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jumbled-messy-confused · 20 days

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Bearing the Burden

Summary:

In the aftermath of a bridge’s collapse, General Kirigan stands amidst the ruins as a bastion against the tide of despair, pushing beyond the limits of human endurance. It is Ivan, with unwavering loyalty, who steps in when the cost becomes too great, bearing the weight that Kirigan can no longer carry. In a catastrophe where every second counts, sacrifice and unexpected fragility reveal where true leadership lies—not in command, but in compassion.

Notes:

This story is an AU, based on the first episodes of “Shadow and Bone”, when Alina is still relatively new to the palace. As in each of my stories, Kirigan is a leader, not the villain from the series. Please note that English is not my first language, but I did my best to find most mistakes. (Feel free to point them out to me!). I took certain creative liberties, particularly with respect to magic, medical details and the characterization of the main characters but I hope, you will just roll with it. And now have fun! And thank you for reading.

Chapter 1: Collapse

In the hushed ambiance of the Little Palace’s map room, Alina sat a small distance from General Kirigan, her gaze fixed upon his hands. As the early morning light filtered through the windows, casting a soft glow over the room, his slender fingers moved with precision and grace, accentuating his words as they danced over the expanse of the map. Each gesture was deliberate, guiding her through the complex tapestry of Ravka’s geography.

The low thrum of Kirigan’s voice filled the quiet room, his explanations weaving through the air like threads of an intricate spell. Alina found herself captivated not just by the knowledge he imparted, but by the man himself. His presence was commanding yet contained, a reservoir of strength that she was only beginning to comprehend.

An abrupt clamour at the door interrupted the quiet study session. Kirigan’s sharp gaze snapped toward the sound, the only sign of his annoyance. But before he could grant permission to enter, the door burst open. His second in command, Ivan, appeared—his usual stoic composure shattered, signalling a grave matter. In that moment, Kirigan’s annoyance dissolved into a look of profound concern. “General,” Ivan said, his voice steady but with an underlying tension, “the great bridge has fallen.”

Alina’s hands flew to her mouth in horror, eyes wide with disbelief. She was well-acquainted with the bridge: a wide stone structure always teeming with life. Each time she had crossed it, she had weaved through a throng of people—merchants calling out to passersby, travellers sharing stories, and locals mingling. It was a place where the pulse of the kingdom could be felt, vibrant and full of energy. The thought of such a cornerstone of community lying in ruins, with the possibility of anyone who had been there caught in the catastrophe, sent a shiver down her spine.

Kirigan’s reaction was immediate, his strategist’s mind already leaping into action. He rose swiftly from his chair, the elegant lines of his body unfolding in graceful determination. “Assemble all available Grisha,” he ordered, his voice now a sharp command that resonated with the urgency of the situation. “We’ll leave in 10 minutes.” As he spoke, he strode towards the door, his long steps resolute. The seamless shift from a contemplative teacher to a decisive leader did not escape Alina's notice. She admired this strength. His deep care for the welfare of the people around him was a trait she found remarkably compelling. Determinedly, Alina rose too, silently vowing to stand with the Grisha and offer her support as best she could in the face of disaster.

In the wake of Ivan’s alarming news, the Little Palace’s courtyard transformed into a scene of controlled chaos. The air was thick with tension, a palpable current that electrified every Grisha present. They congregated with a shared sense of resolve, their faces etched with concern for all those who might have been affected by the tragedy.

General Kirigan stood at the forefront, his demeanor the eye of the storm; calm, collected, and focused. His orders were clear and concise, cutting through the murmur of determined whispers like a knife. "Prepare to move out," he commanded, and like a well-oiled machine, the Grisha sprang into action. Horses were brought forth, their bridles clinking under the swift movements of the stable attendants. Grisha mounted with practiced ease, the urgency of their mission reflected in the quick checks of their gear before turning their mounts towards the gate, poised for departure, all the while listening to Kirigan’s targeted commands. The General briefly orchestrated their roles with precision and foresight, readying each for the specific challenges that lay ahead. And as soon as the last Grisha had taken to the saddle, Kirigan, with a fluid grace, mounted his own steed. He surveyed his assembled force one final time with a critical eye. Then, with a nod, he signalled the readiness to depart.

The massive gates swung open and a thunderous clatter of hooves against cobblestone filled the air as Kirigan led the Grisha out of the Little Palace. The city blurred past them as they galloped through the streets. Alina, clinging to her saddle, felt the rush of wind and the collective determination of the riders. They were a storm of purpose, racing against time to reach the wounded and the waiting.

As they neared the disaster site, the silhouette of the once-magnificent bridge loomed ahead, now a jagged outline against the sky. The broad archway that had curved high over the wild river’s banks was a scene of destruction, its remnants strewn across the churning waters deep below. The proud structure now lay in tatters, with the debris of commerce—overturned carts, scattered goods, and the remains of livelihoods—littering the banks, while the relentless river swept away fragments of the catastrophe.

The air was thick with dust and the cacophony of chaos as the Grisha arrived at the scene of devastation. Amidst the turmoil, soldiers of the Tsar, overwhelmed by the disaster, struggled to find their footing. Their efforts, disjointed and frantic, mirrored the confusion that dominated.

The most acute terror emanated from isolated remnants of the bridge, where children cowered, clutching to the jagged edges, their small figures trembling with fear. Many meters above the raging river, the children’s refuge on a narrow column of debris swayed ominously, a fragile barrier between them and the perilous waters below. Panic reigned supreme, with the cries of their distraught parents piercing the tumult and helpless citizens wringing their hands in despair. General Kirigan’s eyes took in the scene, immediately recognizing that he alone could stabilize this hazardous part of the structure.

With no moment wasted, Kirigan leapt from his horse, his Grisha following suit. As they surged towards the bridge, he locked eyes with Ivan and stated: “You know what to do!” Trusting his second in command implicitly, he then concentrated on the ruins in front of him, his shadows already unfurling. Dark tendrils snaked out to cradle the crumbling masonry, holding it together against the pull of gravity. Meanwhile, Ivan rallied the majority of the Grisha to him with a series of sharp gestures, sending only a select few Durasts to aid Kirigan directly. His understanding of the General’s strategies was evident, ensuring that each Grisha’s exceptional abilities were utilized. They dispersed in a burst of coordinated urgency, each darting off to where their unique powers were needed most.

Without needing a command, Fedyor had moved instinctively towards the riverbank, his heart leading him to the frightened children. Moving as close to the edge as he dared, his voice reached out to them, his tone a gentle reassurance amidst the turmoil. ‘It’s going to be alright,’ he called, his Heartrender abilities subtly at work even from afar. The children’s sobs began to subside while they listened to his steady stream of reassurances, their grips on the bridge’s edge loosening ever so slightly, yet still firm enough to keep them from slipping. The crowd, sensing the Grisha’s influence, felt a flicker of hope ignite within them.

As Kirigans shadows grappled with the forces threatening to tear the bridge apart, his face was a mask of concentration, a rare glimpse of effort in his usually stoic demeanor. With each movement, his darkness stretched further, straining against the weight of the fractured bridge. It was a battle of wills between the General and the relentless force of gravity, each vying for dominance.

From her vantage point, Alina watched the children, their expressions reflecting the stark terror of the moment. Her heart went out to them, their small figures huddled together amidst the chaos. She also felt an enormous empathy for the parents, whose anguished cries had not ceased since she arrived at the scene.

The Durasts were a flurry of activity, their hands deftly manoeuvring debris to form a makeshift plank. With each piece they added, the bridge to safety grew longer, until finally, it spanned the gap. Carefully, they slid the plank across the chasm, securing it against the platform where the children waited. It was a precarious path, but it was a path nonetheless—a chance for escape, a promise of safety. But the children, paralyzed by fear, clung to remnants of the railing, unable to muster the courage to traverse the narrow plank.

It was Alina who provided the solution. Though Kirigan had not yet voiced the need, she stepped forward, her slight frame and gentle nature making her the obvious choice. Despite the fear that clouded her eyes, trust shone through. “I will go,” she declared, and Kirigan’s gaze bore into her, his strain evident as he maintained the integrity of the bridge. “I will not let you fall,” he promised, his voice imbued with an unwavering resolve.

With those words anchoring her courage, Alina began her precarious journey across the remnants of the bridge. Her movements were deliberate, each step a small victory as she inched toward the terrified children. Reaching them, she coaxed and soothed, persuading them to release their death grips on the railing and trust in her. One child clambered onto her back, the other she held tightly in her arms, their bodies tense with fear. The return journey was an ordeal. The onlookers, Grisha and citizens alike, held their collective breath, inching as close to the edge as they dared, ready to receive the precious cargo. The ruin swayed and groaned under the added weight and Alina’s movements, more and more pieces of it plummeting into the abyss below, each one narrowly missing Kirigan, who had been compelled to descend further along the riverbank during the rescue and was now positioned directly beneath the remaining fragment. Drenched in sweat and visibly strained, his figure was almost engulfed by the shadows that fought to keep the structure intact, his physical exertion mirroring the mental strain of his magical efforts.

With each precarious step across the plank, Alina felt the weight of the children clinging to her, their grips so tight it was almost suffocating. The child on her back had their arms wrapped around her neck, squeezing with a fear-fuelled strength, threatening to steal her breath away. The plank wobbled beneath them, a dangerous dance with gravity as debris clattered down, striking the jagged edges of the ravine on its descent. But Alina’s focus was unyielding, her gaze fixated on nothing but the treacherous plank beneath her feet, every breath a silent vow to the children that she would not falter. And then, suddenly, there were hands—Fedyor’s among them, his eyes shining with a mix of relief and awe, as if he had witnessed a miracle. The sobbing parents relieved her of the children, their words lost in choked back tears, but their eyes spoke volumes of gratitude that Alina would carry with her forever. Strangers clapped, and an elderly woman enveloped her in a tearful embrace, overwhelming Alina with a wave of relief and joy so intense her knees nearly buckled. But the moment was fleeting.

As she turned to share a triumphant glance with Kirigan, the world seemed to shudder. With a deafening crash, the remaining bridge fragment gave way, succumbing to gravity and the relentless force of the river below. A cloud of dust and debris mushroomed into the air, and the lingering sense of relief was shattered by screams of terror. For a heartbeat, Alina stood frozen, confusion etching her features as she struggled to comprehend the sudden shift from salvation to catastrophe. A part of her mind whispered that it shouldn’t matter—the children were safe, after all. It was Fedyor’s frantic descent down the steep riverbank, with the Durasts close on his heels, their calls for the General, desperate, and filled with dread, that ignited the stark realization. Alina’s heart plummeted. Kirigan. There was no sign of him, no trace… he must have moved further, beneath the bridge. And now… now he was gone, swallowed by the rubble. The realization hit her like a physical blow, forcing her to grasp for support, her legs threatening to buckle beneath her. Alina’s breath came in ragged gasps, her mind reeling. The General, the man who had promised her safety, who had anchored her with his unwavering resolve, might now be beyond her reach, beyond anyone’s reach. No matter how fervently Fedyor called out, the only answer was a profound silence.

Alina descended slowly, her legs trembling. Tears traced paths down her dust-streaked face as she watched Fedyor, his Durasts, and several men from the crowd above, rush to the rubble with urgency. The air was charged with their frantic energy, each movement a desperate race against time, fuelled by the slim hope that the General still lived beneath the stone. Behind her, the crowd murmured quietly. The Ravkan citizens, marked by concern, stood in shock. Whispers circulated, reflecting the worry for the man who had risked everything to save two children. Fedyor’s hands were relentless, moving with purpose as he tore through the debris. His eyes were desperate, scanning for any sign of Kirigan in the chaos of stone and dust. As soon as they reached the spot where Kirigan was last seen, Fedyor extended his senses, the unique gift of a Heartrender searching for the faintest pulse amidst the silence. The crowd's breath caught, their attention fixed on the Heartrender's every move, their collective hope hanging by a thread. Then, a shout pierced the tense silence, a voice from above, laden with a mix of agitation and hope. "There!" The cry came from a man perched precariously on a pile of debris, pointing towards a stirring beneath a large slab of stone. Fedyor's gaze snapped to the indicated spot, his heart leaping into his throat as he saw the faint movement. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but unmistakably a sign of life. They rushed towards it and as soon as they converged on the area, their hands worked in unison, lifting and moving with a renewed fervour. The gap in the rubble widened, each stone removed a step closer to their goal. The space Kirigan occupied was a narrow coffin of stone, it was miraculous that he had not been crushed; his left arm was pinned down, the limb so tightly trapped that freeing it was a feat in itself. But finally, enough debris had been removed for Kirigan to extricate himself. As Fedyor extended his arm, their eyes locked in a moment of shared relief. Then the General’s fingers intertwined with Fedyor's, and a few others quickly grasped Kirigan under his arms. With a collective effort, he was hoisted to his feet. He stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, his eyes closing as he took some deep breaths, his lungs greedily pulling in the air that had been so scarce beneath the rubble. Fedyor's gaze, filled with concern, swept over him. His face was bruised, and grime coated his skin. A trickle of blood mixed with dust made its way down his temple, tracing a path along his jawline. The trapped arm looked ghastly, yet Kirigan seemed indifferent to its condition, casually moving his fingers as he stood there, indicating to Fedyor that, at least, it was not broken. His hands, though steady, were marked with the remnants of his struggle. Fedyor reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing away the matted hair at Kirigan’s temple to assess the wound beneath. Kirigan flinched, the pain evident, but he swiftly regained his composure, his expression softening in silent gratitude. His grip on Fedyor's arm tightened briefly, conveying an appreciation that needed no words.

Then, the General turned from Fedyor’s care. Arms immediately reached out to him, offering support as he navigated the uneven rubble, but he acknowledged them only with a brief, yet grateful nod. His attention swept through the crowd, an urgent quest that ended only when he found Alina. She sat on the ground, her strength spent after this tumultuous storm of emotions. Their gazes met, and in his eyes, she saw an apology for the fear he had caused and for his inability to come to her side. She smiled through her tears, a fragile gesture of acknowledgment, and nodded, understanding the unspoken words between them. With a final soft look towards Alina, Kirigan turned away and ascended the riverbank. His eyes quickly sought out Ivan among the ranks, finding him coordinating the Grisha’s efforts amidst the rubble and ruin. Ivan had executed his duties with precision, directing each Grisha with the skill of an experienced strategist. The result was a symphony of power and purpose, each member of the assembly playing their part to mend the chaos wrought by disaster.

The Squallers had initially summoned fierce winds that not only had swept the debris aside but also had dispersed the suffocating dust clouds, clearing the vision for all. Now, they were primarily searching through the rubble for any buried victims.

Durasts focused their attention on the remnants of the bridge, their hands guiding the elements to reshape and remove the wreckage. They were found wherever victims were discovered under the rubble. With careful precision, they manipulated the largest fragments of debris, making them manageable to clear and ensuring the safety of all involved.

The Tidemakers, ever vigilant, continued their dance with the river, their motions a steady rhythm against the current, ensuring no more of the bridge—or its unfortunate victims—were lost to the water’s grasp. They had extended their vigilance beyond the immediate area, scouring the riverbed downstream for those who might have been carried away by the current.

The Inferni had turned their focus to the shore, where their flames provided warmth to those emerging from the icy waters, their controlled fires a beacon of comfort on the banks, keeping the injured as warm and as comfortable as possible.

Healers, their hands aglow with the faintest shimmer of restorative power, moved through the crowds with a sense of urgency that bordered on desperation. Some were quickly assessing the condition of the injured, determining who was in dire need of immediate attention and who could wait or be tended to by non-healers. The sheer number of injured overwhelmed their capabilities, each touch a race against time to save the dying and bring relief to the suffering.

Heartrenders had divided their efforts. Some were using their unique skills to detect the heartbeats of living victims buried under the rubble. The others were with the healers, prioritizing the sustenance of life for those on the brink of death, regulating the racing pulses of the shocked, and attempting to soothe the injured.

Alchemists provided whatever aid they could, helping in the search for survivors as well as tending to those with less critical injuries. Though still shaken from the recent events, Alina found a new resolve in the knowledge that Kirigan was safe. She rose, steadying herself against the tremor of her own emotions, and set about a new task with focused intent. She began the crucial work of identifying who was missing, gathering names, and tallying those unaccounted for, who might still be trapped under the debris or swept away by the river.

Surveying the frantic efforts around him, Kirigan quickly took stock of the situation. Then his voice, hoarse yet commanding, began to issue a few orders that further honed the efficiency of the ongoing efforts. His elite corps of magic wielders responded with swift precision, each group enhancing their role in the orchestrated chaos of rescue and recovery even more.

Kirigan kept a vigilant eye on everything, present wherever he was needed. He was the pulse of the operation—a quiet yet relentless force countering the tide of destruction. He worked alongside his Grisha, lifting boulders with his shadows, but also guiding and supporting, his directions mostly given with a nod or a look, motivating and comforting in equal measure.

The soldiers of the Tsar and numerous others who had come to help, all found themselves drawn into the fold, their hands and hearts contributing to the cause. Under Kirigan’s guidance, they formed a united front against the tragedy. Even those who had been sceptical of the Grisha, now watched in awe and growing respect as these beings of power fought not against them, but for them. Whispers of gratitude began to weave through the crowd, a murmur of changing hearts.

This was a testament to the Grisha’s adaptability and their unwavering commitment to aid those in need, even as they faced the harrowing reality of their own limitations amidst the catastrophe. But it was Kirigan, at the centre of it all, whose unyielding will power set the rhythm for their efforts.

In a moment of solitude, as he searched through a large pile of debris, his shadows delicately probing every crevice, ensuring no one was trapped beneath, Kirigan leaned heavily against the cool stone of the rubble. He allowed himself a brief respite, his mind drawing back to the moment he had first laid eyes on the collapsed bridge. He had vowed silently then not to rest until every last person was found. Hours had passed since then. Kirigan had ignored the warmth of blood seeping into his tunic, had disregarded the deep bruises that spread across his abdomen and felt as though an invisible bandage, drawn too tightly, constricted his midsection. He even managed to push aside the pain from the cracked ribs he sustained in the collapse, focusing solely on the urgent needs of the living and the search for the missing. Every moment was precious, every second a heartbeat of someone buried beneath the rubble. He felt the weight of each loss deeply, the day’s desperate cries for help echoing as haunting whispers in his heart.

But as the chaos slowly subsided, giving way to a grim calm, the adrenaline that had fuelled his relentless drive began to wane. The pain, once held at bay, now surged to the forefront, each breath a sharp stab that nearly brought him to his knees. Yet, despite the searing discomfort that wrapped around his torso like a vice, the thought of leaving his post was inconceivable. Not only did his sense of duty bind him to the site, but the healers themselves remained overwhelmed, continued to face an unrelenting stream of injured. Lives were yet at stake, and some remained unaccounted for. Knowing all too well that the healers still had to prioritize those in more urgent need, he had placed himself at the end of the line, enduring in silence. For a few fleeting seconds, Kirigan closed his eyes, allowing the darkness behind his lids to momentarily shield him from the chaos. He took this pause to steady his breath and muster the strength to continue. But the relative calm was disrupted by a soft whimper—a child’s cry for help. It was faint, yet it resonated above the roar of the nearby rushing river, plaintive and piercing through the din. Startled, Kirigan’s eyes snapped open. The urgency of the child’s need propelled him forward. He hastened towards the sound, as swiftly as his condition would allow, his own distress cast aside once more. There, amidst the wreckage, he noticed a small, limp hand. His heart clenched as he knelt with difficulty beside the nearly unconscious infant. The little one's whimpers were barely audible, their body half-submerged in water, their skin chillingly cold. A quick scan of the surroundings confirmed he was still alone, with no one else in sight to lend aid. With a renewed sense of urgency, he turned back to the task at hand, determined to free them.

But as Kirigan bent down, contorting his body to get a better look at how to safely extract the child without causing further collapse, a piercing agony exploded within him. His vision blurred, and a metallic taste filled his mouth. The world seemed to spin, and he realized with a sinking feeling that the direst of outcomes had unfolded. In a fraction of a second, the grim awareness that his neglect could cost two lives struck him. The unfortunate movement had likely dislodged bone shards and driven them into places they should not be, threatening more than just pain—threatening damage that could be catastrophic. The realization of his disregard, and its disastrous consequences, now screamed in his mind as a grave miscalculation. It wasn’t merely his own life at stake; it was the potential loss of the tiny being before him that weighed heaviest on his heart.

With a clarity born of desperation, Kirigan’s focus narrowed solely to the child. There was no room for pain, no space for hesitation. He knew he had to act swiftly, to extricate the small body before his own strength betrayed him. It was this singular task that consumed all his remaining will, yet, even as his determination held firm, with each breath, Kirigan now felt a disturbing crunch within his chest, his ribs moving in ways they shouldn’t. Nevertheless, he managed to summon his shadows, commanding them to coil around the debris. Their dark embrace lifted and cleared the path, the shadows moving with a life of their own, driven by Kirigan’s indomitable will to save the little one.

Finally, he was able to pull the infant free. Struggling against a severe shortness of breath, he gathered his strength and despite the agony every movement brought, Kirigan awkwardly shed his Kefta. He wrapped the garment securely around the child, its warmth a vital shield against the perilous cold that threatened their small frame. With the child in his arms, he then slowly rose to his feet. But as he straightened, he felt something tear inside him. A choked gasp was wrenched from him as blood bubbled up, and he coughed, the force of it nearly doubling him over. A spatter of crimson escaped, staining the dark cloth that now served as the little one’s shield against the cold. The pain was a white-hot burn, threatening to swallow him into oblivion, but the weight of the helpless body in his arms anchored him to consciousness. With his precious burden cradled against him, he stumbled forward, his vision tunneling, his breaths coming in insufficient, ragged pulls. Each step was a monumental effort, his body teetering on the edge of collapse as his gaze dimmed. The riverbank loomed ahead, a steep climb that seemed insurmountable, but the sight of the groups assembled there spurred him on, compelling him to persevere despite the suffocating grip of his failing lungs.

Climbing the bank, Kirigan’s consciousness began to fray at the edges. Yet, in the haze of his fading awareness, he recognized the figure in red descending swiftly towards him. A profound sense of relief washed over him. ‘Ivan,’ he gasped, the name scarcely a whisper as his knees buckled. He hit the ground with a thud, the impact jarring through his body. The absolute agony that seared through him was overwhelming, narrowing his world to the sound of his own faltering breathing. With the last of his strength, he laid the child down gently; and in the knowledge it was safe in Ivan’s hands, Kirigan stopped fighting. The pain, the struggle, the weight of responsibility—all faded into insignificance. He could no longer bear the burden; his body had nothing more to give. The abyss beckoned, and he let go, surrendering to oblivion. To be continued...

#jumbled-messy-confused #be kind #fantasy #Shadow and Bone AU #aleksander morozova #shadow and bone #the darkling #grishaverse #hurt/comfort #whump #h/c #fanfiction #Alina Starkov #Ivan #Fedyor Kaminsky #Darklina #(fan)art #(fan)art... kind of

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