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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 2 years

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I am sorry for my earlier question regarding Nicasia… It was not meant for discourse baiting… but she is a very unsympathetic character in my view…. But I did not mean to discourse bait. I am genuinely curious why you find sympathy for Nicasia….

first, i'll give you the general disclaimer: i'm not really in the business of defending villains because 1) they don't need saving (that's the great thing about them), 2) it's not my job to make you like them, and 3) there are so many villains in TFOTA, if i spent my time trying to defend every single one to you, i'd be going through almost the entire cast of characters (and probably sound like a broken record by the end of it).

nobody wants that.

so, if you're here with an open mind, i'll give you some points that are more specific to Nicasia's character and why i've grown to like her. if you're not interested in hearing a defence for her character, keep scrolling, this is not the post for you.

a. i'll be the first to admit that i didn't truly like Nicasia until i came up with Nicaryn.

so i'm aware part of my sympathy for her is purely self-indulgent. which is fine. i'm allowed to like a character "just because".

i want to believe there is a world where her and Taryn could end up together, and i know that would never happen if Nicasia continued on her trajectory of being a massive dick to everyone.

but obviously Nicaryn isn't for everyone, and they certainly aren't canon (even if it just makes sense), so i won't use the ship as a main talking point.

1. i sympathise with Nicasia precisely because she is so young and so flawed. these are the qualities we can relate to.

think about it. everything else about Nicasia is entirely unrelatable. ethereal beauty, immortality, royalty. hell, the girl can grow a fish tail and breath underwater. but an ethereally beautiful, immortal mermaid princess who is still subject to making erroneous decisions, behaving erratically, and having selfish motives?

somehow, that makes her character less far fetched. somehow, that is relatable.

the most we know about her is that she comes from a cold harsh place with a cold harsh mother who would use her daughter as a political pawn for her own agenda. but Nicasia is also a teenager who has recently had her heart broken. what is more relatable than young love lost?

and if it wasn't truly love that broke her heart, it was probably the feeling that she has failed her mother and her kingdom by ruining her chances with Cardan that broke it. either way, if you've never had your heart broken before, let me tell you how it goes:

it makes you go insane. and not in a sexy way.

when we're young, and full of a riot of emotions and hormones, we make mistakes. we act in horrid awful ways that make us cringe. being young and full of hormones doesn't excuse us from the mistakes we make. but it doesn't make us any less deserving of love or any less capable of change/growth, either.

if you can't sympathise with being young and overwrought and fucking up, then i have to conclude you've either never done anything wrong (and are lying to yourself if you think that's true), or you haven't yet viewed your 17-20 year old self through the rear-view mirror of life. in which case, you either have to take my word for it, or wait a couple years for Nicasia to truly make sense to you.

2. more importantly, i don't care much about what Nicasia did to Jude in the Undersea or at school.

i care more about Jude and how those things made her feel and how she overcame the things Nicasia did to her.

were Nicasia's actions fucked up? absolutely. but if you haven't noticed, this entire series is about fucked up things happening to fucked up people in a fucked up little world.

just because we have one (fictional) character's very biased (fictional) perspective, doesn't mean other (fictional) things aren't happening to the other (fictional) characters at the same time. there are many sides to this (fictional) story we haven't seen.

do you get where i'm going with this? it's fiction. these people/places/events, as much as we might wish them to be real, are not real. so morals should have nothing to do with appreciating a character.

reading fiction, liking fiction, or liking fictional characters does not equate to condoning their actions irl. my enjoyment of a character does not say anything about who i am as a person. just because your fictional friends jump off a bridge doesn't mean you're going to do it irl, right? realising this is a fundamental part of critical reading.

it is very dangerous rhetoric to presume that a person's fictional preferences reflect anything of their real life ones.

3. to wrap this up, cos i'm honestly getting a little bored hearing myself speak on this topic, one of the very big reasons i like Nicasia is her potential for growth.

like so many of the characters in TFOTA, Nicasia is flawed. so, so flawed. which makes her interesting. if you like perfect characters in perfect worlds where everything aligns to your personal morals and is "for the greater good", i'm sorry to say this probably isn't the series for you.

instead of judging Nicasia et. al. for doing the things they do, i ask myself "why do they do this?", and i am happy to report that thinking of the text through a curious lens, rather than a judgemental one, has never failed to increase the enjoyability of my reading experience by at least ten-fold.

the imperfect state of Nicasia's character lends itself very well to the potential for change and the makings of another story.

we even see towards the end of QON, when Jude asks Nicasia for help, Nicasia does not scorn her. she gets down on her knees and begs Jude to save Cardan. the princess of the Undersea. begs. she tells Jude how much Cardan loves her. Nicasia. who was once jealous and heartbroken enough over Cardan so as to shoot one of his alleged dalliances. she willingly attests to his love for another person—for Jude, whom she hated.

now, i don't think anyone would say we should be worshipping at Nicasia's feet for being humble for 2.5 seconds. and we can certainly still be wary of her in the future. but i think it points to a fact of growth that people don't like to see, much less commend. growth is slow, it is clumsy, it is not all at once. it's concerning how people only want to see the final product, instead of all the messy steps in between.

besides, just think– if every character were polished smooth by moral superiority at the end of every story, there would be no more stories left to tell.

–Em 🖤🗡

more theories & analysis

#gorgeous gorgeous girls read and understand Oscar Wilde's Preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray 😌#asked and answered #fantasyfox10123 #tfota #jurdan #nicasia #the folk of the air #jurdannet #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #holly black #my analysis

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wylanvnneck · 3 years

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Fate, Love, and Other Misfortunes | Jurdan AU

Rating: T

TW: No major archive warnings apply, although there is some swearing.

Summary: Ever since Jude received her soulmark she's been waiting with bated breath to meet and consequently strangle her soulmate. When she finally does find him, however, there’s more than one surprise in store for her.

On AO3 || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter (coming soon!) || Masterlist || Playlist ||

Word Count: 2,591

Chapter 2: Bubblegum B*tch - MARINA

The new term continued as badly as it had begun. Every Potions, Charms and Astronomy lesson with the Ravenclaws was hell, with Cardan and his friends Locke and Nicasia going out of their way to make her life miserable.

She was forced to face Nicasia’s high pitched whispers about her parentage and Locke’s not so subtle attempts to sabotage her Potions, all observed by the boy who was supposedly her soulmate with an approving - if slightly bored - smirk.

Not responding to their taunts went against Jude’s very soul. Even back when she’d been unaware of the Wizarding World and her magical abilities, she’d always stood up to bullies. There had been a time when the biggest boy at her muggle pre-school, Tommy Hendricks, had stolen Little Jimmy Wheeler’s lunch bag at recess and then kicked Jimmy in the shin until he’d cried.

Jude had immediately stormed up behind Tommy, tapped him on the shoulder and punched his nose before he’d even fully turned around.

The incident had earned her a visit to the Principal’s office and a stern reprimand from her parents, but the righteous anger that had rushed through her at the sight of Jimmy’s face and the resounding sense of victory she had felt after punching Tommy’s nose had made it all worth it.

It was only the aftermath of that incident that had made her feel sorry about her actions.

Tommy was the biggest bully at the school, and that made him the most powerful kid at school and the kid that no one wanted to mess with. All the other children in Jude’s class had kept their distance from her after the punch, not wanting to risk his anger, and that didn’t really bother her. She had never been popular to begin with, preferring to silently observe the rest of the class from behind her desk and minding her own business.

Unfortunately though, Jude wasn’t the only one who became a social pariah for the rest of the term. Taryn, as her twin sister, had also been affected by her exile despite not having even been in the playground when Jude had defended Jimmy and unlike Jude, Taryn had cared about her loss of status and popularity.

Ever since that particular incident Jude had learned that it was better for her to just keep her head down and simply avoid the bullies, no matter how wrong it felt. There was no other way to avoid dragging Taryn down with her, and seeing Taryn’s crestfallen face every time she was ignored or picked on just because she was Jude’s sister was not something Jude was prepared to let happen again.

Hence why her only reaction to Greenbriar’s gang was a grit of her teeth and a silent reminder to herself to ignore them and forge on. There was also the added incentive that - as Taryn had said when she’d finally noticed Jude’s new tormentors - if she didn’t react, eventually they would get bored and move on.

At least, that’s what she hoped would happen.

But in the meantime, she definitely needed some form of therapeutic distraction, before she ended up stabbing the boy whose words she carried, no matter how much he deserved it.

Which is why, one week into the term on a sunny afternoon, Jude stands in the middle of the quidditch pitch, clutching a Nimbus 3000 tightly in her fist, gazing up at the sight of Siana Tatterfell trying out for the role of keeper roughly a 200 metres above her, arms flailing wildly as the Slytherin quidditch Captain, Fand Richards pelted her with quaffle after quaffle.

Out of the corner of her eye Jude can make out her elder sister Vivi waving enthusiastically at her from the stadium, her bright yellow and black tie popping out noticeably against her black robes and her pink-haired girlfriend Heather exasperatedly tugging her back down to her seat. Suppressing a smile Jude turns to face them and waves back.

“Consorting with the enemy, Duarte?” A lilting female voice sounds from behind her.

Whirling around Jude comes face to face with a petite girl with snow-white hair and a playful grin. Flanking her on either side are a tall blonde and a shorter boy with a tuft of black hair, watching her carefully from beneath short lashes.

They were Slytherins and the same age as she and she thinks she might’ve exchanged the occasional smile with them in the corridors but they’d never really spoken before.

“I hardly think Hufflepuff’s the team to be worried about this season. If you ask me, Gryffindor will be the one to watch.” She grins in what she hopes is a friendly manner and adds, “Besides, Vivi couldn’t ride a broomstick if her oversized cat Hubert’s life depended on it.”

That elicits a laugh from the trio and her grin widens. Turns out she wasn’t entirely incompetent at socialising after all.

“Aight, Duarte, you’re up.” Sometime during her encounter Fand had descended back to the grounds, a grumbling Siana marching out of the stadium behind her.

Suddenly the nerves that had subsided in the past few minutes roar back to life in Jude’s gut, and some of it must show up on her face, because the white-haired girl steps closer and holds out her hand for Jude to shake. “Good luck! I’m sure you’ll do great. My name’s Liliver, by the way, but you can call me Lil, all my friends do”

“Thanks, Lil.”

The trial doesn’t go too badly. The role of beater suited Jude well, and aggressively batting at the quaffle was precisely the sort of release that she had hoped for when she decided to try out for the team this year.

Fand makes her stand in the sidelines once she's done, so she decides to walk over and continue to chat with Lil and the two boys, whom she introduces as “Garrett the biggest pain in the ass” and “Van, my soulmate.” Van’s little smile when Lil calls him her soulmate is so adorably pure that Jude barely feels any soulmate envy.

One by one they all try out for their respective positions and the trials finally come to a close as the sun starts to set.

“Ok folks, here’s the list of those who’ve made it onto this year’s team.” The sizeable handful of Sytherin hopefuls swarm towards Fand as she thrusts out a list of names for them to see.

Lil’s name is at the top of the list, the word ‘Seeker’ scrawled next to it. Garrett and Van are both named Keepers and then there it is, her name. Jude Duarte - Beater.

It takes a minute for the words to register and in the next moment Lil is standing next to her slinging an arm around her and congratulating her. Normally the invasion of her space bubble would be annoying but she can’t find it in herself to care. Garrett gives her the most enthusiastic of high fives and Van goes for a slightly more subdued handshake.

Minutes later, trudging through the quidditch pitch in the direction of her grinning sister beside her newly made friends, Jude is on cloud nine. She’s a part of a team, she’d managed to socialise with people her age and hadn’t wanted to tear her hair out whilst doing it; right now, she was unstoppable.

So of course it makes perfect sense that her least favourite Ravenclaw chooses that exact moment to appear in the stadium.

Her stomach sinks with some strange premonition when she sees that instead of his usual posse he is surrounded by this year’s Ravenclaw quidditch Team, a Nimbus 3001 in his hands. She despises that additional 1.

“Why, imagine seeing you here, Duarte, wouldn’t have thought to see a muggle playing a wizard’s game.” The trademark smirk makes a return and this time Jude can’t stop herself from responding, too annoyed by his sudden appearance to check herself.

“That’s funny, Greenbriar, I’d think out of the two of us it makes less sense for you to be out here. After all, despite my oh so tragic genes, I’m a member of my house’s quidditch team and you’re not, the last time I checked.” It was a weak retort at best, but to her chagrin it was all she could come up with.

If it was possible the smirk gets even more annoying. “Check again. You’ll find that I’m one of Ravenclaw’s new chasers.”

That couldn’t be right. Ravenclaw had had it’s trials yesterday and she was sure that the two chasers that had been chosen were named Kate and Edwin or Edward or something along those lines.

As if he can hear her thoughts Cardan adds, “Edwin Featherington made the decision to...step down. I’m his replacement.”

Made the decision to step down. The same anger that Tommy Hendricks had evoked in her so long ago ignites again like a righteous flame reincarnated.

“I don’t believe that for a second! You made him resign.”

“Really?” He rolls his ‘r’ for maximum irritation. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any proof, Duarte?”

He’s completely unruffled, a lazy and insouciant fire barely blazing in his pupils and suddenly the anger within her metamorphes into complete and utter rage.

This rage was the product of years of hatred, not just of the pitiful week since that day outside Potions class. This rage was a culmination of all the years that she’d secretly despised her soulmate without even knowing him, despised him for calling her a mudblood, for being the reason for the insult tattooed on her skin.

She had spent years trying to tell herself that what he called her didn’t matter, that the moment he realised her significance he would beg for her forgiveness, that he had a shot at changing, being a better person.

Which brought her to acknowledging the hatred borne of his not being fated for her. That was a whole other can of worms.

In reality, Cardan would keep going after and getting whatever he wanted, uncaring of the people he hurt along the way and one day, he would find his soulmate and she would watch from afar as he got to settle down with some simpering beauty and live out his privileged life with her whilst she stood in the sideline, a part of her involuntarily pining for him no matter how hard she tried to squash it out.

The imagery sends an angry shiver up her spine.

“I don’t need proof to know that you’re a manipulative, spoiled, selfish little Snake.”

Fed up with him, herself, everyone, she turns and storms off the pitch, right past a concerned looking Vivi and Heather and leaving behind an astonished Lil, Garrett, Van and newly-formed Ravenclaw quidditch team staring after her with the sound of Cardan’s delighted laughter ringing in her ears.

~~~~~

Being in a quidditch team wasn’t all treacle tarts and rainbows. Jude had already proven herself to be a relatively proficient flyer. When she’d had her first flying lesson with Coach Baphen she’d caught on to the mechanisms pretty quickly for someone who hadn’t even known that brooms could actually fly until just a few months earlier.

But that didn’t mean that she didn’t need to keep practicing to earn her Beater position. If there was one thing Jude prided herself on it was her determination, and she was determined to prove herself as an asset to Syltherin come quidditch season. So here she was, zipping around on her Nimbus on the pitch long after Lil, Garrett and Van had left to shower for dinner. Without other people there to lob bludgers at her, the extra practice wasn’t all that effective but she’d die before she would admit that out loud.

“Looking for someone to throw things at you, Duarte? I’d be more than happy to comply.”

That voice. She didn’t even have to look down at the grounds to know who was yelling up at her.

She considers simply ignoring him but she has a feeling that that would only make him even more persistent in getting her to respond. Better to shake him off sooner rather than later. Like an annoying bloodthirsty leech.

“Only if I get to return the favour.”

She thinks she hears Cardan chuckle but she can’t be sure.

“And let you ruin this pretty face? I don’t think so.”

She shrugs nonchalantly, even though she’s still quite high up and he likely can’t see her from his spot on the ground.

“What are you even doing here Greenbriar?”

“Same as you, I imagine. Practice.”

The snort leaves her mouth before she even registers his words. “Practice?”

“Yes, Duarte, the act of repeatedly doing something so as to acquire proficiency in it. Surely you are familiar with the idea?”

She bristles at the sarcasm. “I am indeed aware of what the word practice means, what I can’t imagine however, is why you of all people would feel the need to do it.”

“Because I’m just naturally talented?” She briefly fantasizes about his face being savaged by an enraged Hippogriff one day soon so she never has to see that smirk again.

“No, I simply don’t see why you’d care. It’s clear that your position on the team means nothing to you.”

Cardan stays silent for an abnormally long period of time, so long that she lowers her hover by a few inches just to make sure that he hadn’t stopped breathing. It would be dreadfully inconvenient to have to cut her practice session short to inform someone that he was dead, after all.

“You don’t know me,” he says finally. The words are clipped and not meant to be engaged with.

Jude was never good at following other people’s cues.

“I know enough. I know that you somehow managed to force Edwin Featherington to give up his position for you. I know that you don’t care about your friends, not really. I know that you never really loved Nicasia or you wouldn’t have been so unhurt when she cheated on you with Locke. I know enough about you to know that you just don’t care. About anything.”

It was too much. She’d gone too far. Somewhere between the first sentence and the last, Jude had crossed a line. Probably when she’d brought up the Nicasia and Locke drama. Everyone in the grade had known; it was probably the only time when people had dared to snigger about poor oblivious Cardan behind his back, but then when Cardan had finally walked in on the pair making out in an abandoned classroom he’d remained stone-faced and unfazed, told them calmly that they ‘deserved each other’ and walked out.

At least, that was what the nosy Gryffindor who’d been listening in on the whole thing had claimed. Once word of this extremely anticlimactic reveal had traveled through the social network of the Hogwarts alumni two hours later it was clear that Cardan was no longer an object of pity but rather one of disbelieving awe. Cardan Greenbriar and his fucking heart of stone.

There’s another long and angry pause, but this time Jude is too scared to drop lower. Better to remain out of his range. She’d seen him practicing a binding spell at Charms class once and whilst she loathed to say it, he was rather proficient in his spell casting.

The silence is deafening and it remains that way for what feels like hours before he turns on his heel and leaves without a word, leaving her to open-mouthedly gape at his retreating form.

Cardan Greenbriar had turned away from a confrontation and let her have the last word.

The wizarding world would never be quite the same.

~~~~~

A/N - Bit of a longer chapter with more Jurdan interaction this time, let me know what you think! As always, notes, comments and reblogs are appreciated.

Tagging: @firestarsandseneschals @thewickedkings @kittkatandbooboo @min-unicorn @fangirlprincess09 @nahthanks @nychanell @cupcakesandkittens @thefolkofthefic @jurdannet @pollyaunt @thatrandomfangirlll (bolded tags are broken/don’t work)

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

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hazelsheartsworn · 3 years

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THE IMPOSTER CROWN - 25. REST IN PIECES

Part 25 of "The Imposter Crown" (Link to Masterpost and AO3)

A Jurdannet Folktober 2021 Story by hazelsheartsworn

Jurdannet Folktober 2021 - Day 25. Rest In Pieces @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Read Part 25 Below or on AO3! Word Count: 1684

Read Part 24 (Tumblr, AO3) or Read Part 26 (Tumblr, AO3)

Summary: Jude is completely alone. Taryn and Nicasia have left for the Undersea, Cardan still rests with the Court of Shadows in a coma, and Jude still needs to figure out more information about this Red Rogue. She feels lost and broken, a failure. What happens now?

Taryn’s sudden departure has shaken me, the uncertainty of her survival, my guilt that she’s hurt because of me. I can’t stay here at the shore, so I get up and start to wander. Muscle memory pulls me toward Madoc’s stronghold and on my way, I skirt around the Lake of Masks.

I stop at the familiar shoreline, but when I lean down to view my reflection, no face looks up at me in return. Instead I see those infernal hairs trailing across the surface of the water, breaking the smooth surface with constant ripples. As I stare across the lake, I can see intermittent faces blinking up at a blank sky. All that magic splintered across the lake and wasted. It feels too personal, this broken lake, like a perfect analogy for my fractured kingdom, my fractured life.

I feel broken, even though Cardan’s magic made me whole again. I defeated Locke, the latest assassin sent to kill me, but at what cost. Losing Taryn in the process will be a Pyrrhic victory, a loss that makes any success I’ve accrued hollow. Perhaps the balance is already skewed. My family is split in all different directions, my reign feels untenable, and my husband, even when I was right in front of him, remains so far away from me. And at what cost— for my ambition? What good is power and survival if I’m alone and constantly running away from the next attempt on my life?

Ugh, I think to myself, am I just being dramatic or is this train of thought accurate? I flop onto my back and prop up my bent knees. It’s soothing at first to watch the clouds drift by, focusing on the mixture of blues and white across the sky rather than listen to my moping inner monologue. I think back on my train of thought, trying to out-rationalize it.

Am I actually broken and wanting? No, no I’m not. Other than the small knick on my shoulder from Heartseeker, I am fully healed. I look at the scar on my palm, from when Dain coerced me to stab myself. I trace a hand over my pant leg, where the long scar trails down my thigh. No, even with these wounds, I have never yielded to the role of frangible human. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Is my family split up? Well, yes, but for safety. It makes sense why we’re apart and, if I really think about it, I do believe Taryn will be fine. Perhaps it’ll be good for her to catch up to my scar count. As for Oak, well, Oriana will defend him with her last breath, and that’s if my enemy takes on the whole palace guard and Court of Shadows, too.

Is my kingdom lost? No, certainly not yet. The land has not rejected me outright and I’ve managed to hold everything together so far. Even if the Folk are only listening to me since I am married to Cardan, well, I’ve ruled alone temporarily before.

But never this long. When Cardan was cursed as a giant snake, it was sorted in a week, in three days. This has been building for over two weeks, with Cardan incapacitated almost 7 days. Some odd garbled sound bubbles out of me and I realize that I’m trying to hold back tears, thinking about my husband hidden away in a plant casket. Even if I defeat this Red Rogue, will he come out of his coma? Will Cardan ever return to me in earnest?

‘SHUT UP, ’ I chastise myself. I’ll never have any chance at saving Cardan if I submit to this wallowing. I scrub my hands across my face, willing my thoughts to reset.

‘ THINK. ’ Think of all the clues; magic, strong enough magic to enchant hair, zombies, and even people. That’s stronger than an ordinary fae magic, dabbling in necromancy and beyond natural forms. Cardan said something about “spun from spider silk and nightmares,” a phrase that tickles at my memory. What else did he jabber about? Rogue Red, feet stepped backward. Why does that remind me of a revel? And a gift freely given caught before it was a trap.

I sit straight up.

A cloth as black as the night sky that could turn away any blade. A gift meant to ensnare Cardan in marriage. Mother Marrow. But she has gray hair and bird-like feet. I think harder. Oh. Her Daughter— with red hair and feet turned backward. She must have magic, like her mother. And Mother Marrow told us that she was very old, as old as the bones of the earth, she said. How old is her daughter then? Old enough to have studied ancient magics around the world?

I try to calm myself, but my brain keeps connecting too much at once. If Mother Marrow and her daughter, what did she say her name was, at the last revel we had? Malu. So, if Mother Marrow and Malu wove that special cloth from spider silk, that would explain the giant spiders sent to attack me, like the one that killed Clip and injured Cardan. And the control of nightmares would explain Cardan’s coma delusions. Red Rogue seems so obvious now, given Malu’s red hair.

I’m relieved a bit. Even just knowing my enemy eases a bit of the tension across my shoulders. Maybe I can make a plan or at least think through some strategy instead of going through this totally blind. I huff out a laugh, feeling accomplished after two weeks of not having a face or name to put to the Red Rogue.

As if my luck has sparked a small flame in me, I look back into the Lake of Masks and Mother Marrow herself stares up at me. Her face is stern and worried and it seems like she’s actually looking at me. She’s mouthing one word at me. It takes me a full minute watching her before I recognize that she’s saying Malu’s name. When she sees that I’ve gotten that right, she starts miming out combing her hair. When I say, “hair” back at her, she starts pointing at her hand, the one doing the combing. So, I question back, “comb?”

Apparently I am very good at charades via a magical lake mirror. Mother Marrow seems relieved, as if she never thought she could get through a dense and dull mortal’s brain. For her next pantomime she holds a hefty dagger, or at least, it seems hefty as she traces its imaginary outline with an all too murderous glint in her eye. I unsheathe Nightfell and hold it before her as my guess. She shakes her head and starts gesturing to my back. To the other sword. I put Nightfell back in its place and unsheathe Heartsworn instead. She nods vigorously. She then takes her imaginary blade and thrusts it right at her imaginary comb in the other hand. The fake comb breaks. Mother Marrow pulls her hands down both cheeks drawing out her face with a look of anguish. She makes several grimacing faces, pretends to gasp for air, and, after placing a dramatic hand to her forehead, collapses out of the image.

I’m a gullible fool and I lean forward to look for her.

But she does return, eager to see if I understood her acted-out message.

“So, I should take Heartsworn,” I gesture again with the sword, “and strike some comb of Malu’s until it breaks?” I act out the scene as I speak aloud.

It seems I have it right because she gives me that matronly nod of approval; the begrudging endorsement of an old woman. But it’s short lived, because she throws something at the reflection and knocks me square in the forehead. Soothing the sore spot with my fingers, I grab the floating nut from the water surface. Just as I turn back to her to give her a salute of thanks, the surface ripples and she disappears. I’m so far past magical logic, I don’t care how Mother Marrow has found me in this lake, given me the exact information to scheme the Red Rogue’s downfall, and managed to cross the magical threshold to give me one of her token spells.

Part of me wonders if this is a trap between the two witches. Regardless, it’s still the best lead I have, so I start making a plan.

I crack open the walnut and out pours a silvery gray gown, the livery of Hollow Hall servants. Interesting. I rearrange all of my blades to try and hide them. It’s bulky, but I end up strapping a sword to each hip and cut slits in the fabric for easy access. If I’m to pretend to be a human servant, then hopefully no one will pay me much attention.

Just before I set off toward Hollow Hall, I fill a small satchel with soil and tie it to my belt, eager to have any advantage whatsoever. Even without Mother Marrow’s aid, it becomes more apparent that Malu is squatting at Hollow Hall. Hairs crisscross the trees and shrubs in greater concentrations. I can see glowing eyes of watchful spiders following my progress from the dense underbrush. None of them stalk after or attack me, so I’m certain I’m meant to walk into this Red Rogue’s web.

I walk up unscathed all the way to the building. I’m about to go to the front, eager for the familiar greeting from the door, but remember my ruse. As a servant, I’d enter through the back, by the kitchens. I feel like I’m reliving my first trial as Dain’s spy, trying to sneak into Balekin’s home to find useful information. But tonight, I am not here to spy or sift through encrypted correspondence. Tonight, I enter a witch’s lair to prove my mettle and save my kingdom.

I look around for some sign of encouragement, but nothing gives me reassurance. It doesn’t matter. I steel myself internally, take on the appearance and gait of a glamoured servant and I enter.

#jurdannetfolktober2021 #jurdannetrevels #jurdannet #jurdan #jurdan fanfic #tfota #tfota fanfic #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #the folk of the air #Mother Marrow #a good bit of self-doubt to this chapter #it comes from experience....#b writes into the void #my folktober fic

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destiniesfic · 3 years

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132 Hours, Chapter 7:

That’s what I think I fear most. Not the symptoms, but being out of control. My brain taking a backseat and letting my body drive.

Read chapter 7 on AO3, or read below:

“Seriously?” Cardan asks, holding up the local newspaper the Roach handed him. “We’re too cheap for the New York Times?”

“They were out,” the Roach grunts.

“This house is a nightmare,” Cardan says under his breath.

We’ve been brought out of our cell again to pose for a proof of life photo. Seated, because I can’t stand for long. Cardan is given the newspaper to prove the photo is current, although the Bomb is holding an old-fashioned Polaroid camera and I am not sure anyone will be able to make out the details. I have been asked to do nothing but sit still.

“Do you want us to smile?” Cardan asks, once the Bomb has the camera ready.

“If you want,” says the Bomb. “Go ahead.”

Cardan does. I glare daggers.

“Well, he’ll know it’s her,” the Bomb remarks. With a gloved, almost dainty hand, she pulls the Polaroid out and sets it on top of the minifridge to develop.

“Why did you smile?” I hiss.

Cardan shrugs. “Just because we’re hostages doesn’t mean we have to look like we’re having a bad time.”

“That’s exactly what it means.”

“Couple more,” says the Bomb, raising her camera again. “Bear with me.”

We do, as she snaps a couple more photos, presumably ones where I don’t look so much like I’m about to strangle Cardan. She takes the best ones and slides them into an envelope, which she seals shut with a little water on her gloved finger. No fingerprints, no saliva, no DNA. Just proof of life.

Cardan notices, too. “You’re pretty good at this crime thing,” he tells her. “Ever think about doing it for a living?”

“It’s really just a hobby for now,” she says dryly, handing the envelope to the Ghost, who heads up the stairs and out to deliver it who-knows-where.

“Looks like a full-blown side-gig to me,” Cardan returns.

The Bomb shrugs. “Well, this economy.”

I wonder if I should be alarmed or encouraged that our captors are beginning to genuinely like him.

It’s already late, after a long, mostly-silent stretch of afternoon in the cell, so we are fed and watered and allowed to relieve ourselves once more before we’re put away again. The Roach offers to help me walk, but I manage to make my way around the basement and eventually hobble to the mattress without assistance. It’s not dignified, but at least I maintain a scrap of my dignity.

Before the Roach is able to lock us in for the night, though, Cardan catches the door in his hand and leans forward. He’s whispering, but the room is small enough that I can hear him anyway. “Hey, um, so, can I have my drugs back?”

Around Cardan’s shoulders, I see the Roach’s face split into a terrible grin. “Nah,” he says. “But nice try.”

And then he closes the door and leaves us alone.

Cardan rubs a hand over his face and goes to sit in his corner. I am staring at him. “You wanted to get high? Now?”

“I had some O on me when they took us,” he says. “Good quality stuff. Pure. Synthetic, obviously.” He glances at me.

“Sure,” I say. It’s never really sat right with me that people have figured out how to distill some of the compounds in pheromones—O for omega, A for alpha—and that other, richer people now use them as party drugs, but, hey, at least it’s hard to overdose. And synthetic means the chemicals weren’t harvested from anybody, so, ethically sourced high. In theory.

I’ve never tried A, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Taryn has by now. Locke is not a good influence.

“Actually, I was thinking of trying to dull my receptors, in light of…” He waves a hand. “Well, tomorrow being what it is, you…”

“Oh,” I say quietly.

“Nic always said I’d ruin them if I indulged too much.” It’s dark, so I can’t see his facial expression very well, but I make out his silhouette slumping against the wall. “Thought I’d finally take that bet.”

It takes me a second to realize he means Nicasia, his ex-girlfriend. Still his friend, though. I think. It’s weirdly humanizing, the idea that he has a nickname for somebody he likes. It makes him more of a person. “You call her Nic?” I ask. “I’ve never heard anyone call her that before.”

“Well, no. You’re not allowed. It’s a special privilege.”

I snicker but don’t reply, looking down at my hands instead. Tomorrow morning will be three days since I took my last suppressant. Two days since I woke up in this cell, locked in with Cardan. I’m about guaranteed to go into heat, and I don’t know what will happen after that. Whether I’ll have enough presence of mind to care about what will happen. If I will even be myself.

That’s what I think I fear most. Not the symptoms. Not even that I might end up mating with Cardan, of all people. But being out of control. My brain taking a backseat and letting my body drive.

“Jude?” Cardan asks quietly.

I don’t want to talk about it. Not with him. Not now. So I shift to a more comfortable seat against my wall and say nothing.

But he surprises me by asking, “Did you mean what you said before? Do you really blame me for what happened with Valerian?”

“Yes.” But there’s a twinge in my chest as I remember the shock on his face, the way he avoided my eyes the rest of the day. I had struck my mark, but at what cost? As he said, it’s not like he was actually there. I press the heel of my palm into my eye. “No. Maybe. I don’t know, Cardan. You didn’t help.”

“Yeah, but like…” I hear him flick at some dust on the floor. “I didn’t know, you know? I didn’t know what he was going to do. If I had known, I would have stopped him.”

I blink in his direction. “I thought you did know,” I say abruptly, and I don’t quite realize how true that is until I say it aloud. That Cardan, who has historically masterminded so much misery, must be behind this, too.

“What?”

“After Locke…” I pick at one of the scratchy blankets. “I mean, Valerian was first, but then when it turned out Locke was trying to get with me and Taryn, I thought it was some awful competition between the three of you. Who could get in my pants first, or make me most miserable, or…”

“No, no.” Cardan actually has the audacity to look shocked. “Jude, I know that I can be a miserable son of a bitch sometimes, but there are lines.”

“Are there? You never acted like it. You insulted me every chance you got. You pushed me into a fountain.”

He chuckles weakly. “That again?”

“It was cold,” I grumble, crossing my arms. “I was cold all day. And I had to lie to my dad.”

And I don’t add the part that hurt most—that he said he was sick of smelling me and I needed to wash off. I can’t control how I smell to him. In fact, I always resented him for smelling so good to me when we clearly weren’t a match. It’s a little easier to get over since he’s so terrible, but it sucks to know that my body picked someone out who could not be clearer about his lack of reciprocation. A defect in me. Something else I can’t control.

“Well, yeah, but there’s a huge difference between that and rape.” He falls quiet for a second, then says, “I’m glad you defended yourself. I am. And I do admire you for that. That’s all.”

“Then you’re crazy. I don’t think anyone else does, aside from Madoc.” I look down. “It’s not what omegas are supposed to do. Fight back. Fight at all.”

I hear Cardan flick another dustbunny. “You know what Balekin said about it?”

My shoulders tense. I know that word of the whole thing had spread through the school like wildfire, even though the disciplinary meeting we had with the principal was supposed to have been confidential, but there’s a difference between knowing and hearing that Cardan’s older brother, of all people, had an opinion. “What did he say?” I ask slowly, dreading the answer.

“He said, ‘I don’t know what Madoc was thinking, sending those girls to your school.’ Like it was just something that was bound to happen.” I feel a little nauseated, but Cardan continues, “That didn’t sit right with me. I mean, you’d been going to school with alphas for ten years. You had alpha teachers. I mean, we had classes together for six years, and I never thought to—”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “You’ve been very clear about that.”

“No, but—ugh.” Cardan runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I think Valerian was wrong. And Balekin was wrong. And you were right. I’d just never thought about it like that before.”

I sigh. “What do you want, a cookie? For thinking I deserve basic human rights?”

In the darkness, I see him wince. “You don’t pull punches, do you?”

“Not anymore.” I lean forward and run my hands over my bandages. The Ghost had done a good job with them. “I did mean what I said about you making it worse. Maybe you didn’t know what Valerian was going to do. Maybe you didn’t egg him on. But you upheld that hierarchy, you know. Strongest alphas on top, omegas on the bottom. You benefited from it.”

“Well, it’s just the—”

“The way things are. I know.” I exhale. “It’s not how they have to be.”

Cardan is quiet for a while. “Valerian liked to hurt people,” he says at last. “Anyone. Animals, even. It was his main alpha trait, that aggression. ‘Couldn’t be helped,’ according to his, I think, third psychiatrist. I think we all thought if we could direct that, use it for our benefit, point him in a direction like—I don’t know, an arrow…”

“Sounds like you need better friends,” I say. Managing Valerian sounds like trying to leash a rabid dog, and I truly do not envy him that. Hoping the dog will only bite other people is selfish and awful, but also bound to fail.

“I haven’t spoken to him since what he did to you.” His voice is unexpectedly firm. Again, he surprises me. “Tried to do, I mean. I told Nic and Locke to cut him off, too. He’s basically dead to us.”

“Oh.” I squint at him, feeling—I don’t know what I’m feeling. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“But he was your friend.”

“Well…” Cardan taps his finger on the floor. “Maybe I don’t want a friend like that.”

I sit with that admission for a moment, trying to make it square with what I know of Cardan outside these walls. It’s almost like there are two of him: the awful one wreaking havoc outside, and the one in here, with me, who sounds almost on the verge of apologizing. Who uses his alpha charm for good on our kidnappers. Who reads books. Who almost seems to care.

“Your other friends are also kind of shitty,” I point out. “Didn’t Nicasia cheat on you? With Locke?”

Cardan shrugs. “Nic’s not so bad. Locke cheated on her with you and your sister, so I consider us pretty much even for that. Locke, though…” He sighs. “I wish he’d just admit he has a crush on me and get over it.”

I let out a shocked, choked laugh. “What?”

“What other explanation is there for him making out with pretty much anyone I’ve ever really liked?”

I had known about Nicasia, but it sounds like there are others I don’t know about. Still, must be nice, being Cardan, having that kind of confidence in someone being mean because they like you. “He’s a douchebag?” I suggest.

“Maybe,” Cardan says. “Too easy, though. I want complex, psychological drama, Duarte. I want homoerotic CW drama.”

“It sounds like you want Locke to put his tongue in your mouth.”

“I mean, for the experience, sure. Frankly, I’m a little offended he hasn’t tried.”

My cheeks hurt, and I realize I am smiling. How is he getting inside my guard so easily? Saying a few nice things about admiring my tenacity isn’t enough to negate years of schoolyard warfare. It feels good, though. Maybe even better because the person delivering the compliment is totally unexpected.

“Fine,” I sigh.

“Fine what?”

“You’re clearly angling to get your spot on the mattress back. It’s working.” I lean over as far as I can and pat the empty half. “Come on. Probably the last night you can sleep here.”

“You sure?”

It’s funny how I can now tell he’s raising his eyebrow just from the way he asks the question. It’s not a soft, gentle ask—like he’s worried about spooking me—but a sardonic one. Almost a challenge. So even if he is worried about spooking me, he’s spared my pride. I appreciate that.

This is the most I have actually ever spoken to Cardan Greenbriar. It turns out he’s kind of fun.

I shrug. “Sure. Either we’re going to be keeping our distance and you’ll have to take the floor tomorrow, or we’ll be too busy humping to sleep. Like bunnies. Might as well make the most of it while you can.”

Cardan kicks his shoes off, then sits down next to me on the mattress with a grunt. “I think it’s more like wolves,” he says, grinning. “Or dogs. On account of the—”

“Knot.” I visibly shudder. “I know. Gross.”

His grin widens. “Absolutely disgusting.”

I have to take a breath. This is a very specific heat/rut thing, the knot of it all, and most non-heat sex doesn’t trigger it. It is also one of the things I have looked forward to least about eventual sex-having, eventual partner-having. I had kind of hoped I’d get to practice without it. “But all kinds of sex acts sound gross when you break them down on a technical level,” I say, trying to reassure myself. “So maybe it’s not so bad.”

“Maybe.” Cardan props one of the pillows against the wall and settles down on his back, his arms crossed behind head. A model of comfort, of ease. I wonder how much he is faking. No one could be that cool in our situation.

I am quiet for a moment, looking up at the ceiling as though I can still count the criss-crossing pipes that run along it like country roads. “Does it bother you that you won’t ever have a mate? Not that you won’t mate, just that you probably can’t have a… like a mate mate?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cardan tilt his chin up toward me. “Does it bother you?”

“It’s different for me. You know that.” I don’t lie down next to him just yet, but I do look at him. His shirt’s hitched up a little above his jeans, exposing a line of his flat stomach, the ridge of a hip bone. “Everyone I know is an alpha. I’ll probably end up married to one. I could be…” I trail off. “I don’t even know if I like the idea. Being tied to someone like that.”

“Being knotted to them, you mean?” I give him a little shove, and he laughs, then says, “Marriage is tying yourself to somebody too, you know.”

“I know. But not on a biochemical level.”

They used to call the connection between mates a “soul bond” for how deep it goes, how sensitive it makes you to the other person, their moods, their wants. We know more now about how the actual chemicals at play work, which has demystified a lot of it. There’s still a kind of romance to it anyway, I guess. But mating bonds are really difficult to undo, so how are you supposed to know that the person you bite is the right one? What if you choose wrong? At least with marriage there’s divorce. Like many things, a mating bond is something I’d resigned myself to going without, although it would give me a measure of basic protection I don’t currently have.

“I’ve thought about it,” Cardan admits. “I think everyone expects me to eventually end up with Nic still, even though… y’know, and in that case I could have someone else on the side, maybe. It’s pretty common. Or I could be like your dad and marry an omega anyway.”

I snort. “Yeah, that worked out really well for everyone.”

“You know, with what we learned today, Vivi’s theory—”

“I know,” I say quickly. “I don’t want to think about it.” Because that’s how I deal with these things. I don’t think of them until I have the time and space to handle them, which may be never, and definitely isn’t now. The last thing I need is to lie awake thinking about how Madoc might be involved in all sorts of unsavory things, up to and including arranging my parents’ murder.

Cardan does not seem to be giving this the same consideration. “Do you think Madoc and your mother were mates?”

I shudder. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Vivi had to happen somehow.”

I slide down the wall to my pillow and make a small keening noise into my hands. “That doesn’t mean they were mates. I think Madoc would have found us a lot sooner if they were.”

“You mean he would have sniffed her out.”

“Yeah.” I frown, slipping briefly into memory. “My parents really loved each other, though. I remember that. They’d smile at each other, they’d kiss before my mom left for work, they—” My throat seems to close, and I swallow.

“Must be nice,” Cardan says under his breath. I’m not sure I’m supposed to hear it.

I look down at my hands. I rarely allow myself the remembrances of my mom’s smile, my dad’s arm looped casually behind her when we watched movies on the couch. They were both omegas. They were happy. “I guess I talked myself out of my point. Mates aren’t the end-all be-all of…”

Either Cardan is oblivious to my musings or he’s trying to spare me from them, because he continues, “I mean, regular sex is pretty fun. The not-heat kind. The not-mate kind.”

“It is?” I ask, trying not to let the question strangle itself in my throat. “So… are you saying you’re good at it? I should know, before—if this is all going to happen.”

His face screws up in thought. “I’d like to think so,” he muses. “T-B-H, it’s hard to get honest feedback when you have this much money. Girls, boys, alphas, omegas, they all tell you what they think you want to hear. Although Nic wouldn’t let me slack off in bed, so yeah, I think I know my way around.”

“Oh, well, good. That’s great.” I sink further down and pull my blanket to my chest, looking up at the ceiling. “If my hormones don’t render me totally incoherent, I’ll give you a rating.”

Cardan cracks another smile. “Out of five stars? Like an Uber?”

“Sure. You know. ‘Smooth ride, good driver.’” I cover my face with my hands. “God.”

“Maybe you won’t have to,” he says. “Maybe it’ll be okay. I mean, sure, we are living out the exact set-up of half the alpha/omega porn I’ve ever watched, but that doesn’t guarantee anything. Remember that movie everyone was buzzing about a couple of years ago, where they got stuck in the elevator but he held off?”

“That was a movie, with actors. Not a documentary.”

“Still, we’re dealing with, what? An elevator-and-a-half, two elevators of space? Could work out in our favor.”

I pull my hands down and look over at him. “Unlikely,” I say. “But sure.”

Cardan studies me, then turns onto his side and reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry,” he says, and I am struck dumb, thinking he’s apologizing for everything he’s done to me. But he adds, “Just in case something does happen. I know… I know this isn’t what you want.”

Well, that isn’t nothing. I shrug. With him so close, smelling like he does, looking like he does, I almost think I could do worse. “I mean, it’s not like I’m your first choice.��

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him purse his full lips. “Still, I wanted you to know.”

I turn onto my side to face him directly. “When’s the last time you apologized to anybody?”

“When I wasn’t forced to by an authority figure, you mean?” A little crease forms between his brows. “I honestly don’t remember.”

Definitely not nothing. I don’t feel better, but I could feel worse. “Can you do one thing for me?” I ask, and it comes out a whisper, like I’m a frightened child.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice equally soft, which just makes the whole thing even more horrible. That he’s not being what I thought. That he’s not being cruel.

I swallow, but make myself say it. “Don’t hurt me on purpose.”

Cardan’s lips part. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, Jude.”

I turn over, giving him my back. I don’t want to look at his face anymore. As much as I want to hear him say he is sorry, I don’t want to see him feel sorry for me.

#jurdan #judecardan #jude x cardan #jurdan fanfic #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #the folk of the air #tfota #mine: fic #fic: 132 hours

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