter where it started anymore. It’s blood for blood for blood for blood until we’re all bled dry. Red and Silver.” I take a breath, recomposing myself. I hadn’t meant to say this much, especially not to Farley. But it’s been a thought dragging on my mind for far longer than I care to admit. “We know the price being paid. But what’s the cost? The real cost?” I open my eyes to look at her. Anger, confusion, and a deep, profound disappointment fight for dominance on her face. “Do we fight to make sure that everyone knows loss equally? So no one goes to sleep at night without fearing to not see the dawn the next morning? You can’t tell me you don’t think about what life would be if I’d never fallen into Queenstrial.”

“I try to focus more on the here and now, the people I’ve sworn to protect and fight for, instead of moping about,” she retorts, her calm façade from earlier quickly melting into nonexistence.

“I’m sorry,” I scoff. “Are you saying that you haven’t noticed that, even after all the bloodshed, we’re headed straight back to square one here? Cal on the throne? Silvers in charge, or completely wiped out. Neither side even considering a happy medium.”

“Mare–”

“No, you know what?” I continue, so far gone, I don’t even care anymore. “Forget all of that. Forget the Reds and the Silvers and the Newbloods for five seconds. Think of yourself. If I’d never met Cal, Shade would be alive.” His name sticks in my throat, but I continue anyway. “Clara would have a father, and you’d be happy, no matter the war’s outcome.” I shrug, shoulders and head growing ever heavier with the headache eating at the base of my skull. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Farley’s contemplative grimace twists into a positively feral snarl, and it is at this moment that I realize how monumentally I have overstepped. She stalks across the street to me, looking like a woman possessed. She pulls me forward by my good arm, so harshly I fear she might dislocate my shoulder, and slaps me clear across the face.

I stifle a gasp as the crack resonates through the empty streets of Corvium. Farley may not be Silver, not a strongarm with muscles of steel, but her blow still sends me staggering backward. I bring my uninjured hand up to my face, the touch cool against the hot blood flowing to the handprint burning on my cheek. When I finally meet her eyes with my own incredulous stare, her lips are set in a thin line and her eyes shoot daggers through me.

“How dare you.” She doesn’t shout. She doesn’t need to. Her quiet, perfect articulation is lethal. “Shade gave his life for this cause. Because that’s who he was. If this particular chain of events hadn’t happened, he’d still probably be dead sooner or later because that’s just who he was. Same as me.” She gestures to the scars on her face, stark in the harsh sunlight. “I wear my scars, even knowing a healer could take them away, even knowing that they’re not the prettiest, because I earned them. Because I am a fighter and, like Shade, I would die for this cause. That’s who I am.”

I gulp, suddenly cotton mouthed. I want to speak, to tell her I understand, that I’m sorry. Where I can’t find the words to interject, Farley seems to steal my diction for herself and continue. “And Cal is taking that crown because it’s who he is. He may be kind, and brilliant, and decent looking. But, stars above, Mare, he’s a Prince. A Silver Prince. It’s who he has always been, whether you’ve forgotten or not. The crown of Norta is what he’s been working for his entire life. It’s his birthright. And as much as you want this to be some pretty little fantasy world where the boy sacrifices everything for the girl, it’s not going to happen. Because Cal knows, in his heart, who he is, Mare.”

She pauses, features softening as the tension in her shoulder seeps from her muscles. She reaches out to touch and I almost flinch, before I realize she’s just reaching for my hand. “I know it hurts right now. It hurts like a bitch, because you really did love him.” Love. I bristle at the word. Of course I loved him. I’d admitted as much to him. But it was so much stranger to hear someone else say it. “But you can’t give up everything about yourself chasing after him. He knows who he is,” she reiterates, squeezing my hand. “But do you know who you are, Mare Barrow?”

No. The answer pops into my head immediately, much to my despair. I am only eighteen years old. I’ve spent the better part of the past year trying to save everyone I care about, and trying to save the world from falling into ruin in the meantime. I’ve trusted people and I’ve been betrayed. I thought I knew people, thought I knew what drove them, only to find out that my instincts could not be more wrong. And now, staring into Farley’s eyes, hearing her question, I wonder if all that pain and confusion is because I don’t know myself at all.

Her words still echo in my mind when a runner dashes around the corner, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he approaches Farley. Not a Newblood, but rather a Red soldier. Judging by the sun embroidered on the sash around his wrist, he’s one of Farley’s men. Well, a boy, really. He can’t be more than sixteen. Farley catches him by the arm as he tries to stop, slipping in the mud. “Coulson,” she acknowledges him. “What’s wrong?”

Coulson coughs, still trying to reign in his breathing. “Command, ma’am.” I think I catch a glimmer of irritation in Farley’s eyes at the moniker, but it’s gone before I can be sure it was anything more than a trick of the light. “They need you in Command.”

“What’s going on?”

The boy’s eyes fall on me, but flick back to Farley almost instantly. “The king,” he stutters. “There’s a broadcast.”

“He’s on the screen more than he’s on his throne lately. What’s different about this speech?”

Again, Coulson’s gaze shifts to me, an accusatory glare flaring behind cool grey. “It’s not just a speech.”

* * *

The door to the administrative tower is ajar when we reach it. Premier Davidson, Colonel Farley, Queen Anabel, and the entire Samos family await us. And Cal, of course. Only Evangeline seems to notice our arrival, which she acknowledges with a short dip of her head in my direction before nailing her eyes back to the video screen which enraptures the room’s other occupants.

Maven’s familiar features do, in fact, grace the screen. Harsh shadows below his eyes—the ones so like his mother’s—age him, making him seem far older than just seventeen. The crown of flames, that cursed piece of metal that everyone seems so obsessed with, weighs down his carefully styled curls. But he does not seem weighted. He seems strangely happy.

He speaks animatedly from a podium, though the frame is too cropped for me to tell anything about where he is, other than the fact that he certainly isn’t at Whitefire. Still, the lights, the pale white color of the vaulted walls and ceilings behind him tickle the edges of my memory with a vague sense of recognition.

“What’s he doing?” I ask the deathly silent room. Cal is the only one to even notice my words. He tears his gaze away from the video screen to meet mine, searching for something in my eyes. An answer, I guess. Resolution. Something to say that we’re okay after our fight. Subtly, I shake my head at him. This isn’t the time. Farley’s right. Cal has his duty, his life. And I have mine.

“Just watch,” Davidson mutters. In his hands, he holds a smaller video screen. A flick of his wrist brings the volume on the larger screen up, and Maven’s voice fills the space.

“Even in the face of betrayal, Norta is strong as ever,” he announces, to the cheers of thousands. The way the sound echoes brings forward flashes of memories from the not so distant past, but I can’t put two and two together. I’m too distracted by the words befalling the little King’s mouth. “We rise, ever more powerful.”

The camera pulls back slightly, allowing the person beside him to come into view. Iris Cygnet. Princess of the Lakelanders and now, Queen of Norta. Maven’s wife. Like the first time I met her, she does not wear the dripping jewels or ostentatious clothing of a courtier. Rather, she wears a simple light blue gown, tied with a garish sash of red and black around her waist. A crown of golden flames interspersed with sapphires in the shape of water droplets adorns her dark hair. Though I try not to notice, my eyes also fall to the wedding band on her finger.

Cal’s voice cuts through the room. “Who the hell is that?”

“Your new sister-in-law,” Ptolemus sneers.

“The Lakelands and Norta stand now, united as one,” Maven continues, gripping Iris’s hand. It’s not the awkward touch he occasionally shared with Evangeline, but it’s also not the comforting touch he shared with me. It’s political, kind. But not loving. “And together, I give you my word that every last member of the Scarlet Guard will be hunted down and destroyed within the year. Soon, the peace we’ve worked to create will no longer be threatened by these terrorists!”

The crowd cheers, and suddenly the room around is stifling. This time, I can’t tell if it’s Cal’s doing, or my own lungs failing me.

“And, my dear people, I assure you,” Maven adds when the crowd dies down a little. He turns to the camera with a fierce expression, one not meant for anyone around him, or anyone else that may be watching. His look cuts through the screen directly into me, as if he stands only a few feet away. Whatever is about to happen, it’s for me and me alone. “I am nothing if not a man of my word.”

Maven claps, shattering the moment. I have to force myself not to jump at the sudden intrusion on our moment. “But enough talk. Let’s get to it. The real reason you’ve all tuned in today.” The camera cuts from Maven’s close-up to an all too familiar sight that sets my teeth on edge. Judging from the tension in Cal’s shoulders, I can tell he recognizes the arena as well.

When I lived in the Stilts, arenas full of people were a weekly occurrence. Feats in which Silvers fought each other with abilities helped to keep would-be rebels from hoping and dreaming of ever defeating the Silver elite. But this isn’t any arena. It’s the Bowl of Bones. And this is no ordinary Feat. “The Scarlet Guard may soon be extinct, but to the Newbloods only, who I’ve welcomed into my home, who have betrayed both myself and the country, I provide these small mercies.”

On one side of the arena, from a doorway I recognize intimately, a man steps forward, an Arven Silent ghosting behind him. One hand grips a shiny sword, while a few inches above, his wrists are wrapped in familiar Silent Stone manacles. I vaguely remember him from my time at Whitefire. But he’s not a lord of one of the High Houses. He’s not even Silver. He is one of Maven’s Newblood recruits. A Wrecker, I remember. Like Nix or Damarian, with virtually indestructible skin. A feeling of dread pools in my stomach and I pull into myself as the realization dawns on me. The change in posture does not go unnoticed by Farley, who glances from me back to the screen with an increased sense of anxiety.

A woman around my mother’s age enters from the other side of the Bowl of Bones, looking small in her ill-fitting armor. The small battle ax weighs her tiny arms down more than the manacles or the Arven woman behind her. Her familiar features are another slap in the face. Her, I certainly remember. Halley. She’d been a servant for an Eagrie family. I was there the day she came before Maven and showed us her ability–detecting the abilities of other. It was this ability that allowed her to expose Nanny, the shapeshifting Newblood Cal had sent to court to keep tabs on me. Nanny had chosen the Scarlet Guard’s way out and swallowed a suicide pill before she could be interrogated, much to Maven’s dismay. The memory makes me shudder.

Maven’s threats from months ago wander back into my mind. While I stayed at Whitefire, the Newbloods I helped lure there would be safe. Cared for like the soldiers Maven wanted to turn them into. But if I went against him, fought him, they wouldn’t be so lucky.

I didn’t just leave. I escaped, along with fifty other Newbloods, and the entire Samos family. I’d humiliated him on his wedding day, of all days. And now, with his second defeat at Corvium, he’s facing an uprising. Watching the video screen now, it seems that he hasn’t exactly turned the other cheek. He knows what he’s doing. And somehow, though I’m not sure how, he knows I’m watching. He knows how much this will hurt me.

“Lords Arven, if you please,” Maven says in a booming voice, gesturing to the two Newbloods’ Silent guards. They follow his cue, backing out of the arena and leaving the two terrified Reds alone to face each other. The guards don’t, I notice with a lurch of nausea, remove the Silent Stone manacles.

“I don’t understand.” Farley squints at the screen in confusion. “If it’s an arena fight between Newbloods, why does he leave the manacles on?”

“Because it’s not just a fight,” I answer in barely more than a whisper.

Cal inclines his head in my direction, nodding without looking at me. “It’s an execution.”

No one answers. We can only watch. Everyone in the room is painfully aware of just how far away from the capital we are. How useless we are to stop this.

Along the wall of the arena, dozens of Silvers step forward. Judging from the colors emblazoned on their uniforms, and the fact that they all wear the same face, they—rather, he—hails from House Tyros. Clones. But they don’t attack. They merely seem to guard the exits, ready to stop any attempt at escape.

“Begin,” Maven bellows. The Bowl of Bones surges with the cheers of thousands of Silvers. Both Halley and the Wrecker hesitate, staying where they are in confusion. Even from here, I can see the tremors running through them. I did this. My words brought them to Archeon. And my escape put them in this prison of death.

The moments of inactivity in the arena are broken by a sudden flurry of activity as both the Newbloods fall to their knees, choking and clutching at their throats. Among the sea of Tyros faces appear two tall Silvers with dark skin and equally dark eyes, clad in the blue uniforms. Lakelands windweavers. The ones who survived or didn’t make it to the battle at Corvium only a few hours ago. Maven certainly is quick on his feet, I’ll give him that.

Maven waves a hand at the Lakelanders, and they release Halley and the Wrecker instantly, allowing the air they’ve stolen back into their lungs. Both champions collapse into the fine sand.

“Come now,” Maven condescends to them, as if they are nothing more than stubborn children refusing to listen to reason. “Play nicely. This does not have to be the end. For one of you at least,” he adds with a cruel, cold smirk.

My heart sinks as his words rattle me. Small mercies, he’d said.

Cal was wrong. We both were. This isn’t an execution. It’s so much worse.

This is a fight to the death. And there can be only one winner.

There will be no martyr tonight. No Red blood spilt by the unmatched Silvers. This won’t be ammunition against the elite, as the executions of the old days may once have been. This is different. The only Red blood spilled tonight will be drawn by another Red. Newblood versus Newblood.

The Feats of First Friday delighted in shedding Silver blood to show us that we were inferior beings. To keep us in our place. But now, with this little show, Maven has unlocked an even worse way of smothering the rebellion, one that replaces the all-too-valuable Silver blood with the disposable crimson blood that flows in our veins. His message speaks volumes, even without him speaking a word.

Even with abilities, even with power, we will always be Red. We will always be disposable. We will always be inferior. Tonight, one Red will die, and one will walk out of the arena alive, if only in body. As I turn to leave the administration building, I wonder which would be worse. To die at the hands of someone you thought was your friend? Or to be the one forced to take that life, and then live with it for the rest of your own existence?

#rq4 #red queen #rq4ouff #red queen fan fiction #red queen series

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elane-in-the-shadows · 6 years

Text

Red Queen Fan Fiction - In The Meantime Chapter 6

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Find this on wattpad and on AO3

Whitefire

“Captain.”

The insistence of the word drew her out of her thoughts. They were focused on the way ahead, through the tunnels of Archeon leading under the Caesar Square and into the Whitefire Palace. Already her soldiers had parted into groups, some keeping watch just outside of Archeon, while others were preparing the detonations of the bridge. Farley, of course, was going right into Whitefire with her team, to where Mare Barrow and Maven Calore were expecting her and where Shade was waiting to reunite.

“Captain,” the call was repeated – by Grace Winters – and Farley finally glanced over her shoulder at Grace and her sullen face.

“We can’t afford to have loud and long discussions here,” Farley said sharply.

“We haven’t covered this yet,” Grace insisted. “Do we kill the little Tibe if he says no to Barrow?”

Farley sighed. “No,” she snapped, quietly. “No.”

Grace frowned. “But – “

“I know the idea’s tempting, but it wouldn’t help us at all. We’d only take the blame so Maven can wash his hands clean to become the new heir. He’d have to blame the Guard for an assassination, he has no other option to save himself.” Farley turned her gaze ahead again, no need to ascertain Grace’s probably still gloomy expression. She had considered this scenario before, and calculated the risks. They were legion, and every one of them needled her. This whole operation was incredibly rash, yet she, the other officers, and even the Colonel at Tuck, had decided it was worth it. Now her mind always went back to eventual escape plans. It was what she was used to do after all. Hit and run. Take what you can get and bring everyone – as many as you can – away to safety.

Yet in this moment, they walked straight toward a confrontation that could cost them everything, but that was the point: If Tiberias Calore VII agreed to the coup, the Scarlet Guard would stay and become his equal partner. Farley would shake his hand and start to sign treaties; she’d be the representative and the face of the Scarlet Guard in Norta – or the one to lose her head in the attempt.

She didn’t know if she was elated or frightened to her bones.

“Does the same apply to the king and queen?” Grace asked in addition.

“Yes.” Farley paused. “We run if Calore objects, you know which way. If he agrees and all goes to plan, the king and queen will be arrested, and awaiting trial if they don’t comply. The same goes for every noble Silver.” She clicked her tongue. “We’ve talked about that.” Grace bit her lip. “Opposing Silvers will be fought,” she went on, “and hopefully Calore will do that for us. So they do have the choice to follow his new orders.”

Her soldiers nodded readily although their doubts and fears were visible beneath the expectant concentration. As long as they maintained the latter, Farley couldn’t blame them. Was siding with the royal house and their would-be Red Queen the right option? Even if this coup succeeded, the arrangement had something tenuous. But which kind of diplomacy and negotiating wasn’t like that?

Tiberias was an ally, a shining hope for change, Mare had insisted, and so had Maven. Although Tiberias had looked on as Farley had been tortured. But Farley had also witnessed the Maven’s love and awe for his brother when he’d proposed the scheme, and they were another reason why she didn’t intent to kill Tiberias: Maven didn’t want him dead, and keeping him alive became a condition for their cooperation. That was acceptable, but she chewed on it too, that they had to rely on keeping Maven, his brother, and who knew how many other Silvers happy to get this started. Diplomacy is a bitch, she cursed inwardly. But at least negotiating was less life-threatening than fighting.

The way Maven talked about his brother, how his expression changed when it came to him, touched Farley still, had woken her buried memories. Madeline had looked at her like that. Her little sister, only fourteen, had cheered her on four years ago, proud and excited on her behalf when Diana would run point during an operation – together with their father – for the first time. Madeline was too young to participate in that manner, they’d all agreed, but she was enthusiastic as the whole family, as every Scarlet Guard member in their village.

Her mother had always encouraged Diana, too. Clara Farley had run point before, then she’d switched to organize and run operation in the base and at home. Before Diana and her father left, her mother hugged her, gave her advice and said she loved her.

It was the last time they talked. When she returned to the village, it was gone, flooded and destroyed, and Farley family was dead, leaving only two golden necklaces behind.

Damn.

Farley kicked debris in lieu of cussing aloud. Not that that was any quieter. Last night I told Shade I didn’t want to think about my family, now the bloody princes remind me of them! She couldn’t afford this kind of distraction, no matter her doubts regarding the Calores.

They were almost at the palace now and slowed to access only the correct tunnels. It was a matter of minutes and her heartbeat accelerated. Will I escape the whisper queen’s claws again? she wondered. At least, her mother and sister had been spared that. They were murdered in retaliation, but they hadn’t been forced to betray the Guard, their comrades, their family. That’s never been a comfort, she thought as she led the way up to the highest underground floor.

How did Maven deal with that, living so close to a whisper, who was his own mother? Being interrogated by a whisper was Farley’s greatest fear, always had been. Ignorance increased it. Mare had endured the queen’s whispers, but she hadn’t told anyone how it was.

Faint grey light fell through the drain, and marked their destination. The garrison of Whitefire. Farley opened the hatch, accessed the ground, and revealed herself.

She counted the seconds until the detonation, staring at the doomed bridge with Mare and Maven next to her. Excitement filled her, making it easier to hide the awkwardness of standing in the open, an invitation to get shot. Mare had to be used to it, but she exuded nervousness, too. She’s worried, Farley realized. Probably about Kilorn, yet there was no time to tell her he was with the bombing unit, visibly in action but impossible to reach. He’d apprenticed as a fisher, but he had a hand for bombs – like the one to blow up in three, two – BOOM!

The silence of the early morning ended in a blink. Sirens wailed, floodlights went on. People shouted and heavy steps stomped over concrete. Her instincts screamed at her to run run run. But she balled her firsts and straightened her spine. Stay and claim your place, she reminded herself as the crown prince arrived. Uncertain smiles began to bloom on Mare and Maven’s faces, full of expectation. Tiberias stepped nearer, stunned, soldiers flanking him.

Mare stumbled forward, almost falling into his arms. Farley held her breath, and made herself release it. Instead she held on to her rifle and almost gave in to the urge to smile, too. Just one moment and everything changed –

Until –

The prince said –

No.

The army that was supposed to fight for their cause turned their guns at the Scarlet Guard. On her. Despite the orders she’d given, her finger landed on the trigger of her rifle. She almost did it, but Maven screamed at her to run and her senses returned. She scrambled behind a pillar, searching for cover and another drain as she pulled out her communicators, then frantically typed the commands to abort mission and evacuate, before smashing the gadgets to pieces so they couldn’t be used to trace the Guard. Even’s Shade. I can’t call him to save me now.

She rose and gave the leftovers a last kick and jumped into a drain. She heard the shouts and gunshots trailing her, but she ran on, as she always did.

Farley couldn’t see her comrades, to her relief, which meant they had to be escaping. She couldn’t say the same about her pursuers. She ran and rushed behind corners to evade them while still trying to give off shots at them, hoping for random hits.

She used a chance for taking a deep breath when it presented itself. She could flee, like – hopefully – the rest of the guard. Or she didn’t. The tunnels forked here, out of the city or deeper into the palace area. She chose the latter. It was where Mare Barrow had to be.

No matter how fast she was, how many times she shot, how many turns she took, she didn’t lose the Silvers trailing her. Obviously, they knew the palace better than her, especially the side corridors she tried to hide in. All she could do was attack when she had the chance while she went further into Whitefire Palace, but that was a game with bad odds that would only work until she met a magnetron who was as good as impervious to bullets and blades. She could only trust her reflexes to warn her of her tails and those palace security officers she happened to run into. So when a door opened, she slid into a dim entryway and aimed – until a shot come out of the door and smashed a camera on the ceiling.

Her muscles tightened, but the man exiting the room wasn’t a Silver officer, but a Red servant, already slipping his pistol into his jacket again. She recognized him. “Mark,” she whispered, identifying him as one of their spies at court.

“Captain, what are you doing here?” he asked quietly.

“Barrow,” she said merely, and cleared her throat. “Any idea where she is?”

He shook his head. “I’ve heard she and the prince are brought to the king and queen, but I don’t know where.”

“Good, thanks.” That had to be enough.

“Wait,” Mark, said, doubtful. “Can I help you?”

Her face fell. He saw, didn’t he? That this wasn’t really about Mare, but a distraction. A suicide mission. She couldn’t expect to actually find Mare and free her. She could only lure the Silvers away from her fleeing comrades. She hadn’t even paid attention to the cameras, because there’d been no point in avoiding them. She’d raised their flag and given her face to the cause, knowing it made her a target. Now she had become one literally.

He understood that. “I’ll remain in the other wing,” he said.

“Keep your cover,” she said, aware she could hardly tell him to protect himself when she didn’t do the same.

Farley believed to be getting closer; the richer furniture gave her that hint. But she was also tiring and bleeding from several lesser wounds. It was mere luck she’d come so far and was still alive, yet she grinded her teeth and went on. She jumped down stairs and dashed to the right, just as a bullet brushed the corner. Not yet, assholes, she thought, and ran down the most lavish corridor so far, filled with paintings and porcelain displayed on shiny wood. Her heart beat faster as she saw only a wall at the end of the corridor. No. Against all odds, she hoped for another branch-off, not believing such a pretty place led into nothing. There were even chairs. Who’d sit down at a dead end?

And still she reached a wall, and only a wall. Her fingers brushed its tapestry as she had to stop, and she wished to drill through it and the stone behind. What if Mare is just on the other side?

It was futile. There was no way to run.

At least they died for something, her father had said about her mother and Madeline once. His words still made her angry, so incredibly angry. This isn’t the point, she thought. Would they apply to her too now?

All that was left to her was taking as many enemies as she was able to with her. She had enough ammunition, at least. She never lacked it after it had run out on her one time, years ago, when it hadn’t even been vital.

She heard the steps of the approaching Silvers and glanced at the window. It was diamondglass and on the fourth floor, and they might guess she’d go for it and hurt herself with a dodged bullet. Idiots.

Farley turned and immediately shot two times. They never expected that she didn’t hesitate and cave in fear.

Three Silvers were coming for her, in front of a force about twelve farther back. One of the three fell dead, another stumbled after a stray hit. The third one stood frozen. Farley aimed at her, but as her finger touched the trigger, the gun disintegrated in her hands.

A magnetron.

A feeling of doom climbed up her throat, before the magnetron yanked at the rest of her weapons and destroyed Farley’s stance. Several knives flew around the corridor, some stabbing a painting and a pistol crushed a porcelain vase. Then the magnetron pulled Farley of her feet.

She fell hard. Meanwhile, the rest of the force had arrived. Damn damn damn. She forced herself together. One knife remained in her boot, overlooked by the young magnetron girl. Farley rose, threw the knife, and tackled the magnetron, a slight person who went down easily.

Farley gave her a kick as she stood up and straightened her posture. “Can’t decide who to kill me?” she screamed at the strangely immobile soldiers. “Or are you scared – ”

Too fast for her to notice, a blow to her head made her ears ring. She lost her footing and fell backwards, into the chest of another foe.

A swift, she figured, was in front of her, and starting to hit her faster than she was able to anticipate. Not that she had a chance to dodge the blows, as the one behind her pressed hands against her ribcage so hard she was unable to breathe. A strongarm.

“No need to decide,” said the swift with a vile smirk. Yes, she understood that. Silvers didn’t kill just out of necessity. They killed to humiliate.

From the corners of her eyes, she saw a spear taking shape, growing bigger and bigger. The magnetron must’ve recovered, and prepared to finish her.

It’s over.

Next thing she heard were two heavy thumps. Then the gloating swift fell, and the strongarm let go of her, too sudden for her to find her feet.

She fell on her hands and knees and gasped, deeply. She was barely able to lift her head or to make sense of what she saw. The hallway flickered before her swollen, blinking eyes as more and more Silvers dropped. Gunshots thumped through the air that she more felt than heard with her ringing ears.

It took her an eternity to understand, to realize Shade was killing a dozen Silvers by teleporting between them, finishing off each of them with a single stab or bullet. He was too fast to get killed, she’d thought once. Now he showed he was too fast to be kept from being the killer, either. I’ve never considered he could … would do this. And he did it to save her.

Shade swung the knife in his left and slit the throat of the last soldier. The man stumbled, and so did Shade, too stunned to make a second move. But it wasn’t necessary. Instead, Shade teleported behind him and the soldier fell, dead, after all.

Farley got to her knees and stared, as frozen as Shade was. Golden light fell on him from a window in the roof, a strange sight among the horrible scene. He blinked at the carnage he’d created, catching his breath, lowering his hands. The right one held on to a pistol, loosely, until he dropped it and it clanked on the ground. She flinched, expecting a stray bullet, but soon the silence returned as if nothing had happened while they staying unmoving.

Shade still held the knife in his left, tightly, stiffly, as if it was latched onto him. It was the knife she’d thrown in desperation earlier on, and he must’ve found it when he arrived here.

For me, she thought. He came to save me. Killed for me.

She rose with a wince. She staggered toward him and finally felt an inkling of relief when he looked up, into her eyes, with his emotions starting to return. Only that he looked like he was going to be sick, even as he mouthed her name.

She lifted her arms to embrace him, but hesitated when she saw her hands. They were red with her own blood, so different from his. Silver blood stained his clothes, his face, his hands.

As if he was one of them. And wasn’t he more like them than like her? A powerful, deadly, cold-blooded fighter that a Red could never –

His expression changed as he read into her hesitation and understood: He’d scared her.

She gulped and pulled him close to her. She breathed in his smell – now mixed with that of blood and gunpowder – and brushed through his hair. For a moment, she allowed her tears to run, to shut her eyes and be careless.

He hugged her back after a second. The hand on her back was warm and encouraging, reminding her she’d keep going. And so would he.

But, she noticed, his other hand still hadn’t let go of her blade.

“It’s okay,” she muttered. “Thank you. You made it. You saved me.” She hoped that calmed him, unlike her, who was drowning in guilt. All this was her fault, everyone killed today died because of her, who’d fallen so easily into this trap of ambition and rash, dangerous action. Already, the worries blared in her mind once more. Her soldiers, comrades, the refugees in Naercey. And Naercey itself. The city was compromised and even with the messages she’d sent, she didn’t fool herself into believing all would make it out safely.

She could only try her best to protect them after her mistake, and she’d lingered here too long already. She couldn’t lose herself in his arms forever, like she wished to. She didn’t deserve it, so she pulled away. “Come,” she said. It frightened her how small her voice sounded. “There’s more to do.” Shade nodded. “Like Mare,” she added. “We have to get her out.”

“Yes,” he uttered with a choke, and determination flashed in his eyes. He straightened his posture, concentrated again, and Farley pilfered the floor for any usable weapons left. Moving continued to hurt her, and she doubted that would get better once the adrenaline wore off. There would be no Silver healer today. Nor did she look forward to teleporting, but still she touched Shade’s arm to show when she was ready.

He wasn’t. Instead, he seemed panicked. “I can’t find her,” he said, “I don’t know where … ”

“Don’t …” she began, but a new shock went through her, too. They couldn’t leave Mare behind, not now when they had a chance. For the cause, for Mare, for Shade. Farley owed them that.

“We will find her,” she insisted.

He shook his head. “I can’t find her, Diana. I could before, and jump to you and Mare, but today …” he left off, and she wondered if this was why he’d come for her, and not for this sister: She had been easier to find.

That relieved her. At least she didn’t need to feel guilty because Shade chose her over Mare and everyone else, if he’d acted rashly and on instinct.

As if she hadn’t been rash on a thousand times more.

She caressed his arms to reassure him, to encourage him, and he gave her a weak smile. He’s glad he saved me, she thought. She didn’t deserve it, but she would save Mare in return, and the Scarlet Guard with her. The bitter taste of failure and guilt overwhelmed every other of her feelings, including her love for Shade, and urged her to go on.

“Come,” she repeated, more forceful now. “We can’t stay here, but we will get Mare out of this city and we will survive.”

Shade looked way too hopeful, too trusting. “I promise you,” she said, determined to earn off at least part of that trust.

A/N: Finally, I’ve reached this part of the story, the one that was the initial idea of this project. I hope you like it! I’m sorry this got so long, but I believed this is the best point for the cliffhanger ^^°

@clarafarleybarrow @spookymareshmallow @redqueenfandom @inopinion @lilyharvord @sarcasm-and-procastination @elliemarchetti @marecalrandomstuff @selenbean-beany @hannaharies @carstairsjames @eurydicel @thelightning03 @captainwingedstudentllama

#red queen #diana farley #shade barrow #farley x shade #shade x farley #mare barrow #victoria aveyard #red queen fanfiction #in the meantime #in the meantime ch 6 #whitefire #captain farley #fade #action #angst

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inopinion · 6 years

Note

Can write something extremely sad and angsty? Like killing Clara or Farley and let the other one grieve? Or have still-alive-at-the-end Maven think about Cal's death? Turn the angsty grief over Shade into something tangible by including Mare (and Kilorn)'s childhood memories? Well, whatever suits you. Let your dementors runs free^^°

Oh boy… War, violence, just read the prompt and make a judgement call… Also, long. It’s really long.

Do me a favor and hit the reblog button. Asks, requests, prompts, always welcome.

@anyone-anything-canbetrayanyone, @spookysamos, @lilyharvord, @runexandra, @mareshmallow, @adraxsteia, @red-queen-united, @redqueenfandom, @mom2reesie, @iris-cygnets, @chaoslaborantin

Hindsight

Mare leaned back against the tree, Kilorn handed her a sandwich. She examined it for a moment. The bread was stale and hard, the filling made from mustard and eggs. The first bite threatened to crack her teeth, but it was food, and protein at that. The murmur about a supply convoy must have been true. Kilorn wasn’t as picky, she saw bite marks in the paper wrap. He chomped greedily. Their rations were the same, but looking up at him, calorie for calorie, he required more. Most of the men were shrinking into themselves at a faster rate than the women. But all was fair in the Scarlet Guard. Rations for one equaled the rations for any other.

Tick, tick, tick. Thunk. Thunk. Scrape. Clash.

She balanced her meal on her knee and covered her ears. Kilorn turned into her, his fingers pressed to his ear drums. His shoulder shielded her.

Boom! The mortar launched up in a wide arch and twisted down over the valley. Dust kicked up from the recoil. She watched the slight smokey trail marking it’s trajectory. Something launched up from the city and the shell exploded above the wall raining fragments. Tramy carried the next shell to the loading hatch. One of the tanks on the far side sent a shot. One of the seven motor launchers sent off rounds every minute.

“The rhythm is actually musical.” Kilorn remarked, tucking the crust into his mouth.

“Musical or maddening?

Tick, tick, tick. Thunk. Thunk. Scrape. Clash.She covered her ears again as the launcher just past Tramy’s prepared to fire.

Boom!

Less dust. More smoke. A long trail to the wall, an explosion.

Kilorn dropped his hands, ears less vulnerable for at least another five minutes. He rubs his hands on his knees. Mare can see his nervousness in the tap of his thumbs inside of his knees. She leaned her head against his shoulder and took a steadying breath. He aped her motions and the next boom went off.

“Farley wants a briefing at six. Command is sending you in tonight,” he said. His thumbs stilled.

That small message had been the most of his nerves. Mare and most of the New Bloods had been tattered by non-stop fighting and panicked calamities. It had been a hard march north and Mare let it all blend with her broken heart into often scathing and critical statements. But she was turning over a new leaf, as of that morning, when she learned that Cal had Archeon surrounded. The good news had almost everyone feeling more optimistic.

“I guess two days of artillery was a pretty good break,” she offered as evidence that she wouldn’t snap on him.

“Don’t get hot headed,” Kilorn started. He would have said these lines whether or not she’d taken his head off. But it was more pleasant when she wasn’t red faced and yelling.

“I won’t.”

“Don’t lose focus.” His hand moved to her knee, gripping tight.

“I won’t,” she let the annoyance coat her words. Optimistic wasn’t the same as being in good-spirits. “Not my first time, you know.”

“I know,” he pulled his hand away.

She tore the second half of her sandwich in half and set it on her knee. Her turn. “Don’t get antsy. Double check the orders before you send off a blast.”

“You hear thing wrong once and no one let’s you live it down!” he remarked, exasperated, but playful. He set the bit of sandwich back on her leg.

She pushed it back, insisting he take it. “And don’t get hurt. I’ve got enough to worry about at the front.”

“We’re miles away, they don’t have any guns that reach this far. We’ll be making sure breakfast is ready when you get back.” He winked and popped the sandwich into his mouth.

Their arguments and banter mixed with assurances formed the routine of the campaign through the western Lakelands. Both were comforted by the motions even if the knew every word of their script. And like always, Kilorn ’s hand wrapped hers and didn’t let go until his break ended. She rested her temple on her arms on her knees, folded up against the tree, moving only to cover her ears.

—-

Thirty airjets flew in five formations of six. That’s what the radio reported. Mare could only see three clusters from their position outside the city. The assumed destinations: Tuck and Archeon. Maven had Cal’s legion to worry about and the supplies from Montfort undoubtedly had given Cal an edge. A little siege on a small city was nothing in comparison. Mare bit her lip and hoped her family evacuated fast or made their way to the bunkers. She hoped Cal stayed safe, and didn’t waste the resources he co-oped from the Guard. She tried to block it from her mind, but she turned back, looking over her shoulder, squinting. Ella tapped her arm. There was nothing she could do but March forward.

Three hours of tit and tat at the front lines wiped the airjets from her mind. She had a wall the breach. Five Snapdragons circled in a 10 mile radius around the center of the siege. They must have arrived from the eastern Lakelands or some other base. They weren’t part of the plans, they were supposed to all be flying to bigger targets. Davidson dropped his position and came to her side, putting up a shield between Mare and the assaulting stoneskins and strongarms.

“can you Bring them down?“ He groaned, taking one direct hit after another. “We don’t have protection for the back-line.”

Mare reached and felt but just as she grabbed one it slipped away. She felt another and tried to snap off it’s battery as quick as a blink, but, again, it moved on. Their anti-aircraft canons roared blast after blast up into the path of the planes and brought down three. Another swept through, low and she mangled it into a hillside. While her concentration was fixed on downing one, another buzzed low behind them, the last one. The only snap dragon in the sky released it’s hatch.

The ground shook. Three… Seven… Fifteen… More than she could count, the bombs rumbled, exploded, bounced and then detonated. The whole line lost their legs and shielded their heads. But they were too far for debris to strike them immediately. It took seven long seconds for the wind to carry the first sheet of metal and spray of rock to them.

Mare watched the debris billowing up from their artillery line. From where all the reds in their auxiliary were stationed with the long-ranged mortars and the anti-aircraft. From where Farley commanded and her brothers were stationed. From where Kilorn sat in the communication booth, relaying information one side to the other.

“This isn’t real.” She murmured, standing up, the lone standing figure in their entire line.

Her ears rang. A whirling curled around the tone. Sweat dripped from her neck. She swiped it, watching it mix with the dust on her fingers. She rubbed the slippery grit between her index and thumb. Dust so fine she started to shake. Not dust. Not dust at all, ash. Feathery ash, some still slipping from embers to gray puffs, as it floated like snow flakes and danced like seed pods. It clung to hair and sweat on every body around her. It floated on top of the blood pooling on the ground next to a comrade’s amputated leg.

Still framed like a photo, Mare thought of winter. The silence of snowfall and the beauty of clean, pure white blanketing the Stilts before boots could churn it into the mud. She shook.

“Get down!” Davidson hollered, pushing her under him and raising his shield just in time to block the renewed assault.

She sucked in as she hit the dirt and tasted the carbon and minerals, then hacked it out again. Did she taste Bree on her tongue? Her whole body shook. Her fingers twitched. Her legs pushed and Davidson fell back on the heels of his hands. His hands gripped her but couldn’t hold against the jerking force of her limbs.

Mare course with a spectrum of purples from the faint pastel of lavender to the almost invisible darkness of violet. She could touch every pulse of every being around her. She could count the individuals, pin point their positions, sense which stood alone and which ones clustered. She charged into a purple abyss to the soundtrack of whirling tones and the flashes of her own making.

—

The smoke billowed up in blinding plumes. The inferno commanded its own breeze that flicked up dust and ash at the edges. Ash drifted from high up, carried out on the subtle wind. Mare didn’t know when she’d left the battle or how she’d left. She only knew she’d stood in a silent, still crater where the wall had been removed by a mortar and was out of things to kill. And the next scene she cataloged was the smoke miles away from the city walls. She stumbled. She stood. She ran. She collapsed and coughed on smoke the closer she came. She jerked up her red scarf filtering the largest of the debris.

Hulking forms smoldered. Guns. Tanks. Transports. Twisted panels and exposed wires. Craters. Deep gullies of dirt. A black-charred tangle with more legs and arms than just one person. Mare forced herself to look, examine, count bony protrusions and identify parts.

She searched for electronics, a current of life, an area untouched by the destruction. She searched for a communicator or a wrist watch. She even dug deep into herself to bring out the pulses of living things, but nothing called from the flames. She stumbled through the first curtain into a barren hole and reached out again. One slow pulse drew her through more black smoke. She tripped and gagged, vomiting next to the obliterated pile of red-stained stumps. She pushed forward to the pulse.

A hatch creaked open from the top of an overturned heavy tank. She sprinted forward, begging God after God for a familiar face. The soot-coated, grimacing soldiers that fell out, easing to the ground like they were landing on the moon, were not large enough to be her brothers. They weren’t tall enough to even be Kilorn. And certainly, they were not female. The pulse pulled her past them.

Down one edge of a still-hot crater and past the shell of a bomb, she scrambled. She swatted her arms to clear pitch-black smoke from her eyes dampening her face and the scarf with the stinging tears that fought the caustic chemicals in the air. She raced through plume after plume feeling the pulse grow stronger as she came closer. Mare passed it. She swirled in a circle looking for someone, anyone. She circled the pulse, upending hot metal plates and pushing aside limbs. She dug in the ground.

A soft white hand with a watch and less arm than wrist came to the surface. A watch that still ticked with quartz precision. One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. Three-one-thousand. Four-one-thousand.

Somewhere in the distance, communicators and transports approached, though she could feel them more than hear them. She touched their wires and their batteries, felt the signature that meant they belonged to the guard. And she watched the hand on the watch turn.

Clara lost her mother. Clara lost her father. Mare reminded herself that that was a thousand times worse than losing one’s brothers, but she didn’t fully believe it. Parents were supposed to die first, before their kids. But pain is pain is pain is pain is life. Pain is her life, now. Or maybe it always was. And what hurts worse than lining up one grief next to another was that none of them had to die.

Mare watched the seconds on the watch tick by as they shoveled the last of the dirt onto the mass grave. Watched from her knees, where she fell from exhaustion, where her body failed her and yet didn’t have the decency to die.

There would be no headstone for Diana Farley next to Shade Barrow’s. There would be no headstone for Bree or Tramy. Nothing for Kilorn. Just a pit.

At least they were all together. Davidson said it first.

That was bullshit. Mare’s fingers flinched and flickered in near constant currents. They let her sit and look over the mound, one mourner among two hundred survivors while they packed.

After what she’d done on the front line, few dared approach to coddle or even comfort her. Not even Tyton attempted. His eyes widened whenever they did managed to meet. Her purple sparks rarely receded beneath her skin. Even incidental touches had wounded a few.

They tried to take the shovel from her. In fact, she’d been the first to start digging. She cut walls in one of the deeper craters, joined by a rotation of people. When her arms couldn’t lift the shovel, she stumbled up and out to the edge. Without the smoke, she faced the totality of the loss. She wondered a literal wraith on the surface of the earth, collecting a leg, an arm, a butchered hump of someone she’d failed.

She couldn’t make Bree, or Kilorn, or add together enough things to find Tramy. She couldn’t scrape enough from the soil to know where Farley would rest. She couldn’t see anyone just parts: teeth, clumps of hair, brows stains, white bones, black charred sticks. Burnt lumps of metal and scattered upholstered seats their own gruesome inventory–not enough to even make a transport from all that was left.

Mare counted the femurs, and the skulls, and the fingers. She counted everything. She added it together and couldn’t make it work. The scale was too vast; the absences too apparent. Reality was remade in a second’s decision. She could so clearly see the outcome if she’d chosen the other plane, that it sealed the nightmarish quality into place. Their pleading fell on deaf ears. She didn’t need to sleep, she’d surely wake soon enough.

Logic and theories and pleading didn’t swap the unbelieving out of her denials. She didn’t find enough of them so they must not be there. They must be somewhere else, anywhere else. Bree is with a girlfriend. Tramy is charming recruits. Kilorn is practicing his letters with his feet dipped in the river. Farley is rocking Clara back in her mother’s living room. The must be an answer to where they all went and why they weren’t there. A better answer.

On her knees, she watched the seconds tick. She waited to wake up. She waited for the reality that came with grounding the other plane. When the army packed to move on, she could wait for her family no longer. And some how, she walked on.

One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. She felt the quartz tick on her wrist. She timed her zombie steps. She stumbled the walk of the sleepless. She fell in line like every other soldier born destined for war.

—

Cameron, clustered in her own denial, stormed through the lines of new bloods. She grabbed soldiers with uniforms and looked for Farley. Wet streaks dribbled down her chin as each returned an anguished expression. She worked her way through the lines.

Mare hunched on the back of a cart full of what they could pull from the bodies and the wreckage. She hugged her knees up to her chest and stared blankly. Cameron almost missed her in her rush through the throngs. But Davidson pointed her to the cart.

Mare pushed her forehead into her knees so she wouldn’t have to face he rage, the accusation that Cameron’s outline would surely bring.

“What happened?” Cameron walked behind the cart. No response. She trotted and climbed aboard next to Mare. “What happened?” she sobbed.

“I fell for the decoy. I brought down the wrong jet.” Mare’s heart broke all over again.

“The wrong jet? You… the wrong jet?” Cameron lost her breath, and then she lost control.

Mare wriggled in discomfort. Discomfort she wanted. A smothering pressure that strangled her to the cusp of death. Again, no mercy for Mare. Cameron released her and screamed into an angry sob. Mare gasped air she didn’t want and her heart pushed blood she hated having.

–

I have ideas about what comes next, but I’ll just let this sit right here… for now… hit that reblog button if you wanna share with your friends.

#chaoslaborantin #red queen #fanfiction #kings cage #glass sword #mare barrow #odd request from a farley-stan #my writing

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evangelineartemiasamos · 7 years

Text

Red Queen Fan Fiction Blood Curse part 2

Find this on wattpad

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

chapter 11

chapter 12

chapter 13

chapter 14

chapter 15

chapter 16

chapter 17

chapter 18

chapter 19

chapter 20

chapter 21

chapter 22

chapter 23

chapter 24

chapter 25

chapter 26

chapter 27

chapter 28

chapter 29

Final chapter

A/N: The narrator is my original character and there is an awful lot of words explaining her family situation, sorry if that gets confusing.

Cassandra POV

The queen glides into the throne room, moving with a quick pace that leaves her retinue of three so far behind her that you can barely call them such. They are an unusual retinue to begin with, as they aren’t high-born ladies-in-waiting in ostentatious, gem-studded gowns, but two secretaries, a man and a woman, and the Lady Ambassador of the Lakelands.

I turn my head away from them to watch the queen reaching the dais and taking her seat on the throne. As she sits down, the whole court present – 120 people – rise from their kneeling positions. I stand in second line, behind Larissa of House Welle, my future sister-in-law, and I’m flanked by two other sentinels. Thirty of us were in the throne room and while there is no evidence to expect another assault on the Whitefire, due to the dire situation of Norta’s king caused by the Scarlet Guard and the separatists from the Rift, a demonstration of security seems appropriate.

The queen betrays no discomfort by sitting on the throne made of Silent Stone, just like the king didn’t. Before he went to Corvium to deal with the Red occupying force, the queen took the consort’s throne, as had the witch queen before her death. But Iris Cygnet isn’t going to leave leadership in the hands of the fickle, instable boy king. She is our regent and she emitts the dignity of three-hunded years of absolutism exerted by her royal forebears. She’s more regal than any Calore king I’ve ever encountered.

My boyfriend Sorata reported to my mother and me on the queen’s reception by the commoners – and the Reds as well. Admiration is too strong a word, but Iris is liked well enough as the princess who has ended the war. The Scarlet Guard’s didn’t choose the best timing when they crashed the wedding of peace. As if the Reds aren’t already instigated against them and needed further reason to mistrust the rebels. You can’t have everything. Red Nortan soldiers will fight the Guard, just as Maven intends, to my chagrin.

With a wave of the queen’s hand, her retinue take their places alongside her on the dais, still standing. Iris observes her nobles while the master of ceremonies, Richard Provos, summarizes the schedule for this audience. Of course it’s hilarious. I doubt anything of this is news to the queen while her courtiers must have heard rumours before.

Corvium wasn’t reconquered and a quarter of the Silver Nortan forces were killed in action by the united forces of the rebel army made of Newbloods and the traitorous Samos allies. The Lakelander king, our new queen’s own father, was murdered by an Iral separatist while King Maven got away with his life and if the queen is relieved or unnerved by this is impossible to tell. While her gown is, indeed, coloured in the dark shades of mourning, she’s dressed in no way ceremonial, apart from the delicate crown of silver, sapphires and rubies circling her brow. She wears leather, as she does often, and her skirt is divided to reveal her crossed legs clad in leather pants and flat, knee-high boots.

At least the foreigner queen has a more tasteful sense for fashion than the Nortan courtiers in their gem-studded tents. I know it’s superficial to judge people by their clothing, but I can’t let go of my impression. I wish I could see who these people surrounding me are beneath their house colours.

As if my own relations are any better at revealing their true motives. While my family’s first and foremost loyalty is devoted to our own, we chose the path of taking no side apart from obedience to the throne. If that includes working for the usurper Maven and the foreigner queen in front of me, so be it. It’s not easy for us. My mother Charlotte is a Haven, a family supporting King Volo of the Rift, yet she plays her own dangerous game here, expecting to remain standing whoever wins in the end. With Maven as the victor, she expects to be named the Lady of House Haven as the only one remaining loyal, yet at the same time, she acts as a contact person to her house, with each faction believing her to be their double agent.

The victorious and vindictive monarch – whoever they will be – isn’t going to behead the whole of the court if all they have done has been following royal orders, Mother claims, especially if said courtier is someone as effective as her, the boss of the secret service.

I’m not sure that the same applies to me. I, Cassandra Griffey, the bastard telky, have chosen a hazardous position myself by becoming Maven’s executioner and assassin who kills and arrests his Silver adversaries.

Vengeance might await me at every turn and the king knows that. While he appreciates my prowess, he assumes that no one will miss the commoner sentinel if she is caught in a crossfire. And if my closer family does decide to avenge me, it isn’t like I’d gain anything by that. I would just be another scion of House Haven – in all but name and ability, I have to admit – waiting to see if we are truly claimed by Lisa Corvin, our disembodied ancestress, or if my family’s faith in the aethereal realm of ghosts is misplaced.

The situation doesn’t become any easier as my half-brothers are Eagries through their father’s side, a House remaining staunchly loyal to King Maven, while their grandmother is a coat-turning Iral. We are like the textbook example of the family torn apart by a civil war. Right now, there are more Eagries in the Whitefire than I’ve ever seen before, apart from my brother Roman and his aunt Aude, a general who fought at the Corvium siege and who has to be frothing with frustration about the second defeat.

The queen is the opposite. She’s as calm as the lakes of her home country, but I don’t doubt she can be as relentless as the sea. I’ve seen her fighting when the Scarlet Guard crashed her wedding and for the first time, I’ve been in awe of another Silver. She can probably drown me in my own tears if she feels like it.

Dignity is the only expression she shows and the slight moves of her fingers on the armrests remind me less of nervousness and more of Mother’s own twitching to control shadows. I wonder, does Queen Iris try to control water despite the Silent Stone on her chair, or is it just her way to cope with the heaviness and nausea emanating from the throne?

I understand well enough either way. The power of kings isolates you, it is the same for all rulers. They have to choose the throne and nothing else. Be it Maven, the old king or the young woman from the former enemy country. She isn’t allowed to show grief or insecurities. Love and friendship are luxuries no monarch can rely on.

“The traitor Samos in the Rift has declared for Tiberias VII, the murderous prince who collaborates with the Red terrorists,” the master of ceremonies declares eventually and tears me from my contemplations. Courageous – or very stupid – to say this in front of the congregation of the High Houses. Who knows who else might defect because of this news?

The queen’s stormy eyes darken and stop Provos from continuing, like saying which houses back the claim of the traitor prince. Though any noble with sense would have left Archeon already if they intended to turn their coats. For whatever reason, the people gathered here chose to support Maven – until he would lose, of course. Opportunism and repression rule the world and all of them would be begging the victor to be allowed to pledge another oath of allegiance.

Larissa Welle turns her head to give me a questioning gaze. I can only shrug, cursing my damned helmet for the umpteenth time. We’re friends, Larissa and I, as she is betrothed to my brother Hagen. Apparently, she isn’t bothered by his blindness. Maybe he’s lucky that he doesn’t have to see her hilarious dresses with a whole meadow of tulle and satin flowers sewed on her huge skirts. Even if I wasn’t limited to my sentinel uniforms, I wouldn’t wear anything like that, but in a way, it fits her, the affable greenwarden. Indeed, the real cornflowers braided into her dark brown hair are quite beautiful and in a colour as intense as blue fire. And she dresses Hagen impeccably as well. As much as it angers me, making him at least look like a proper noble is a necessity for him to serve in the Whitefire.

The Provos master of ceremonies regains his topic and starts to report on the fragile alliance between the Scarlet Guard, the Rift, Piedmont and the Republic of Monfort, which are still dangerous grounds. Many courtiers gasp as they imagine a nation governed by Reds, actually a bunch of Newbloods, to make it even worse.

I don’t believe that any of this is news to the queen. She has to have set up this audience to inform her court of their enemies, to make us realize how much we need our tense unity and her rule and her Lakelands backing. But this play makes her look more like a young girl than a schemer. Maybe that’s exactly what she wants.

Iris stops the report with a raised hand. She looks almost amused beneath her serious bearing.

“My good subjects,” Iris begins, “we shall not forget that we are Norta. We have the technology, the resources and the power which the Rift may only claim in parts. The Samos kingdom will not last for long while we stand together! Four traitorous High Houses and volatile Reds cannot break what the House Calore has built up in centuries, a nation rightfully proud of its progresses and strength.

"One long war had ended, and here I stand as the herald of the unity Norta and the Lakelands have finally found. What has divided us shall now be our greatest advantage – our differences and rivalries have made us reach our greatest selves and this is the time to demonstrate what we can accomplish together. The king and I will not stand to see this era of peace sullied by a secession caused by some obstinate, presumptuous and greedy House lords who think they can rule their own states by nothing but rebellion. They are defectors who forgot the importance of loyalty, traitors who threw in their lots with wretched terrorists. They are insurgents need to be reined in again and to meet punishment for their crimes.

"I trust you to defeat them. I trust you to win, for Norta, for peace, and for yourselves.

"And I’ll fight with you. I will slay Norta’s enemy as relentless as the sea. For power and strength!”

I blink when the queen uses the words I have attributed to her just moments before. They have to be an obvious simile, I think, as the throne room drowns in cries of power and strength and thunderous applause. I squeeze Larissa’s hand as she moves to leave with the other nobles, dismissed by the queen once she’s delivered her rousing speech. I almost admire how easily she’s brushed over the fact that Maven’s forces were defeated. I start to follow along with the rest of the security personnel not on duty for guarding the queen as Iris raises her voice once more.

“The sentinels and security officers shall stay.”

My feet stop immediately, accustomed to obey a royal order. I line up with the rest in front of the queen and take the chance to look directly at the group on the dais. The queen has regained her seat on the throne, sitting straight and comfortably, seemingly still unperturbed by its compound. Her attendants’ faces are blank, as if focusing on the soldiers in front of them, but the Lady Ambassador grins wickedly.

Never trust a diplomat, was one of my mother’s lessons, and yet it is strange for the lady to show her derision so openly. The queen should rein her in as well, if she wants to maintain her pageant of the peace harbinger. But this is not the time as Iris wants to speak to her Nortan guards for now.

“I’m inclined to trust you with the protection of my life,” she begins, her regal bearing changing from pleading figurehead to haughtiness in an instant. “But I would rather not see another infiltration of the Whitefire and in my opinion, these disguises you wear are like an invitation we shouldn’t continue to use. Remove them.”

I can’t hide the smirk on my face as I take off the damned helmet. The queen rises and leaves the dais to walk down the line of her bodyguards, going on prattling about her expectations. She stops in front of me.

Up close, I see that Iris is athletic and muscular like me, but 10 cm taller. “My Queen?” I ask, maintaining my composure.

She chuckles. “You’ve heard that, Isabella?” she exclaims to the ambassador. “She calls me ‘my Queen’, as if she is truly loyal to me.”

For a born-and-bred princess who knows about the importance of flashing her image, she is quite open about her mistrust. She sidles closer to me and her hand almost touches my chin – or my throat. There is honest curiosity in her eyes, a feeling I’ve noticed from her before, even on the first time we’ve met years ago.

The corners of her mouth twitch and she moves back a step. “We’ve seen each other before, Sentinel Griffey. You have visited me in Detraeon once.”

I supress the urge to blink and nod. “Yes, my Queen.” Visited me isn’t exactly right as I didn’t come for the Second Princess Iris five years ago. I assume the two different colours of my eyes – black and grey – make me so memorable, as I didn’t have my tattoos back then. The queen inclines her head, waves the ambassador to her and goes on. I remain the only one she’s talked to. As Iris walks, drops of water gather around her, swirling in alternating patterns. As she turns to go back to the dais, she hesitates. She faces us instead and the waters change shape to surround us like fetters. I hold my breath at the queen’s subtle control of her element.

Iris barks out four names and the swirls point to the corresponding persons. I am among them.

“I promote you to my personal bodyguards,” the queen announces.

Ah shit.

“Allyson and Henryk,” - her secretaries, apparently - “will coordinate your new tasks and schedules. I expect nothing but excellence from you.” Her smile reveals pretty, small teeth. “I’ve heard only the best about you, and I remember your efforts from my wedding and before.”

I’m not sure if my performance of the royal wedding is a recommendation. Whatever Queen Iris has seen of me, she couldn’t have noticed what I’ve really been doing, dodging attacks and bullets aimed at the infiltrators. Guiding my fellow sentinels away from areas where they’ve been needed. Opening the rooms in which the recruited Newblood soldiers were locked in.

I’m a very good sleeper agent for the Scarlet Guard.

The queen beckons her chosen four, two men and a woman I all know well enough. The queen’s smile sends a shiver down my spine. This is a formidable woman I’ll have to outwit, even though I’m flattered by her recognition. But that can’t have a matter in my coming tasks. I’m the daughter, sister and lover of spies and I’m becoming one as well. The young queen of peace has selected a traitor to protect her.

Commentary:

Tell me if Cassandra fangirls Iris too much ;-)

Tell me if you don’t get Cassandra’s character. She appeared in my former fic Black Storm but maybe not everyone read that one too. But I couldn’t let go my precious murder baby, fight me …

And yes, Cassie judges people’s sense for fashion because it’s a common thing to do. It doesn’t mean that she hates them just for that.

@queenmareena @lilyharvord @redqueenfandom @universegamer @tiygreen37

#blood curse #red queen fan fiction #king's cage fan fiction #red queen #iris cygnet #red queen 4 prediction #original character #cassandra griffey #my queen iris #caris #red queen 4 fan fiction #my fan fiction #red queen fanfiction

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