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systlinsideblog · 4 years ago

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Part 7

The fall of the great walled city of Turia came on a day shimmering with heat, but with storm clouds building on the horizion, looming heavy as they built into great mounds over the prairies. The air smelled of the promise of rain; that was good, Systlin thought. A good heavy rain later would wash the blood off the streets.

Turia’s towers glittered white in the sun. The walls were high and proud and in excellent repair; the warriors manning the top of it were said to be skilled. Everyone she’d spoken to had told her the same; Turia was home to a million and a half people. Turia was the jewel of the prairies, the Ar of the South. Turia was home to marvelous markets and one could find any luxury one wished there. The people of Turia were grand and wealthy and proud, and though they loved luxury their fighting men were excellent.

Its walls were high and thick. Its wells were deep and never ran dry. There were food stores to outlast the greatest of sieges. The nine gates were thick and strong and guarded zealously; while attackers died at the walls, the people of Turia would relax in their bath houses and dine on delicacies and laugh.

Turia was splendid. Turia was rich. Turia had been sieged many times, but never once had Turia fallen.

Systlin rolled her neck and shoulders, cracking any tension out.

She remembered Myr. Turia reminded her strongly of it. Myr too had been rich, and strong, and undefeated. Myr as well had thought itself safe behind tall, thick walls and strong gates, guarded by skilled fighters. Myr as well had laughed at the army camped on the plains before it. The walls of Myr had famously been bound in Power, power laid so deeply and thickly by generation after generation of Myrish earth witches that there had been more power than stone to the walls. Breakers before her, born to the desert, had tested those walls. Breakers before her had exhausted themselves against them and failed and died.

She had tried herself against them anyway. She had not failed. There was a hundred foot gap in the walls of Myr now, named for her. “The Mitraka’s Gate,” they called it. The legend of how she’d brought down the famously unbreakable walls of Myr had spread north to the Skyfire reaches and south to Sielauk before she’d even left the deserts.

Turia’s walls were not as high or thick as Myr’s, and they were not spelled for protection. Against a Breaker of the least power they’d be useless, and Systlin was the strongest Breaker ever to live. She eyed the warriors on top of them, still out of bowshot, and for a moment felt a flash of pity for them.

It was gone quickly. She wondered how many of those proud men had women chained to their beds. A million and a half people, but that number did not, she knew, count slaves. Counting slaves, it was said that the number was at least twice that, and likely higher.

Foicatch was watching her. He had not been at Myr when it fell, but he had been there since. He’d ridden through the Mitraka’s Gate. He knew, of course, that she was remembering.

“Been a bit,” He said at last, as they waited for Myr to send out its famous tharlarion cavalry, and honestly though she found herself growing fond of the kaiila the Wagon Peoples rode and could admit that the vicious reptilian tharlarion were impressive, she wished she had a good, normal horse. “Since we had a real battle before us.”

“Hmmm.” She agreed. The last time, indeed, they’d been fighting a mad god and his creatures. She’d killed a god, in that battle. Killed one god and threatened another. “Do try not to die. I’d hate to have to find a new royal consort.”

A snort. “I’ve no intention of dying today. I want to see you on the throne of that city.” A pause. “I’ve always had rather a fantasy, actually, of you on the throne of freshly conquered city, and me on my knees…”

Oh. Well. That did sound interesting. She gave him an appraising look. “Have you? You could have said something.”

“Well. It’s always been so busy when we’re breaching a stronghold, and things were all happening so fast at the time. You were so intent; I wasn’t sure you’d take it well.” A shrug. “Early days of us and all. By the time I knew better, you had the North in line again, and when we fought the Fallen One there weren’t many strongholds to breach or thrones to make use of.”

That was fair. “I’m going to hold you to that.” She said thoughtfully, even as the great gates ground slowly open and ranks of fighting men on those two-legged sharp-toothed reptilian beasts began to file out. She eyed the gleaming lances they carried disapprovingly; those were, of course, going to be the first thing she did away with once things got going.

Using her power in pitched battles was risky; she did not like doing it to kill. Not more than needed. But shattering some lances was no issue at all.

He grinned, that familiar and beloved flash of white teeth against that dark beard. “Oh, excellent.” He shot the enemy cavalry a look, and then looked back at her and raised an eyebrow. She nodded once. He leaned over, and she leaned to meet him; they exchanged a kiss, brief but sweet, and he peeled his kaiila away and headed to take command of the left flank.

She looked back over the prairie. There were several thousand riders now, forming ranks. A few men wearing particularly gleaming armor with extra gold leaf seemed to be conferring in a huddle; she waited.

“Ubara?” Dina said softly, from her side. “Ubara, should we…” There was nervousness in her voice.

“Not yet.” Systlin was the veteran of many battles of this scale; Myr was much larger than Turia, and that had been only the first city she’d taken. Dina was not. Even in a seasoned warrior, nerves before battle were normal, but Dina had taken up a spear only a year and a half past. She’d fought and killed, but the other tribes and towns and cities they’d taken were nothing on the scale of Turia. “They’ll send someone to talk, like all the others have. I’ll either kill him or send him back, like all the other times. I’ll break their lances; that will be the signal to charge.”

She looked to her side. Dina’s face was drawn tight. Systlin remembered that Dina, before slave chains, had once been a free woman, and had been born in Turia.

“You have a father, don’t you?” Systlin said, more softly.

“I do.” She whispered. “He never took a slave. He loved my mother, a Free Companion, and never took a slave; he has mourned her since her death. He is of the baker’s caste, as was my mother. He makes sweet rolls and gives them to children, and the best bread and pastries. I do not brag; he was famous in the city, and rich women and men came to buy from us. He and my brothers and I worked hard and were proud of our work.” She paused a moment. “I do not know if my brothers have taken slaves. And if they have…” Another, longer pause, and she looked away. “If they have, I will not beg mercy for them, but I will mourn what they might have been had their minds not been poisoned.”

Systlin thought of her own brother, dead so young. Of laughing and competing and playing with him, of the friendly fighting between close siblings. Of his smile and his laugh, and his sharp wit. She wondered, if her place and Dina’s had been switched, if she could have watched him killed for slaving and rape.

She probably could have. She knew it in the deepest place in her heart, where she worried sometimes at her own coldness. She probably would have done it with her own hands, at that. She’d executed her uncle and aunt with her own hands, in that battle to bring the warring lords tearing the North to bloody scraps to heel. But she was a famously hard and coldhearted bitch when it came to matters of justice, as any noble in the North of Ellinon would tell. “The Iron Bitch”, she knew they called her behind her back. “The Iron Bitch with the frozen heart.”

She’d have done it, yes. But she’d have mourned intensely after, for what might have been.

Dina was loyal and dear to her, a good friend. But if her brothers were rapists and slavers, Systlin knew that even if Dina begged, she would not grant mercy unless the offended girls asked it. It ran counter to everything in her to do so.

Goddess of Justice. The Lady’s voice whispered in her head.

Fuck off, she thought in return. I’ve shit to do.

“We can hope,” she said. “That they take after your father. And we’re not here to loot; if your father is in his shop and not with the fighting men, he’s quite safe.”

That seemed to ease Dina slightly. The woman was still used to the Gorean idea of war, where taking a city meant sacking it utterly, looting and burning and slaving. No army under Systlin’s command would ever fight so, though. She’d kill the soldiers responsible with her bare hands.

“Baker’s caste,” Dina said. “Do not fight, not unless they must. They will not be on the walls. Those on the walls and on the field here are warrior caste.”

Systlin would have to investigate this caste system more thoroughly. She did not like the idea on principle, but it seemed a force of social stability that most Goreans were very attached to. From what she’d gathered there were provisions for moving through castes if one wished. However, she’d heard that some, such as weavers and spinners, were considered ‘low caste’.

Systlin had attempted such tasks before; her mother was fond of spinning and weaving, though she was Queen Mother and needed never touch a spindle if she didn’t wish. After fifteen minutes spent at it, Systlin had come to the conclusion that the work that went into cloth was absurdly complicated and skilled, and had never touched a spindle since. She did, however, have a reputation for never haggling when it came to buying cloth or paying her seamstresses.

Low caste her arse. The idea of any of the most essential tasks…potters, farmers, fishermen, herders…being lower than any others raised her hackles. Perhaps the idea of low or high caste could go…

Across the grassland, a small party of men, led by one of the men in gleaming gold-chased armor began to ride towards them. Systlin put aside other concerns and nodded once to Dina, who nodded back and went to lead the right flank.

Her kaiila could sense that battle was coming, and shifted under her, tossing her head in eagerness. Systlin held her steady, and waited.

They headed, of course, for Foicatch. Systlin sighed and rolled her eyes, and nudged her kaiila forward. The creature sprang forward in that long, loping predator stride, and she headed them off in moments. They glared at her, all hostile intent. She regarded them in what was probably a dismissive manner, but so far as she was concerned these men were already dead. They were nothing that she had not seen on this world already, in the smaller towns that lay outside Turia. She’d killed a thousand like them since coming here.

“You know full well that I lead this army.” She said bluntly. “You’ve heard the stories.” She sighed. “It makes me curious…”

“Stories of trickery and nonsense about sorcery.” The man with the glittering armor said loftily. “A few villages might fall to some unnatural woman, but this is Turia. We will not be afraid of a tribe of women who think themselves the equals of men.”

“…As I was saying,” Systlin raised her voice slightly. “It makes me curious as to the full degree which you, meaning men on this world, are capable of deluding yourselves. I’ve been halfway through conquering towns and tribes and the men would still be telling me that I couldn’t hope to carry through, because I was but a woman.” She shook her head. “Almost sad, really. I’ve an army of twenty five thousand camped before your gates. I know you have heard the stories of how I’ve conquered cities across the prairies and brought all the tribes of the Wagon People under my rule. I am Ubara-Sana of the plains, by my own hand, and I’ve crushed every force sent against me. And yet here you are, still claiming the same old tired thing.”

She looked him in the eyes. “This is the part where, if you are smart, you will confer with your people and you will open the gates, lay down your arms, and have a chance to survive this.”

He scoffed. Entirely predictably. “This is Turia, woman. The plainsfolk may not have been able to humble you, but Turia will. We’ve ten thousand cavalry, and that is not counting the fighting men on foot. You and your slave girls with swords can batter yourselves to ribbons against us, and we’ll put collars on those of you not killed.” A slow, lewd smile, because apparently he felt he hadn’t dug his own grave deep enough. “Maybe I’ll put mine on you, woman, and teach you to obey a master’s word.”

“Well.” Systlin shrugged. “I did give you a chance.”

She’d learned knife throwing from Stellead, but the Arms Master of the Bloodguard had been dubious of its effectiveness and the instruction had only been basic. It was at the Iron Mountain, under the tutelage of the master assassins of the Master of Knives, that she’d learned how to properly throw a knife.

She’d killed the Master of Knives, of course. He’d taken the contract on her father, and sent out one of his Shadow Hands to kill a king. She’d killed the Brother of Shadow who’d wielded the knife, as well, and many others besides. The Iron Mountain stood empty now, the bones of those she’d killed gathering dust in the halls.

Her knife took the golden-armored warrior through the eye. He looked quite shocked as he slid from the saddle and fell. His men started in rage, and went for their lances.

Systlin smiled at them. Her power rose, a cold sweep through her bones, tingling under her skin. She raised her hand, and flicked her fingers negligently at them, mostly for show.

Their lances shattered into splinters. So did at least five thousand other lances of the leading ranks of the famed thalarion cavalry of Turia.

A great confused sound went up, and thalarion shied at the strange scent of Power in the air, sharp as ozone. And as fighting men scrambled for their secondary weapons, Systlin’s forces charged.

Ice took the first man before her just under the chin. She didn’t quite behead him as her coal-black kaiila shot past, but slashed the big artery on his neck open. Blood pumped, and the sound he made as he fell was a terrible gurgle.

She wheeled her mount and ducked the frantic sweep of a sword. The riders were startled, off balance, and that was death when facing a warrior of her caliber. Her kaiila darted in and took the throat of one of the slower High Thalarions, tearing it open. The beast went down, and its rider with it. Systlin kneed the sides of her kaiila and it leapt; the final warrior managed to parry her first blow, a slicing cut at his neck.

She twisted her wrist, reversed the grip on Ice’s hilt with a little twist and clever movement of her fingers that Stellead had made her practice ten thousand times, and drove it into his chest under his ribs. Drew it back with a sharp jerk as she wheeled her kaiila again, and flipped it back around in her hand. She did not have to think about the motion; she had not missed the catch on the twist since she had been a child training under Arms Master Stellead.

Then her kaiila was running, and she pushed it hard for a few paces until she regained her place leading the center. Lances glittered to either side of her, and she felt a fierce pride in the women she’d trained.

She eyed the gates of Turia, behind the regrouping lines of thalarion cavalry. Arrows arched from behind, as her mounted archers began picking off the front ranks of the Turian forces as they came into range.

Arrows returned, from on top of the walls, and one bounced off of her wraithen-scale armor. She lashed out with her power, still simmering under her skin, and five hundred bows shattered. Cries of dismay went up a second time.

She eyed the great gates of Turia, even as her kaiila gathered itself to leap and the first of her lance-fighters neared the front lines of the Turian cavalry. She eyed them for a half a second before she hit the front lines of the Turians, and she Broke them.

The great gates of Turia, and fifty feet of the wall to either side, crumbled into splinters and sand. There was a great cry of horror and dismay from the city, and cries of “UBARA! UBARA!” from her own warriors, delighted.

And then her front line was smashing into the Turian cavalry, and there was no more time for thought.

The Turians were skilled, but they were off balance, had lost the advantage of their long lances, and had not truly been expecting a proper fight. Systlin and her best lancers hit them like a hammer, and pierced deep into the ranks before the Turians quite knew it was happening. The Turians were down to swords now, and only a few of the rear ranks still had lances. Systlin’s riders had long lances with reach, and their kaiila were faster and more nimble than the high thalarion the Turians rode.

And, of course, they had her.

Systlin was no stranger to mounted combat. She’d ridden with the tribes of the desert at Sura’s side for years, and was as deft a hand at mounted combat as any Rider. She’d never have been accepted, otherwise.

It felt, she had to admit, as she turned a sword aside with Ice and flicked the sword around, down, and up, taking off the man’s sword hand at the wrist, very good to be at it again. The man screamed, but she was past him. A lance glanced off of her armor, and she wheeled her kaiila. The beast snapped, catching a leg, and tore the man off of his mount. His thalarion turned and went for her mount, but her kaiila shook its head and was leaping away before it could do any damage.

Systlin fought with all the skill and speed and cunning she had. She fought viciously, the whole time willing that her army would not fail now, would not quail because this battle was larger and closer-fought than any before. She willed it, imagining that she could throw wide her arms and take under her shadow all of her proud free mounted warriors, and through sheer will alone keep them fighting.

And she did what she had always done, in battle. She led on the front line, and fought like nothing the Turians had ever seen before. Men rose before her and men fell; she was past Power now, and killed with pure hard-won skill and naked steel. She cut faces, necks, torsos, limbs. Ice’s blue-tinged blade was purple with blood, and blood spattered her all over. She killed, and killed, with all the skill of those long hours of training and decades more of fighting for her life. She fought, and killed, her blood sang with it.

You were never made for peace. The Lady’s words. It was true; she knew it was true. She loved battle, though she knew it spoke of her basically coldhearted and vicious nature that she did. She was a warrior born and trained and blooded, and she was at home on the killing field.

She’d fought three wars, leading from the front. She’d won each, and the sight of her at the forefront of her warriors, in her element, bloody and screaming and bringing death with her, was absolute horror to the men of Gor.

The sight that horrified the men of Turia stiffened the spines of her warriors, and to the endless horror of the men of Turia, the former slave girls, now screaming warriors with lances and swords, cut into them with a fury they’d never seen.

With her at their front, her mounted warriors smashed the Turian lines apart, just as the left flank led by Foicatch drove hard at the gap left at the rear, pushing the cavalry of Turia away from the broken gates and cutting them off from retreat into the city. Foicatch himself set himself in the middle of the smashed gate, and Systlin caught glimpses of him engaged in fierce close fighting now and then as foot soldiers pressed forward from the city to try and relieve the cavalry she was driving like a herd of sheep across the prairies before Turia.

But the fighting men of Turia were skilled, and proud, and they began to regroup. Men were shouting orders, and the remaining lances managed to form up defensive lines. The fighting grew vicious, even after Systlin Broke more lances, and their advance ground to a crawl. Their armies were nearly matched; Systlin’s warrior women had better armor and better reach, but the Turian fighting men had more experience, and it began to show as they got their feet under them. Systlin’s troops fought like mad wildcats, and she was so proud; they were still winning forward, inch by inch, but she was not about to spend more lives than she had to.

The Turians began to press back, and her advance ground to a halt. Systlin smiled, because she heard the galloping of the kaiila, and knew.

Dina’s mounted archers swept past, and the women turned on their kaiilas with those short but powerful recurve bows of wood and bosk horn. Strings slid from thumb rings, and three thousand arrows hammered home through that light leather armor that the men of this world favored. The kaiilas wheeled, and the women turned again, as they’d practiced a thousand times, sitting backwards on their mounts. Strings sang again, and arrows flew as thick as rain.

Turians died. Systlin yelled and plunged forward again, and to shouts of “UBARA! UBARA! WHIP-BURNER! CHAIN-STRIKER!” her warriors followed.

The Turians had nowhere to retreat from Dina’s archers, except back onto the lances of Systlin’s mounted spear-women. No rescue came from Turia; Foicatch was stacking the bodies of fighting men four deep in the ruin of the shattered gates.

The fighting outside the city drug out a big longer; it took time to slaughter ten thousand cavalry and their mounts. But caught between Dina’s wheeling mounted archers and their storm of arrows and the lances of Systlin’s cavalry and Systlin’s own sword, they were cut to bits.

It was then that Systlin regrouped her lancers and led them to the shattered gates, where the foot soldiers of Turia were approaching more cautiously than before. The shattered gates themselves were a charnel house; fighting men and women both lay dead alongside wounded and dead and shrieking kaiila, and blood was red over the stones of the road and the rubble of the gates and walls. Foicatch and his warriors held, and the fighting men of Turia seemed reluctant to approach within reach of Foicatch’s sword.

They parted to let Systlin through, and her lancers flowed around to guard the sides of the ranks of warriors.

Systlin joined Foicatch at the front lines. She must look a terrible sight; she was head to toe blood and mud, the colors of her wraithen armor dulled under the coating. Foicatch’s own set of wraithen scale armor was similarly filthy. There was a cut high on his temple, a glancing blow that was not serious but bleeding freely. Even as she joined him she felt a trickle of Power as he flicked droplets of blood away from his eyes.

A lull in the fighting; the soldiers of Turia drew back, appalled at the sight. Foicatch eyed her, gaze flicking head to toe to check her for injuries. She gave him a slight reassuring shake of her head, doing the same to him. The cut on his temple seemed to be the worst of it. She turned to eye the soldiers before them.

“Your cavalry,” Systlin informed the fighting men before them. “Are dead. My throat slitters are making short work of any survivors this very moment. You did not hear the offer I made before, I think, so I will make it one more time. Lay your weapons down now, and you may find mercy. I will not give you another chance.”

Not one fighting man moved, save for the one who yelled in defiance, pulled a knife from his boot, and hurled it at her head.

It was a good throw, she thought, as she twisted her head to the side even as his hand swept up with the blade. It was a good throw. Had she not been taught by Stellead and the Shadow Hands of the Iron Mountain, it might have struck home. As it was, it simply scraped her cheekbone in passing; a shallow cut that would heal quickly and cleanly.

Answer enough, she supposed. Foicatch was already moving, and fell on the knife-thrower with a single-minded viciousness that was poetry to see. Systlin was moving almost as quickly, and that was where the battle in the city began.

It was nasty work. Street by street, driving the fighting men before them. Many of the freed slaves in Systlin’s forces had been from Turia, and as planned they now took the lead. As Systlin had suspected, their knowledge of the city was invaluable; meeting places and baths where warriors gathered were found out. Attacks from small alleys were anticipated. Cobbles went slick with blood. A nasty dagger opened a long cut into Systlin’s left forearm, and some of the slick blood under their boots and the kaiila’s paws was her own. She bound it with a strip torn from her own shirt, cinching the knot tight with her teeth, and pressed on.

Turia was a city of millions; it took hours to work their way through, even with the size of her army. It was late afternoon when at last she realized that any warriors found out were fleeing rather than fighting, and being quickly ridden down by archers. Systlin stopped, at last, sitting high on her kaiila, and knew that she was Ubara of Turia, and by extension all of the plains in truth, by right of conquest.

Dina was staying close now, guiding them through the streets. She saw the same realization dawn on Dina’s face; Foicatch was already smiling that grim satisfied smile she remembered well.

“Take me to the throne of Turia.” Systlin said, and Dina did.

The first drops of the storm hit the bloody dust and thunder growled low when the reached the great palace of Turia. It was in a vast central building, half law chambers and half a throne hall. It was all in the same white stone that the city seemed to favor, with a great dome over the hall where the Thrones of Turia sat. They were very fine; there was, Systlin was sure, wood somewhere under the silver and inlaid semiprecious stones, but it was difficult to make out. She left footprints of blood and mud across the spotless tiled floors.

She’d made instructions clear before the first spear was lifted; her warriors knew what to do. One part of being a leader, her father had said long ago. Is finding competent people that you trust, and then trusting them to do their jobs without your having to hang over their shoulder.

He’d been right. Her people were competent, and she did trust them. So while she waited for her warriors to ferret out the various guild and caste leaders and other important persons, Systlin ascended the nine steps to the dais…it was gorgeously carpeted, and inlaid with ivory and gold…and sat herself down in the larger throne, the throne of the Ubar of Turia.

Foicatch eyed her. There was an answering warm pulse that went down her spine and pooled insistently between her legs; there was nothing like battle to get the blood up. But…She raised her eyebrows back at him. “Not yet.” She said, somewhat reluctantly, and motioned with her chin at the smaller throne, the throne where traditionally the Ubara sat. “Not quite yet. It’s not properly conquered until I explain things to the important people, is it?”

“I suppose not.” But his eyes were lingering on her lips, and slid down over the length of her legs and the curve of her hip even so. She could feel the heat of it, and dearly wished to answer it.

But it was about at that point that people…some of them bedraggled, some begging and pleading, some silent and apparently numbly shocked into silence, all led by her fierce and triumphant warrior women, began to file into the great throne chamber. All were drenched; Systlin could hear rain rattling against the roof now, and thunder rumbling quite often.

They stared. Systlin knew what she must look like. She sat, and waited. Her shoulder ached; she’d been slammed into a wall at one point, and probably had a spectacular bruise. Her arm where she’d been cut stung. Her muscles burned from exertion; she’d been fighting on and off for hours. The cut on her cheek had scabbed, and pulled when she moved or spoke.

None of it mattered. Victory was pounding in her veins along the adrenaline. Even now, she knew, her warriors were removing chains from slaves; she could taste it on the air, and it was as sweet as honeyed wine.

Goddess of justice and war.

She ignored the voice of the Lady whispering.

Dina was conferring with the other women native to Turia. They looked fearsome; all were armored and armed and bloody. Most of the blood, to Systlin’s immense pride, was not their own. They had wounds, true, but most were not serious, and every warrior will earn scars. They were standing and moving and speaking with a new edge of confidence that had not been there even this morning, and Systlin knew why.

Stories would be told of this, she knew. Stories would be told, and the warriors who’d fought with her to take Turia would be legend in their own right. And they knew it as well; had proved something to themselves that could never be taken away.

Yes, these warrior women would say, years from now. Yes, of course I know of the Fall of Turia. I was there. I fought at the Ubara’s side. There would be looks then, as awed as any Systlin herself had ever received, and she knew in her bones how the legends would be told in decades to come.

Dina of Turia, who led the Ubara’s archers and broke the Turian cavalry with the Ubara.

Sabra of Turia, the first of all who had her chains struck off, who rode with her lance at the Ubara’s side, in her honor guard, and who fought so fiercely that none could stand before her. Never in the battle for the city did she leave the Ubara’s side, and she walked through blood ankle-deep that day.

Hula of Turia, Doreen of Turia, Hireena of the Tuchuks. Tamra of Ar…

The list went on and on, and pride was a bright warmth in her chest.

Dina said something to Sabra, who nodded and turned to cross the hall and climb the steps. Systlin remembered that first day; Sabra clutching, terrified, at her sleeve. There was little trace of the frightened and beaten slave girl now; Sabra was one of her best with a spear, and she wore thick bosk-hide armor sewn with metal plates. Her arms and shoulders were strong, and her blonde hair braided tightly back. There was blood and mud crusted in it, and a vicious bruise showing around one eye. Her nose had been broken at some point, and hastily reset,. The dried blood from it was still on her chin. She was smiling a smile of victory.

“Ubara sana.” She said. “The guild leaders, councilors, and other important leaders of the city are assembled.”

“Thank you, Sabra.” Systlin smiled back, just as fierce. “And well fought. Fierce as a she-panther.”

The grin widened. “Thank you, Ubara-sana!”

“I told you,” Systlin said, still smiling. “You doubted me, but here you stand. When I secure the treasury, you are to take as much as you can carry, as a mark of my esteem. I name you now to my personal guard, for as long as you desire the post, but you must promise to tell me if you ever wish to leave. You were the first to have her chains thrown off, and I’ve no wish to ever bind you with others.”

Sabra blinked rapidly, and Systlin realized that she was blinking back tears. “I will, Ubara sana.�� She said. “But I do not think that day will come.”

“Well. If it does, let me know. And I’ve another duty for you; you were the first to take up weapons, even before Dina. If you will, once things settle more in a few days, go among the women of Turia and tell them your story. And if any of them wish it, bring them to me, and help me train them as warriors, as you trained yourself.”

A light like fever lit in Sabra’s eyes. “Ubara sana,” she whispered. “You honor me, and I will do this.”

“You won your honor yourself, with your own hands and by your own actions.” Systlin said. “I merely handed you the tools to do so. Bring them all forward, then.”

Foicatch, she realized, was staring at her with an intensity that was scorching.

“You will never have any idea,” he breathed, very quietly, as her warriors herded the frightened rich and powerful of the city to the base of the raised dais the thrones sat upon, “the effect you have on people. What it’s like to see, from the outside.”

“Hush.” She murmured back, just as softly. “You’re biased.”

“I am. But I’m also right. Every woman in your forces would have followed you to the death this morning, but after this they’d follow you past it as well.”

“Hmm.” She allowed, but it was a pleased sound. “I try only to be what they deserve.”

“Yes.” He said. “Yes, and that’s why.”

She eyed the small crowd at the foot of the dais. They were frightened and soaked from the storm, bedraggled and sullen.

“Foicatch, darling.” She said. “Our guests appear to be soaked. Could you give them a hand?”

He made an agreeable sound and lifted a hand. She tasted Power on the back of her tounge, ozone and burnt cinnamon.

There were gasps and screams as the water streamed and spiraled off of the huddled leaders of Turia. Foicatch pulled it into a hovering globe above his hand, and then rather negligently flicked it aside. It splashed to the tiles, leaving the people in the crowd quite dry.

Dina clicked her tounge against her teeth. “Are you all sorcerers, on your world?” A year and a half of following Systlin, one of the strongest fire witches and the strongest Breaker ever to live, had rubbed the novelty off of seeing Power worked.

“Not all of us.” Systlin lifted a shoulder. “But a good many.”

“My mother’s a stronger water witch than me,” Foicatch said absently. “I’ve only half her gift.”

“Wait until you see him really angry,” Systlin said. “And see him tear the water from a man’s blood.”

“I have.” That was Hireena, herding the Turians forward. Her voice was low, and she looked at Foicatch with deep respect. “At the gates, as we fought.”

“Did you?” She said, with interest. Systlin had seen it done before. It had been….compelling. Hmmmm.

Later. Later. More important things first.

“Turia.” She said, her voice clear. “I greet you.”

Furious, frightened faces looked up at her. Mutters went around. Systlin remembered well what she’d been told.

“I greet you,” she said. “As Ubara Sana of the plains, won by my own hand. But of course, you are Turian, and the power in Turia lies with the merchants.”

“It is so.” One veiled woman said. She was looking up curiously; her robes were of exquisitely fine silks, and embroidered with gold. Pearls hung from the edges of her sleeves, and crystal beads glittered across her gown.

“That,” said Systlin. “May change. I understand, of course, that you’ve already well established trade routes, and I’ve no wish to interfere with them. But I am Ubara Sana now, and the old laws will change. You may have heard that, on the plains, slave chains have been outlawed, and all slaves freed. It is true, and as of this moment by my decree every slave in Turia is freed.”

There was a roar of arguments and shouting and disapproving noises.

“…cannot simply…”

“…My business is slaves! How am I to…”

“…an outrage!...”

Systlin waited them out, patient. As she did, another of the Turian women jogged in through the great door; the rain had washed away most of the mud and blood, but she was limping, a strip of cloth bound around one thigh. She murmured something to Dina, who nodded once and took the nine steps up to the dais two at a time.

“There is a problem.” Dina said. “Saphrar, a wealthy merchant, one of the leaders of the Merchant’s Caste in the city. He’s a fortified compound, and has walled himself up with his mercenary forces.”

“Tell everyone to pull back.” Systlin said at once. “Keep an eye on the compound; let no one escape. After I finish here, I’ll come and tend to his gates myself.”

Dina smiled thinly, and went back down, murmured this to the other woman. The other woman grinned like a wolf, and hurried out, swift despite her wounded leg.

“Have you all finished?” Systlin raised her voice above the crowd.

“I will contract with the Guild of Assassins for this!” A man with thick dark hair and wearing gold and white robes said furiously. He had a hand raised and was shaking a finger at the sky. “I’ll have your head in my vault. I swear it on the Priest-Kings! “

“I take it that you deal in slaves,” Systlin said dryly.

“I do! It is an honorable trade, and I have been dealing in slave meat for…”

Systlin nodded at Dina, who moved quickly. Her knife gleamed, and the man’s throat opened ear to ear. A gurgle, and a red rush of blood, and utter shocked silence.

“Slavery,” Systlin said mildly. “Is one of the greatest crimes, and slavers are condemned to death. Those who procure and deal in slaves for their own wealth are doubly damned. Throw his body to the kaiila; they must be hungry after the fight. What was his name?”

Silence.

“I asked,” Systlin said, voice going cold. “For his name. I expect an answer.”

Another moment of silence dragged out, and then…“Kazrak.” The veiled woman who’d spoken before said. “Kazrak of the Merchant Caste. His mansion is next to mine, and his warehouse is in the low streets, near the slave market.”

“Did he have a Free Companion, any children?”

“Both.”

“Then half of his estate shall go to them, and they shall maintain their home. The other half of his assets are forfeit, and will be redistributed between his slaves, who are now free.” Systlin raised an eyebrow. “Might I have your name?”

“Aphris.” Said the woman. “Of the Merchant Caste. I deal in silks and wine, not people.” She shot a somewhat vicious look at the dead Kazrak, as he was dragged off, leaving a smear of red on the tiles. “And he was cruel, and it does my heart good to see justice done him. I take it then that we, the free women of Turia, are not to be put in slave chains?”

“Bloody pits, no.” Systlin said, repulsed.

“I did not think so.” Aphris said, cool and collected, a point of calm in the angry and terrified crowd. “But many freewomen feared the worst. It is, after all, how war has been done on Gor for a very long time. You can understand the worry.”

It was a reasonable worry, Systlin supposed. “Of course. But have no fear, no hand will be raised against you. You are free, and will remain free. Aside from that, by my laws it will be punishable by death if anyone, from anywhere, ever attempted to enslave you, and I would hunt that man down and kill him for daring to put chains on one of my subjects.”

There were many free women in the crowd, and at the words there was sort of a sigh that ran through them, and a sense of some great tension lifted. The men looked startled. Systlin gestured, taking in the concealing robes all of the free women wore.

“It is no longer required,” she continued. “That you wear full Robes of Concealment in public. A free woman may dress as she likes and go where she likes. If you feel more comfortable in your robes, of course, then you are welcome to wear them, but it is not required. If you choose to set them aside and experience difficulty from anyone, you may make a formal complaint and the matter will be dealt with. I will make people and resources available to deal with such matters.”

A murmur. More looks of outrage from the men.

“Many,” Aphris said. “Will welcome this. But for myself, Ubara, I think I will choose to wear the robes, at least for some time longer.”

“Of course.” Systlin inclined her head. “And I am afraid, of course, that Turia will be judged.”

“Judged?” One man snapped. “Like you judged Kazrak?”

“Yes. Precisely how I judged Kazrak.” Systlin smiled unpleasantly. “There are three great crimes; the murder of an innocent who has done no harm, the rape of another, and enslaving another. The penalty for all three is death.”

Silence. Dead, horrified silence. And then,

“You cannot mean,” another man said, carefully. “That every man who held a slave will be killed.”

“No.” Systlin shook her head. Sighs of relief, but she continued. “Because some slaves, for whatever reason, beg mercy for those who held them. It will be up to any slaves you hold what your fate is. But,” and she grinned again, more horribly. “If a single slave you’ve held and raped chooses death for you, I will put a knife in her hand and hold you down myself for the sentence.”

“What.”

“You cannot mean…”

“Not all…”

“All.” Systlin said, merciless. “Every man in Turia. If a freewoman held male slaves…I’m told it happens…then her life is forfeit as well. I will not abide it. Have no fear; I will establish many courts to see to it. It will take us months to work through the city, but it will be done. And those of you who are guilty, I will hang your bones from the white walls as a warning.”

“You,” Said one man, who had until then been silent, staring angry daggers at her from the front of the crowd. His robes, she noted, were the finest in the room, and edged in purple. “Are mad.”

“Not the first time I’ve been called that.” Systlin said easily. She looked him over, matching up features with descriptions. “Phanius Turmus, I presume?”

“Ubar of Turia.” He confirmed, chin high. “You are defiling my throne, woman.”

“You were.” She shook her head. “But you lost. You’re simply Phanius now, and you’ll be judged with the rest.”

“I think that perhaps I shall contract with the Assassin’s Caste for your head.” He didn’t flinch or break eye contact. “Your head would look well in my vaults, I agree with Kazrak.”

“Oh, please do. I ought to make their acquaintance. It’s been some time since I trained with the assassins of my own world, and tore their master’s throat out with my knife. So yes please, do. It would be an exciting challenge.”

Foicatch sighed resignedly. “Really, love?”

Phanius was giving her a stare of pure and utter horror. “What are you?” He almost whispered. “What terrible hell did you crawl from, to plague us? Have you no respect for those of high caste?”

“My mother would be terribly offended by calling her a ‘terrible hell’.” She made steady eye contact with each person in her horrified and enraptured audience. “The terrible hell is her sister, who taught me to fight. And no. Every caste. From low to high. All will be judged the same. If any have offended in these ways, I will see justice done upon them. No one is exempt.”

“You’ll kill thousands!” One man cried. “Tens of thousands!”

“Oh,” Systlin said, cold as steel in winter. “Hundreds of thousands, I expect.”

“You cannot…”

“Poor choice of words.” Foicatch sighed again. “I could have warned you; there’s no better way to get her to do something than to tell her, earnestly, that she can’t.”

Systlin stood, and let Power rise. Not the terrible cold of Breaking, but her other gift, hot and furious and wild. Fire bloomed around her for a moment, and was gone too quickly to set fire to her clothes. But it had the desired effect. Silence fell. Horrified silence.

“I am not bargaining with you.” She said softly. “I am not suggesting. I am not your old Ubar. I stand here by right of conquest. I breached your walls and killed my way to this throne, and I am going to kill a great deal many more before I am through. The merchants and caste-masters are not ruling Turia any longer; I am.”

She moved a step down, drawing closer to them. “To put this in terms you understand, which I gathered from women you had kidnapped from a world not yours and forced into slavery; you had best get used to this new way, or you will die. I am telling you how things now are. You can flee the city, if you wish, but I will not stop here and I will find you. Be it when I take Ar, or Ko-Ro-Ba, or any other city, I will come. I am going to end slavery on this world, and I fully expect to do it at the point of a sword. I am Ubara Sana of the plains. I rule this city now. These are the great crimes that will be punished, and how they will be punished. This matter is not open for negotiation. If you dislike these words, you are free to take them up with any of the twenty thousand of my soldiers in your city. They’ll be thrilled to discuss them, I am sure.” She descended another step. “Until the courts are established and judging begins, no one is to leave the city. I control the entirety of the plains and other bands of my warriors have seized trade routes. I have the wealth of Turia at my disposal; you will not go hungry. And now, you are free to return to your homes; I have things yet to do tonight. One of you has decided to fight tooth and nail; I’m off to crack him out of his nutshell. Dismissed.”

She swept past, not looking back, and felt their eyes on her back as she went.

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abundanceofsoph · 4 years ago

Text

SkyFire 3: Chapter 10

I’m free as a bird when I’m flying in your cage: Nov/Dec 2017

Word count: 3k

SkyFire 3 MASTERLIST

Please for the love of god, if you like the story just hit the reblog button. I really don’t know how to say it nicely but it’s really starting to bother me and maybe that makes me a dick but so be it.

>Instagram posts

Thankfully, after a day and a half of vocal rest, Harry was ready to go for the Manchester show and he very much dialled his performance up to 11 for his hometown crowd. Just as she had told Grimmy, Aurora stayed off social media in the days following the interview, but she heard from others that a small section of the fandom was absolutely furious with her and the social media manager that Mark had hired years ago to clear out her comment sections was working overtime to keep some of the nastier shit from her feeds. As much as Aurora herself was able to avoid it all together, she knew that a lot of her fans would be reading the comments and she wanted to keep it safe for them. Harry’s team was also working to keep his own accounts clear as well, and while they couldn’t hide from what was being said about them or Louis and Elanor, they could try to filter out the worst of it. This was the one part of celebrity that they all agreed was the worst. It was the unfortunate consequence of having such passionate fans. Ella had no such inclination to avoid the comment sections and was spending her free time picking fights with Larries and attempting to set them straight on the reality of Harry and Louis’ relationship as nothing more than brotherly love. Aurora tried to urge her to let it go, but unfortunately her best friend was feisty and easy to anger which was not a good combination with how overprotective she was about her loved ones. By the time they stepped out onto the Manchester stage, both Rori and Harry were happy to put aside the drama and focus on the music. Things started to cool down over the following week which took them up to Glasgow and then on to Stockholm, Berlin, Amsterdam, and Milan. By the time they returned to London on the 11th, the music video for Kiwi had been live for 3 days and the fans had thankfully moved on from Aurora’s interview in exchange for raving about the new video.

They spent the first few days relaxing at home before Rori headed to North London to meet up with Liam at the recording studio he liked to use to work on the song he had mentioned at Niall’s launch party. Aurora had spent the last few weeks listening to the demo on repeat while pouring over the sheet music Liam had emailed her. She was obsessed with the song and the two had been messaging back and forth constantly, discussing the arrangement and which parts each of them would take. Stepping back into a recording studio, even one she’d never visited before, felt like coming home after weeks on the road and her face lit up immediately as soon as she caught sight of Liam, wrapping her arms around him in a rib crushing hug.

“Ready to jump straight in?” he asked after letting her go.

“Absolutely,” she replied excitedly before following him as he introduced her to the producer and technicians that they would be working with for the following few days.

With a full week before Harry and Rori were due to fly to Shanghai, neither she nor Liam were on a tight schedule to finish the song. This meant that the environment in the studio was very chilled and there were many tangents and breaks taken while they worked.

“How attached are you and Lou to the lyrics?” Rori asked on their second day in the studio.

“Of course, you want to change something,” Liam laughed in a response. “Wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Rori replied with a laugh of her own. “I am who I am.”

“I know,” Liam agreed. “So, show me what you’re thinking.”

“I’ve been tossing around the pre-chorus and I was wondering if instead of what you lads have there, instead we go with this.”

I'm free as a bird When I'm flying in your cage I'm diving in deep And I'm riding with no brakes And I'm bleeding in love You're swimming in my veins You got me now

“Well fuck,” Liam replied. “Think I need to stop writing with Louis and start writing with you more often.”

“You like it?”

“Rors, I love it,” he said. “It’s way better than what we came up with. Let’s get back in the booth and record it.”

They ended up spending four days finishing the song which left Aurora with a few remaining days to catch up with Ella and also relax at home with her husband before they were thrown back into work.

xXx

The day before they were set to fly to China, Aurora headed over to Ella’s flat in Wimbledon. “I brought cake,” she yelled as she let herself into the flat with the spare key Ella had given her when Rori first moved back to London.

“Fuck yes!” Ella cheered in response, her voice carrying down the hall from the kitchen. “I’m just making us tea,” she continued as Rori made her way inside. “Get yourself comfy on the sofa and I’ll meet you in there, babe.”

Rori made herself at home in the living room, Ella’s elderly tabby cat Elliot, immediately padding over to make himself comfortable in her lap.

“You were recording with Liam this week yeah?” Ella asked as she joined Rori on the sofa, placing mugs of tea in front of them. “How was it?”

“God, it was so much fun El,” Rori sighed. “I didn’t realise how much I missed being in the studio. I mean don’t get me wrong, I love touring and I’m having an incredible time on the road, but it felt so good to be back recording again and it just has me itching to write again.”

“You should make sure to do more of it over the Christmas break then,” Ella pointed out. “Speaking of which are you going to be in New York or are you coming home for winter?”

“We’re planning a bit of both. Christmas and my birthday in New York with my dads and then we’ll come back here for February before the tour kicks off again in March. I think Gemma and Anne are going to join us for Christmas too and then when we get back Liam and I have made plans to have a writing session together. ”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Ella nodded before taking a sip of her tea. “Selfishly I’m glad you’ll be spending a decent chunk of time here. I miss you.”

“Urggh,” Rori groaned. “I miss you too. Was thinking of maybe doing something for Harry’s birthday and getting you, Lou, Liam, and Niall over to our flat for a game’s night or something. I feel like Harry could use something a little more lowkey this year after the insanity of tour.”

“Don’t feel like you need to invite me,” Ella replied awkwardly. “I mean, if you’re inviting the band over, I’m not really part of that group.”

“Oh bullshit,” Rori laughed. “They boys love you just like I do. You all get along great whenever we were all together for wedding stuff or the album launch. Why on earth would you feel like I shouldn’t invite you too?”

“Rori,” Ella sighed. “While yes, I have gotten along with yours and Harry’s friends in the past, that doesn’t mean that I run in the same circles as they do. They’re celebrities, you are a celebrity and I just think that sometimes you forget that I’m just your old friend from school. It’s two separate worlds that you live in.”

Aurora rolled her eyes in response, taking a sip of her tea while she compiled her rebuttal. “That’s such a load of shit El. They are mine and Harry’s friends and so are you. When we are away from the paparazzi, they are no different to you and me. I get that we grew up with their pictures on our bedroom walls but once you put that aside they’re just a bunch of really great guys that I think could become your close friends too if you let them in and stop freaking out around them.”

“Ok fine,” Ella agreed after a moment of silent staring between the two women. “I’ll try to get over myself and give them a chance next time we’re all in the same room. Can we change the subject now?”

“That’s all I’m asking for and absolutely we can change the subject. How’s things with Tim? Feel like we haven’t talked about him in a while.” Ella made a face and Aurora felt her heart break for her best friend. “When?” she asked softly. “What happened, love?”

“He broke it off a few weeks ago,” Ella explained. “Said he didn’t feel a spark or something.”

“I’m sorry babe, things seemed to be going so well when I left for the tour.”

“They were. At least I thought they were. We barely made it past 3 months before he gave up.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were half a world away having the best time,” Ella replied. “If I’d told you then you would have just felt guilty for not being here.”

“And now instead I feel guilty for not even being able to be a sympathetic ear since I couldn’t provide a shoulder. How are you now?”

“I’ll be ok. I’ve been a bit down in the dumps, but I think it’s for the best. He made some good points about me not really knowing what I wanted and he’s right. I think I’m gonna swear off dating until I really figure out who I am and what I’m looking for.”

“Well if you ever want help figuring out who you are, I think I know you pretty well by now.”

“I might take you up on that offer,” Ella said with a small smile before changing topic. “Now enough moping, you said you brought cake with you? You are never going to believe the scandal that’s broken out amongst some of the girls in my Colonial History class.”

xXx

Occasionally something would happen in Aurora’s life that would give her pause and remind her how incredibly ludicrous her life had become. Standing behind her keyboard in the middle of a Victoria Secrets show in Shanghai while her husband sang and danced his heart out in front of her while literally supermodels strutted past them was one of those moments.

It was hard for her to believe that only 2 days ago she was sitting on her best friend’s sofa eating a chocolate cake from Sainsbury’s and discussing the latest high school drama playing out in Ella’s classroom. She found herself thinking about how her mother would react if she somehow had a way to travel back in time seven years and tell her about this moment and all the other life changing moments that had occurred since they parted. It was while her thoughts were caught on her mother that Harry turned, catching her eye, a mile-wide smile lighting up his face as he winked at her, causing her own smile to grow in response. No matter how strange her life had become and how much everything had changed since she was an average teenager living above a small bar, she knew that she wouldn’t change a single thing that had happened if it meant ending up here with Harry smiling at her like that.

xXx

Following the Victoria Secrets show, the band arrived in Singapore early and spent a few days exploring before their show there after which the flew on to Australia, a country that Harry had toured many times over the years with One Direction, but Aurora had never managed to visit herself. They had a week in the land Down Under, with shows in both Sydney and Melbourne and Aurora made it her mission to see as much as she could of the 2 state capitals, often dragging Harry or other members of the band along on her adventures. Given that it was the last week of November everywhere was getting into the Christmas spirit, however since it was the southern hemisphere the weather was scorching hot and the group found the combination highly entertaining, if somewhat baffling.

While in Sydney they took in the iconic sights such as Bondi beach, the Opera House, and the Harbour Bridge, as well as a day trip out to explore the Blue Mountains. In Melbourne they visited the Eureka Tower with it’s Skydeck that offered an amazing view of the city spread out beneath them. They also spent some time at the Melbourne Zoo and National Gallery of Victoria, then the day after their show at the Forum, they were taken on a drive out of the city and down along the coastal Great Ocean Road.

The tour stop in Auckland was similarly packed out with touristy opportunities where Aurora’s highlight was the art gallery Toi o Tāmaki. While the laid back vibes in both Australia and New Zealand captured Aurora’s attention, it was the week they spent in Tokyo that held Harry’s, so much so that while everyone else headed home the day after the last show, the young couple made a last minute change to their travel plans and extended their stay by an additional week to explore the city more.

Once again, Tokyo was somewhere that Harry had visited many times with the band while Aurora had never been, and he enjoyed to opportunity to show her his favourite parts. Something Aurora noticed almost immediately about Tokyo was that unlike in the US or the UK, people either didn’t recognize them when they were out and about or they did but respected their privacy and left them alone. She pointed this out to Harry on their second day wandering the city streets and he smiled back at her, agreeing that it was something he’d also noticed in a previous visit and had definitely played a role in him falling in love with the city.

They spent their days wandering the streets, ducking into quirky shops that caught their eye and just revelling in the normalcy of being together in public. As they walked, they both realized that they had never had this; a chance to be like everyone else crowding the sidewalks around them. Save for stolen moments in the early days of their relationship like their first date in Hampstead Heath or when they were able to sneak into galleries on quiet days, they’d never really been able to be themselves within a crowd. They’d always needed to wrap a scarf that little bit higher around their chins or wear a hat a little lower on their heads or glasses a little bit larger. To walk hand in hand like any other couple was freeing in a way that Rori hadn’t realized she’d been missing, and she soaked up every moment of their time in Tokyo. If only for a week she felt like she was living the life she would have had if her mother hadn’t died. If she had continued living as a normal girl from Wimbledon instead of being thrust into the spotlight, free to live her life without the scrutiny of the press and the public. Of course, it wasn’t lost on her that the man holding her hand wouldn’t be Harry in this parallel universe and for that she would happily trade in her freedom. She could accept that the price she paid to be married to Harry and be Steve and Tony’s daughter was that she would never really be allowed to have this normality, so she simply tried to make the most of their time before they flew on to New York for Christmas. They never spoke about any of this during their little vacation away from their lives but even without voicing her thoughts, Rori was certain that Harry was thinking the same thing and would willingly make the same sacrifices for the life they had built together.

xXx

Both Aurora and Harry were exhausted by the time they reached New York and were grateful to find Happy waiting for them as soon as they exited the arrivals terminal at JFK. He offered a quick hug to Rori before collecting their bags from them and leading them to the town car waiting for them. She leant against Harry in the back seat as they made the hour long drive into Manhattan. Her blinks began to lengthen as the airport shrank in the rear-view mirror and she was fast asleep before they reached Queens. Harry had to gently coax her awake once they finally reached the tower and she slowly made her way out of the car and into the elevator up to the penthouse. Tony and Steve were waiting up for their arrival and excitedly pulled their daughter into tight hugs the moment she stepped out of the elevator. It was Steve that noticed the way both Rori and Harry’s eyelids seem to droop and their gazes glazed over while Tony asked them a dozen questions about their recent adventures, and Rori was grateful when her Pops shooed them both off to bed with promises that they could catch up properly over a homecooked breakfast the next morning. They were barely conscious by the time they stripped out of their clothes and crawled into bed, however Aurora remained awake just long enough the think about how good it felt to be home.

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

#skyfire fic #Husband Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #dad!tony #domestic fluff #iron dad #step dad steve rogers #aurora stark #harry styles #tony stark #live on tour

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brydeswhale · 7 years ago

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One of the major failings with “The Way” is that, like much of the rest of the world-building in Elfquest, it’s poorly defined and unexplored.

There are a few things we do know about it.

It’s a form of mental discipline that relates to life and lifestyle.

It emphasizes being present in the moment, being based on the “Now” of Wolf-thought.

It’s not as ancient to Wolfrider customs as some are. Huntress Skyfire devised it as a form of cultural myth and a way to bind her society(severely fractured after breaking with her brother’s faction) into a cohesive whole.

It’s very important to Wolfrider elders.

For all it’s supposed importance to the plot, we don’t actually hear about “The Way” until book three, Captives Of Blue Mountain, when Strongbow(who’s just come off three days of torture by Winnowill) points out that they don’t follow “The Way” anymore, and that he’s seriously upset by that and all the trauma from BEING TORTURED FOR THREE DAYS.

He defines “The Way” as hunting and howling and living freely, less than as a form of mental and spiritual discipline. Everyone is sort of bummed out that they’ve lost “The Way” to a certain extent, but they also have a feeling that “The Way” might be gone or changed forever, given the way that their world has actually changed for good.

(Note: Strongbow’s problems with “The Way” don’t seem to have been that big a deal in the desert, which indicates to me that he still considered them to be living by “The Way” while there.)

But all that aside, and despite certain claims about wolfriders “celebrating ignorance”, the idea that Strongbow has about “The Way” precluding innovation and new discoveries seems to be a purely a fandom perception of “The Way”. Certainly no one seriously worried about “The Way” when Tanner was finding new ways to make leather, and it never came into play when everyone was wandering around with Freefoot, and it’s not a big deal to Strongbow even when Cutter chops open a cactus for them to get water from. Even Strongbow seems to base his concerns over new things on whether or not they fit into the Wolfrider lifestyle.

It’s actually not ever really stated that “the Now of Wolf-thought” is literally part of “The Way” for a few books after that, and only then as a method of:

Dealing with trauma.

Keeping a healthy mindset.

It’s never seen as an excuse not to plan(Strongbow, the greatest proponent of “The Way”, after all, is often included as part of planning), or to avoid unpleasant consequences. It’s literally seen to be a form of mental discipline that keeps an elf focused on the task at hand until that can be completed.

For example, let’s say Firebright needs new mittens. Winter is coming and Easy-heart is worried about the cub losing fingers to frostbite.

Using “The Way” and “The now of wolf-thought”, Easy-heart doesn’t even look at the potential fear of Firebright losing fingers. He goes out and catches a rabbit instead. Then, rather than consider how many other animals he could have, would have, should have caught, he skins the rabbit and processes the hide. Then he makes the mittens, which he gives to Firebright, who immediately takes them off because her hands “aren’t even cold, father!”

Ahem.

Now, all of that could have been accomplished if Easy-heart hadn’t used “The Way” to discipline his mind, but it might have been delayed or taken longer.

The Sunfolk seem to have developed a philosophical lifestyle based on the cycle of the sun. From what we can tell, it emphasizes acceptance of nature and taking things day by day, which is similar to the Wolfrider “Way”, but with more concerns of time passage because of their agrarian lifestyle. They seem to balance out with the Wolfriders in terms of philosophy , which might explain why the two groups meshed so easily. They’re often portrayed as mostly balanced, slightly softer than Wolfriders, but just as adaptable to new circumstances. In a way, they’re intended to sort of serve as an equal to Wolfriders(although not quite, which is a topic for another essay).

Go Backs have a hyper-focused sense of the present, which probably relates to them living in a war zone. This is actually shown to be detrimental to their well-being and the wellbeing of those around them(although it’s worth noting that the first appearances of the Go Backs included a more temperate society and rituals that were interesting and cool, WENDY, not just sex and dancing). On the other hand, their(until recently) capacity to spread themselves throughout the world shows an adaptability in their philosophy that is sometimes overlooked.

Gliders, on the other hand, were portrayed as being mired in their obsession with the past. This is part of what paralyzes them to the point that over ninety percent of them are killed off when Winnowill’s dumbass space travel plans are put into action. However, they’re the only elves whose philosophy leads to a literal death.

The Wavedancers seem held captive by fear of the future. The idea of “what if” holds them hostage to the point of fleeing meeting even new elves, and leads them close to extinction in that one time when Brill and Sunstream needed to fuck or die. On the other hand, once they’re shown how friendly the new elves are, they begin to show a unique form of optimism that holds for a friendly future life.

The most healthy elves in the abode seem to be elves with a cultural philosophy of staying present in the moment. This would indicate that perhaps “The Now” isn’t so much related to the wolf-blood sported by wolfriders but to healthy elfin psychology. The Wolfriders do seem to be able to reach it more easily than other elves, and do seem to have difficulty accessing long term memories, but that’s probably as far as the Wolf-blood affects the mind.

The importance of “The Way” and “The Now” are basically cultural. So is its importance in terms of Wolfrider psychology, which relates back to Skyfire’s inception of the idea.

(Note: I will not be discussing fucking Dreamsinger here. I don’t even think that story is canon, and also it’s an obvious wangsty self-insert that I do not have time for.)

Skyfire and Two Spear’s schism is one of the great tragedies of Wolfrider history. The basis behind the split was that Two Spear was a charismatic asshole who didn’t make any attempt to heal from his trauma and stop trying to kill humans and Skyfire was SICK of being attacked by humans and having to fight them off.

(Also Two Spear had this inferiority complex because Skyfire was actually Prey-pacer’s cub, but Prey-pacer never acknowledged her for stupid reasons and so Two Spear was never confident that she wouldn’t rise up or be risen up by other people, which is dumb but whatevs.)

Skyfire actually LOST her challenge to Two Spear in the fight, but she won the popular vote and Two Spear left anyhow.

Skyfire was left with a splintered fragment and had to find a way to bind everyone together in a single, cohesive lifestyle. She chose one that kept everyone in the present(probably because they were freaking out and traumatized), one the move(hunter gatherers can pick up and leave anytime, farmers have to wait for the end of harvest), and not constantly at war.

And it worked! Mostly.

The Wolfriders actually managed to survive and, until Bearclaw ruined everything, they mostly thrived. Skyfire made a quick and dirty philosophy, probably out of fear of losing people, and it wound up helping people actually heal and move on.

Some fans might argue that it made Wolfriders devolve, but really, their cultural amnesia was no worse than anyone else’s, and unlike a lot of elves, they maintained lots of magical abilities.

“The Way” seems to become very important to wolfriders as they age. This isn’t really a thing that I would consider related to it as a philosophy or some such. It’s just that as people age they become more firmly attached to things that comfort them, including conservative viewpoints. And not all Wolfrider elders seem to hold conservative views. Treestump takes advantage of his old age to learn a new skill, and Nightfall and Redlance don’t seem too much more conservative about “The Way” than they were in book 1(although they are very, very into “The Way”. Just quietly.)

The two most conservative Wolfriders, who hold “The Way” in the highest esteem, seem to actually be the two who are least able to adhere to it.

Both Moonshade and Strongbow hold very strongly onto the past. They’re both extremely traumatized by the loss of their first born, their home, and by subsequent losses. Strongbow, in particular, has serious PTSD from being tortured and tormented by Winnowill, and from his own participation in violent acts afterwards. In fact, he nearly commits passive suicide by blood loss in the aftermath of the first Palace war.

They cling to “The Way” because it gives them a sense of control, to the old ways for the same reason, and yet they seem unable to actually reach the mental and philosophical wellness state offered by it.

This is particularly evident in Wild Hunt, when Moonshade uses Ember as a target for her fear and anger over being separated from Strongbow so he can go and fight in another war. It’s not until she’s able to change her view of “The Way”, from immutable and unchanging to adaptable and evolvable, that she’s able to be a better teammate to Ember and everyone else.

Incidentally, this is where the schism between her and Strongbow begins. Moonshade even comments on how Strongbow might not be able to adapt the same way she and the others have. Then it was dropped and never brought up again and no one cared until recently.

Strongbow never experiences this same epiphany. He’s never able to truly heal from his trauma over losing his child to violence, his father figure to his own stupidity, his home, he’s unable to move past Winnowill’s abuse, and therefore he cannot offer Moonshade any understanding when “The Way” ceases to offer her any solace.

It’s not that Wolfrider elders cling to “The Way” because it’s so important to them and they hate all new things. Wolfrider elders, for the most part, LIVE by the way. Except for Ember, Pool, Freetouch, Sust, and Cutter’s youngest cub, every living Wolfrider is older than Strongbow was when the quest began. They’re, for the most part, healthy and happy, living in “The Now” but not blind to the past or future.

STRONGBOW clings to what he sees as “The Way” because he’s so damned traumatized.

And because he’s pretty much the only viewpoint character who talks about “The Way”, we get this extremely biased view of what it is and what it means, which means that WaRP’s failure to adequately world-build has resulted in a failure to get their point about “The Way” across in any meaningful way and therefore this is all just fanning speculation anyhow.

#elfquest #meta

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anthai-of-stormwind · 7 years ago

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[Character Profile] Anthai of Stormwind

Anthai of Stormwind is a mercenary mage and former member of the Templars of the Rose. She also served in Operation Shieldwall during the Pandarian Expedition. She fought the Iron Horde on the alternate Draenor, spent some time there after Archimonde's defeat, and returned to Azeroth to fight the Legion invasion. HISTORY Anthai was born and raised in Stormwind, about seven years prior to the Opening Of the Dark Portal. She is the only child of John and Margaret Taylor. Most of her acquaintances know that her parents were killed by Orcs during the First War. What few people know, and Anthai doesn't talk about, is that she was partially responsible for their deaths. As a pair of Orc warriors crashed into their home and began to slaughter her parents, Anthai instinctively used her latent magic for the first time in a massive flamestrike. It killed the Orcs, but also cut off their main escape from the now-burning building. Her parents were dying from their wounds, but still managed the strength to help push Anthai through a small window. To this day, Anthai believes there would have been a sliver of a chance they could have survived had the fire and smoke not overcome them. After the war, Anthai was taken in by Matron Nightingale at the Stormwind Orphanage. She displayed a frightening natural affinity for the arcane arts during her schooling, and was sent to Dalaran to hone her abilities. While actual Arcane magics were too mathematical for her to really grasp and she never did quite master the path of Frost, Fire was the arena in which Anthai shone. It made a sick sort of sense to her - her world had died in fire, so harnessing it would be her way of regaining a sense of control. Due to her guilt over her part in her parents' death, she eschewed her family name and went simply by Anthai.

THE SECOND WAR When the Orcs came through the Dark Portal once again, Anthai was furious and wanted to join her fellow magi at Nethergarde Keep, but was refused as she was only barely a teenager. A burning rage grew within her, fed by guilt and anger and helplessness. It might have grown out of control had it not been for the kindness of her teacher, an older woman named Leigh Brooks, who also had lost relatives in Stormwind and felt for this angry girl. Leigh took Anthai under her wing and became her counselor, mentor, closest friend and de facto mother figure.

THE THIRD WAR Under Leigh's tutelage and care, Anthai grew into an exceptionally powerful fire mage, although she continued to hold a deep-seated hatred for the Orcish race in her heart. In her mid-twenties, Anthai developed a romantic relationship with one of her classmates, a High Elf woman named Karan. Over time, Karan and Anthai fell deeply in love with one another. Unfortunately, Karan's parents refused to accept their daughter's sexual orientation, and forced her to return home to Quel'Thalas. Anthai was brokenhearted and decided it was time to leave Dalaran. It was around this time that the Scourge came to Lordaeron, and Archmage Antonidas' star pupil Jaina Proudmoore was urging people across the sea to Kalimdor. Anthai joined her, but Leigh stayed behind, claiming to be too old to uproot herself. The timing of Anthai's departure was fortuitous, as Dalaran was destroyed shortly thereafter by Archimonde. Anthai wept and raged upon hearing the news, feeling that she could have protected Leigh had she only stayed in the city. She initially admired Jaina for her strength, poise and commitment to her duty, but when Jaina urged her people to ally with the Orcs against Archimonde, it was too much for Anthai. She refused and sought refuge among the Night Elves, who were none too pleased with mages, but shared a similar hatred for Orcs. After Archimonde's defeat, the Night Elves rather coldly suggested that Anthai go with the rest of her kind to Theramore. While she was none too pleased with Jaina's attachment to Thrall, Anthai had nowhere else to go for the time being, and so she lived in Theramore for a while.

WORLD OF WARCRAFT/THE BURNING CRUSADE/WRATH OF THE LICH KING/CATACLYSM Anthai finally returned to Stormwind shortly after King Varian Wrynn's disappearance and served her home as a mage-for-hire, eager to fight the enemies of the Alliance in any capacity. When the Cataclysm hit and Deathwing attacked Stormwind, it reawakened the horror and anger Anthai had felt as a child, only this time she was able to fight back. She battled the Twilight's Hammer cult and assisted other adventurers at the Siege Of Wyrmrest Temple. Deathwing fell, and Anthai returned to Stormwind, defending it against pockets of Blackrock Orc assaults. No one would touch her city ever again.

MISTS OF PANDARIA When Garrosh Hellscream obliterated Theramore, Anthai was incensed, and not a little terrified that this new mana bomb technology would eventually be used against Stormwind. She joined up with Sky-Captain Rogers aboard the Skyfire and was one of the first to make landfall on Pandaria. While at first darkly gleeful at her chance for revenge against the Orcs, Anthai was brought up short by the presence of the Sha. Her anger would overwhelm her, and she sought advice from the local Pandaren on reining in her hate. Her bloodthirst held somewhat in check, Anthai nevertheless joined Operation Shieldwall as soon as King Varian arrived. She was a force to be reckoned with, but although she came to Pandaria with revenge in her heart, the Pandaren's kindness, patience and discipline won her over, and she felt very much at home in this new land, considering staying after this war was over. It was Garrosh Hellscream's destruction of the Vale Of Eternal Blossoms which was the last straw for her. Not since the First War had she been so personally, deeply aggrieved. Word reached her about a group named the Templars Of the Rose, who had been based in Theramore and were fighting their own crusade against Hellscream. She met with Nyres Treestalker and Justicar Arialynn Dawnfield, and the Templars accepted Anthai into their ranks just in time to lay siege to Orgrimmar.

WARLORDS OF DRAENOR Garrosh's trial after everything he'd done seemed a farce to Anthai, and when he escaped to Draenor to found the Iron Horde, Anthai wasted no time in joining the Black Watch (the Templars' elite fighting force) on that strange other world. The Black Watch helped Anthai refine her abilities and sharpen her combat skills under the tutelage of Marshal Jarrick Mason and a fellow mage, Sumeri Jordan. Anthai became fast friends with Sumeri, who enjoyed the back-and-forth pun wars they would get into as well as having fun attempting to cast the other's spells. Anthai and Sumeri would refer to themselves as the "fire and ice team" of the Black Watch, and they frequently fought side-by-side as such. Shortly after settling into the Templars' garrison on Draenor, Anthai's impetuous and overzealous nature got the better of her. She struck out on her own to Nagrand on a "scouting mission," secretly hoping she would find out where Garrosh was so she could kill him once and for all. Anthai was near Highmaul territory when she was taken by surprise by half a dozen ogre warriors and mages. She held out as long as she could, but for some reason her magic was not as potent on Draenor as on Azeroth. She was about to be overcome when she was saved by a paladin named Lauren Kensington. Lauren brought her back to the garrison and the Templars, where she was swiftly reprimanded by Justicar Dawnfield and removed from the Black Watch. Nevertheless, Anthai was grateful to Lauren for saving her life, and jokingly claimed her as her own personal paladin, her "Anthadin," if you will. While Lauren replaced her in the Black Watch, Anthai concentrated on healing and trying to regain her strength. Draenor's ley lines were not kind to her power, although Sumeri grew stronger with every passing day. Ultimately, Anthai chose to remain on Draenor after the assault on Hellfire Citadel. She shared a moment with Lauren the night before, but the paladin politely rebuffed her advances. During her time on Draenor, Anthai studied ways to get her powers back up to par. She was initially going to assist the Draenei in cleaning up the tatters of the Iron Horde, but she was disgusted by the Orc/Draenei truce.

LEGION One day, Exarch Yrel came to her and showed her a vision of the Burning Legion's return to Azeroth, as well as a weapon that would greatly amplify her abilities. Anthai teleported back to Dalaran, and assisted a group of Blood Elves in retrieving Felo'melorn, the legendary blade wielded by Anasterian Sunstrider. In gratitude, the sin'dorei rewarded her with a newly crafted runeblade of her own. As she was about to leave Icecrown Citadel, Anthai heard a commotion and ended up saving Lauren Kensington's life, as well as a dwarven friend of Lauren's. Upon their return to Dalaran, Anthai and Lauren filled each other in on what they'd missed, and prepared to return to the Templars to warn them of the Legion invasion. However, they were too late by moments - the invasion began, and Anthai and Lauren swiftly teleported to Westguard Keep, hoping they were still in time to make a difference. During her time fighting against the Legion, she began to establish a close friendship with Captain Victor Blackwald. With Sumeri pulling away from everyone due to something dark infecting her magic, Anthai found herself rather lonely. She found in Victor a confidante with an irrepressible rakishness that amused her, and the two became fast friends. Around the time of the Templars' assault on the Nighthold, the Withered telemancer Oculeth inadvertantly discorporealized Anthai during what should have been a simple teleportation. As a result, she ended up in a bodiless state for months, trapped inside the arcane itself. Shortly after freeing herself, Anthai met up with several other Templars at Greywatch in Stormheim for a round of well-earned drinks and birthday cake. Sumeri, notably, was absent, and Anthai stuck close to Victor as well as the paladin from alt-Draenor, Keleosha. Anthai made a few passes at Keleosha, but she seemed oblivious to her flirtations. Victor made a lascivious remark to Anthai about wishing he was a woman, and decided to play with a small mystic toy which gave him the appearance of a female Sin'dorei for a short time. Anthai was shocked to find that the Blood Elf version of Victor was the spitting image of her long-lost love from Old Dalaran, Karan. Anthai became furious with Victor for taunting her with Karan’s image, despite Victor having had no idea what Karan had looked like. She lost her temper and injured Victor, shocking her into sudden sobriety. She fled Greywatch in shame and did not return. Anthai disappeared shortly thereafter for several weeks. Disgusted and furious with herself for hurting Victor, she wrote him a letter - delivered by Ambassador Khazarath Redbraid of the Ebon Blade - which stated she was leaving the Templars for good and needed to find her true path, something which had eluded her most of her life. Anthai is now hurling herself into the battle to retake the Broken Shore, hoping to find her purpose in the shadow of the Tomb Of Sargeras. PERSONALITY AND ABILITIES Anthai has, appropriately enough, a fiery personality. She tends to feel things very deeply, whether it be out of love or hate. Anthai forms very deep bonds with her friends, but a nearly out of control hatred for her enemies. Her extreme prejudice against Orcs eventually led to her near-death experience in Nagrand. She is an incorrigible punster and loves to drink and flirt, but when "on duty" she is all business, considering herself a weapon for others to fire. She follows orders in battle, but when not on the field she is headstrong and impulsive. She is unskilled in the school of Arcane magic and is slightly passable with Frost, but it's always been her affinity with Fire that has served Anthai well. Its pure destructive force allows her to channel the darker side of her nature while simultaneously tempering it with the discipline her art requires.

#world of warcraft #rp #anthai #character profile

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abundanceofsoph · 5 years ago

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SkyFire 1: Chapter 2

The Late Show with David Letterman: August 2013

Word count: 2.1k

SkyFire 1 MASTERLIST

Rori walked onto the set, shaking hands with the crew members before approaching the two seats set up in the middle of the room under the spotlights. David Letterman stepped forward once she reached the seats, offering his hand to her and a warm smile.

“Nervous?” he asked as they both sat down facing each other. Aurora gave a quick nod and a small smile in response, tucking a lose strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t be,” Letterman added, “we’ll only talk about what you’re comfortable with and if you don’t want to answer any of my questions just say so and we’ll skip to the next one. This isn’t live so we can just take our time.”

Aurora took a shaky breath to calm her nerves, smiling more genuinely in response to his assurances. “Thank you,” she replied. “This is all just really strange to me still. Dad’s made a lot of effort to try to keep me out of the spotlight since people found out who I am last summer.”

“And unfortunately, that’s made people even more curious about you,” the older man said sympathetically.

“That’s why I knew I had to do an interview,” she explained. “If I keep hiding, then people will just prod and poke until they find out what they want to know. At least this way I can be in control of how the story gets told.”

“A very cleaver way of looking at it,” Letterman replied. “Thank you for asking me to be the one to help you do that.”

“Of course. Dad’s always said you were his favourite interviewer so when I had to decide, you seemed like the best option.”

“That’s very kind of you, and him. Are you ready to start?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Rori replied. There was a brief pause while the crew finished their final checks on the camera’s and other equipment before signalling for Letterman to begin his introduction.

“Here at the Late Show we are no stranger to billionaire Tony Stark, who has appeared on the show countless times in our 20 years on the air. In recent years we have come to know him as Iron Man and last year, in the wake of the tragic Battle of New York, he shocked fans when the tabloids broke the story that he had a 17 year old daughter. Since then the Stark family have remained tight lipped about the mysterious young woman, but tonight I am joined by Miss Aurora Stark in her first public interview. Aurora thank you for joining me this evening.”

“Thank you for having me, David,” Aurora replied.

“Now Aurora,” David continued, “There’s not much we know about you so why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself? How is that the world was unaware of you for 17 years?”

“I grew up in south London and the reason the world didn’t know about me is because for most of my life I’ve been no one,” Rori began, chuckling nervously before continuing. “I lived with my mum until I was 15 and I didn’t know that Tony Stark was my dad and he didn’t know I existed until I was 16 and I moved to New York.”

“I’m guessing the fame and fortune of being a Stark has taken some adjusting too…?”

“More than you can possibly imagine. I grew up really poor, so this is still very overwhelming. My mum was 19 when she fell pregnant with me and her parents kicked her out of home when she told them. She was living in her car and desperately trying to convince anyone to give her a job and she got really lucky that she met the right people when she needed them most.” She paused in her story, but after a quick nod of assurance from Letterman she continued the tale. “She walked into a bar in Wimbledon called the Golden Stag, explained her situation and asked if they had any waitressing or kitchen jobs going and the owners Helen and Greg pretty much adopted her straight away. Within a couple of days, not only did they give her a job, but they converted the office space above the bar into a tiny little one bedroom apartment and let her live there rent free. I honestly don’t know whether we would have survived without them over the years. They became the only family that we had, and I grew up thinking of them as my grandparents.”

“They sound like wonderful people,” Letterman added.

“They’re the best,” Rori grinned, finally shaking off her nerves as she talked about her family. “They were always spoiling me. When I was 6, they brought me my first art set for Christmas and always proudly hung my paintings and sketches in the bar and then when I was 7, I came home from school raving about how I’d got to play on the piano in music class. My music teacher had been talking about how the school would be running a private lesson program and I begged my mum to let me take lessons. I was pretty obnoxious about it now that I look back on it, but of course my mum said we couldn’t afford it and she apologized to me over and over again, but the next day not only had Helen paid for my lessons but one of the regulars at the bar that had heard my pleading brought in an old second hand piano that he said was taking up space in his house. I was allowed to play for an hour every day after school before the crowds started to roll in for happy hour and I could play for as long as I wanted in the mornings on the weekend before the lunch rush.”

“They were the first to encourage your art?”

“Absolutely. Between them and my mum I was always encouraged to explore art. I became obsessed with the piano. By the time I was 11 I’d gotten good enough that I was allowed to play during happy hour and every Sunday the regular patrons would make their song requests and I would spend all week learning them and then play them on Thursday and Friday evenings. It was around then that I started singing and I guess I never really stopped after that.”

“So, it sounds like you had a quite a happy childhood despite not having much to your name,” Letterman said, steering the conversation slowly around to the topic Rori knew she needed to address.

“I did,” she agreed sadly. “My mum was my best friend and she made sure that I always felt loved and safe. Even though we had very little, she taught me that it was so important to be grateful for what we did have and value the people in our lives more than material possessions.”

“Do you feel comfortable talking about what happened to her?” David asked gently. “How is it that you finally met your father and moved here to New York?”

“It was Christmas Eve 2010,” Aurora explained. “Every year we would go get waffles after her shift. It was one of my favourite things, and we’d walk home, full to bursting, looking at all the Christmas lights and singing carols the whole way back to the pub, but that year when we were almost home…” Her voice faded out, her eyes starting to gloss over with tears as her memories pulled her back to that night. “There was a drunk driver,” she continued, before David could ask if she needed a break. “He drove straight through the red light while we were crossing the street. It happened so fast. One minute we were laughing and then the next thing I knew I was flying up over the hood of the car and there was breaking glass and my mother screamed out my name. By the time I woke up in the hospital the next day she was already gone, and Child Protective Services was there.”

“And you were placed into foster care after you left the hospital?” David asked.

“I was,” Rori answered. “Helen and Greg wanted to take me in, but CPS said they couldn’t because a bar was no place for a teenager. We were all so angry over that. I’d spent my entire life living in that bar and now more than ever I needed to stay with the only people I had left but it wasn’t my decision, so I spent the next few months getting bounced from one foster family to the next. Some were good, some… weren’t so good. They did make sure I stayed in the Wimbledon area, so I got to stay at the same school, which I’m grateful for. I’m not sure I would have made it without my friends. My mum and my best friend Ella’s mum had been good friends, so she stepped in a lot and made sure I was doing ok. Depending on which family I was living with I was sometimes allowed to go to the pub after school to see Helen and Greg and play my piano. I know it could have been so much worse if I didn’t have people looking out for me, but it was still such an awful time of my life. I was grieving my mum and trying to figure out what I was going to do with myself now that I was alone. I turned 16 a little over a week after the accident and within about a month of living in foster care, I filed for emancipation and I had planned on moving back into the apartment above the pub, but the judge denied my application given that my father was listed on my birth certificate but had not officially relinquished his parental rights. So, I decided to find him and make him sign the papers so that I could move back home and get just a little part of my life back.”

“You knew then that Tony Stark was your father?”

“I knew that a man named Anthony Stark was my father,” Aurora corrected, “but I never thought that it was that Anthony Stark. My mother had never liked to talk about him so all I had to go on was that she’d been waitressing at a fancy party in the city and that she’d ended up going back to a hotel with one of the guests. Combining that with the name, I started researching. I eliminated those that would have been too young or too old or couldn’t have been in London in 1994 and then I just started emailing them or calling or visiting them. Eventually I started running out of possible Anthony Starks and I thought I might as well cross the famous one off the list. I emailed his assistant and explained who I was and why I was contacting her. I even attached a copy of the forms for him to relinquish his rights because I didn’t want him to think I was trying to get his money or something. Weeks went by and I never heard anything so I figured I never would and by then it was May and I had exams at school, so I got distracted and I just focused on that. A few weeks into my summer break I got a reply. His assistant, Ms Potts, confirmed that Tony had been in London around that time and had attended multiple parties that could have fit the description and she asked me if I would be willing to take a DNA test to confirm my story.”

“And the test came back confirming you are his daughter,” David concluded after Rori paused in her story.

She nodded in reply, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth as she remembered. “He was shocked by the news, as I’m sure anyone would be to learn that they had a 16 year old kid. He got straight on a plane and flew to London to meet me. I think my foster dad nearly had a stroke when he answered the door. We had dinner together and he asked me all about my life and I told him about my mum and living at the pub and the accident. It was awkward at first but within a few hours we’d just hit it off and then when I asked him about signing the forms he refused. He invited me to come live with him in New York instead, at least until I was 18 and then if I didn’t want to stay, he said I could move wherever I wanted. I agreed and we flew out a week later after the courts signed off on it.”

“And this was two years ago?” Letterman questioned.

“Yeah,” Rori confirmed, “in the summer before my Junior year of high school.”

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

#skyfire #skyfire fic #aurora stark #dad!tony #iron dad #step dad steve rogers #stony #stony fic #boyfriend harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #superfamily #harry styles #tony stark

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