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viterwrites · 3 years

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Ghost In The Shell

WhumpTober 2020, Day 21: I Don’t Feel So Well

The Hero of Legend. The swordsman, whose weapon is imbued with the power of divinity itself. The one said to have sealed evil time and again, era after era, in different forms, places and circumstances. One with an inherent light in his soul and an everlasting fire in his body. The true Champion.

Or so they say. Because I am neither of those.

Just a boy with no family, no memories and no sword. With only the scars and the sore muscles to remember the life left behind. A boy sent on a mission to save the world when he—or that person who lived a hundred years ago—could not even save himself or those most important to him. Who doesn’t even remember them.

Who doesn’t remember the voice guiding him from afar. With only sudden visions a reminder.

And the scars. So many scars left behind. Those visible and those that aren’t. Those physical and those mental. Most ache day and night, keeping the mind exhausted and the body restless. I cannot—and should not—count the days I’ve spent with no sleep the night before: it would truly put the horror of playing the hero in perspective. And I still have duties to perform. Plenty of them.

I’ve climbed the highest peaks and crossed the vast deserts. Been to the farthest ends of Hyrule. And every stream, every meadow and every city had a new burden to lift onto the shoulders. Souls to heal and souls to mourn, to rescue and to bring to rest. Yet in no place was I at rest. None at all. The scars that ached in the cold of Hebra calmed down in the desert only to be replaced by new ones. And to have more appear on the skin, more bruises, cuts, burns, frostbite… It is much easier to say what hasn’t happened than what has.

The body bears memories which I do not. Whatever it is I seldom see in the ruins, whoever it is that greets me from the back of my mind, that greets me as a spirit inside a machine long-known to terrorise the Zora, or the Rito, or the Gerudo—they are not the people I know. Not Revali, not Daruk, not Urbosa. Not Mipha. And not the Princess either. The Silent Princess that guides me from the castle is as distant as I am from the events of a century gone. Whatever all around me say, they are not my friends, my rivals or my family. I am uncertain I can say they were. Because I am not the royal knight. I’m a swordsman in a realm with no ruler and no capital. In a realm with no future on the horizon.

In the realm where everything depends on my success. In the dead realm of Hyrule.

One day, everything will end. Either in my death or in our success. But the scars won’t heal. They haven’t for a hundred years. None may see the traces, but they’re there. In feeling, in vague recalling. And mostly in the constant ache that envelops my whole existence. None can understand what it is like, to exist in a shell you do not own, but I was not given a choice in the matter. He was not given a choice either.

His was to give up his life for the Princess. To lay down to the earth in her defence, to reunite with his mother and father or as hearsay went, possibly his lover. And yet it couldn’t happen. Because he, like myself, had duties to perform. Had a kingdom to save.

Or perhaps it did. Of course it did. Otherwise I would not have been to Hebra or to Gerudo. I am doing what he couldn’t, taking his burdens from him. Perhaps the Royal Knight Link is just another person whose soul needs healing.

Once this is done, will I leave, I wonder? Maybe somewhere else, beyond the ocean or the mountains, the scars will heal. And the burdens grow light as a feather. But can I leave? Or should I?

Too many things to leave behind. Too many people. One person, but one person too many. Who also has duties to uphold, and duties that take a lifetime to fulfill. He can’t leave. And if he can’t, neither can I.

“Home is where the heart is.” And, for better or worse, mine’s in Hyrule.

#whumptober2020 #no.21 #chronic pain #botw #fic #rating:pg13 #pov #sidlink

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viterwrites · 4 years

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A Tale Of A Lonely Comet

Whumptober Day 6: “No More”. Fandom: Andromeda Six.

“Stop!” he screamed. “No more of this, he’ll die!” he yelled. For his pleas to stay unheard. And unanswered. He could do nothing. Only to watch through the glass windows, not hearing a sound either. But feeling it. Feeling the hushed conversation between the people who called themselves his mother and father, feeling the buzzing of the lights and the numerous machines, feeling the burst of pain, shock, every bit of torture they put Jules through. “For the best of humanity,” they said. “For scientific causes.” Sheltered as he were, June could not disagree with them.

Yet even then he knew it was wrong.

For nothing can excuse a life lost.

***

He never abandoned his vows. His vow to protect other living beings, his vow to never lose anyone dear again. His vow to put his life—worthless as it were—below the lives of others. He could not save the one person who made his existence worthwhile back on Orion. That mistake would not happen again, and his own survival was of no relevance.

The Prince that he unknowingly saved, whom he cherished, despised, hated, and trusted enough to break down in front of. The Captain, the Pilot, the Medic, the Assassin, the Engineer… All of them. He would not let them die.

If anything were to happen, he would make sure to go down before the others.

Is that not the purpose of the Gunslinger?

***

Today, as he shouts “No more!”, they are tearing down the plants of Orion. Breaking folks out of well-guarded prisons, evading the numerous assassins, laying waste to more and more creations of the awful people that governed the system. Hand in hand, side by side with the crew, with Maq’ri. Returning home was painful, yet he admits that it was worth it. Worth it to bring peace to this planet, and to make things the way they should be. His cause was worthwhile, his shipmates are delightful. The Prince is… something else entirely.

He can’t say he wishes for his life to end.

He only wishes it didn’t take a sacrifice to get him where he is.

#whumptober2020 #no.6 #no more #fic #andromeda six #a6 #june a6 #juniper nyux #sfw #//#june is a favourite #yes aliza i do in fact have a thing for the sad ones #anyway play andromeda six

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viterwrites · 4 years

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The Night Of Rebirth

Whumptober Day 4: Collapsed Building. Setting: Draihaw (new, to be used in future FATE games).

It was a night like no other. At dusk few would say—or think so—but it was one of a kind not seen in Liave in a long, long time. Perhaps, ever since the demise of the Republic.

There was no sign, no warning, except for the growing tension in the realm. All and everyone hoped to stall for time, to be elsewhere, to be safe when the bubble bursts, hoped it wouldn’t happen for as long as they were vulnerable. And it didn’t. For a time.

Until the inevitable happened and the grandeur of the City of Mirrors shattered, much like broken glass.

A noble, they were. The heir to, perhaps, the wealthiest and the most influential family, known for its literal and metaphorical control of the city. Was it within the bounds of law? There were none who would tell, and none who would ask. Those who had never got their answer. And had never got to step outside the gates. Er’Auphteqhs weren’t known to be bloodthirsty, but they guarded their secrets better than anyone else. All because those were hidden in the depths of the miles-tall city that was Flacauldr. At the bottom of the giant city, yet the building seeing more sunlight than the towers up top.

The heir wasn’t known well outside of the family: just another secret kept close to the heart. They roamed free all across the city, taught by life itself, though, of course, they had the best tutors they could afford. Tutorship, however, was not nearly enough for the sphere his kin operated in. Only personal involvement could fill in the gaps, and that is what they did.. After all, how can one learn control of water if they’re bound to earth?

Neither could one hear the whispers of the City, should they stay within their family garden.

So they walked. Up and down, into the spires of the royals and the deepest parts of the underground, where no mundane would dare descend. Every corner and every alley, every staircase and every well — they learned of all in time, and knew them all, in a way that most would not. And could not.

Not that it helped when the skies crashed to the earth.

First they knew was panic. The sheer panic, at first coming from above, then spreading and spreading until it swallowed them whole. All was quiet, yet the city was screaming in a million voices, maybe warning, maybe pleading for help—but they could do nothing. And understood nothing. Couldn’t even move, overwhelmed by it all. Pathetic, for a descendant of such a family. But, alone, they couldn’t do much.

Then, in a single moment, the cacophony of voices turned into a single scream that left them deaf. Not to the material—this had nothing to do with their hearing—but to the spiritual. The scream was loud, so terrible, they fell down to their knees, pressing their hands knowing it wouldn’t help at all. The voices melted into one, until they became a continuous squeak. And then went silent. Forever.

The same moment they felt something crash into their back and bury them underneath. And all went black.

Time passed. They awoke, finding themselves under the rubble, pinned to the ground be various shards of stone, metal and spirits know what else. With no hearing, sense of smell or orientation. They yelled, not knowing if it would reach anyone. It wouldn’t. Couldn’t. For minutes, hours.

Until it did. And an arm pulled them out, only to release them and be taken back in shock the moment after. Shock, disgust. They didn’t know. But they knew something had happened. Even though their hearing, their vision came back in a painful process, something—aside from losing their single purpose in life—was different.

They raised their hand. It was the colour of cyan, and not… solid, although it felt as such. They passed out.

Months went by in recovery. Once they could hold their own, they found out about the death of their kin, of their death. Or was it their? Could they still call themselves the name they were given? No, they could not. And they didn’t. Er’Auphteqhs remained dead, and they became a person with no heritage and no paved road but a long path ahead. Yet, for the first time in their life, they were free. No one would prevent them from talking with people, no one would make them stay out of cafes, theatres and bars, no one would tell them to bide their time and wait till they were old. They had no age anymore. And no title.

Only the name. Tavi.

#whumptober2020 #no.4 #collapsed building #original writing #original work #original setting #sfw #draihaw chronicles #//#so remember i wanted to play a city cleric #well #the concept was reworked #and tavi gets an actual life ;-;

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viterwrites · 4 years

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The Lion, The Witch And The Audacity Of This Bitch

Whumptober Day 3: My Way Or The Highway. The story is set in Eberron, where the character in question is a Lv6 Echo Knight, a fire genasi with an aberrant dragonmark.

So the dove’s finally found its falcon. I’d say it’s a pleasure, Nightborne, but we both know it ain’t.”

It was then that he forced his eyes open, to find himself in a stone-laid room, looking older than, perhaps, even Blackstone. Trying to move his arms only resulted in a firmer grip as Alev glanced to the sides to see a couple of gnolls holding his arms down. And scowling at him, the expression looking far more terrifying that it should have by all expectations. Gnolls.

He didn’t pay much attention to the meduza in front, which seemed to anger him and fast. “Pay fucking attention, you useless aberrant,” the meduza said as the gnoll’s arm forcefully turned Alev’s head towards him. “Or believe me, we have ways to make you do that.”

The look he shot back was, at best, skeptical. “Oh, are you not entertained? Well, perhaps we can arrange a thing or two in the arena, I’m sure you’d make excellent food—”

“Enough. We’re losing focus.”

This time the voice didn’t have a specific direction: wasn’t hard to surmise it was magical in nature. The medusa immediately straightened out and, scraping his teeth out of anger, continued.

“Tarkanan does not meddle with Daask. Yet you have the sheer gall to attack our warehouses and mess up a month’s worth of preparation. Did you really think you could get away with that?”

“Well, yes, I did,” he thought, but remained silent.

“In any case, congrats. You are now our property, and oh trust me soon you’ll be off on your way to Riedra, or Xen’drik, or worse. Before that though, who set this up. Don’t try to tell me it was your idea to get involved with us, knowing full-well it won’t end up well for you. I’m waiting.”

Silence followed. Then a yawn.

“I. Am. Fucking. Waiting,” the medusa fumed with anger, as Alev quietly chuckled. “You dare fuck up my work, destroy my one opportunity and now-” he was cut short as the voice left him and only air left his lungs, producing no sound. The same moment, he felt the grip on his arms vanish.

To be thrown to the ground with a force he had never bore before. It was not unlike the weight of a mountain on his shoulders and back. But he couldn’t fall. Instead, he bent over on his knees—another invisible wall preventing further descent to the floor—growling in pain. Until his voice also went out. With any faint power to resist that he had left.

“You shall either comply or spend the rest of your life like this,” the voice seemed to speak right inside his head, although the others also reacted to it. “You, aberrant, have committed a grave crime against Daask and Droaam; and we do not take lightly to that. And if you’re wondering, I can make it worse,” for a moment, he felt the pressure spike, screaming out with no sound. Had he been able to make any, his vocal cords would have snapped in an instant.

The force lifted, if just a bit.

“Now. Speak,” the word rang out in his head, echoing, and he knew he couldn’t keep silent or give a half-truth. Through his teeth, struggling to move the tongue, he creaked:

“M-e. Tar-kanan was-n’ in-volv-d,” right after, he felt a pike sink into his chest. A projection. But feeling as real as ever. Luckily, he’d hurt worse before, or he would die from shock.

That seemed to draw a chuckle out of the voice in his head.

“My. And are you certain it was you? So far I’ve only been told that Tarkanan had nothing to do with this, which I am not surprised by; those lowly thieves can’t do anything. So who was behind it all?”

Oddly, he felt the weight lift just a bit.

“Al-v Naght-brne.”

The grasp released as he fell on all fours, strugglingto breathe. The same voice spoke up again, though this time.. somewhat softer. Almost amused.

“You understand that I cannot let this go. But, perhaps, we can agree on a way that you can repay your debt in full. Consider this, Brun, we can have a successful partnership.. or you and your… isn’t he also a genasi? You will both go straight to Dolurrh. So, unless you wish for a slow and painful death… Besides, this could be fruitful for the both of us, don’t you think?” with a titter, the voice faded not to return again.

“Curious.”

He stood up to notice a gun was pointed at him, as the medusa, looking desperate as ever, struggled to keep it straight.

“Psh. Not even a challenge.”

The echo copying his movement, they changed around a number of times, as the ‘gunner’ panicked more and more until a shot was made. And one of the Alevs faded.

“Wrong guess. And terrible aim,” those words were the last he heard before the once-tied Nightborne put the lights out. And fled without much interference, back out in Dura in just half an hour.

The proposition was curious indeed. And, perhaps, much better than what not only Tarkanan, but all of Sharn could offer to one like him.

There was only one problem.

Cor.

#whumptober2020 #no.3 #my way or the highway #dungeons and dragons #dnd #original work #dnd oc #d&d #sfw #//#yes alev is exactly this audacious #but this took a turn i didn't expect #b o y this was fun

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viterwrites · 4 years

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An Equal Conversation (P: Bonds)

Whumptober Day 1.

“—am I to do with him? Don’t you have better-suited people for the job, Ir-?”

“The Lady for you. And yes, we do, but why should we aid you more?”

“To start with, he’s—”

“Yes, yes, and the other tales we have passed down to you. The prodigy is your problem and your responsibility. Had it not been for your staggering incompetence, Paljot—and the whole of Quintera—would have been ours months, if not years ago. Hereby, you are to fix it, in the name of your late father, in the name of your fallen realm, and in the name of our Deity. Perhaps, not for yourself, for there is nothing that can redeem such a miserable human being, but you still might live a good life under Their rule.”

“You-”

“Are the sole reason you are still alive? Are your only hope, your single chance as of right now? Could execute you at any moment or give you away to the enemy for a momentary respite?”

“Hr-”

“Have we made ourselves clear? I believe we have, and you should believe so as well, as we do not fancy repeating ourselves. Bring him back under Their wing. By whatever means necessary. The method used at the end is irrelevant. If you do fail, however, you will replace him in the defence of our city. Oh, you would do a poor job.”

***

His hearing slowly returned, along with his consciousness. Gods, where was he?.. There was only darkness in sight—or his was lost—and no space to move. Restrained. He wasn’t getting up either way. The binds weren’t even the worst problem — it’s the way his whole body felt. Like it had rotten from inside out and frozen afterwards.

The location was concerning too.

It was painful even remembering, as every thought seemed to draw more life out of his near-dead body. Riena. The army had stopped to celebrate the victory of the previous day, he, as usual, refrained from partaking in the festivities and stayed behind. And the servants brought him food… Soon after it went black. And hadn’t gone white to this time.

It didn’t take much time for him to realise what had happened. Poison.

At that moment, the door opened, letting the torchlight inside. Still hard, but he could now see just where he found himself in: a tiny cell, just enough space for two people to be in—and only in front of each other. Near-naked on cold stone. And a stretching shadow in front.

With all the frail might he had left, he raised his chin and shot a glare towards the person in front. A glare soon-to-be followed by shock. And rage, weak as he was.

“Fjall Arveg, head of the Okel Village garrison. Bow to your Baron. Or is it that you have forgotten the Code while in service of the enemy? Please, do let me know, so that your offence may be treated accordingly.”

The other could only chuckle. “The code states I must do a salute, but that seems out of the question right now, doesn’t it?” he tug his arms, feeling the rope retaliate. Then some more, and more, to the extent of where it burned.

Pain helped him focus in such times. Always had, for better or worse.

The Baron’s gaze shortly narrowed, then relaxed. “We have got off on the wrong foot, it appears. Still, I am your superior, is it not right for me to be treated as one?”

“I have pledged loyalty to the Earl of Tertiara.”

“I was nowhere to be found, yes? It was rational of you to assume I had deceased and thus represent the people of Vardil in the new leader’s forces, but as you can see, I am still here in the Alliance, in flesh and blood, for they were so kind as to provide me with a residence, while I cannot return to my own. And you are obliged to help me do so, as a loyal soldier of your Barony, are you not?”

‘Avardil prepared well for this,’ Fjall thought. His words were true as well: the pledge he had made to the Baron was before all others by time and so, by priority. Yet he was no longer willing to uphold it.

“I am loyal to the Earl of Tertiara, Araien of House Paljot. I believe she represents the interests of Vardil as well as of her homeland, of Gret as much as well as of her ancestral home. My loyalty was pledged to the Barony first and foremost, of which Lord Avardil will no longer hold the control,” that caused a frown to appear on the Baron’s face. A frown and a scowl.

“Is that so? Please, do reconsider your options. Perhaps what I shall tell you next can change your mind,” he turned to the door and called for someone down the corridor. “Lord Halliste.”

The towering figure of the man who entered next was not one unfamiliar to Fjall. In fact, it was one he had engaged just the day before— no. perhaps, it was longer, but it was doubtlessly the man whose swordsmanship he couldn’t best in Riena. In truth, he would have been slain by him, had a superior not called this monster of a combatant back.

Halliste—lord, commander, whoever he was—seemed as intimidating as in the first time their paths crossed: just like he seemed back at the western shoreline. He approached with a chair that Avardil happily sat down into, now looking at the restrained warrior from above. Halliste himself stayed right behind his back, looking down on Fjall from all his height, nearly reaching the ceiling.

Regardless, it was clear that Avardil was bursting at the seams with information and the desire to lay it all out. Fjall prepared to listen, think and talk. These were the only three weapons he had left, ones he had never excelled at, yet the only ones that could be of any use now.

“I shall start by saying that you should not even hope to escape from here. Neither should you hope for a rescue,” the drasticity of a tone change didn’t go unnoticed, but he couldn’t show it outwardly. “If you have put two and two together, you know you are in the most secure place in Strell, one only the Lady of the Seas and her closest know of. It is nowhere to be found in the documents, the ones who were partial to its creation are nowhere to be found as well,” the Baron’s lips curled into a crooked smile. “This is no prison. You are in her secret headquarters, in the most secret of all cells there are in Quintera. None know where you are.”

A pause, as Avardil wanted Fjall to mull over these words. In the other’s turn… it wasn’t the first time no help was on the way, but it was the first time he was truly alone. In this cell, definitely underground, with not a soul to meet, except for his former ‘employer’ and his loyal dog. Although, that last fact was much less of a certainty than anything else.

Halliste had not said a word in this conversation. As time went on it became more and more obvious he wasn’t there to speak or even intimidate, just to oversee. Not Fjall, either, although he was the centerpoint of the knight’s gaze. To oversee the Baron.

‘The closest are also on the closest leash, aren’t they?’

“Secondly, you could have gathered it on your own, but what happened in Riena was a stroke of luck. You are no match for Sir Halliste,” he paused tilting his head back towards the knight, “and the Alliance has a number of soldiers of his caliber. Are you not the strongest one in the Tertiara force?” The Baron wasn’t looking for an answer. “Then imagine what could happen, if all of them were released at once against your compatriots. And what will happen as they approach the capital. The Lady has no interest in letting the enemy step into her domain’s heart, so they will be stopped.”

“And they die either way. What’s the point of passing it down to me?” without doubt, had they not wanted him alive, he would not have survived the celebration.

The Baron smiled. In the worst way imaginable.

“They don’t. Naive of you to assume death is what awaits them. It is salvation, not punishment,” The grin stretched wider. “People as important as them can’t simply die. No, they will have to pay for the inconvenience they caused us. And so will you,” his eyes locked onto Fjall. “Unless you agree to our terms.”

“Which are?”

“You fight for the Alliance. And take Her Earlshipness down. Perhaps with her falconer. Or perhaps leave him to mourn.”

“Them to mourn. Wait,” he exhaled sharply as the words sunk in.

For himself to be the one to take down Araien and Io… Not long ago, the one purpose he has in life. Now, a terrifying prospect.

“And why me? Do you not have Halliste or other knights, all, as you claim, better swordsmen than myself?” even that sarcastic tone couldn’t draw out a reaction from the onlooker. Hm.

“I do not have to explain myself to my inferior. And you are not to question me, should you agree.”

“And if I don’t?” the same grin sprung up where it had been before.

“I have not finished.”

Not once had Fjall heard of the Baron being as talkative as he was with him. Most of his words were threats, but at home that was not his responsibility: he had a wide enough network of ‘social workers’ to take care of that for him. Now he could see who they were taught by, if the rumours were correct.

“Araien. The poor young girl who prematurely lost her father. A formidable leader, he was and a formidable foe to me in the war—but even he could not stop the might of the Alliance combined with ours.”

‘Didn’t he claim Vardil had won on its own? Another lie we were spoonfed, it seems,’ it was odd how his mind seemed to be sharper than it had ever been in this situation and this state. But the Baron continued talking.

“How sad of him to pass away so suddenly, leaving his daughter grieving and ill-prepared to lead her house. Some called it a lucky coincidence, some believed it to be too lucky. And some,” the Baron half-bowed in a theatrical manner, “simply knew the truth. There are many things growing in the jungle around your village. Some can knock you out cold, some can assure you never get up again,” he paused letting Fjall swallow the words. In his turn, he was baffled at how blatantly, how openly Avardil admitted his guilt. And that was, without doubt, one of the many people he murdered.

Then something else occurred to him. Okel had never been known for making poison, but it was known for its herbs and the traders visited mainly for those, and those came from the jungle. “Precisely,” the Baron spoke up and Fjall’s attention shifted back to him. “You, as the head of the village garrison, the one who guarded all of those things, are also responsible for the death of Tolvi I of Paljot. And no doubt she will learn of it someday. The Lady and I will make sure she does, before her demise.”

Before Fjall can even process all of it, the Baron continued. “That poor girl, however, assembled an army, bringing together the finest from Paljot and Vardil, retaking Gret and even my ancestral home. Something I can never forget, but the Lady could and was, in fact, delighted to hear news of a woman to unite Tertiara after ages of separation. Until that same woman spoke up and rallied forces against her. Now, she is not even a dead woman, no, much worse, in fact. She will not be released from her shell until she passes from old age, and maybe not even then. Yet her life will not be a happy one—if you would call a lifetime of torture and pain in solitude, a torture on its own, a life: the Lady does not take kindly to those who offend her. Especially now that the coalition has control of Riena, her favourite outing spot. Araien is not to walk this land free, and neither she is to turn to the dead. She is to suffer for many dozens of years. This stands true if you refuse to slay her and put her to the Earth that she deserves, right next to her beloved, maybe. In her case, that is the best option.”

‘No. That cannot happen. She has a higher chance of defeating them than me anyhow, I have not been able to best her in battle. Besides, if things go awry, she is smart enough as not to let herself fall into the enemy’s arms. We are twins for a reason.’

“Defiance. Believe in her?” Avardil had an uncanny tendency to guess thoughts. “Untrue, but even assuming so, what about the others? Tallei, perhaps? She has no place anywhere, except for her troop and the two of you, and with you out of the question, that leaves the troop and Mortenir. Neither of which are welcome anywhere. But, you could bring her a happier life, instead of, once again, one of suffering. Her crimes against the Lady are so far insignificant, unlike her crimes against Paljot and Vardil both. And she could find a place and work in Strell, the Seafarer’s Heart, city built with this purpose in mind. Otherwise, for her and her family, it only gets worse from here. Regardless of whether your forces win or lose, although the latter is almost guaranteed.”

‘Bargaining? Abo would want none of that. She knows we’ve fucked up bad, she knows she has much to do to fix it. But she wouldn’t want to guilt of complicity, and neither would she accept it. This would be a betrayal from me. And I would never betray her.’

“What about Lieutenant Teie? That young boy who had responsibility thrust upon him by his masters, and did his best. It was saddening to watch, really, but I cannot go against the highest nobles so openly. He could have a good education, and a good life in the Alliance. Perhaps, with his newfound experience in leadership, he could even land a great position in the force. Would you take this chance away from him and take this youth’s life as well?”

‘Oita… The kid deserves the best. But he never wanted this, and never would he. Besides, he is strong enough to fight for himself. He can take down one of those ‘Hallistes’, and it would be yet another proof of his talent. And after the war, he can just… find a better place to be. And a better thing to do.’

“And, the last but certainly not the least, Lieutenant Mortenir,” on that, Fjall felt all of his mind shrink into one ability — to listen. As attentively as he could manage. “Do not think your nightly escapades—whatever they ended in—have escaped either your compatriots, or us. We have kept a watchful eye on the both of you from the fall of Gret. Young love, how nice that must be,” the Baron said to the knight behind him with a smirk, only to receive a stern glare back and hush. “Only if that love lasts. Thankfully for you, the Lady and myself are both reluctant to separate the two of you, so here is my last term and offer. Do the deed, and you can go free together, wherever your heart desires. Maybe even with the other lowly members of your group. Don’t you want things to be like they had been before all of this started? Here is your best chance.”

Avardil was a smooth talker, and he hit the bullseye.

Fjall was left grasping for straws, for something, some reason to say no, but all that came to mind was tied to this war. Before they left, even after, but before that skirmish on The Bridge, his world had been small yet perfect. It was far from it now. But they could still pretend it was, couldn’t they? Their small group, with a few more people, taking on odd jobs and travelling all across. Now that they could have each other, maybe all the other business: the Alliance, the Gods, even his legendary lost twin—maybe it didn’t matter. She didn’t matter.

The last thought had him shiver, to the delight of the Baron.

Hadn’t he sworn to protect any life worth saving? Hadn’t he pledged his loyalty, his knight’s pride to his sister, though she had begged him not to? Hadn’t he promised to himself—and to Abo, Oita, Meyl, Deim—that he would not make the same mistake as he had had before?

It was so tempting… A true Lady’s Trick, as some would call it. An opportunity one cannot accept but cannot refuse. And he was about to try the latter, certain it was hopeless for him. But, perhaps, not for the others.

‘Deim deserves a better person to fall for anyway.’

“I have pledged loyalty to the Earl of Tertiara, Araien I of Paljot. That is my final answer.”

The Baron’s expression changed to surprise. Then dismissive denial and, shortly after, anger. Pointed and concentrated on him. “Have you not heard me, perhaps?” he growled with pure venom in his voice. “This is your one chance to be normal, just like you had always wanted. Otherwise, be ready to witness them suffer for years without end, and try that yourself.”

“Your threats or your torture don’t scare me. Neither does death. They are strong enough to overcome whomever you pin against them, and will be better off without this criminal—now rightfully in a cell—regardless. I have given my answer.”

“Foolish of you to assume that is your cell. No, this is simply a room for talking. Not even interrogations, but equal conversation and negotiation, if you will,” with that, he leaned in uncomfortably close. “But your time here has come to an end.”

He stood up and walked to the door, but not before giving an order to the knight. “We’re done here, more drastic measures seem to be needed. We’ll see how he talks a few hours in. Rid him of his last bits of… dignity, and bring him upstairs. The clothes wouldn’t survive for long either way in those conditions.”

“Take this forward, Halliste.”

“As I was inctructed to.”

#whumptober2020 #no.1 #waking up restrained #original work #rating: pg-13 #project bonds

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viterwrites · 4 years

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To Make You Proud

A canon-divergent post-Radiant Dawn fic, focused on Sothe, his relationships with Micaiah (&) and Tormod (/). Hurt/Comfort, healing and recovering after everything that happened to him. Learning to accept things how they are and move on.

Based on the prompt: "The timeline in which they gain everything they want, except for the thing they wanted the most."

The cathedral of Nevassa stood tall, watching over the city as it has for hundreds of years. But for the first time in the same hundreds of years, it was a pleasant view. The fortress the capital of Daein had always been, the city of high walls and pikes atop, it looked friendlier than ever. Having retained its warrior spirit, it looked welcoming and warm, as colour entered the streets: the flags hung up above the heads, the traders’s stalls filled to the brim with goods from all over the world, windows whole and open. Even the smell of iron, the smell of rust and blood, which seemed to have been in the air for ages, had left the city for good. And he could not have been more happy about it.

The King of Daein. Is that what they called him now, huh? How did his life go the direction it did, from an orphan to the leader of a kingdom. From a boy whose life meant nothing to the one making the most important decisions. Still, it didn’t feel real. Over the years he’d changed drastically, barely resembling the fourteen-year-old stowaway on Nasir’s ship. But he still couldn’t get rid of his old habits, as he continued to sneak away at night, walking all around the city, watching and learning. Maybe this was why he was so loved: he knew the life of the poor well and did his best to improve it.

Watching the city from atop the cathedral was another habit of his. Back in the days of Ashnard, of the occupation, he could always be found here, as he’d climb up this tower once every day. It was hard to imagine it being as structurally solid as it was that day: earlier it was crumbling, always on the edge of falling apart and killing dozens. Now that it was restored, it still remained closed to the public for undisclosed reasons: but some people sweared they saw the green scarf in its window. He was glad there weren’t enough people who could say that.

Changing his habits was hard, but it wasn’t like he needed to. And he wouldn’t. Wouldn’t even think of it, especially on.. this day.

The sound of footsteps from behind. His hand on the dagger as usual, he swiftly turned around, startling the one who came to see him. And making him chuckle.

“Still at it, Your Majesty? You are not in any danger with us around.” “Tormod, I said many times you don’t have to call me that. In fact, you shouldn’t.” “As you wish, Your Majesty,” the mage replied with a grin. “It’s too fun to tease you with it, so don’t expect me to drop it anytime soon.” Sothe could only sigh, though smiling. “The more things change, the more they stay the same, aren’t they?” “Very much so. Now, c’mere,” Tormod embraced him to no resistance. As much as he would deny it in his younger days, the mage’s hugs were always the nicest. Maybe it was because of the fire magic he wielded, maybe it was due to him being raised by Muarim, maybe it was due to their mutual feelings - it didn’t matter. They were nice and that’s all he could have ever asked for. After a minute or two, he pulled away, much to Sothe’s dismay. Maybe it was the warmth after all. Ah well. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” the mage asked, worried. The other smiled sadly. “I’ve been doing this or five years, Tormod, I’ll be fine. And, even if it’s… not easy, it’s the least I could do. Remembrance is all I can give, so my own feelings aren’t important,” Tormod frowned. “Heh, I’ve got too soft, it seems. It’s just one day. I’ll be good.” “As you say. I’ll be nearby, so if anything goes wrong, please,” he emphasized that word, “please leave the ceremony. There are enough people who can handle it better than you and they are more than fit to finish it on their own.” “All right. Thank you, mama hen,” Tormod rolled his eyes. “No, really, thank you. Don’t know what could’ve happened if you weren’t watching over me.” “If I’m frank, me neither. But that’s not a topic for now,” he replied. “If you’re ready, everyone’s waiting.” “Then let’s go.”

The Cathedral of Nevassa stood tall, watching over the city as it has for hundreds of years. And for the fifth time since Daein’s liberation, it became a place, where most, if not all citizens gathered. A crowd that filled the square and the nearby steets, quiet, eyes trained on the lancets and the small balcony, which could only fit one or two people on it. And when the King came out, accompanied by a humble priest, dressed similarly to how she did back then, there were no cheers or noise at all. Not because they hated him. But because all knew the grief of that aay.

If there was one thing Sothe could be comforted with, it was that he didn’t mourn alone. Even thought it had been five years, the wound still hurt and he still felt he could fall apart any minute. And if he wasn’t doing this for everyone else, every year on the same day, he might not have even left the spire. And so, he began.

“Hear me, people of Daein, citizens of Nevassa, townsfolk and villagers, hear me those who hail from afar. Today marks five years since the fateful day in the Tower of Guidance, since the day the goddess was given peace and a bitter conflict was over. Today marks five years since the day we lost the one who freed us and gave us purpose, restored our realm and our integrity. Today marks five years since we lost the Silver-Haired Maiden, five years since we lost our Maiden of Dawn, our Maiden of Hope and our Maiden of Future. Today marks five years since we lost the one we owe everything to, from our freedom to our lives. And today is the day we remember her.

Today is the day we talk of her undertakings and her achievements, of what she’s done for Nevassa and for Daein, for Crimea and for Begnion, for laguz and beorc, for Tellius as a whole. Today, as on every day, we cherish her miracles and her heroism, we share our memories of her in the fields and in the corridors. And today we walk the streets of her beloved city with her name on our lips, as we carry it to each corner of this city she had once hid in and each house whose dwellers she saved. Today we march in memory of Micaiah, the Silver-Haired Maiden. And today we pay off just a tiny part of the endless debt Tellius owes to Her. My people, the ceremony is about to start. Thank you.”

With that, he turned around and headed back in. Laura was more than capable to taking care of things from that point on - she had, after all, also been doing this for five years. It was her job and her duty to stay on that balcony and coordinate the masses, while his duty as the King was to lead. And he did.

With the Dawn Brigade by his side, all those who fought with him at his side, all those that remember the Maiden behind, they walked the streets and boulevards, passed through the squares and plazas. Tormod was right on his left, Nolan on his right, everyone else just by. In that moment, Sothe knew he would never fully accept her death. He knew that he could never fully move on from losing someone this dear to him. And this day, when it came around, was always a good reminder of that.

But he also knew that she’d rather he forget her and move along with his life, for his and everyone’s sake. Above all, she wanted him to be happy. She wanted the people of Daein to be happy. Once upon a time, he would say that all he wanted was to know she is alive and well, to protect her life with his own. He failed at that task. And now all he wanted was to make her proud. To be happy, as she wanted him to be, and to improve the lives of his subjects. And if there had to be one day where he could allow himself to fall back, to grieve and mourn, it would be the anniversary of her death. One day of vulnerability in exchange for a year ahead. It wasn’t much time, but it was all he had.

And it was enough.

***

All the while, there was a figure, watching the ceremony from an alley with a warm smile. “You’ve grown up, Sothe. Changed. All of us did, but you - most of all, whether you wish to believe it or not. You’ve done well so far - and so you will,” having said that quietly, they turned around and headed back, deeper into the city, as the worn and patched-up red cape disappeared in the shadows.

#fire emblem #fe fanfic #fe radiant dawn #fanfiction #sothe/tormod #hurtcomfort #character study #fe sothe #fe tormod #coming of age #prompted #writing #fe10 #viterwrites #repost

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