|
|
Post by xσxσJα∂є on May 19, 2022 23:08:38 GMT -5
Hiii! I’m Jade, this looks really interesting, are you still accepting joiners?)
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 20, 2022 0:51:09 GMT -5
Hiii! I’m Jade, this looks really interesting, are you still accepting joiners?) Hi Jade! Thanks so much for messaging and for your interest. I don’t believe we are accepting new joiners at the moment but I’ll pass you on to our owner 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 to confirm x) |
|
|
|
Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on May 20, 2022 1:08:59 GMT -5
(We are not currently accepting members, but thanks for showing interest!)
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 20, 2022 1:57:20 GMT -5
Callan had been resting his eyes — not asleep, just thinking — when the young Crius entered his tent.
He had so many thoughts on his mind in that moment. About whether it was even possible to try to get Elena to believe him. Whether a false confession now might be better before she forced one out of him. Whether if he lied and said he had done it, it would be safer for Carlo.
Whether there was a point in fighting when Elena had already made her mind.
But had she? After all, she kept asking. She could just kill him if she truly was sure that he was guilty. Perhaps there was still some doubt in her mind yet.
Regardless, his thoughts were dispelled by a poking on his arm and a young voice asking if he was awake.
”Yeah, I’m awake” was the young man’s soft answer ”Just thinking”
He opened his eyes to take in the boy in front of him, offering the kid a smile. Crius was a bright spot in his current situation. The boy was a good kid, and he was nice to talk to. It felt a bit like growing up with Tia and Carlo again.
”Hey, little man,” Callan greeted ”What’re you doing up and about so late? Can’t sleep?”
Callan wasn’t exactly sleeping too well himself, for obvious reasons. But being awake at night had not helped him with a plan to get out of there. The camp still had guards at its borders, day and night. He was sure there had to be a weak spot in the defended somewhere, but he’d been yet to find it. He was being as observant as possibly but it was hard to notice anything useful from in the tent so really he was out of luck. Plus he wouldn’t get far through unfamiliar forest, and he needed to discover the location of Lilith’s camp and figure out how to free Carlo before he was willing to leave this area. He didn’t want to go back to Tia with no Carlo and only a vague idea of where to find him.
As Head Guard he could not save his own skin and leave the Crown Prince behind. Especially since he did not know what Lilith or Elena might do to Carlo when they discovered Callan had left. No, it was simply not an option.
Crius was a sweet kid, that much Callan knew. Elena would kill the boy if she found out he was out of his tent in the middle of the night and talking to Callan. Not that it seemed to stop Crius.
”When I was your age I used to explore at night too,” remembered Callan ”Tia and I loved sneaking around the palace. Exploring hidden nooks and crannies and finding passageways. I used to like climbing right up to the battlements - you could see for miles around up there.”
That was before he and Tia had been forced to grow up. Though Callan did still enjoy being up on the battlements, which given that he was a guard was probably helpful.
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 20, 2022 2:35:54 GMT -5
Alex chuckled lightly when Athena said she trusted him, as foolish as it might be. It amazed him, really, how they could count on one another despite how little each friend really knew about the other.
“Oh, it’s entirely foolish.” was Alex’s response
There was an element of truth in the joke, though. Because he did fear that he was putting his friend in danger. That Athena would end up hurt because Alex had pulled her into something.
He nodded in understanding when she gave her warning, letting him know that she could go out on her own if she wanted to. That she only stayed to look out for him.
”I know,” he answered ”and I don’t expect you to stay for my sake. I’d be okay, Athena. I might be a thorn in my father’s side but he’s not managed to be rid of me yet. I’ve a habit of sticking around where I’m not wanted.”
Another little joke. Anything to pretend they were just talking like normal. As if nothing bad were happening.
Anything to avoid the truth.
Athena’s mention of Minke made him desperate to know what the two girls meant to one another, but he couldn’t ask Athena about that. Now wouldn’t be the moment even if he thought she’d be willing to share.
Thankfully she changed the subject, talking about Alex’s father and Dante and doing a somewhat poor but very entertaining impression of Dante. Alex couldn’t help but laugh at it.
”That’s exactly what he’d say,” said Alex before continuing ”but you’re right, my father would kill me.”
He stood too, drawing himself up to full height and doing his very best to imitate his father’s posture.
”Just when I thought you couldn’t insult this family more, you go and bring a lowlife criminal into our home, parading her under my nose to mock me.” he scolded in an imitation of his father’s voice that was, at best, barely passable.
He could bet his father thought Alex was only friends with Athena as an act of rebellion towards him. Because of course Alex would never make friends for his own reasons. Of course he couldn’t just want to be happy, he had to want to make his father unhappy too.
He, too, couldn’t help but burst into laughter at his own impression. Really, you had to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
|
|
Demisexual
Leo
Surviving off Thai tea and Miguel O'hara
|
Post by Leo on May 24, 2022 21:44:33 GMT -5
Tia had been frantic without her brother and her best friend. Knowing that they had been taken from her as a personal attack and a way to weaken her made her angry. Vengeful even. She was always pacing now, always trying to figure out what the next move might be. How should could get the upper hand and get her boys back? Why attack her when this could start a war? Because she was young and new to ruling a kingdom alone?
An error in judgment.
Tia hadn’t bothered trying to focus on anything else but her brother and her captain. Even when her advisors insisted she try and find time to do something else, handle anything else. Even for a moment to let her mind rest and fix a different problem. She always refused.
There had been no findings in the forest, no matter how deep her forces searched. The tracks of the stolen carriage had been covered up and any other sign of where they might have gone had simply disappeared. There was no trace of them anywhere and it was frustrating. Infuritating really.
There was one morning when Tia skipped breakfast in favor of going over paperwork and learning more about the Rajani kingdom. The laws in place there and of course their queen. She’d heard enough about Ernestine from either rumors or her parents to be wary of her and try to keep the woman’s view of you in a pleasant light, but she didn’t fully understand what everyone had meant until Carlo and Callan had been ripped from her grasp. So, she was going to learn everything she could about the villainess.
And in the middle of her studying, she had been interrupted by one of her advisors holding a letter. He said it was from Queen Adira of Halstein.
“Read it to me,” Tia responded not bothering to look up from her documents. She didn’t seem interested in whatever the Queen had to say and it was clear she didn’t care if the information was possibly confidential between royalty. The advisor however did care about that information in case if life was later in question over the information.
“Your Majesty are you positi-“ the man began nervous but was cut off by his Queen.
“I won’t repeat myself,” Tia spoke sharply still not bothering to look up from what she was reading. After a few moments of silence she did end up looking at him and his nervous expression. “Proceed.”
And with a quiet “Yes you majesty” and a nod of his head, the man opened the letter and began reading it to her. Tia didn’t listen at first. She was too interested in the outskirts of Ernestine’s territory and how she might cross them if it came down to battle. Hell, she was willing to leave now with her armies ready to invade. But, at some point in the factly laid out words of the letter, Tia began to pay attention to what the other Queen was saying. That she was sorry for her loss of her parents and even the loss of her brother and her captain. That she understood what it was like to rise to power at such a young age. And of course that she was on her way to her kingdom.
“Adira…” Tia muttered under her breath once the advisor had finished and waited for his Queen to give him another order. The document in her hand was now sitting down on her desk and Tia’s eyes were looking at the rug across her rooms. Thinking of what she was going to do next. Her first reaction was to turn Adira away and refuse her access in her time of distress.
But that was her first thought.
“We’ll welcome her as a quest. I’ll listen to whatever wisdom she has to share,” Tia ordered and shooed the man out of her chambers. The man bowed and left the room, letting silence fall over Adrestia as she glanced out the window to her balcony. “I’m sure it’ll be enlightening.”
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 25, 2022 5:25:30 GMT -5
It really was most inconvenient that she wasn’t meeting Adrestia in Halstein. Adira would have much preferred to have been in her home territory, as it were. Gave her a little more of an advantage. But perhaps it was for the best. It would give Adrestia a bit of the security that she must have been feeling that she lacked so sorely in that moment; with any luck it would mean she was less on her guard with Adira.
Still, she had to be careful. After what happened, Adrestia would be on her guard regardless.
It had been a long journey to the palace; she had set off not long after she’d sent her letter to Tia, not wanting too much delay between the young queen receiving the letter and Adira’s arrival. After all, there was no time to waste.
Drake and Ernestine would not be wasting even a single moment where they could be scheming. If she wanted to survive, if she wanted to come out on top, Adira had to do the same. In the kind of game she and the other two rulers were playing, you didn’t get to be second best. Whichever of them won would eliminate the others to get rid of any threats to their power. Adira knew that.
If you didn’t have the crown, you were dead. And she was determined that it wouldn’t be her blood that was spilled in the end.
So now she had finally arrived at Adrestia’s palace, her carriage pulling up outside. What happened next, she told herself, was crucial in her plan. She had not gone to the effort of poisoning Tia’s parents just to lose the kingdom to a gamble Ernestine or Drake had taken. Wisteria had to be hers. But subtly - she would not take it by force, for to conquer another kingdom would signal her intentions to Drake and Ernestine and begin a war before she was ready. No need to accelerate things. Adira worked best by carrying out her plans slowly. Before any war broke out she needed to gain a power base, gain some puppet kingdoms so she had support.
Tia was the perfect puppet queen. If Adira played her cards right.
The doors to the carriage were opened to allow Adira to step out, and she was quickly met by an attendant with some pleasing news. The queen upon getting the letter had agreed to receive her.
Perfect news.
Adira was directed inside the palace and shown to a room where she was told Adrestia would meet her; a servant left to inform the younger woman of Adira’s arrival. It seemed to be some kind of drawing room, but not as big as one Adira would expect for a place of this size. She suspected that this was one of multiple, and that this smaller one was more private and perhaps more exclusive.
This, she suspected, was where the conversations that really mattered took place.
It wasn’t too long before Adrestia arrived, announced by one of the palace staff who held the door open to admit her. Adira bowed her head briefly in respect, but quickly assumed an heir of big-sisterly concern as she approached the Wisterian queen.
“Your Majesty. It was my intention to visit you when I heard about that dreadful business with your parents, but when I heard tell of what happened to your brother I simply knew I could not delay.” Adira began
She knew Tia had probably heard far too much about her coronation and had likely not been acknowledged as a teenage girl mourning her parents. Adira needed her to feel like she was being seen.
And she’d chosen not to mention Callan because he was secondary to her. The crown prince being kidnapped was far more pertinent news than a guard. Besides, Adira didn’t want to sound like she knew too many details after not having been in attendance at the event in question. That would risk arousing suspicion.
“I came to offer my sympathy; I know something of what you are going through,” the queen of Halstein continued “and my support, for if there is anything I or Halstein can do to help I mean to see it done.”
She had to be patient. Offer Halstein’s support, gain Tia’s confidence. She had to make everything seem like Tia’s idea. The steps to making Tia a puppet queen had to be gradual and calculated; Adira thought Tia young and inexperienced, but not unintelligent. She needed to choose her words wisely and thoroughly think through her actions.
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jun 1, 2022 5:38:01 GMT -5
RANDOM WRITING - NOT NECESSARILY CANON The worst part of it all was that he could remember when it was different.
He remembered when he had two parents who loved him. He could remember when his words and touch were not poison, when he could actually do right in the eyes of others.
Sure, there had still been pressure on him. For being a young prince and therefore in the public eye, for being a symbol of the peace between two kingdoms. But he’d been content, he’d been able to be a child.
Those days seemed like a distant faded dream, a memory behind some warped glass which he knew was there but which he couldn’t see clearly. If he concentrated hard enough, sometimes he could pull that feeling back for just a moment. Hold onto it tightly; maybe too tightly, too desperately.
The war had torn everything apart. That had been the start of the suspicious gazes, of the distance which others kept from him. The whispered words as if he could not hear. It was that cursed war which had made his mother betray him and his father treat him as if he were someone else’s son.
He’d felt the hostility the moment he had returned from Levina; though he had been young, he knew enough to tell that he was suddenly being treated differently even if he hadn’t entirely understood why.
From there things only disintegrated more, turning to dust in his hands. He’d lost his mother, and then years later his abilities manifested. Abilities which brought him nothing at that age but confusion, fear and isolation.
And perhaps his fall from grace from somebody loved to somebody grudgingly tolerated would not have been so painful if he couldn’t remember a time before.
A time when his Levinian blood was seen as a strength, a bond of alliance, rather than an object of suspicion. A useful link rather than a dangerous tie which might pull him towards a hated foe. When he was not seen as a potential enemy within the very castle walls. When time spent in his mother’s home country was not seen as a stain or a corrupting influence.
When he could live in two worlds without anyone expecting him to have to choose one or the other. When he could be wholly himself, not having to deny or forsake half of who he was.
A time when he stood a chance of being somebody his kingdom and his family could be proud of.
Times of laughter and safety. Of family. Of hearing his mother hum as she busied about some task or other and he explored the palace gardens, jungle-like from the perspective of the child. Of peeking from behind a pillar so he could watch his father discuss matters he didn’t understand with the council, only to laugh when he was caught and chased out with affectionate good-natured chuckles and amused shakes of the head.
A time when he stood a chance of being somebody his kingdom and his family could be proud of.
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jun 14, 2022 15:29:10 GMT -5
FLASHBACK
She would never forget the day she lost everything.
Her pounding footsteps across familiar stone floors, well-worn by many before her who had walked the palace’s paths, but now ringing and echoing with the sounds of a place in panic.
She remembered the clutching fear, watching everything she had ever known crumble to dust. Watching blood spilled in her childhood home.
The rushed reassurances she’d tried to give Minke as she prepared the girl a horse outside, even though she knew it was a lie. She knew it wasn’t okay. And she knew Minke knew it too. Briseis had never lied to her little sister before, not about anything important. But she could not hear to watch her sister’s heart break the way hers was.
And then…
“Where’s May?”
That fearful question, Briseis would always remember asking it. The realisation that she hadn’t seen her sister since the attack had begun. That she may still be inside the palace.
There had only been one thing to do; with a heavy heart, she’d been forced to bid Minke goodbye and sent her away alone. She had done so without any idea whether she’d ever see her youngest sister again, but with the knowledge that if she wanted the girl to be safe she could not let her stay near the palace for a moment longer.
Briseis, having watched for her sisters shape retreating for a few moments (and only a few it had to be, for time was too precious to waste), had in desperation turned back to the palace in the hope of finding Maylea.
Sure, it was terrifying running back into that building, falling and under attack. The hallways she could have walked blind being reduced to unrecognisable rubble. But not more terrifying than the idea of losing May.
It had not been so long in her search before her sight fell on a crushed wooden desk, the wood splintered and broken. The thing was flipped upside down, and on the underside she could see three sets of initials carved. One for her, one for May and one for Minke.
It was the desk the sisters had used for their studies over the years, each sister in turn leaving her mark upon it. Briseis’ the oldest, Minke’s the newest and most prominent because of it.
She had lost everything that day. Her home, her family, her crown. Everything she had known. Everything that was familiar to her. Everything that should have been hers.
Destroyed in a heartbeat, and for nothing. Nothing but the love of ruin itself. No purpose, no reason. At least that was how she saw it.
Some Crown Princess she had been, unable to protect her family, her people or her kingdom. How long she had claimed she wanted adventure? And what good had her strength and desire to learn to fight done her in the face of a real challenge? In the face of something that actually mattered?
That day, her entire world had crumbled around her. But as she left that palace, alone and with no allies and no home, she’d made a promise to herself. A promise that she would try everything in her power to restore what had been lost. That which could be restored, anyway. If there was a way to bring Alexandria back to its former glory, she would.
If her sisters were still alive, she would find them or die trying.
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jun 25, 2022 4:51:35 GMT -5
FLASHBACK The King and Queen dead.
Callan still hadn’t quite processed the news his father had given him upon the young soldier’s hurried return back to the palace. It didn’t feel real. The King and Queen had almost as much raised Callan as the boy’s own parents. The royals had chosen to become the benefactors of the Verndari family all those years ago out of a gratitude for service but also a closeness which had not faded over the generations. Indeed it had deepened into familial kind of bond.
He couldn’t imagine how much their children must be hurting. To have them taken so suddenly. And not only had they their grief to deal with, but all too soon the new duties and responsibilities of the daughter and son would need to be reckoned with. The kingdom could not wait for the sake of a mourning daughter. Callan knew they would most likely expect their queen before Tia was ready.
Callan believed in her strength totally. He had wholly expected her to reject the idea of a regent and insist on ruling herself, because he knew what she was made of.
‘You have flint and steel in your soul’, he’d always told her.
The Verndari had a reputation for strength, for blood of iron, which was perhaps not deserved. But Callan would have conferred such a reputation on Tia without hesitation, for he had no doubt she deserved them and would have been equal to such an account of her.
Of course that was not to say that she was not also warm and kind. Callan knew very well the extent of Tia’s caring. But when her good-hearted nature was tested or advantage taken of it, they would find that solid core if the need called for it. A firmness, strength and confidence which Callan admired.
But this belief in her did not mean he was not aware of the support she needed and deserved. It did not mean he thought she should have to hide the pain she was going through for the sake of the crown.
For now, though, thoughts of crowns and coronations were all far away. Callan was letting his worries for Tia rush too far into the future. In that moment, she had just lost her parents and she needed to grieve and process.
The first thing he had done after his father had given him the news had been to rush to Tia’s quarters. He had no thought to change out of his travelling clothes, just the knowledge that Tia needed him and it could not, would not wait.
He didn’t know if she wanted to talk to anyone but he had stopped outside the heavy wooden door leading to her chambers, and exchanged brief words with one of the guards outside. The guard acknowledged Callan’s request, and disappeared inside only to appear again a few moments later.
A nod. Tia had agreed to see him.
The young man stepped inside, the guard holding open the door to admit him. Callan heard it close again behind him, but saw nothing for his eyes were trained on Tia.
Callan simply rushed forward to embrace the girl he’d always seen as a little sister. He held her close, in the most comforting hug he could possibly muster. No conversation was exchanged at first, just comforting half-words and gentle hushing.
A tight, almost desperate hug it was too. As much as it held the desire to comfort, the desire to make Tia feel supported, equally it was full of other emotion. Apologies that Callan had not been there when it happened. The heavy emotion of time spent apart. A sympathy for Tia’s grief and pain, a desire to share that burden with her so she might feel less alone.
A promise that he was going to be there for her.
|
|
|
|
Post by Brownie on Jun 26, 2022 22:07:59 GMT -5
[[ Yo I just wanted to pop in and say I've been reading these on and off for a while now and I'm always in awe of how yall can move both quickly and slowly. Let me know if or when yall want to try adding another person to any of your groups, I'd love to try and see if I can match yall's style someday. It sounds like a challenge that would take some getting used to, but it would be refreshing to have a group with a larger scope than a single group/plotline ]]
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jun 27, 2022 11:49:47 GMT -5
[[ Yo I just wanted to pop in and say I've been reading these on and off for a while now and I'm always in awe of how yall can move both quickly and slowly. Let me know if or when yall want to try adding another person to any of your groups, I'd love to try and see if I can match yall's style someday. It sounds like a challenge that would take some getting used to, but it would be refreshing to have a group with a larger scope than a single group/plotline ]] Hi there! Thank you for all the wonderful compliments, they mean a lot. We’re very glad that you enjoy reading our stuff. Unfortunately we’re not accepting anyone at present but if that changes we will let you know!) |
|
|
|
Post by Brownie on Jun 27, 2022 15:33:09 GMT -5
[[ Yo I just wanted to pop in and say I've been reading these on and off for a while now and I'm always in awe of how yall can move both quickly and slowly. Let me know if or when yall want to try adding another person to any of your groups, I'd love to try and see if I can match yall's style someday. It sounds like a challenge that would take some getting used to, but it would be refreshing to have a group with a larger scope than a single group/plotline ]] Hi there! Thank you for all the wonderful compliments, they mean a lot. We’re very glad that you enjoy reading our stuff. Unfortunately we’re not accepting anyone at present but if that changes we will let you know!) yep! I know you guys only open maybe once or twice a year. Just give me a ping if that happens and I'll see if I'm in a position where I'd be able to dedicate some time rereading and learning the plot history. Until then I'll continue to lurk ]] |
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 9, 2022 13:56:16 GMT -5
RANDOM WRITING - NOT NECESSARILY CANON A young Alexiares pushed the door to his chambers shut behind him, turning and putting his back against the door as he looked down at shaking hands.
He’d never meant to hurt her. He didn’t like the woman, and he’d been angry at her, but he hadn’t wished his stepmother any harm.
But his anger had been a different beast, like a vicious animal, and that uncontrolled destructive force had been given form from his magic. Had Alex been more powerful, had his father not stepped in, she could have been hurt.
He’d proven he could not be competent in this one important task his father had put into his hands; controlling this thing, this curse he had inherited from his mother. It could not get out that the prince was a Factioneer.
If it did, Alexiares knew the dangers, and they were many. At best, the reputation of the family (and their political influence) would be destroyed. At worst, Alex’s best hope would be exile. His family would be at risk too, though his father had mitigated for that by being open in his intention to forsake Alexiares to protect the rest of the family. Cut off the gangrenous limb to save the whole body.
And yet here Alex had allowed his abilities to control him, to get the better of him, despite knowing the risks.
What was he, if he could not control this? Somehow both weak and dangerous all at once, he supposed. With abilities but no strength to control them. A boy who was not even equal to his inherited abilities, shameful as they were. Who could not even be what his mother was.
The boy who could never be what his father wanted, nor claim his legacy from his mother. The mother who, anyway, betrayed his trust most deeply.
The young prince sighed, running those hated hands from which the magic had only minutes ago sprung through his hair and letting out a shaking breath.
The thirteen-year-old couldn’t decide on who he was, on what he should do. He was being made to seem a monster, and sometimes he felt he could see what others saw in him. But he could not feel it. He didn’t feel bad, or dangerous. He didn’t feel like a traitor, he didn’t feel untrustworthy.
But that day more than ever, he wondered perhaps if they were right. He had shown himself capable of causing real hurt. He had proven himself the danger his father had foretold he could be.
A sudden jolt of fear shot through him. What if he did end up hurting someone? What if he could never control it? What if all of this ended in someone being harmed because of a teenager’s temper? Perhaps, if he was capable of that sort of thing, he should be feared. Perhaps he should be afraid of himself.
Hot tears spilled down the boy’s cheeks, hands now in fists at his side, rising to his forehead as he slid to the floor.
From his position just at the other side of his door, though, he was able to discern the sound of approaching steps far sooner than he would have otherwise. He recognised the tread, and just had time to calm his quiet sobs and wipe the tears from his face before the quiet knock sounded.
“Alexiares?”
The young prince took a steadying breath, and found himself shaking his head as if the boy on the other side of the door could somehow see it, before speaking up.
“Go away, Caspian!” he responded, perhaps more sharply than he intended.
His brother did not know about his powers. His father had impressed the importance on Alexiares of the Crown Prince remaining uncorrupted by the knowledge, of him being innocent of collusion the crime being committed within the palace walls of the harbouring of a Factioneer. His reputation must be beyond reproach, there must be nothing that might even hint at Caspian being aware of his brother’s powers.
He could not find out.
Though Alex’s were harsher than he’d intended, they were more than equal to achieving the desired effect; he heard Caspian’s footsteps retreat.
The young prince, safe from the risk of his brother discovering what he should not ever know, was alone once again.
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 19, 2022 14:29:58 GMT -5
A generation of royals, cursed.
In Wisteria, a young girl-queen taking the throne after the loss of her parents. A girl forced into a role before fate should have rightly given it to her lot. A girl having to face her destiny before her time. A girl who had instantly been set upon by the wolves, other royals engaging their machinations against her, and would have to fight them off. Strong and capable but so sorely underestimated. With a kind heart which was her greatest strength but which others, so convinced it was her greatest weakness, tried to exploit. Cursed with the strength that only comes from one who has had to fight more than should be their due. A girl who has lost too much and will not allow more to be taken from her.
Aaltonen, a kingdom which had long been plagued by instability but which now seemed on its knees. A young prince on a doomed quest, chasing the most infinitesimal hope of saving his slowly dying parents at home. Fighting for his kingdom with a naive optimism of the kind that only came from desperation. The kind that only developed when there was in fact no real hope at all. Just to have some comfort to hold on to and something to fight for. A boy hoping against everything that he might be able to save his kingdom. A boy unprepared for the dangers of the journey, or for the stresses of ruling. But who would do whatever was needed of him, who would fight for whatever was good.
Halstein’s two departed princes, fallen to their sister’s cruel ambition and vicious lack of remorse. Destroyed by a youngest sibling who would not stay in the shadows any longer. The hopes of their kingdom - not perfect, but representative of the chance of a brighter tomorrow. Still grieving the loss of their parents when they were betrayed with such crushing finality. Heralding the beginning of a less forgiving age for the people of their kingdom, if superficially a more prosperous one. Lives cut short by greed and bitterness, and a twisted hope to grow her country’s dominion with no regard for the blood that be shed in the process or the suffering it may cause.
Oralee, beset by the loss of one queen, the betrayal of another and years of war. A youngest prince who could not help but be a shame to his family and his kingdom, a rot right at the very centre of Oralee’s society. A boy who could not be what was needed of him and would not be what was asked of him. A boy who seemed fated to bring the destruction upon his kingdom that everybody had grown to assume he would bring. A boy trying not to be the monster that others would have him be, who wanted desperately to he seen once again in the same light as the young boy untarnished by his mother’s betrayal or magical blood. But whose anger was beginning to fester into a belief that perhaps he would rather be a villain to his father than a scapegoat.
Alexandria, now just ruins lying in ash and dust. Three princesses assumed dead. The eldest, reputed as a beauty and so much more besides. A girl with a mind for strategy, skill with a sword, and every hope of being a strong leader. The middle, as strong and intelligent as the eldest, with a ready wit and fiery soul. The youngest, sparky and sarcastic and crackling with life. All three girls somewhat rough around the edges perhaps, a little lacking in refinement (the eldest only engaged in even a facsimile of propriety when necessary for her duties or her sisters) but refreshingly unaffected compared to other nobles. Their kingdom destroyed, and all three girls separated with the belief that they were the only survivor. Girls thrown to scrape together a survival who should have been the inheritors of a kingdom.
Fates subverted and made, a natural order completely destroyed, and royal houses threatening to crumble.
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 29, 2022 18:33:13 GMT -5
FLASHBACK
Briseis remembered being perhaps in her late teens or early twenties when her mother sat her down, clasping her hands reassuringly in that kind of way which told her that something important was about to be discussed. She’d been busying about some task or other - if she remembered correctly, she was working through some rather dry correspondence related to her royal duties, which had in recent years been expanding as she prepared to one day undertake the management of the whole kingdom. With some measure of relief, this work she promptly put aside so she could give her full attention to her mother, brows raising and drawing together in a signal of concern. The girl sat still dressed from the ride she’d just been on - a peaceful one, until the nagging in her brain forced her to finally return and settle down to her duties.
“My heart, I know you’re working hard, but why not leave the work for tonight? Your sisters would be glad of some time with you, I’m sure.” began the queen with gentle encouragement to her daughter.
Briseis let out a light sigh, looking with a considering glance at her work before shaking her head.
“I have so much to get to grips with. I don’t know how I shall ever understand it all.”
She was referring to the fact that she would one day have to take on her mother’s duties and knew she’d feel woefully unprepared for it despite her entire life having been spent training her for the role.
“You will. It is amazing what one finds they can do when it’s needed of them. But Bri, take some time away and be with your sisters”
Briseis frowned a little then, feeling more confused then ever. Of course she knew her sisters needed her; she tried to be there for Maylea and little Minke as much as any elder sister was for their younger siblings.
Was her mother suggesting she wasn’t doing enough?
They’re going to need you as you get older. Maylea is like you - a tough girl but headstrong and good at hiding how much she’s struggling - and Alessandria is so young. They need a caring eye watching over them.”
Brizzy understood her mother’s point. The girls would need her, especially after the mysterious disappearance of Briseis’ stepfather. And she was the oldest. She needed to be the person they could look to.
“The world is not always kind, as safe as we are here. They need to know their big sister is there to protect them.” her mother continued meaningfully.
Briseis nodded hurriedly in reassurance to the queen, offering a small and sober smile to get the point across.
“I promise, mother.” was the princess’ earnest reply.
And that promise stayed with her always, particularly due to her failure to keep it. Because in the end she had not been able to protect her family from the attack on her kingdom.
Her sisters, whom Briseis had so dearly hoped would grow into better women than she was, had been failed by her and may have been denied the chance to become what they would have been. Had probably been, in fact.
But that promise, the love for them she held despite her regrettably not spending as much time with them as she could have, was what drove her to not rest until she found them or got some form of revenge for them. She persisted and fought for their sake and that of their kingdom.
She would fight for them as she’d always endeavoured to do. If they truly needed her, she’d always tried to be there. And if anyone hurt them, she’d always done everything she could to destroy it. This time could be no different.
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 7, 2022 16:54:00 GMT -5
FLASHBACK - NOT AT ALL CANON The kingdom had fallen.
Eldred couldn’t claim to be entirely shocked. The rebellion had been brewing for years. The advisor had made it his business to keep track of such happenings in the kingdom, and to keep the king and queen informed. Still, all the knowledge and information in the world had not been able to prepare them for the attack. Even Eldred could not know everything, after all.
Not so very long before, they’d been celebrating a successful push against the rebel forces; music and food, and dancing. He remembered fondly the young princess spinning in clothes of bright blue to match her eyes, hair fanning out around her. The child had been blissfully unaware of the danger her family had been facing. Or at least, she hadn’t understood the gravity of it.
Eldred had been protective of her; though she wasn’t his child, in his eyes she might as well be. He’d had a part in raising her. And though he’d never admit it, he loved the kid. She was kind of a ray of light when palace life grew stale and boring. Smart, confident, kind of sassy even for her young age.
When Vladimyr’s forces prevailed, succeeding in their attack, Eldred had been locked in his chambers. Almost a house-arrest. He didn’t know what had happened to the king and queen or their daughter in the intervening period, but he was smart enough to make reasonable guesses. None of them were good.
He didn’t know how many days he’d been under guard in his chambers before he was brought to see the new king. They had passed torturously slowly, the hours indistinguishable as time blurred. But now the man stood, flanked by two guards at either side, eyes fixed on the figure on the throne.
“Eldred Scrivener,” Vladimyr began, and indeed he spoke with a note interest in his rumbling tond. It was like he already knew of Eldred. It made sense; Vladimyr had probably made a point to get to know each and every one of Archimedes and Elvira’s retinue.
“Usurper,” had been Eldred’s simple greeting in reply. One would have to assume he either did not comprehend the danger in speaking to Vladimyr in that way, or felt no need to heed it. It was clear that Eldred was too knowledgeable for the former to be true.
Vladimyr raised an eyebrow as if impressed by Eldred’s bravery - for bravery and impertinence were all too often one and the same - in making such a comment. But when he smiled, that smile was cold. Vladimyr was evidently displeased by his words, despite outwardly appearing somehow admiring of them.
“I would advise you to counsel yourself as wisely as you were said to have counselled the former king and queen.” was Vladimyr’s response.
“Forgive me, but you overestimate me. If I were as wise as you hold me to be, you would not be sitting on that throne,” the advisor answered coolly.
He did not move his gaze from Vladimyr’s eyes. Eldred did not fear this man. He’d feared far too many things and had gained nothing from it.
“You will mind your tongue in address of your new king,” Vladimyr’s tone sharpened now as he gave his warning, “I have not yet decided against having you join the council members in their fate, or making an example of you as I did Elvira. I have heard the rumours of your being a Factioneer.”
Eldred had heard from one of the guards about what Vladimyr had done. Killed some of the council members and framed Elvira to serve his political purposes. It was clear, after all, that Vladimyr wanted to persecute magic users.
“A Flora, to be more precise, Your Majesty.” Eldred now was mocking the usurper more brazenly than ever.
Vlad’s eyes flashed in a moment of hateful disgust as a response to Eldred confirming the rumours. Good. Eldred wished with all his heart to make the new king uncomfortable, since against him in that moment he could do little more. Well, unless he wished to be truly unwise and benefit nobody in the process.
“If you were anyone else, Scrivener, I should have your throat cut before you could speak another word. Fortunately for you, you and your words can be of some use to me. You were one of the longest-serving members of the Valdera court and a shrewd advisor. You know this kingdom better than anyone. I believe an arrangement could be struck to both of our benefit.”
The king had risen to his feet as he spoke, descending from the throne to stand before Eldred. Eldred held his gaze still.
“I would be fascinated to hear what arrangement you believe I could possibly be induced to make with you.” he replied.
To that, Vladimyr just smiled that dangerous smile.
“I can be persuaded to overlook your magic,” began the king, spitting that word with venomous, hateful disgust, “for so long as you serve my family with the same loyalty as our predecessors and engage in no further study or use of magic unless under our direction.”
“You would do well to take this bargain. If you do not, you will be subject to the same laws as every other citizen in this land.” he continued
Eldred knew what that meant. Magic users would be persecuted under Vladimyr’s reign. If Eldred worked with him, he could be protected from that. If he refused, he would face the same fate as any other Factioneer.
He was loath to stop his research into magic, for so many reasons, but he did not really have any choice. He would not be preserving his wife’s memory by getting himself killed for his magic. That much he knew.
“Very well,” Eldred replied gravely, after a moment of consideration. It was not lightly said, and in fact it pained him greatly. It was an agreement grudgingly given, and it brought him no joy. Still the words were spoken, and his loyalty traded for his life and the king’s silence.
Vladimyr nodded at this, clearly satisfied with the response. He smiled again, and this time there was actually a hint in his expression that he was genuinely pleased.
“Good. I should have hated to have seen you lose a head so valuable to us both.” |
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 11, 2022 5:03:27 GMT -5
RANDOM FUTURE WRITING - NOT NECESSARILY CANON Alex had never dreamt that he would one day be working against his father as he was. He’d never thought he would take the chance. No, he’d assumed that he’d keep his head down until his brother one day took power and Alexiares could retreat further into the sidelines and live an entirely private life. Once he’d fulfilled his role as the ‘spare’ and his brother’s rule and the throne’s succession were secured.
He’s also never dreamt that he and Dante would no longer be enemies.
And yet here he was, far from his old home in Oralee’s palace, in a rebel camp. He sat amid the darkening night, the air hushed and still, all sound shielded by the surrounding trees. A campfire flickered in front of him, throwing off a warmth to defend against the deepening chill along with a warm golden light and tiny bright, drifting embers. And next to him sat the man whom he would have claimed to hate not so very long before - and probably still would if asked out loud, though he could not hold it true deep down.
”Of everything I’ve done, this one might be the one to finally get me killed.” Alex addressed his friend with a joking tone, though he could not quite hide the undercurrent of real concern beneath it.
He’d always feared his father just as much as he hated him. And he’d never had any doubt that his father would have no hesitation about killing him should he be given a compelling enough reason to. To save his own skin, or the family reputation, or to benefit the kingdom. Alex was a rotten limb on the tree, diseased, and the moment he began to threaten the larger organism - the family, the country, the system - his father would not hesitate to prune him from it.
”I shouldn’t choose now to begin to concern yourself with that.” was Dante’s response, but his tone was warmer than it usually was. More comforting. Like he meant not to make a comment on how unconcerned Alex had been with getting himself into trouble previously, but rather to tell him not to worry.
Alex looked at his friend with some puzzlement then, trying desperately to read his expression but finding it as inscrutable as ever. He let out a quiet huff, though he seemed something closer to amused rather than irritated.
”I’ll never be able to make sense of you,” observed the prince, turning his golden eyes back to the flames and away from his companion.
”Even after all this time?”
”On the contrary, you confuse me more every day.”
Dante smiled a little at that, an unusual thing for him. He had a nice smile, Alex had always thought, though he much less often got to see one than he did a frown.
”Perhaps if you listened to me more you might learn something.” the advisor teased.
Alex laughed a little at that. But Dante was right. He’d spent so much time pushing him away, not opening up to him and not allowing him to open up in return.
The prince reached into a pocket, drawing out a small silver brooch. It bore within a simple border the image of a flower - at first he had thought it to be an orange blossom, but had later come to learn that it was a mock orange. A pretty little white flower that looked rather like the former plant, hence its name. The burnished silver shone in the flickering firelight.
”This was my mother’s - one of the only things left of hers in Oralee. It bears her sigil.”
He had only extremely rarely caught sight of anything bearing his mother’s sigil following her death. His father did not like to see it and be reminded of her betrayal, so most traces of it had been destroyed when possible.
He ran his thumb over the cool metal, turning the thing over in his hand.
”Stupid that I kept it, really. She betrayed me as much as she did my father, more than I can forgive her for.” he said.
This was true. He was angry with his mother for deceiving him, sending hin away as a child. She had lied to him and had used him as a pawn in her own political games. He had never doubted that she had loved him before that, but he had ever questioned it afterward. Turning it over in his kind.
How much has he truly meant to her? Not enough for her to have him stay, to not use him as a tool to end the war.
”There’s nothing stupid about that,” Dante answered with surprising softness of tone ”A surprise, perhaps, and a little sentimental. But that is no flaw.”
Alex had never been thought of as a caring or sentimental person, but he was far more so than he presented himself. Athena had seen that back when they first met; it was likely, he thought, why she felt so protective of him. Dante was seeing it too, he feared.
He did not like people seeing that deep inside he had never grown from that frightened little boy who found himself so suddenly alone. He did not like people seeing that he had a heart, because if they did they might see the cracks in it.
Wanting nothing more than to change the subject, as gratified (though afraid) as he was that Dante was seeing him more for who he was, he held out the brooch to the other male.
”Here,”
Dante looked with a little surprise, eyes flicking from Alex’s face to his outstretched hand. After a moment of hesitation he reached out to take it, examining the thing in his hands. Alex enjoyed watching his concentration, watching the eyes move over the symbol as his fingers traced the shapes. The way his brows slightly furrowed when he found something interesting.
But then Dante seemed to remember himself, suddenly and abruptly shaking his head before beginning to hold the brooch back out to Alex.
”Alex, I can’t-“
Alex held up a hand to stop him, mouth flicking into the briefest of smiles.
”Just-“ Alex began, before giving a single nod back to his friend, a reassuring one as if to let him know it was okay ”take it.”
His look must have been so earnest that Dante felt obliged to accept - or at least felt more at ease with doing so - for he withdrew his hand and kept the brooch.
Alex was glad of it. He had shared something with Dante, and had rid himself of something of the pain that still lay with him as a legacy from his mother. And he had shown himself that he was capable of letting go of that pain, of even enjoying some of the memories of his mother. That it was okay for him to feel a confusing mix of love and hurt when he thought of her.
He could finally let her go.
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 13, 2022 13:16:17 GMT -5
RANDOM FUTURE WRITING - NOT NECESSARILY CANON An engagement.
Alex had always known that one day he would have a marriage arranged for him. That was the course of things, as much as he may hate it. He’d always been taught that marriage was a transactional act, economic and political. It was not about emotion. Harmony and respect were essential, but nothing more. Nothing more emotionally charged, and indeed when emotions became involved there was far more room for things to go wrong.
No, one day he had fully expected to be informed that his father had selected a partner for him. Someone to bring the kingdom or the family some advantage; to strengthen a claim to the throne, to settle a dispute over land, to secure a trade deal, to bring money or soldiers, to please the council. That was simply how it went. His parents had been an arranged match in order to soothe tensions between Oralee and Levina, though they admittedly had been something of a poor example of the concept given their rather tempestuous relationship and its treacherous end.
But then, with them, Alex had suspected emotions had become involved. Why else could his father have become so bitter? His father would never say so, though, and the prince suspected that if he were to ever be bold enough to ask him his father would deny it as strongly as he was possibly able to.
Alexiares’ expectation of this event, however, by no means signified his intent to acquiesce to the demand.
But now he spoke in private with Dante, having found a corner of the library so deep he didn’t believe even Athena could find them. Well, he certainly hoped she could not, for she did not know about the news his father had just informed him of yet, the thing which he was discussing with Dante. She would very soon, but Alex hoped to have something of a plan decided upon before she did.
His father had pulled him aside and informed him of his desire (read: order) that Alex and Athena should get married. She would be good for him, the king had said. Sand off the rough edges (read: Alex’s entire personality). The daughter of a Duke was sufficiently noble in station for her to be a candidate for the bride of a second born prince with no prospect of inheriting the throne. Quite suitable, even more than suitable. Not to mention that creating ties with Wisteria could secure a very useful ally and send an important message to discourage Levina should they intend to stir up conflict once again. And it never hurt to have influence in a kingdom where there may soon be a power struggle, following the loss of the king and queen and the accession of the throne by the new girl-queen.
It would also give Alex something new to concern himself with, something to anchor him and settle him down. Alex could tell his father was anxious to find something that might force him to mature somewhat and quell his troublesome nature; marriage and more responsibilities (split between two nations, to boot) would do that. And the prince supposed that to his father’s eyes, since the two were friends, they seemed comfortable and easy around one another. If Alex’s happiness was something with which his father was concerned, it might look to him like a match which might at least have those qualities of harmony and respect which were always a benefit.
Of course, this news had filled Alex with dread in a hundred different ways. He’d gone unusually quiet and left, giving no answer yet to the proposal. But something in him had immediately told him he needed to seek out Dante.
Nothing made sense, everything was confusing, and he couldn’t pick out a single thought or feeling from the dark, whirling spiral. He needed Dante.
So they stood among that smell of dust and the pages of books, the towering shelves around them deadening the sound of their conversation.
“An engagement?” Dante exclaimed, and in all the times he’d managed to shock or surprise the young council member, Alex thought he’d never seen Dante look this stunned before.
Alex nodded hurriedly.
“It seems the ruse we pulled on my father and brother may have backfired more spectacularly than we anticipated.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed, the other male tutting in exasperation.
”Not the time for joking,” Dante snapped, before continuing with an anxious urgency ”What are you going to do? Surely you mean to refuse? You cannot marry a mercenary”
The last words were hissed as if some terrible, shameful secret. As if it were embarrassing. Athena being a mercenary was a secret, but for her safety. Not because Alex was at all ashamed of having her as a friend.
Alex sighed, at a loss.
”Of course I mean to. Athena has been such a good friend to me and I cannot- I will not-” another quick sigh ”she deserves a better repayment for all she’s done for me than to have her happiness destroyed and her put at such a risk.”
Dante looked at him searchingly then, brows pulling together in an almost stern expression, though Alex could not feel any of that sharpness coming from him in that moment.
”And your happiness? I always assumed you would insist on marrying for love.”
Alex’s expression grew flat then, the walls going up so instantly as he shut down, retreating into himself in that way he sometimes would when anything about a himself or his own feelings was probed into.
”You know that is not an option for me.” was his only reply.
That was for so many reasons. A big one being that he would never bring somebody he truly loved and cared about within the influence of his father. Who knew what Chadwick would do to someone Alex had an attachment to? Use them against Alex? Hurt them? Manipulate them? No, Alex could not do that to anyone he really cared for. Dealing with the king was more than Alex would ever ask anyone, more than he would inflict on anyone.
Another one being that he didn’t know if anyone he loved could ever be someone his father would approve of. How would the king react if Alex revealed to him that he was gay? He did not know, and he did not have the courage to find out. Until he did, marrying for love did not seem to be on the cards. Not unless he was willing to abandon his duties and responsibilities, and everything he knew. He didn’t know if he could do that, or what might happen if he tried.
Dante seemed to be trying to read the meaning of what he’d said, but seemed to come up without any answer, for he moved on.
”There must be something we can do, I’ll-”
”You will do nothing, Dante.” Alex warned ”You must let me do what I must.”
”Alex, no, if you would just let me-“
Alex raged then, forgetting himself in a moment of sudden emotion.
”I said ‘nothing’, Dante!” Alex repeated forcefully, voice sharp as he raised it ”You do not know my father as I do. I am not so much an helpless child that I cannot manage him on my own. You must let me do at least this one thing without your constant interference!”
Dante looked… hurt, Alex realised. He could read it in the expression, the way Dante stepped back slightly. He looked like a child who had just been scolded.
”I’m merely trying to look out for you,” Dante said, and damn it if even his voice didn’t sound hurt. Alex felt a twinge.
But Alex had to push him away more, he had to make the painful break. He could not let his emotions fail him now.
He did seem a little regretful, though, as he spoke next. He had cooled, his voice becoming more measured and even as ge took a step closer to Dante.
”Look, Dante, I understand that in your misguided way you’re trying to help. But you mustn’t. I appreciate it, but don’t do it again.”
He left it at that, turning and leaving Dante alone among the books.
He had to do it. He knew the risks that he would be facing in refusing his father’s wishes. He could not let Dante make things worse by getting himself involved also; he didn’t truly know Alex’s father or what he was capable of, and Alex did not want Dante to handle him wrong and aggravate everything by getting in over his head.
But most importantly, he could not let him get hurt. He could not let Dante suffer by getting involved with Alex’s father. Alex was already a lost cause to Chadwick, but Dante was still in his good books. Alex would not let Dante destroy that for himself. And he would not let him take any of his father’s anger.
No, pushing him away was safer for Dante, and it allowed Alex to think more clear-headedly about the task ahead. This was the best way for everybody - and if Alex refused first before Athena did, he could prevent the brunt of his father’s anger falling on his other friend too.
He wouldn’t let them suffer. He wouldn’t let Athena’s kindness be repaid with suffering.
He wouldn’t let Dante ruin everything he had for his sake.
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 18, 2022 14:49:09 GMT -5
RANDOM FUTURE WRITING - NOT NECESSARILY CANON Alex remembered hearing, as if from outside his body, the hollow, defeated echo of his voice when he finally agreed to go through with the wedding. He’d fought so hard, but his father’s will was an unmoving wall. Resisting had caused him only more pain, more suffering.
He hadn’t cared so much for himself; it had been Athena he had been concerned for. The young woman who had fought to protect him, who had put herself at risk for him, for reasons he still didn’t truly understand. People didn’t protect Alex. Since he was eight years old he’d fought largely alone with very few allies and even fewer who could help him meaningfully. What had Athena ever seen in him in the first place? Why had she grown such a bond with someone she still couldn’t say she truly knew?
Athena would deny it, but Alex could see more kindness in that mercenary’s little finger than he’d seen in the whole bodies of most other people in his life.
So in return for the strength of the friendship and loyalty she had shown him, he had given everything he has to try and protect her from his father. He had fought and fought until he could fight no more. Until he had felt exhausted, and had lost all faith in his ability to carry on. Until he could feel the pressure, choking the very life out of him. Until, hoarse with pleas falling on deaf ears, he could speak no more but his agreement.
He had agreed, with every intention of trying to find some way to stop the wedding. He was at least comforted with the knowledge that if they were forced to marry and the ceremony did end up going ahead, nothing material had to change until the marriage could be reversed or annulled. After all, neither of them wanted to be married and so neither would want anything to change - they could continue on as friends. He could protect Athena from his father and his influence, so she could be as free as she could until the wrong that had been done could be rectified. This marriage would be terrible if it went ahead, but it did not mean utter defeat. It did not have to mean a ruined or unhappy life for them both. It could be fixed and until then, it could be tolerable, with nothing having to change between them.
God knew his mother had lived with enough independence from his father to allow her to plan her betrayal of the kingdom. If that could be so, Alex could make sure Athena was able to do as she liked. He would not have her be a prisoner, shackled to this palace. He would not have her hurt for the sake of her own goodness toward him, or suffer because of his father.
But during the time spent trying to weigh up in his mind how to untangle the desperate mess of his situation with Athena, he had neglected someone else. Dante had been deeply unsettled, unhappy, about the prospect of a marriage between Alex and Athena. The tension and upset in both boys had only led them to argument - the kind with harsh words which flew out before you could take them back or regret them.
Alex, having now agreed to the marriage for the moment, found his thoughts returning to his friend. He had greatly hurt him, had pushed him away. And Alex knew just how much he’d taken out his own fears on his friend. He wanted to fix it now that the matter was decided and Alex was now free once again from the torment his father had visited upon him. Freer, anyway.
So of course, he had sought Dante everywhere in the palace. The usual spots; the library, the council room, his favourite reading spots. The places he liked to go to get a bit of peace and quiet away from the bustle of palace life. Dante thought Alex had no idea where he snuck off to, but of course he did. He was more observant than Dante would have thought him. He even tried Dante’s chambers, knocking on that wooden door which he had perhaps only stood in front of once or twice before. It seemed he could not be found anywhere.
In a last-ditch attempt, Alex had headed towards a particular favourite haunt of Dante’s. Perhaps the only other spot in the palace he might now be.
“Dante?” he called, trying determinedly to keep any note of concern from his voice. He would never hear the end of the teasing if he gave Dante the satisfaction of thinking he’d been concerned about him.
A figure did come into view, but it was not the right shape to be Dante. Not the right fall of the hair, the right slope of the shoulders. But it was exactly the right shape to be…
“Ah, the young groom. Don’t you have a wedding to be planning, hmm?”
Alex came to an abrupt, almost skidding halt in front of his father. He could feel his body instantly tense up as it always did when he saw his father. His shoulders tightening, muscles locking. Pulse rising. But now more than ever, because his father’s tone was uncomfortably, unaccountably friendly. So unusually fond that it set the boy’s every nerve tingling with a warning burn.
This did not feel right. No, indeed nothing could be stranger. Something had to be terribly wrong to have made his father so happy.
“Where’s Dante?” he asked, careful to keep his voice even. With his father it was never good to betray too much emotion. He could not let him know he was afraid. For himself, for Dante? He was no longer sure. Probably for both.
Alex could swear his father’s eyes flashed for a moment, something in his expression hardening. But then his expression had smoothed so quickly, to be replaced by a perfectly arranged smile, that Alex doubted whether he’d seen it at all.
”Do not trouble yourself about him any longer, Alexiares. We shall find a new council member somewhere, one you shall like more. Quarrel with less.” said his father in a way they betrayed more knowledge than he was letting on. As if he was teasing Alex with some awareness of the true depth of feeling between the two men.
Alex felt another rush of fear, this time certainly on Dante’s behalf. A gnawing, ravenous and unsettled fear which suddenly sprung up in him and would not be satisfied until he could know Dante was alright. His eyes took on a wary, guarded look, for he knew his father and his underhanded machinations. His secret little plans and deals. The things he did in the shadows. He was getting the sense more and more that Dante was not alright, and whatever had befallen him was down to his father.
“Where’s Dante?” Alex repeated, this time more forcefully, more accusingly. Indeed he noted his Chadwick seemed to look at him with what seemed to be slight surprise at his son’s directness.
Chadwick’s face hardened again. Dangerous, thunderous. Something that told Alex all the more than if he continued to ask questions, he would not like the answers he received.
“What concern is it of yours?” came the hard answer, with the warning tone Alex had heard from his father hundreds of times before when he had done something wrong as a child and would not admit to it. His father always knew, and would speak to him in that tone when he was trying to get Alex to tell the truth.
“Because I will see him whether you would try to stop me or not.” Alex answered sharply. He could be every bit as stubborn as his father if he wanted to be. He would make himself that hard, immutable thing. He would make himself every bit as difficult as his father said he was. He would fight and scrape if he needed to. And with those words, he was letting his father know as much.
But unnervingly, his father simply smiled again. This time not fake. No, this time something rather closer to smug.
“And if I told you he was charged with treason?”
Alex’s brows pulled together, as if confused, but he was more in shock. It was as if someone had just thrown a bucket of freezing water over him.
“Treason?” he echoed numbly, blinking.
“To face trial very shortly, and - I do not doubt - the gallows shortly after.”
The prince swallowed, shaking his head as if in hurried or frenzied denial, hit tears suddenly pricking at his eyes as a hard lump formed in his throat. Feelings of grief, of fear, of shame that he had not been able to protect Dante. That in all his effort to help one friend, he had forgotten another. Another who probably thought Alex hated him.
His father sounded so disgustingly self-satisfied, but Alex was too shocked and filled with grief to even get angry at him.
“No…” a shaky near-whisper was all the prince could manage, vision clouding with tears as he took an uneven step back from his father.
“He looked for you when we arrested him. Perhaps if you had seen sense sooner, you might have been there.”
The king was referring, of course, to Alex’s initial refusal to marry Athena. But Alex got the sense that his marriage to Athena had a lot more to do with this than just this allusion his father had made to Alex’s absence at Dante’s arrest.
Alex was holding back sobs now, filled with intense disbelief, shock and pain. He felt so much guilt. Felt so sure he had let Dante down.
But his father held his gaze now, studying his son as he stepped closer.
“So tell me, boy. Just how much are you willing to risk?”
A challenge. A warning. A threat.
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 22, 2022 15:58:33 GMT -5
IDK RANDOM WRITING Callan’s life had been spent wrestling with the idea of duty.
His duty to his family. His duty to the Wisterian crown. His duty to Tia. His duty to himself.
How could he balance it all? How could he make those obligations harmonise so they didn’t tear him apart? How could he divine a path which could satisfy each and every one of these ties? Was such a thing even possible.
He had chosen to be selfish perhaps only once - the night he attempted to escape alongside Adrestia. Doing so had only gotten himself and Tia punished and revealed his own folly in putting his friend at risk so that he might indulge his self-centered wish to pretend as if he had been born into another family. After that, he has regarded his duty to himself with a more wary view.
He’d never really been encouraged to think about what he wanted. To focus on oneself too much was to lose sight of the wider, connected network in which one lived. That was what his father always said. Who he was - that was bigger than him.
But as he sat in Elena’s camp, with only his thoughts for company as the soft light of dawn was filtered softly by the material of the tent, he did find that every now and then a thought for himself would appear among all the ones about Tia or Carlo. He was human, after all, just as every Verndari before him had been. Just as flesh and blood as he knew they had to have been; because what he felt was anger.
Anger toward Elena, even though he knew she was simply mistaken. There was no crime in that. Her pain was not her fault, and she was doing only as so many others would have done had they lost what she had or suffered as she had done. Irrational anger at Carlo, for being so blindly trusting back at the ball. Anger at Ress, and Atlas. Anger at Ernestine.
Anger at his father, for forcing him into a life he had clearly never wanted or been suited for. At every Verndari past and present who had not been brave enough to throw off that old tradition or that thin veil of rumour. How many times he’d been taunted with the reputation of his family, which all seemed to know to be exaggerated. The Verndari were all solid fighters, why did they need anything more? The embellishments made them ridiculous. It was stupid, it was foolish, it was irritating.
But mostly he was angry with himself. Angry that he’d gone along with the demands of his father and his family that he follow their lead. Angry that he’d let himself be duped at the ball, and that he had not fought harder or better. Angry that he held such infuriating scruples from his upbringing that would not let him simply give Elena a false confession so that he might ease his predicament one way or another. Or that he had not made an attempt at an escape, that he would not just take the chance even without a plan.
Every day he defiantly held his tongue with Elena, steadily repeated again and again the story from which he would not deviate, was another day he questioned his own sanity. He didn’t understand himself. What good was such constant denial doing him? Who was it for? Truth would not save him, no matter how brave it might seem for him to stick to his version of events in the face of Elena’s threats. Anyone with any sense would confess before Elena got more brutal in her search for the answer she felt she was owed.
She would pull the lie from him one way or another, and if he were sensible he would make it sooner for the sake of the smallest hope she might be more lenient.
But that sense of duty again, that cursed thing which seemed to rule him no matter how little he wanted it to, would not let him lie. He would do what he must even if it killed him. He had little to hold onto in Elena’s camp, only what he knew about himself. His identity. If he lied, if he let himself say he’d done this terrible thing which he had not done, it would destroy that. The most precious, the only thing he had.
He could not, he would not.
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Sept 8, 2022 5:35:59 GMT -5
   RANDOM NON-CANON WRITING Lilith couldn’t help but wonder if, maybe even begin to hope that, she might be finally on the track towards getting her kingdom back.
She’d spent years gaining power and renown. Becoming the kind of person everybody knew of but the name of whom nobody wished to speak. But that alone was not enough. She had her group of bandits, but they did not an army make. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
And if she wanted any chance of regaining her kingdom from what had destroyed it all those years ago, she needed all the help she could get.
All she’d wanted for the last three years had been revenge for her family and her kingdom, and to regain the ruins. They were still her birthright, they were still connected to her very being as far as she was concerned. If she could get them back, nurture them back into even a shadow of the kingdom they had been, she would be satisfied.
She wanted no longer to be the lost princess, but the revenant queen. Risen from obscurity, shadow and memory. No longer claimed, as everyone had assumed, by death. It would be a difficult task, but it was not outside her grasp. Her mother had not raised daughters who would give up when all seemed hopeless. No, she had raised daughters who would claw their way to light and life no matter what befell them. She had not raised daughters who would give up on that which had been taken from them, not when it was rightfully owed them. No, she had raised daughters who battled even when the walls were crumbling around them.
Lilith had often wondered if she had failed in that regard, by helping her sisters flee and then abandoning Alexandria to its destruction. But if she had not, she would not now be able to plot Alexandria’s rise from ruin. There was no time to dwell on regrets.
Even though she had to believe she was the only one of her family left, she would do exactly what her sisters and her mother would have done. She would fight for what belonged to her family, and what should have been hers.
And now she had the young prince of Wisteria in her grasp, perhaps her plans could take a leap forward. She wasn’t allowed to harm the boy, and nor did she have any reason to yet. But she was very aware that she now had a bargaining chip for both Adrestia of Wisteria and Ernestine of Rajani. She had not only the prince, but the valuable information of on whose orders he had been taken.
It would be all to easy to get what she needed from the two queens, now. Whichever one would offer the most. She could get safe passage through lands, she could get soldiers and gold. The kind of things one would need to launch the campaign she wished to go on.
She cared not who she made the deal with. She knew the kidnapping in Wisteria heralded the first hostile move that signalled a war, especially if she did make a deal regarding the prince and the knowledge of who had taken him. But wars among these other kingdoms did not bother her, not yet. Perhaps once Alexandria was hers again and she was watching over a vulnerable kingdom in the process of being rebuilt she would be concerned. As of right now she was a criminal with a lot to gain.
Sure, she had her preferences. She would rather be with Wisteria than Rajani, for she detested Ernestine and her underhanded ways. But if Ernestine offered the higher price, if Ernestine could get her closer to her goal, Lilith thought she might be tempted to consent.
She felt some sympathy for the boy, but she had learned to be merciless these last few years. Being kind, being naive, being like this boy got one nowhere. She had learned this herself, and had no intention of being taught the lesson against. Showing softness in her dealings with him would make her weak. If the order came to kill him, she’d have to be prepared for that. If she made a deal with Ernestine, she would have to hand him over if that was demanded.
She might feel some warmth toward the boy, so similar in age to her littlest sister, but she could run him through if needed be. She could choose to give him to Ernestine rather than his sister if it were of more benefit to her. It was just business, even if she did not like it.
However things worked out, she couldn’t help but think that this boy might be her ticket to regaining her kingdom. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Alexandria was once again within reach. |
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Sept 22, 2022 10:40:39 GMT -5
RANDOM FUTURE WRITING - NOT NECESSARILY CANON How much Alex had wished his father had been bluffing about the plans to execute Dante. But his father didn’t bluff about this type of thing. Alex had done the same foolish thing with the wedding too.
No, the prince had kept some stupid hope that his father hadn’t been serious. Even the very night before he’d half expected to hear his father admit to having played a cruel joke. But nothing.
The day had come, and Alex had refused to have any of the staff around him that morning. He hated already that there were people hired to do everything from select his outfits and make sure his chambers were clean; he was not helpless, he’d always protest. Doing things for himself gave him some control, and made him feel less useless or like a child. But that day particularly the agitated prince would not have anyone near him.
He’d even avoided Athena, which he felt awful for because it was his fault she was even stuck in the palace in the first place. He loved his friend and he wanted to fight for her but that day he was drowning. He didn’t know how to keep his own head above water, breathe for himself, never mind help Athena or Dante. He didn’t even know if there even was a way to help them.
He had gotten ready, but had been in two minds whether to attend the execution or not. He felt he owed Dante a friendly face, but he didn’t know how it might affect him given that his mother had been executed and he’d witnessed that as a little boy. Far too young, really.
But he’d been summoned to his father’s study, which usually meant he was going to be told off for something he'd already done or that he was about to be told what to do. Either way, the dilemma he was facing was most likely about to be solved for him.
He hated going to his father's study; it was the same place he'd first been told about his mother when he returned from Levina. His father hadn't wanted to make a scene in front of everybody, of course he hadn't. So he'd told the boy behind closed doors - but Alex had never been fooled enough to think that he'd done that out of compassion for his son. That had been a matter of image, he suspected. Everything was about image with his father.
Reluctantly, the prince raised his first to knock on the door. Almost immediately he caught the sound of his father's voice calling him in. The young man pushed the door open, stepping inside and immediately being greeted by the figure of his father behind the desk, He looked up and caught sight of him - he didn't quite smile, but he didn't look particularly displeased to see his son. Okay, so he definitely wasn't about to be told off. That left being told what to do.
"Ah, Alexiares," his father began, sitting back in his seat and appraising the prince, "I trust you know why I wanted to speak to you today."
"Look, Father, if this is about Dante -- Thorsten-"
"Of course it's about Thorsten, what else would it be about?" Chadwick replied brusquely "I have been hearing that you have not been treating the members of the palace staff as I would expect you to this morning-"
Alex's face turned stony.
"Don't sit there and talk to me about how to treat the people in this palace." he warned, voice low and threatening. It was the result of a rush of anger that he could not restrain' he couldn't listen to his father saying these things while Dante was awaiting his execution in the cells down below.
Normally Alex would have probably been yelled at for threatening his father that way. He always saw the glint of fear first in his father's eyes, the fear as Chadwick was reminded exactly what his Factioneer son was capable of. But it always gave way to fury. Threats to expose Alex's Factioneer status, or a subtle reminder that Athena's safety depended on Chadwick's hospitality. The latter scared him far more than the former.
But Chadwick didn't seem to notice his son's outburst, probably choosing to ignore it. He was in a good mood, after all, Alex suspected. He was getting rid of a threat to his power and exerting even more control over both his son and his entire court. Nothing could make Chadwick happier.
"I expect you to behave yourself today." Chad continued, "and I expect to see you at the execution."
"Father-"
"I will hear no more about it," the king interrupted, "the matter is settled. You will go, and perhaps this time you will learn something."
"Oh, I've learned plenty enough," Alex grumbled under his breath, but he turned towards the door.
In a way, he was grateful the decision was made. He did think he owed it to Dante to go, but it was such a difficult thing for Alex to do given his past experiences. Not to mention the fact that, as much as he'd deny it, he cared about Dante. He didn't know if he was strong enough to lose him.
"And Alexiares?" his father called after him as he made to leave the room "Do not dare go near those dungeons - do you understand me?"
Shit. Alex had been hoping to perhaps visit Dante, share some words with him before it was time. Say he was sorry, say anything at all. He was sure Dante would be grateful for any kind words at that point. And maybe, though he hadn't let his hopes grow too much, find a way to help him.
But his father had forbidden him, and from the fact that his father had clearly been aware of his son's intentions, the prince suspected that if he were to try and speak to Dante he would be faced with plenty of guards to stop him.
The young man just set his jaw.
"Yes, father," he said before pulling the door open and stepping out into the hallway - pulling it closed rather too hard after him. |
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Nov 2, 2022 19:29:34 GMT -5
IDK RANDOM WRITING It was always that time when the sky began to lift to the soft greys and lavenders of dawn that brought memories flooding back for Callan.
Memories of being woken to go and train with his father and the guards as a child. Memories of standing guard on the palace walls as a teenager, not so young that he wasn’t trained enough to be useful but young enough that it was before his army service. Blinking eyes still heavy with sleep as cold early morning air burned the back of his throat, stifling a yawn as he waited for the moment he’d see the sunrise paint flame over the horizon.
But mostly he remembered conversations with Tia, sitting together on the walls surrounding Wisteria’s palace. Sometimes they’d sit on the very edge, and Callan would dangle his feet into the expanse of the air. It was an exhilarating, on-top-of-the-world feeling. As if he could fly.
“One day you’re going to rule all this,” Callan remembered saying once as he Tia beside him, looking over the expanse of landscape before them.
Tia had smiled at his words, though there had been something in it that made him think she still had not been not at peace with the idea.
”And don’t you forget it,” she’d teased in reply.
Callan had laughed, ”As if you’d let me,”
”What’s it like?” she’d asked, her eyes moving over the landscape before them and searching the horizon as if desperate to drink in more of the world beyond, ”Out there?”
He remembered thinking in that moment about how she’d been young, too young at that point for someone as important as her to be allowed to explore too much out there. He had hoped that when she was older she’d be able to have the adventure she deserved before she was burdened with too many duties.
And so he’d told her, though he’d embellished his stories a little so she could have that adventure, have it in his retelling. So they could both have adventure, for his life wasn’t quite as thrilling as he would want Tia to believe. And in talking, as they always did, they had painted the sky with sunrise colours and watched the morning sun begin to warm their skin and make the stone sparkle.
Even in Elena’s camp that quiet grey light before dawn brought peace and comfort. The air was always quiet in those moments before the camp erupted in its morning bustle of activity.
It was in those moments that he felt the least doubt. That he could just about convince himself that it would be alright. He’d gotten himself out of some pretty bad scrapes before.
This was just an adventure, he tried to tell himself. The kind he’d woven in his stories for Tia. Besides, if he wasn’t able to deal with this situation then perhaps he wasn’t worthy to be Tia’s head guard. If he couldn’t get out of this alive, then maybe his position should not be his. After all, it had been given to him because of his family name. There were bound to be people out there who would’ve been far better suited for the job; stronger, smarter, better fighters. If be couldn’t deal with this there was no reason it should not have been given to them.
It was in those moments he resolved to stay strong. To do everything he could to get Carlo and make it back to Tia. To prove to them, his father and himself that he was deserving of what he had worked for his whole life. But most importantly, because he needed to return to the people he loved.
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Nov 30, 2022 16:24:42 GMT -5
FUTURE WRITING - NOT NECESSARILY CANON Alex had never been on watch with Callan before, but he could say one thing for certain; it was awkward. The two men were of a similar age (though despite being two years his junior, Callan seemed much more mature than Alex felt himself to be), yet they didn’t seem to have much in common.
They hadn’t really spoken much since Alex had been taken in by the rebels a couple of days before, but Alex remembered seeing Callan before at Wisterian events. He had always stood so quietly in the background, looking so serious all the time. The only times Alex had seen any hint the man actually had a personality was when he had seen him speaking to the Wisterian princess - or queen, now. Then Callan’s face got animated, mischievous, like she ignited something in him. Only Tia and Elena seemed to have that effect on Callan. It was like they brought something to life in him or saw something in him he was not willing to show others.
Alex looked in the direction of the tent Dante had disappeared into moments before, and considered that perhaps he and this guard did have something in common. To be clear, Dante vexed him incredibly, but being around him felt different.
“How’re you settling in?”
Callan’s sudden words startled Alex, but he met the guard’s green eyes, glittering in the wash of golden flickering firelight. Alex’s reply was hesitant, wary, ”Alright, I guess.”
It was going as well as could be expected. He was thrilled Dante was alive, but otherwise? It was going as well as could be expected when one is taken in by a bunch of rebels. It was overwhelming, and he despite everything he didn’t exactly feel good about betraying his father.
”Good,” Callan murmured, and Alex supposed that had to be the end of the awkward exchange, right? They’d made obligatory smalltalk and now they didn’t have to converse again until their watch ended and they could go to sleep at last.
Callan went back to maintaining his sword, oiling the blade. He did so with smooth, practiced movements. The guard might be quite young, but Alex could tell instantly he’d learned how to use and care for a blade from being a child, most likely. Alex returned to his own task, whittling - he didn’t know exactly what he was making, but he just needed to pass the time and hopefully get a little bit better. Alex had very quickly realised that he had very few practical skills that were helpful around the camp. What he did have was knowledge of his father, his kingdom, and an awful lot of political and diplomatic knowledge. None of which gave him something to do to pass the time on a night watch.
His old life in the palace had prepared him little. Still, he felt so much better for it. He was in the same kind of simple clothes he’d been in when he’d first met Dante, and he felt less of a prince by the hour. Little else brought him more joy than that. It felt right, somehow.
While he worked, though, Alex realised he could not get a particular question out of his mind. He could not concentrate until he asked it, so at last he paused his (still rather subpar) work to address the guard.
”I never thought I would see you working with rebels,” Alex began.
The younger man didn’t stop his work, just flicked his eyes back to Alex’s for a moment, furrowing his brows as he returned attention to his task, ”And why is that?”
”You are so…” Alex couldn’t find the words, gesturing generally at Callan, ”staid.” That was the word he eventually came up with. Callan just didn’t look like the kind of guy who broke a rule, not when it counted. He seemed so serious.
Callan raised an eyebrow, and Alex wasn’t sure if it was at the suggestion or at the unusual choice of word. When he did so, the slight glint in his eye told him that Callan had more to him than Alex had assumed - maybe more to him than what Alex had observed with the guard and Adrestia and Elena.
”I would have thought you of all people would know not to assume things about people, Your Highness,” Callan pointed out, and Alex realised with a pang that the guard had a point.
It was true that Alex had spent his whole life having people think the worst of him, assuming things about him that just weren’t true. Labelling him. Callan hadn’t intentionally tried to be cutting when he said that, but his words were so close to home they couldn’t help but throw Alex for a loop.
Callan seemed to realise what he’d done by bringing up this aspect of Alex’s life, and his expression softened into something apologetic.
”Sorry,” the guard replied
But Alex waved the apology off, because he sensed that it may be some time before Callan could properly articulate what he was meaning to say. Instead, he tried to change the subject.
”How do you do it?” he asked, drawing his blade away from him again as he continued to whittle
”What?”
”You just seem to know what you need to do. Like you know your path and you’re comfortable with it.” Alex began ”I’ve never felt like that. Not since I was little anyway. It’s like I’m… it’s like I’m stuck.”
Callan looked curious now, even pausing in his task and looking at Alex with what the prince could only assume was interest. He took that as a sign that he should continue, explain a little further.
”I’m stuck between all these opinions of me, all these expectations and paths.”
Despite the way both of his parents had betrayed him, he couldn’t help but have a part of him want to meet their expectations of him. He was a villain, he was a symbol for peace. He was Oraleean, He was Levinian, He was both. Did he finish his mother’s fight and support his cousin in Levina? Did he choose to be the villain his father always thought he was, or the prince Chad always hoped Alex would be? Do he try to create that peace he was always meant to bring?
Callan spoke after a moment, looking at his task as he spoke, ”I actually fought with myself for a long time about whether I really wanted the future that had been laid out for me. But I didn’t feel sure I had an identity outside of it. In the end, I followed what I cared about. That was Queen Adrestia, so I stayed. You know yourself, is what I mean, and if you trust that then you won’t lead yourself wrong. Besides, plans aren’t everything. I never planned for Elena, don’t think I could have if I’d wanted to.”
Of what Alex had seen of the couple and what he knew of them, he could imagine that being true. Elena was not predictable, and given the way they’d started the possibility of things ending for them as they had can’t have been high on Callan’s list of likely outcomes.
”Thank you, Callan,” Alex responded, expression softening to show his gratitude. He almost gave away a smile.
The guard shot his own glance toward Dante’s tent, only brief, before continuing, meeting Alex’s eyes ”Don’t hurt him. He’s a good man and he’s been through a lot for you.”
Before Alex could ask what on earth Callan was talking about, why he was talking about him and Dante as if there might be more between them than just their strange blend of friendship and rivalry, the other man got up. He simply returned his sword to its scabbard and passed Alex, patting his back a couple of times in a friendly manner as he did, as he headed out to patrol the perimeter.
Leaving Alex in the gentle quiet of the fire and the softening night air, his eyes moving back to Dante’s tent with new confusion. With a strange stirring of emotions he could not name, making some sort of potion in his stomach, some concoction he couldn’t make sense of. |
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Dec 16, 2022 18:19:11 GMT -5
JUST RANDOM SLIGHT FLASHBACK WRITING It did not take long after Queen Adrestia discovered the absence of her brother and head guard for word to reach the retired captain of the guard.
Tybalt Verndari had stepped down from the role in which he had served under the rule of Tia’s parents, but he still made himself useful in the place as much as possible. Helping to train guards, to offer strategic advice when called upon. Just because he was retired and no longer fought much did not mean he was did not still remain involved in palace life.
In fact, he was just drafting a report for his son. Writing by flickering candlelight all the information the newly-appointed head guard could need coming into his new role. He’d taught the boy well, of course, but he wanted to make sure Callan knew what his priorities should be in his first months on the job after the coronation.
The older man had been sitting in a warm, peaceful quiet. The only sounds were the soft crackling of the flames in his fireplace and the scratching of pen on parchment.
Until a hurried knock on his door. Who could possibly want to speak to the eldest Verndari at this time of night? He sighed irritatedly at the mark on the parchment, made when the knock had startled him, but he did not pause writing to address the visitor.
”Come in,” the former head guard called.
The man looked over his shoulder to see the new entrant burst in; a young guard he didn’t really recognise. Probably about the age of his son, maybe a little younger. Tybalt suspected he might be new, maybe freshly out of training. They always did tend to hire some new guards when a new ruler was crowned.
”Good heavens, lad,” Tybalt began, not very pleased with the intrusion, but he quickly read the young man’s panicked expression, ”what is it?”
The boy didn’t seem to want to meet the elder man’s eyes at first, and shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot for a moment.
”Sir,” the guard began - Tybalt was still afforded much respect by the guards regardless of the fact that he was retired ”there has been an incident.”
Tybalt’s brows furrowed. An incident? Why were they coming to him with this? It couldn’t have anything to do with him, not now he was retired and Callan had taken over.
”Well, spit it out, boy.” Tybalt grumbled as he turned back to his writing, but feeling more uncomfortable now. A sinking dread was growing in his stomach.
”The crown prince has been kidnapped,” the guard began, words rushing out of his mouth.
Tybalt’s eyes widened, and he paused his work. This was grave news indeed, but still it didn’t make sense. Why come to him?
”Well, why on earth are you here? This is a matter of utmost urgency. Does the captain know?” he asked, filled with confusion, astonishment, shock.
”Well, that’s just the thing, sir-“ the boy began hesitantly.
Tybalt interrupted him, impatient. It felt like this guard might finally be getting to his point. ”What’s just the thing?”
The guard looked truly afraid then, truly grave. The Verndari man got the sudden feeling this younger man had drawn the short straw to bear whatever news he now had to give.
”The captain, he’s gone too.”
Tybalt’s quill pen clattered to the table. The stone walls around him felt like they were crumbling. He stood shakily to his feet, and the boy looked like he wished the ground would swallow him up.
”What do you mean? Where is he?”
The boy swallowed, ”There were signs of a struggle in the hallway, and the prince and captain are gone along with a carriage. We can’t find any other trace. I’m sorry, sir.”
Tybalt shook his head, a disbelieving half-choked laugh escaping his mouth. He was so angry, so upset, so shocked. How could this happen? He’d seen his son just hours before, just before the ceremony.
”Who has my son?” he questioned now ”Who took my boy?”
The guard paled a little, ”All we know is that ambassadors from Rajani were involved - Queen Ernestine or someone close to her is suspected. But, sir, we are doing our best to find them. The Queen has ordered a search.”
The elder man barely heard the young one’s words. Because suddenly everything fell away about having raised his child to be a Verndari and a guard. Suddenly none of that mattered. Suddenly all that mattered was Callan. His son.
He could have thought about the fact that he’d taught his boy better than to allow this to happen. But he didn’t. Tybalt thought about the first time his son had smiled at him. He thought about the first time his baby had reached out to grab his face, running soft hands over weathered skin. He thought about the first time Callan had said ‘I love you’ to him.
And his boy was in danger. He felt so awful that when the guard had first said Callan was gone, he had wondered if he’d run again like he’d done years back when he hadn’t wanted to join the army. Run with Carlo like he had with Tia the first time. His instincts about his own child had been so wrong.
Tybalt might have been a stern man. The kind of man others might assume to be uncaring. But when it truly came down to it, all he cared about was his son. His funny, caring, sometimes troublemaking son. The son who had made him proud over the years.
”I will join the search,” he told the guard without hesitation ”and tell Her Majesty I aim to help in any way I can.”
The guard nodded and left, leaving Tybalt alone to sink back into his seat. He sighed, stating down at the writing he’d only moments before been doing for his son.
”Please, Cal.” he whispered, either to the pages or the empty room, he did not know, ”Please be okay.”
He might have had a sometimes misguided way of showing it, forcing his son into a future he hadn’t wanted, but he did love the boy. He’d always wanted the best for him, even if he had made the mistake of thinking he knew better than his son on that matter. Still, all that mattered now was that Callan was alright. And Tybalt wouldn’t rest now until he knew he was safe.
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jan 25, 2023 19:05:50 GMT -5
FUTURE WRITING - NOT NECESSARILY CANON Alex had thought he was prepared for the first time he saw his father after his rescue by Dante and the rebels. The truth was that he could never have been prepared for it.
Before he laid eyes on his father, the armour he was wearing had felt like a barrier against it all. A wall behind which anything Chadwick said or did could not reach his son. But the second the prince was again in his father’s presence, he felt like a child playing dress-up. Suddenly it felt weak, flimsy, not real. Several sizes too big.
He’d been fool enough to volunteer for this mission, had thought he was ready. The rebels had needed someone to deliver terms and demands to the king, and nobody knew Alex’s father like he did. His knowledge of Oraleean diplomacy and politics was rivalled only by Dante’s. It made sense. And Alex had told himself that he was perfectly capable of it. His father had no power over him anymore.
But he felt less and less like that was true as he approached a table at which his father sat, an empty chair at the opposite side.
Guards stood behind the king, but they stirred as Alexiares approached. The prince froze as their hands reached to grip the hilts of their swords, forcing him to raise his own hands placatingly. He could swear he didn’t breathe for a long moment as he slowly reached to draw his sword from its hilt. The guards tensed more. The sound of one starting to draw his sword. Alex just slowly presented the blade to the nearest guard, who took it and stepped back.
The rebels were right outside. He’d been assured so many times, probably because they had known Alex wasn’t as ready as he’d claimed to be, that they’d be there if anything went wrong. But he doubted they would be there quickly enough to keep him alive if anything truly did happen.
Chadwick regarded his son before silently producing his own dagger, passing it, without taking his eyes off Alex, to the guard directly behind him. Then the king gave what Alex presumed was supposed to be an approximation of a welcoming smile before gesturing for him to sit. Alex obliged, though he was aware that his movements felt stiff and awkward.
”Alexiares,” Chadwick greeted with a synthetic, manufactured kind of warmth, ”you must forgive the discourteous welcome. A formality, you understand.”
Alex scoffed, trying everything he could to drive out the nerves he was feeling with a show of disdain for his father.
”You can’t tell me I ‘must’ do anything anymore, father,”
The prince could have expected a lot of responses from his father. Rage being most likely. The smile he got instead was not what he had predicted, which was certainly unsettling.
”I think it would be best if we cut to the chase, don’t you?” responded the elder man, ”I know why you are truly here, and you should know I admire you for it in a way. It must be very humbling for you, returning like this, but it is very brave.”
The prince blinked, brows furrowing as his father’s words sunk in, ”What?”
”It’s alright, son. You were being manipulated, I don’t want to hold it against you. You’ve acknowledged your mistakes, and that takes real maturity.”
His father thought he was returning. That he’d done this because he wanted to come back to the palace. Alex’s stomach churned at the thought.
The prince leaned forward, meeting his father’s eyes.
”Let me clear up some confusion. I am not here because I want to come back. And I am not being manipulated.” he spoke slowly, clearly, and said the last words with an unmoving certainty. Perhaps more certainty than he really should have if he thought about it logically.
But there was nothing logical about it and, if the knowing look that came across his father’s eyes was anything to go by, the king knew it too.
”So that’s what this is about?” Chadwick sat back, actually chuckled for a moment, ”Dante Thorsten?”
Alex couldn’t believe his father had just brought Dante up like that, the prince’s mouth opening in astonishment. But after a moment where all he could hear was his heart hammering on his chest, he recovered from the abrupt mention of the former council member.
”Dante cares about me.” was all Alex replied with, but he was firm.
The king just seemed amused, though. Alex knew he shouldn’t be engaging like this, he should just deliver the demands and leave. But he couldn’t let his father be so smug, so clearly believing that he was right. He couldn’t let him have the last word, never had been able to.
”Oh, please,” the king said, and Alex even detected a note of pity in his voice, ”I had you pegged as a lot of things, son. But not a fool. What, you think Dante is impressed by you? He is an ambitious man, surely it’s obvious he was never interested in you for your charming brand of anger and spite.”
Alex was stunned, felt his stomach drop as if the floor had opened beneath him. He knew exactly what his father was getting at, but still he had to ask.
”What are you talking about?”
”This is exactly why you shouldn’t be involved with the rebels, Alexiares. You’re too naive for the world out there, too easily manipulated.” Alex suddenly felt like a child again as his father said those words ”Do you think Dante would have ever given you a second look if you were not a prince? He and the rebels are using you for their own gain. I failed to protect you from that once before with your mother and I will not fail again.”
He remembered that night when he was a child as clear as day. Still remembered being woken from his bed by his mother, taking her hand and going with her because he trusted her. Why wouldn’t he trust his mother, after all?
Alex swallowed.
”Father, stop.” he said, trying to hold any waver out of his voice.
The king’s face softened then, the same kind of kindly expression that still lived as a whisper or a ghost somewhere deep in Alex’s memory.
”Despite what I’m sure you believe, I have spent your life protecting you. From your mother, who put you in danger for her own political games. From the council, the kingdom, the world who would have bayed for your blood if they ever knew the truth about you. I’ve always tried to do what’s best for you, I think you know that really. Please just come home and we can put this behind us.”
As he always did when it came to his father, Alex suddenly didn’t know where he was. Was he mature or naive? He was being manipulated, he could tell that, but was there truth in any of it? What did the rebels actually want from him? And why on earth would he actually think Dante would have anything to do with someone as messed up as him?
But he did manage to get out one word. Because in all the confusion, he knew where he did not want to be. He knew how his father made him feel. And he knew that he couldn’t trust his father not to turn on him and have him executed if he returned home. But most of all, he didn’t want to believe Dante was manipulating or using him.
”No,” was that one word, bitten out and left lingering in the quiet air, like the silence in the second after a flash of lightning.
The king’s face hardened.
”No?” Chadwick repeated, before raising an eyebrow, ”I see. You’re suddenly so wise now, aren’t you? A few weeks with the rebels and you’re all grown up and tough.”
Alex set his jaw, instantly angered at the mocking from his father. But the king looked so in control, so confident and unruffled. So much more certain than Alex felt.
”You are deceiving yourself to think they look at you and don’t see only the ways they can use you.” the king continued, ”Nobody has ever cared about you without ulterior motive, and they never will. You represent too much.”
Alex said nothing, struck dumb for a moment in stunned, hurt anger, and just watched as his father leaned back and said in a more dismissive tone, ”If you trust Dante Thorsten and your new little friends so much, renounce your titles. Watch how fast he and the rebels walk away when you have nothing to offer.”
”I will,” Alex found himself able to answer out of an instinct of defiance, though it felt like somebody else was speaking rather than him, ”I’ll sign whatever I need to sign.”
”Very well,” Chadwick answered evenly, though Alex wasn’t sure if he seemed slightly surprised that Alex had actually agreed to it, ”But when I am proven right, do not darken the doorways of this palace again. I will not protect you again, and I’m certain nobody else will be willing to.”
Alex felt a rush of fury but simply rose from his feet, producing some parchment and laying it on the table before pushing it toward his father.
He narrowed his eyes, ”These are the rebel demands. They expect an answer by tomorrow at noon. I’d advise you to consider them.”
His father did not read them, but pulled the paper closer to him without turning his attention from his son.
”It is still my greatest regret that your mother corrupted you as much as she did.” he said, and his tone was more hateful than Alex thought he had ever heard it.
Alex just exhaled from his nose, nodding as he stepped back from the table.
”At least we agree on something.”
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Mar 25, 2023 18:40:42 GMT -5
FUTURE WRITING - NOT NECESSARILY CANON Lilith had planned meticulously. Raising an army, eventually trying to retake her kingdom. That had been her strategy for years.
But too many things had been happening lately that she had not planned for.
Reuniting with her sisters was one of them. She still hadn’t spoken to them as much as she would have liked to, but she didn’t even know how to begin to deal with all the emotions finding them again had triggered in her. She didn’t do well with emotions, never really had. She’d always on some level held out hope that they were alive, but she had never prepared herself for the eventuality that they actually had survived. She’d avoided them a little bit, she supposed. She couldn’t exactly just pretend everything was normal, like they hadn’t been separated for years, but it wasn’t something she felt ready to address. The strength of her feelings overwhelmed her. It felt like when there’s a sound so loud it stops your thoughts from coalescing. As if water was rushing around her ears and she couldn’t concentrate.
The other thing she hadn’t exactly planned for was the young man who’d just approached her to give her a message from Elena.
She’d barely actually taken in what Callan had said. She knew he’d noticed, because she could see a crease forming in his his brow.
”Did you listen to any of that?” he was questioning, but the exasperation in his tone told her he knew the answer already.
Callan had shown up in her life unexpectedly and unasked for, thanks to Ress and Atlas. Lilith had hoped it would be only a brief time until the guard and Carlo could be taken off Lilith and Elena’s hands. But annoyingly, her friend had apparently formed some sort of attachment with Callan.
That was worrying for Lilith. This attachment seemed genuine, with emotional vulnerability on at least some level. That was dangerous, and she knew Elena knew it was dangerous too.
”No,” at least Lilith was honest, for whatever else you could say about her, ”but Elena knows I never listen to her anyway.”
Callan rolled his eyes, but didn’t move. Clearly he was going to be stubborn about getting her to pay attention. Lilith was more than practiced at dealing with stubbornness, having dealt with Elena and her sisters over the years, and two could play at Callan’s game.
She raised her brows and waved him off.
”Run along before she starts missing her puppy,” Lilith said Elena’s nickname for the young guard with some distaste.
Callan sighed, huffing in annoyance.
”Alright,” he challenged, clearly determined now, ”what’s your problem?”
”I don’t care about you enough to have a problem.” Lilith kept her tone matter-of-fact, settling her eyes on him in that way she’d always been told was unsettling. She didn’t mean it to be unsettling, but it was always a bonus.
She didn’t seem to have convinced Callan, though, who answered her with the same smooth confidence Lilith had spoken to him with. The two could have been talking about the weather as far as anyone else knew.
”I can tell you don’t like me.”
Lilith responded coolly with, ”I know you Verndari like to believe you’re special, but anyone with basic observation skills knows I don’t like most people.”
He folded his arms, ”We both know this isn’t like that. I’m a very patient man, so you might as well save yourself some time and tell me.”
God, of course Elena had to pick a man almost as irritatingly stubborn as her. Not to mention somebody with the same annoying tendency to actually want to know stuff about other people.
He wasn’t relenting, but Lilith was honestly surprised that he hadn’t figured it out. She shot him a sharp look.
”Because I don’t trust you yet not to mess it up.”
Callan looked more confused than ever, ”Mess what up?”
Lilith’s eyes travelled over to Elena, who was some distance away talking to Reed about something or other. Callan’s gaze followed hers, and understanding dawned in those green eyes.
”Elena?” the guard asked. The surprise in his tone at this idea suggested that things were going well enough that he wasn’t actively messing it up yet, and the hint of worry or concern gave Lilith a bit of hope that he might not.
It didn’t matter; he was getting the warning anyway. Her expression hardened to something carved from cool marble.
”If you hurt her, I’ll make sure you wish you’d never been born,” was Lilith’s frighteningly calm threat ”and I’m not even the one you need to worry about.”
No, Elena was the one he should be worried about if he hurt her. Callan seemed all too aware of this fact, because his gaze flicked back over to Elena for a moment.
”Believe me, I know.” was all he said.
This was enough to convince Lilith that they’d reached an understanding. She left him be, safe in the knowledge that this man would probably never hurt Elena. And if it had ever been a possibility before, it wasn’t after that conversation.
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Mar 28, 2023 18:04:45 GMT -5
FUTURE WRITING - NOT NECESSARILY CANON Alex had been told all about the night before a battle. The restless, nervous energy. The body becoming so aware death may be coming that it was filled with anxious life. As if it wanted to live all the years at once for fear they’d be cut short. The anticipation in the air, the usual buzz of the camp feeling like it thrummed at a different register.
“I told you,” said the very man who’d informed him of all these things, who’d tried to prepare him for this moment that could not be prepared for.
Callan sat nearby, and his green eyes that followed Alex as he paced had a kind of knowing and perhaps a hint of amusement at the prince’s first-battle nerves.
As the days had grown closer to the battle, Callan had grown a kind of weathered weariness about him. The expression of someone who had done this many times before and knew exactly what was coming. It was like he was watching storm clouds slowly rolling over.
But tonight, the night before the battle, the clouds were gone and the sky was clearer than ever. Callan seemed to have accessed a part of him Alex hadn’t seen before. He seemed calm, quietly determined. There was a keenness in his eye. Alex didn’t doubt he was afraid, because who could possibly not feel even a hint of fear? Perhaps he was using that fear, allowing it to drive something else within him.
”Sit down, stop pacing,”
Callan’s voice had an element of softness which he was sure came from understanding, from knowing exactly how Alex felt. But still, Alex obeyed it like a command and took a seat next to the Wisterian guard.
The other man was busy preparing his armour for the battle. His movements were deft and practices, sure, as they always were when it came to weapons or armour. It spoke of his experience, his comfort and familiarity with those things. But his movements were almost too methodical. Alex knew Callan’s head was in a different space. Perhaps doing this was trying to calm his mind, the prince wasn’t sure.
”I can’t settle down,” Alex admitted, more aware than ever now that he was full of the adrenaline-fuelled desire to move and be active. It felt like a thrumming electricity sparking beneath his skin.
Callan just scoffed, exhaling through his nose in amusement, ”That doesn’t go away.”
The blond cast another glance at the guard. He did seem different from the easygoing man he had met. The keenness in his eyes, the edge in his gaze, could have come from an urgency. Perhaps Callan’s body, too, was filled with that anxious feeling.
”I thought your family never feel fear.” was Alex’s somewhat skeptical reply. And alright, perhaps with a dose of teasing too. Anything to take the prince’s mind off everything.
Callan frowned slightly, like a brief shrug of the mouth.
”No warrior worth their salt isn’t afraid before a fight,” Callan answered ”Not if they have anything to lose.”
Callan’s green eyes became a little distant for a moment, work forgotten in his hands as he recalled a memory.
”First lesson my father ever taught me in my training,” his green eyes settled on Alex, ”Being a warrior is about learning to be afraid. Being afraid and using the fear the right way.”
Alex supposed that made sense, though all these warriors must be better at hiding their fear than Alex was if they were as afraid as him. They all seemed so calm compared to how he felt.
”That seems easier said than done,” the prince replied. He knew a lot about fear, but very little about using it. He wasn’t a warrior, not by any means.
His fear of his father had never been something he’d been able to use or control. He’d been powerless. So when given the opportunity to master his fear, he didn’t know what to do with it.
”In the end, the fear will show you what keeps you fighting. That’s the important thing. You’ll see.” said the other man.
The guard said those words with a comforting certainty, and Alex knew what kept Callan fighting. Elena, Tia, Carlo. The people he cared about.
What kept Alex fighting? Revenge against his father? Peace for himself?
Maybe.
But he tried to ignore the way Dante’s face flashed in his mind. Tried to ignore the way the idea of losing him made his gut twist.
He didn’t have time to think about that now. Not tonight. If they both saw the next sunset, maybe then he could bear to dig those feelings out.
|
|
|
|
Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Apr 4, 2023 16:00:47 GMT -5
RANDOM WRITING, NOT NECESSARILY CANON Callan had never quite understood how people talked about ‘just being yourself’ like it was the easiest thing on the planet. Like it was supposed to come naturally. It truly baffled him.
The truth was, Callan had spent almost his entire life trying to figure out who that person called ‘himself’ was. Not to mention learning how to be that person. It was a side effect of growing up in the shadow of reputations and expectations. It was a struggle many in the social circles of royalty that he’d grown up in seemed to share.
In the end he’d grappled with it, with what he truly wanted for himself. At least, he had everyone fooled into thinking he knew himself. Or most people - Elena wasn’t the type to be fooled, even by self-deception. He wanted to honour his family and their name, of course, but he’d also done the work of learning that he needed to grow and be his own person outside of it.
And yet, why did he ask himself so often who he really was?
His time as Elena’s prisoner was going so slowly, yet too quickly all the same. The hours dragged on, and yet each was another that passed without Callan having escaped. Another hour of Carlo being in danger, another hour of Tia worrying for him. Another hour he was failing in his duties.
He had nothing more to say. He’d told Elena so. Every time she asked he told her the same story, and it never wavered. No inconsistencies, no lies.
He remembered one day that he’d reached his most exhausted about the whole thing.
”If you are waiting for a confession, I have none to give.” he’d said ”So kill me or don’t, but I don’t have whatever truth you’re looking for.”
He could lie, give a false confession. Maybe he could trade it for some knowledge about whether Carlo was okay.
But all he had out there was his integrity. He knew what kind of man he wanted to be, if nothing else. And it was not a liar. Nor was it someone who would do what Elena thought he had done.
How could he start to try and be his own person if he began that journey with a lie? With Elena, his family name and his duty to the royals meant nothing in her judgement of him. All he had was who he was. He couldn’t sacrifice that even for Tia and Carlo, for whom he would give his life without question.
Besides, he could not protect them by lying. He had no idea what Elena might do to punish him. She could hurt Carlo, and Callan would never gamble with Carlo’s life. His own, yes, but never the prince’s. Not to mention that if anything happened to Carlo it could be the first step towards a war.
He could make this about family duty. He could make it about the people he cared about. But deep down it was really about himself. He supposed it has to happen eventually, him putting himself first.
Callan would not sacrifice or compromise who he was. If he did, he let go of the only thing he had control over in the situation he was in. Stubbornly sticking to the truth was the only decision he could really make, the only bit of power he had. He was not letting it go.
Maybe it would kill him, but maybe he’d rather that than give up his reputation.
After all, he’d already disappointed Tia and Carlo with his failure to protect the prince. Perhaps the only way he could disappoint them more would be confessing to this. He knew it would disappoint himself.
So perhaps, in that tent in Elena’s camp, he was beginning to realise who he was. Perhaps he was beginning to understand how to forge his own path for himself, outside of the Verndari shadow.
Perhaps in his own refusal to give in he was finding himself.
|
|
Dec 4, 2024 12:08:42 GMT -5
Dec 4, 2024 12:08:42 GMT -5
Dec 4, 2024 12:09:19 GMT -5
Dec 4, 2024 12:09:19 GMT -5