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separatist-apologist · 2 years

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The Wildest Winter

In the cracks of light, I looked for you

Summary: Viviane had not been Under the Mountain. As her childhood friend, Kallias had been protective of her to a fault over the years- had placed the sharp-minded female on border duty to avoid the scheming of his court. He didn't let her near Amarantha, either. Didn't let anyone get a whiff of what he felt for his white-haired friend, who had no clue- not one- that he had loved her his entire life.

[50 years before Feyre]

Kallias stood before the army that had defended Winter for centuries. Amarantha, too, surveyed them with gleaming interest.

“Yours isn’t half as large as Autumns,” she crooned, her eyes sliding up his clothed chest. Beside her, Rhysand from Night grinned, as if every filthy remark she made was the height of comedy.

Kallias could have forgiven Rhysand if he’d done what Beron Vanserra was attempting to do—seem mildly pleased with Amarantha’s cruelty, without outright joining her. But Rhysand had sold them all out and for what? Kallias heard half his court had been wiped out the morning after Amarantha’s coup. Perhaps he truly did thrive in darkness, and it didn’t matter who wielded it, so long as he got to have his fun.

Kallias also didn’t bother to mention that this was merely three fourths of his army. The rest were with Viviane at the border. Not enough to challenge Hybern and still better than nothing at all. He knew what Amarantha meant to do the moment she raised her hands. Rhysand stepped forward, her little puppet given Amarantha couldn’t actually utilize their magic. She was merely a rather ugly box, holding it until someone managed to steal it all back.

Kallias didn’t dare close his eyes. Standing beneath a bright morning sun in snow that came to his knees, he watched that entire army collapse to the ground row by row like falling dominoes. It was all a miserable waste of life. Kallias meant to send a letter to every family, to offer them a warrior's burial even if Amarantha mangled their corpses, too. As if that offered their families any peace.

“Anything else?” Amarantha asked, eyes sliding to Rhysand. Kallias refused to speak, furious when that claw slid itself over his own mind. It was a warning of what Rhys could do to him should he choose, a violation of everything Kallias was.

“Just his hatred.”

Amarantha mockingly pouted. “You hate me? Perhaps some time at court will fix that.”

Her cursed court in their sacred mountain. Kallias waited for Amarantha to turn her back before he spat at Rhysand’s boots. Rhys merely smiled, rolling his eyes. As if it was all some hilarious joke. He was too busy obeying Amarantha’s every whim to truly look into Kallias’s mind, which was a blessing.

Kallias knew what he’d find. Viviane and Wegen and everything he loved and held dear, laid out for a mad woman to wreck and ruin. He had no doubt she wouldn’t torture Viviane just to see Kallias submit.

He pushed all thoughts of Viviane from his mind until Amarantha and Rhys departed. Off to harass another court–Spring, if he had to guess. He still had his spies, just like everyone else. Only Tamlin refused to submit. Kallias wondered if he’d choose the same fate had Amarantha wanted him to be her consort.

Kira came out of the palace, dressed like a courtier and not a warrior. She’d wanted to join and Kallias had told her no. He needed someone. Nikolai was gone—all that was left was Kira. It was odd to see her dressed in a pine green, fur lined gown and yet it was better than staring down at her dead body.

“Want help?” she whispered.

Kallias swallowed. He wanted to fall to the ground and scream at the gods. There were so many bodies that the only true way to dispose of them all was to burn them. It was still a warrior's death and yet Kallias thought the snow would never fall white again. The stain of Amarantha’s cruelty, the ash of the dead, would linger for centuries after her inevitable death.

It wasn’t just him and Kira. Anyone who could, came to help stack pyres and bodies. To lay coins and offer prayers and light torches. It was utter misery, writing the names in the journal Viviane had sent for his birthday. He’d meant to use it to write her love letters, not remember the seemingly endless dead.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. There had been no response from Viviane, though his fox had returned. She’d read his letter, had taken the ring, and done exactly what he wanted. To send a response risked everyone now in her care—and yet, Kallias was so deeply, unearthly afraid of what she made of it.

He needed to get Viviane out of his mind or he’d never survive. Regardless of her personal feelings, Viviane would never abandon Winter—or him, for that matter. Swallowing a deluge of tears, Kallias scanned the horizon. Not out of love—he willed himself to be made of ice. To pretend he felt nothing at all.

He knew he wasn’t the only High Lord with a culled army. With a populace now suffering for Hybern’s continued success. Everything Winter was capable of producing had now been doubled, only to route all of it to Hybern. If he wanted to ensure his people didn’t starve, Kallias had to demand a triple output.

While acrid smoke curled towards an icy sky, Kallias turned his back to all of it. He was a leashed High Lord, worse than the male before him. He’d get everyone killed through simple inaction. It was a choice to do nothing and Kallias couldn't abide by it. Wouldn’t. He’d rather die than see his home reduced to an enslaved territory.

“What are you thinking?” Kira whispered, eyes scanning his face. Telling her was a death sentence.

The whole damn thing was a death sentence. She’d been spared because she was a member of his court before she was his captain. She could have fled—he’d given tacit permission the very night he’d lost his powers. Some of his court already had, packed up for the continent before the dust had even settled.

If they ever managed to get free, Kallias would be executing traitors.

“I’m thinking she can’t rule us all unless we’re complacent,” he all but whispered, yanking Kira into his bed-chamber—away from prying ears.

“They won’t all fight back,” Kira whispered, her voice so, so soft. And Kallias knew that. Beron would wait it out to see if they had a shot before he ever entertained the thought. Rhysand was an obvious no—he’d been so quick to align himself with Amarantha that Kallias couldn’t fathom his motivations. Thesan, too, was unlikely to join unless he knew they had a clear path to victory and Tamlin was too busy trying to break the curse (at least, he hoped) to consider war.

That left Summer and Day. Atticus and Phoebus. He didn’t know them at all.

Nothing forbade Kallias from reaching out. From writing twin letters asking the High Lords if they’d like to have a meal and discussing how they might redesign long established trade and taxes in an effort to keep their collective people from starving.

“Kallias,” Kira all but pleaded, reading over his shoulder. “Kallias, she will kill you.”

“She’s going to anyway. Once she’s gotten whatever she’s after, she’ll kill us all,” he replied, well aware his words were only angering Kira further. He knew it, though. Knew in his bones that none of them would be allowed to live. Even Rhysand, for all his calculated treachery, would die in the end. He wouldn’t go groveling—wouldn’t leave the world a coward on his knees.

“Viviane will kill you, Kal,” Kira hissed, grabbing him by the arm when he tried to walk past her. It was enough to stop him, to force him to think about her again. What was she doing?

Did she miss him?

“Viviane would understand,” Kallias decided, turning to look at Kira. He felt resigned to this fate, to always wondering without ever knowing. “She would never love me if I rolled over like a traitor.”

“She would want you to survive.”

Kallias held out a hand, unable to draw up even the barest frost. Everything he had, he’d given to Viv. Surely she understood the implications. He was wholly leashed–he had nothing to defend himself with. The once endless river that flowed through him wasn’t even a drip. It was a poisoned sludge he couldn’t touch, lest he betray Viviane and the rest of his home.

“If I’m successful, we will survive,” he said, careful with his framing. “She’ll survive, and so will I.”She had his heart, after all. Kallias didn’t want it back—she could keep it even when he died. Kira only shook her head, as pale as Kallias so often was.

“You’re stupid,” she whispered.

“The alternative is doing nothing. I would rather…” Kallias took a gulping breath, swallowing his anger. It wasn’t right, directing it at Kira. She should have been with Viviane and they both knew it. It should have been Nikolai with him. Nikolai would have understood what was necessary, that duty always came first. Kallias was half glad Viviane had him—Nikolai would temper some of her impulsivity.

“The alternative is Rhysand,” he finally told her. “Doing nothing is still a choice—it helps her. I can’t…how could I ever look Viviane in the eye and ask her to love me when I sat aside and let a foreign despot destroy our home?”

Kira wrapped her arms around the blue coat she wore. “This is why you’re High Lord, Kal. I don’t think you’ll succeed, but I’m with you until the end.”

He took a breath. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Kallias needed hope.

He had nothing else.

VIVIANE:

[40 years before Feyre]

Refugees had been trickling into Wegen over the last decade from more than just Winter. Whatever was happening in Autumn sent people scrambling for the mountains, hoping for safety in Winter. A border Viviane had once been tasked with defending was now wide open. She and Nikolai had decided if someone survived, they deserved to be let in.

No one was allowed to leave. No letters could be sent out, warded impossibly tight by the remainder of Kallias’s magic. It was the only way she could justify letting people in at all—once they knew, even if they hadn’t realized or meant to come, they were not allowed to leave. Viviane and Nikolai locked the city down at sunset, patrolling heavily at every exit. She had bears and wolves trained in the woods and though no one had ever tried to escape, Viviane could imagine a scenario some fifty years in the future where someone got desperate.

You could argue with soldiers, at least. Plead for mercy.

The bears would merely shred someone to pieces.

Most days, Viviane could pretend nothing had changed. Kallias was High Lord, which meant he was too busy to visit. She had that ring hidden in one of her drawers, his letter stuffed between the pages of a book. Viviane could go a full week without digging either of them out for her inspection. It had taken her a decade to manage.

And though she had his last letter committed to memory, Viviane was still no closer to a decision regarding her own feelings. Of course she loved him. Kallias had been her best friend for the duration of her life. He always would be. He’d never given her even an inkling that he loved her, and she’d never once considered it.

Considered him. Kallias was off-limits, and why want something you knew wasn’t for you? She could be practical. Rational, even.

And if Viviane was honest, she was so, so angry with him. He’d made yet another decision without consulting her. He’d been in love with her since he was ten years old and never, in the centuries they’d been alive, had he ever thought to involve her in that. To tell her. He’d instead sent her far, far away from him and part of Viviane wondered if he hadn’t done that to keep anyone else from taking her from him.

If he hadn’t done it to keep her from distracting him.

Fingers snapped in front of her face. Viviane looked up from the dining table and her rapidly cooling porridge. Nikolai was the only thing keeping her from saying fuck it, and going back to the palace to demand he answer for himself.

“Are you going to eat today?” he asked. She needed to. She couldn’t fall apart, not when so many people were counting on her. It was another spartan meal. Everything in Wegen was self-contained. They could no longer count on the support of the rest of the realm, and Viviane wasn’t going to be the reason someone went hungry. She took a bite, and then another, silently scarfing down the food in response to Nikolai’s watchful gaze.

“Sentries think there are refugees from the capitol coming.”

Viviane knew what that meant. Kallias had personally sent her someone. She nodded, mentally calculating all the things she needed to do. They’d been drafting anyone willing to serve into the only standing military left in Winter. It had once been open only to High Fae—Viviane had very quickly abolished that, which saw a surge in membership, and had created what she thought was a rather vibrant, almost terrifying army in all of Prythian, assuming the rumors about the winged monsters Rhysand supposedly commanded wasn’t true.

“Let's go check,” she agreed with a heavy sigh.

They were quick to button themselves into warm coats and fur-lined boots before heading out into the cold. Viviane jammed her hands into her pockets, her thoughts were more restless than usual. Dawn had broken a brilliant pink over the city, throwing blinding light over freshly fallen snow. In some ways, everything seemed normal—she could hear the sounds of the bustling market and children screaming. A calendar of the week's events was tacked to a light pole. Now that travel was banned and no one could leave, a group of upbeat citizens worked each week to create activities that brought everyone together. Viviane noted cooking classes, quilting circles, and combat lessons in regular intervals.

She’d gone on ice skating excursions on more than one occasion if only to continue the charade that everything was normal. Kallias was just busy.

Kallias was coming back.

She and Nikolai made their way to the now gated entrance of the city. A group of ten lesser fae sentries waited, shifting nervously as they always did. Winter, like all of Prythian, was divided among the High and Lesser—Viviane couldn’t undo millennia of injustice over the course of a decade.

“Riyan,” she said with a smile instead, looking up at the ice-coated male. He was the perfect supervisor of the guard, given he stood nearly nine feet tall and his face had never once broken anything but a frown.

Today, he offered her a grim smile. Viviane’s heart stuttered in her chest as fear coated her tongue. Nikolai, scenting it on the icy wind, took half a step forward to peer around the males.

“Oh,” he whispered, pushing open the opalescent gate quickly. Viviane half hoped it would be the High Lord waiting on the other end, come to tell her the ordeal was over.

It was her mother. Only her mother, bundled in warm furs. Her hands laid protectively over a sling on her chest, and as Viviane came closer, she realized it was a child sleeping, tucked away from the cold.

“Where is dad?” she asked, her stomach splattering at her feet.

Her mother blinked her jewel-bright eyes. “There was—” she stopped herself, her voice cracking. No one moved as they waited, the first news they’d head of the rest of Prythian in over a decade.

“Rebellion,” her mother finally whispered. “Your father is dead.”

Nikolai joined Viviane on the edge of their border, dark eyes searching her mother’s face as if there was some clue he might uncover.. “What do you mean there was rebellion?”

She swallowed hard, rubbing the white, fur-lined fabric that held the child. Viviane’s only sibling.

“The High Lord allied with Day and Summer,” she all but whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. Viviane rubbed a hand rough against her face, drinking in her mother's elegant silver hair pulled off her lovely face. She hadn’t seen her in so long, had forgotten just how much she missed her family. “They tried to bring an end to her rule.”

“What happened?” Nikolai demanded. Viviane came forward, reaching into the sling to pull out the baby. A little pink and silver bow was pinned against pretty, snow-white hair. The child flung out chubby little arms, her mouth pulling in a tiny frown but ultimately she settled against Viviane’s body. As if she knew she was safe.

“The High Lords are dead,” her mother said. Viviane was grateful she held the baby—she might have winnowed to the capitol on the spot. “Day and Summer lost their High Lords.”

“And us? Did we lose ours?” Nikolai pressed, his olive skin ashen with fear. She shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Viviane turned plaintive eyes to Nikolai.

Please, she silently begged, holding her sister so tightly she threatened to wake her. Her legs shook with fear, the wound in her chest opening until she was certain she must be bleeding all over the dark cobblestone.

“I left because the High Lord told me to go. And I heard—” her mother's voice broke a second time, eyes shifting to the child Viviane held. “I heard she punished us by killing the children at court.”

Nikolai shook his head back and forth. Behind him, every sentry turned their faces away, struck by the sheer cruelty of such an act.

“She wouldn’t dare,” Nikolai breathed.

“Please,” Viviane whispered.

“I’ll go,” Nikolai agreed. “Because my High Lady is ordering me to, and I obey.”

She ignored the way her mother’s eyes widened, or how the wind carried his silent words to the city behind them. It was well-known, to Wegen, at any rate, that Viviane was the seat of power.

Nikolai stepped away from her, inclining his head respectfully. She watched him start down the road, certain that he would wait until he was far from the city to winnow. She knew Nikolai would die to protect their secrets.

She knew he’d come back.

“Come on, mama,” Viviane whispered, her chest aching. Father was dead.

Kallias was too.

“Let's get out of the cold.”

KALLIAS:

[40 years before Feyre]

He was being summoned beneath the mountain. He, Helion and Tarquin would not be allowed to return to their homes. Kallias had sent away anyone he could reasonably spare that was willing to go. Many of his courtiers had opted to remain in a show of silent support he didn’t deserve.

Twenty dead younglings. Every child in his court had been slaughtered in the cruelest way imaginable. Rhysand’s power, though the High Lord had been too cowardly to show his face, had ripped through the children in the night. Waking them from the pain, forcing frantic parents out of bed while their children endured a slow, painful death.

Kallias had been spared. He couldn’t fathom why.

No one had presented him with the option. Amarantha had merely delighted that he remained alive and Kallias privately wondered if she held the older High Lords of Day and Summer more accountable than him.

Or, perhaps she had grown bored with the killing, with the not knowing which new High Lord’s would arise after slaughtering the families of Summer and Day. Helion had been merely a scholar, and Tarquin the prince of Adriata, so far removed from the High Lord’s family by marriage and birth that, had they not all been murdered, he never would have been more than a prince.

He had no family to kill. No parents left alive, no wife, no children. Only his court, now left in crumbling ruins. He’d been given a week to bury his dead, but his palace was in shambles, wrecked and crumbling. Five sets of parents had chosen to follow after their children, and Kallias couldn’t bring himself to look at the rest of them.

So he sat on that throne of ice, alone in his throne room. Immovable, drowning in his guilt. Trapped under the sacred mountain was a fitting punishment for the High Lord who had sent twenty children to their death. He couldn’t contain his grief, couldn’t squash his misery.

Footsteps echoed on marble. Somewhere in that dim room, Kira stood as she always did. She’d send the interloper away.

“Nik,” her voice breathed. Kallias looked up, stunned to see his friend striding through the cracked columns of the once magnificent throne room. Kira, his mirror image ever since the atrocity, seemed to crumble at the sight of him. Nikolai looked well. His cheeks were pink from the cold, but his brown eyes were bright, his hair neat, his spine straight. He looked as if he’d been eating well—like he slept at night.

He adjusted his blue jacket, catching Kira against his chest mere seconds before she might have slid to the ground at his feet. He held her, pressing his face into her dark hair. Kallias felt new fear sweep over him, forcing him to his feet.

“Viviane is–”

“Alive,” Nikolai assured him, not releasing Kira. “And I can’t stay long. I swore I’d come and see if you survived.”

Alive. Kallias descended those steps numbly. She’d sent Nikolai to check on him? Kallias blinked away the urge to fall to his knees, to give in to the sobs he’d been suppressing. He had no right to cry. No right to do anything but accept his punishment silently. Gratefully.

No right to Viviane’s concern. No right to her at all. “How is she?” he whispered, needing to know despite everything.

Nikolai pressed his lips together. “You should have told her before you did. She’s trying to pretend she doesn’t miss you.”

His heart jumped in his chest. “Is it working?”

A smile tugged at Nikolai’s lips. He released Kira with the softest kiss to her scalp, the only admission he felt anything for Kallias’s Captain. Kira didn’t react at all, though her brown eyes were glassy. Nikolai crossed the marble, clapping Kallias on the shoulder.

“It’s not.” His smile faded and Kallias knew what was coming. Felt utter dread knowing Nikolai would take back his answer to Viviane. Would she still miss him then? “The children–”

“Gone,” Kallias said, turning back for his throne. “Their minds were shattered, they—” They suffered.

Oppressive silence rang around them. “A…another High Lord slaughtered children?” Nikolai asked, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yes,” Kira answered, the word dripping with condemnation. “He’s a traitor. He could have allied with us, could have spared us and instead he stands beside her and delights in the cruelty he inflicts in her name. Not even Hellas herself would have him and I hope he rots.”

“How…” Nikolai shook his head, pressing his hand to his mouth. “Even Beron Vanserra wouldn’t…”

“We’re being sent to her court,” Kira told Nikolai, reaching for his arm. “You and Viviane will be all that’s left of us.”

“There’s no more fight,” Kallias added, squashing the hatred he felt. Not at Amarantha—he couldn’t sustain his anger for her any longer. He’d merely turned inwards, had directed it fully to himself. Trying again was unthinkable. What else could he risk losing?

“For you, maybe,” Nikolai disagreed. “Not for us.”

Kallias didn’t respond, didn’t dare ask what he and Viviane were up to. “The only thing that matters to me is her life,” he told his friend, holding Nikolai’s gaze. Nikolai understood what Kallias couldn’t say well enough—she was to be protected at all costs.

“Don’t.”

Nikolai’s jaw set in a hard line. “You made her High Lord in your stead. I obey her.”

Kallias shivered without meaning to. The thought of a whole city bowing to Viviane’s rule made his body tight and hot all at once. For a moment, Kallias indulged himself in a daydream—one where Viviane amassed an army strong enough to challenge Amarantha. Where she liberated him. Came for him.

Wanted him.

And Kallias swallowed it, because he knew how it ended. It wasn’t just Amarantha, but Rhysand and whatever armies he was hiding, too. Rhysand, who had more power left at his disposal than any of them. Amarantha, who could draw on the full might of Hybern to crush them.

He’d watch her torture Viviane.

Kill her.

“Don’t,” he whispered, unable to force anyone to do his bidding anymore. He had no authority other than the useless crown atop his head. Nikolai shook his head back and forth.

“You would do it for us.”“Look what it cost me,” Kallias replied, his anguish coloring his words. “What are you willing to lose?”

The unspoken hung between the three of them.

“I can’t—I won’t—risk her.”

Nikolai inclined his head. He took a step back, his regret plain. “I will see you again.”

Even Kira winced at his words. To have their hope, their belief they could do something to save their home. Each other. Kira and Kallias no longer believed there was anything left to do. Any hope left to them was centered on Tamlin and the loophole Amarantha had offered. Kallias would do nothing else to draw Amarantha’s attention to Winter or what he’d hidden high in the mountains.

Nikolai turned, leaving Kallias and Kira alone in that emptied throne room,

Surrounded by nothing but their grief.

VIVIANE:

[an endless eternity]

Viviane stepped from the palace just as she always did. Dressed in well-fitted, fur trimmed white pants and a blue coat dress, she’d come to appreciate an unfussy wardrobe. It was practically a uniform, both practical and a sign of the unchanging times. Dyes were hard to create and blue was one of the few still available with what they could get from the landscape around them.

The color was lovely, warm and somehow icy all at the same time. They were still in the brutal season still, though spring wasn’t far off. Viviane was looking forward to seeing the ice melt and children back in the street.

Beside her, Nikolai crunched into the snow. Hands crossed over the white military jacket on his chest, she knew he intended to go to the barracks first thing. He’d run drills until the sun set, leaving him exhausted and wrung out enough to sleep.

She knew that feeling all too well. Most nights they ended up in the same bed, backs facing the other, pretending they weren’t wallowing in their combined misery. That after nearly half a century, they were used to this. Used to life as it was. No High Lord—Kallias had been banished beneath the mountain decades ago. No one had heard from him and rumors swirled that he was dead.

Viviane couldn’t prove they weren’t true. A new High Lord might not even realize Kallias had bound the remaining magic to her. A new High Lord might have decided not to say anything and take his chances. She’d never know.

Viviane had nothing but her regrets and that fucking ring she half hated, half worshipped. She’d never been able to put it on.

He could do it himself. Could tell her properly.

In her imagination, she pictured telling him she loved him, too. She imagined what it would be like to press her mouth against his own, to feel him hold her as he whispered everything in that letter against her cheek.

And sometimes she imagined hitting him across the face so hard it left a mark. She imagined what it would be like to see him sink to his knees while she told him she hated him and would never forgive him for what he’d done. For sacrificing himself.

For leaving her.

Fifty years, and Viviane had no more clarity than she had when she’d gotten that letter. She’d always loved him.

She didn’t know if she was in love with him. Viviane could barely take care of the remainder of Winter's people, let alone herself and her own feelings. At night she tortured herself with it, tossing and turning until she went looking for Nikolai—assuming he hadn’t found her first.

Viviane was their General. Their Lady.

Hilarious.

“The air smells different today,” Nikolai noted. Viviane inhaled sharply, letting the icy air flood her lungs. Ice and pine invaded her senses–just like always.

“If you say so,” she replied with a shrug. Still, her stomach tumbled at the thought that maybe the world had shifted. Good or bad, at least it was something. She didn’t dare hope, not after so much time, but she did let herself imagine his face when she’d last seen him.

Happy.

Alive.

Brutally handsome in a way that made her ache.

Gods, she wanted to see him smile at her. Wanted to see his pale blue eyes crinkle at the corners in amusement. She wanted him sprawled over a chair, his lips tugged upwards as he tried—and failed—to pretend he wasn’t interested in every word coming out of her mouth.

While Nikolai went to run himself ragged, Viviane threw herself into the mindless activities that came with running a city. Mostly, Viviane worked on settling petty disputes and maintaining their existing infrastructure. She collected no taxes in an attempt to alleviate everyone's burden given they were all struggling together. It didn’t stop people from the endless bickering over property and goods and sometimes just each other.

And sometimes when things erupted unforgivably, the very structures Viviane was trying to preserve were damaged. She wouldn’t pretend that there was no tension. People were restless and exhausted and angry. They vented their rage on everyone around them—the lesser fae, people who disagreed with them, and most often, her.

A decade earlier, a group had decided to leave and Viviane had slaughtered them all without mercy or regret. It wouldn’t be all for nothing. She vowed that if nothing else. Alive or dead, Kallias’s sacrifice would not be wasted on the restless and the weak.

She wondered if people would forgive her when it was all over. A good third of the city still resented her for that choice. She’d warned them, and everyone else, what would happen if they tried to cross the border. Maybe it would have been better to leave the slaughter to the sentries.

It was an impossible situation.

Not just the decisions she had to make, but all of it. Every choice felt weighty, like something terrible would happen no matter what she chose. Fixing a roof or barring people from leaving provoked the same panicked reaction. If she lived a thousand years, Viviane didn’t think it would ever truly leave her.

She met Nikolai in the city square. They dined there every night now, just like everyone else. He had two bowls in his hand and when he saw her, he offered up the stew. His face was battered and bloodied and she wondered if he let the recruits vent their rage on him because he couldn’t do it himself.

“Anything interesting happen?” he asked with a wet cough. Viviane could smell the blood in the air.

She buried her face in the stew, inhaling the meat.

“The mountain pass is snowed in again,” she told him, sighing heavily. “And there’s a crack in the schoolhouse.”

“Could be worse,” Nikolai told her, just like he always did. Viviane titled her head upwards towards the dark sky overhead. Twinkling stars peered back against, bright in the violet night. Her breath clung just ahead of her face, creating delicate clouds all around her. She’d once found such a thing fascinating.

Now she found it tiring. Viviane plowed forward until they reached the arching doors of the mountainside palace. Her chest ached more than usual that night, and when her feet clipped on the floor, she turned to face Nikolai so quickly her stew sloshed over her dress.

“I miss him.”

Nikolai nodded his head with glazed over eyes, his jaw tight with emotion.

“I’m afraid he’s dead.”

Viviane hadn’t dared to ever actually say it. “I’m afraid he’s dead and I didn’t…”

Gods, but she couldn’t even admit it to herself. It was too painful to acknowledge the truth. Furious, angry, burning with hatred—and she still loved him, too. Loved him so much. And if he was dead, it didn’t matter. She felt doomed to miss him until she faded into ice.

“I know,” was all he said. She knew he did. He’d lost people to that cursed mountain. Had people he was afraid were dead. That he loved. In the scheme of things, Viviane had so much. Her sister was an adult, her mother was alive, and she was bound to Winter as its Lady and Steward as long as there was a High Lord to sit on the throne.

“Come eat.”

One day, Nikolai would stop speaking entirely. Viviane wasn’t sure what would happen to her then. They ate in almost near silence and when it came time to part ways, she looped her arm through his.

“Why pretend tonight?”

“Your room,” Nikolai agreed, his voice gentle. “Your room is nicer.”

He vanished just long enough to change, giving Viviane a moment to pull out that letter and reread it.

I love you. Did I tell you that? Well, just in case.

I love you.

She could hear the words with that rich, deep voice. How his lips would be tugged into a playful smile but his eyes would be tight with worry. Kallias never did like not knowing how things might turn out.

Pulling out that amethyst ring, Viviane slid it on her finger despite swearing she never would. Nikolai stepped in, dressed in his night clothes, and offered an appreciative chuckle. “Feeling optimistic?”

“Maybe it's good luck,” she replied, immediately embarrassed she’d been caught.

“It looks good on you,” Nikolai offered, taking her hand to admire and silver on her hand. “You should keep it.”

She twisted the band, intending to take it off. “I think—”

Her knees slammed to the floor before she could finish her sentence. Palm stinging against the hard floor, Viviane took a gasping breath. Something in her chest ripped, unwinding decades of magic. Viviane was going to be sick. Distantly, she could hear Nikolai calling her name, his hands gripping her shoulders.

How foolish, to think Kallias had ever died without her noticing. She pushed Nikolai off her, stumbling for the window. The shimmering wards that had long shielded the city were gone.

“Vivi–”

“He’s dead,” she whispered. “Kallias is dead.”

KALLIAS:

[an eternity and a day]

I’ve come to claim the one I love.

Three months. That was how long the filthy, underfed human named Feyre had managed to last. Kallias was still as breathless at the sight of her as he had been the first day she’d said those words.

I’ve come to claim the one I love.

He’d stopped dreaming about the sky. Of fresh fallen snow blanketing bright green pine. Of the smell of the cold, the sound of cracking ice.

Of blue eyes set beneath a cascade of silver hair. Kallias had stopped thinking about Viviane long before Feyre ever arrived, though she had a starring role in all his dreams. He indulged because he had no other reprieve from the endless horror of forty years beneath a mountain.

All Feyre had to do was kill three of them. The crowd shifted anxiously, awash with a mixture of anticipation and hope. She was too pale, blue eyes wide with horror. No one held it against her. No one from his court, a small mercy given how few were even left to pick through. He saw another Summer court denizen, stolen with eyes squeezed shut tight. Across the room, Tarquin’s lips moved silently in prayer.

The next was from Day. Helion set his jaw grimly, looking at the female with unguarded pride. Her life for everyone. For her home, her High Lord. She murmured encouragement to the trembling human. If anyone breathed, Kallias couldn’t tell. His own heart was still in his chest, his hand numb from how tight Kira squeezed it.

Feyre hesitated.

Please, he prayed. His first since Amarantha had stolen everything from him. Please do this.

A second ash dagger stole a second life. All was left was one, was—

Kira dropped Kallias’s hand at the reveal. Of Tamlin, still in the horrible golden mask, staring back with such open defiance. Kallia turned his head, blood rushing in his ears. He’d been too hopeful. Had forgotten the little tricks of their kind. With knee wobbling fear, he forced himself to suffer through Amarantha’s taunting, of the shaking hands of the human who loved one of them. Love them enough to risk the almost certain death Kallias was certain Amarantha would foist upon her.

Feyre might survive this, but she’d never survive the humiliation of besting Amarantha. He didn’t care if it meant he could leave. It wasn’t the love of his life up there, after all. She was safe. Protected and secure.

Happy, he hoped.

Feyre raised the dagger, blinking away rushing tears. Kallias knew what Tamlin did—what every High Lord in the room knew. Their hearts were stone, held by Amarantha and her unusual magic. Tamlin would survive, but the attempt would satisfy the deal.

Please let her succeed, he prayed, unable to take his eyes off her.

The ash tip pierced Tamlin’s chest. Blood sprayed against Feyre’s too place face, throwing the scent of metal in the air. Across the room, the Vanserra siblings all shifted anxiously, eyes darting toward the door. She’d done it. Spring was free. Kallias didn’t know what he expected at that moment. Tamlin, perhaps, to shed the immortal skin for the famed claws and fur. Kallias wanted to see blood dripping from the High Lord's fangs. Wanted to see Amarantha ripped to pieces and eaten, so there was nothing left of her.

Not even her awful, ugly hair.

“Oh, Mother save us,” Kira whispered when Amarantha barked out one of her awful laughs. He turned to Helion, to Tarquin when the human began screaming. What did it matter, his eyes silently pleaded. She’d free them on her deathbed ten thousand years from then.

What did it matter?

“Kal–”

Rhysand rushed forward, a knife in hand. Kallias couldn’t make sense of any of it. Bracketed between Helion and Tarquin, open mouthed like the other two, he merely stared in open mouthed horror.

Rhysand bleeding against the wall.

Tamlin pleading on the floor.

“Love,” Feyre choked out wetly. The room went utterly still again. Horror and revulsion sharpened into unmistakable blood lust. “The answer is love.”

Her spine snapped loudly, but the words had been said. Beron Vanserra barred his teeth in a cruel, hungry grin. Thesan angled his body closer to that dais, eyes narrowed with unmistakable want. Kallias, too, wanted to paint himself in Amarantha’s blood. Anticipation flooded the room as Tamlin stood. His mask clattered to the floor along with the rest of his court, though it didn’t seemed to have registered for the High Lord.

Sharpened fangs erupted from Tamlin's gums, his fingers elongating into razor-sharp talons. The evisceration that followed was art, was every fantasy Kallias had harbored come to life. He delighted in Amaranthas terror, that her final moments were consumed knowing she lost to a human. That everyone she’d harmed clamored for more, would have stood there for a month to watch it drawn out.

Though, it was smart to finish her quickly. Her last breath wooshed into the room, slamming into Kallias so hard that he, along with Helion, both nearly tumbled to the floor. Helion and Tarquin had never felt the full breadth of magic but for Kallias, it was like waking up again. He felt the soft snapping of that little pulse he’d sent to Viviane, cracking like fragile ice beneath the weight of his might. She’d feel it too.

He’d need to go to her before she panicked.

Bring her back, a voice whispered in his mind. For her sacrifice, give her immortality.

Whether it was his own thought or not, Kallias was too numb, too shocked and keyed up to do anything but step forward. Tarquin and Helion came with him, joining the remaining four. Kallias added his own wisp of magic to the bleeding, broken body cradled against Tamlin’s chest.

He would have given far more than one immortal existence if it meant he could see Viviane again. It was all he could think about, even as he stood witness to the most remarkable thing he’d likely ever see in his life. Color flooded Feyre’s once hollow cheeks as life wormed its way back into her ravaged body. The bloodied wounds knitted themselves, her bones cracking and snapping back to where they belonged.

She took a breath, and then another. It was enough to send Kallias scattering. He wasn’t the only one. The Vanserras were practically running from beneath the mountain, while both Helion and

Tarquin were gesturing for their new court, scrambling with their new power. Kallias needed to do the same.

But they wouldn’t remain. He was following just behind the Vanserra’s just as soon as he got the words from his mouth.

“We meet in Wegen,” he said, looking over the brutalized remains of his court. Amarantha had destroyed the capitol, and after forty years lying in ruins, Kallias wasn’t inclined to rebuild. Viviane was there.

And Viviane was home.

“Collect whatever it is you need from this place. Leave everything else.”

A sea of faces stared back with disbelief, a feeling well echoed in Kallias’s chest. Decades of despair had taken their toll. The thought of going outside filled him with anxiety.

“I’ll meet you there,” he told them. Kallias didn’t want anything. Not his clothes, his crowns, his jewels. Just her. Gods, Kallias wanted to see her so badly that he, too, almost ran out of the room. He wasn’t the only one. Kira, as she had been since everything went to shit, grabbed his elbow. She squeezed when they climbed the steps to the tunnel leading out—leading to Autumn.

There wasn’t one directly into Winter, an impractical undertaking given all doors tended to freeze.

“Can you winnow?” Kira whispered, glancing over her shoulder. Kallias was tempted to look back, too. He kept waiting for Amarantha to pop back up, to drag them all back by their throats. His whole body trembled when he stepped into Spring, his lungs filling with the first free breath he’d taken in five decades.

“Yes,” he replied, swallowing the knot in his throat.

“What are you going to do first?” she asked, lacing her fingers with his own.

It was pure hubris that responded. “I’m getting married.”

#daddy winter #viviane x kallias #winter court #never say i dont do anything for this fandom #are they good things?#debatable #but they ARE things

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reel-fear · 4 months

Text

Genuinely so curious who Mike thinks is gonna be buying The Cage or the new DCTL GN bc with the way he tweets as far as he's concerned, it's not gonna be:

The queer people he has actively admitted he will never show any representation of in the games.

2. The POC he has actively fought against representing in his franchise. [Who he also mocked for thinking they would be represented in his franchise]

3. The Bendy fandom which has always been concerned with topics of diversity esp in the sense of queer people since its creation. Who he has responded to really poorly esp in regards to the GN.

4. The fans who critique him. [He blocked me for doing so lol]

5. His fans in general who he tweets about like this currently. [He's being vague about why people were mad at him or sent him 'nasty messages' because if you actually looked into why you'd see he was in the wrong. Either way, a very hateful way to speak abt ur own fanbase.]

Reminder while Mike is trash talking his fans he has always treated them rather poorly. The fans who won the fanart contest for Chapter 5 never got their posters actually in game due to it being rushed. Not only was chapter 5 a big slap to the face story wise, but it was literally so rushed he couldn't be bothered to add in the art his fans gave him for his game FOR FREE. [Meatly blames this on a crazy timeline, reminder him and Mike are the literal ceos of this company. The proposal of future updates here is also pretty cruel considering Mike nowadays happily admits he corrupted Chapter 5's source code and therefore literally can't update it At All currently. Because he is a moron]

At least they got to be in Boris and the dark survival, and by that I mean that was the Only game they got to be in so far, isn't that just treating your fans like you love them? Shoving their hard work into a spin off game almost nobody has played or addresses much. [Hell, who knows if with the Lone Wolf rebrand they'll even stay there. In which case they'll be in None of the games, only in the credits of BATIM]

6. The Bendy fans who just generally disagree with him on stuff. Like the new ink demon design where there is literally a public poll showing people generally prefer the old one.

7. The Bendy fans who can see he is actively lying to them. To their fucking faces.

He says this has always been the case, but screenshots and links to tweets regarding the books being canon prove it was not. Does he really think bendy fans are stupid or something? [Unless he's admitting here he lied to Kress when he told her the books were canon which sounds worse!]

8. Anyone who doesn't like the idea of giving money to a guy who laid off tons of employees then afterwards thought it was a great idea to express his anti-union views! Also brag about how good of an employer he was, according to his employees, he was not!

So in summary; Mike is an awful person who has not learned anything from the awful things he did. I will not be purchasing The Cage because, combined with this and his absolute refusal to take any kind of critique or see any differing interpretation of his franchise, I have no reason to think my problems with the franchise will ever be addressed or fixed. I probably will pirate The Cage along with any future Bendy Products [Including the movie] and will do my best to avoid giving it any kind of monetary support. Unless this changes any time soon, I can't see myself making anymore positive Bendy posts soon.

Mike has just managed to make it so hard to speak positively or optimistically of this franchise when he's so willing to broadcast how little he cares about it or its fans. I'm at the point where I refuse to pull any of my punches with my problems with it. What's the point of trying to play nice with my critique when either way the people creating it don't care?

So with this post, I want to invite anyone who feels similarly about the franchise to tell me, make a post or send an ask talking about how all of this makes you feel. It may not change how things are, but genuinely seeing other people share my feelings of anger makes me feel better. It feels nice to see when other people share our same concerns and worries. I'd also love to know if anyone else thinks they'll be avoiding purchasing Bendy products over this.

I'm not forcing anyone to participate in it nor trying to say anyone who doesn't supports mike but genuinely maybe if we can collectively decide to boycott things like the movie, graphic novel and The Cage... It might at least make the bendy devs acknowledge how much they have destroyed their own fandom's faith and trust in them.

The way Mike tweets about his actions like he had no control over why people were mad at him at least proves to me he takes NONE of it back nor regrets it. If you didn't know about his actions and only went off his tweets, you would be led to believe Mike has been needlessly picked apart by fans over things he couldn't control [or in his own words, had his words twisted and taken out of context]. That is not how you speak about your actions if you have actually learned better from them.

anyway, that has been my bendy dev callout post. This is an open invitation to anyone feeling similarly upset about the way the franchise is going to talk about it. It's genuinely nice to see how people feel about this and the more we talk about the more it's likely the bendy devs are forced to address our concerns. I don't think they will but hey, that's why I'm not gonna support them with my money anymore nor am I gonna be nice to them in any content I make critiquing Bendy. I mean I'm also basically making this post just in case anyone asks me Why I feel this way towards to bendy devs/as a way to respond to anyone who thinks I am too harsh in my critique in the future.

As always, it seems the best part of Bendy isn't actually anything about canon but about what the fan's are creating with the ideas Bendy failed to do anything interesting with.

Also the books, the books slap.

#batim #batdr #bendy and the ink machine #bendy and the dark revival #ramblez #bendy and the silent city #bendy the cage #for the record another reason Im making this post is bc some of the only good resources to learn abt why the bendy devs suck are some old #very longer videos and this is a very long post but I thought it was important to document the recent shit theyve been doing alongside some #of the worst past things theyve done bc Mike has been trying to misinform people on what happened but those videos are still great resource #if you want more info n such #long post #mike D #for anyone who doesnt wanna hear abt him since he doesnt go by mood anymore #sorry if this is rambley or emotional Im just so sick of these guys fr dskjhgskdfjghskdjhgkjhsd #I miss when I didnt spend my days stressed about the awful shit mike is gonna say next and how I would have to disprove it in a post later #or explain why its bad to have a cast of nothing but cishet white guys n constantly fight back against any push for diversity in said cast #genuinely its just tiring esp when u see other bendy fans give ignorant or very silly defenses/takes on those things #n then u lose a lot of respect for them bc they are speaking on stuff they dont know much abt so confidently and therefore misinforming #people or even encouraging very bad views on stuff like diversity n its importance #Im not saying people like that are bad people but it is stressful n upsetting when u see someone u thought knew better do that sort of thin #it makes it hard to trust them again on other issues bc u now dont trust they know what they r talking abt!!#like please think twice before telling young artists making norman white was a tough and complicated decision it was fucking not the bendy #devs just think all their humans are white by default and dont wanna change that its been proven time n time again thats all it is #and defending them just bc u like a franchise they made is very very bad!! They are not ur friends!! they suck and we seriously need to #stop pretending they dont!! toxic positivity is only gonna make the fandom an absolute nightmare its not gonna make ANYTHING better #it just means people will be forced to PRETEND they never have negative thoughts abt the franchise n therefore make them burned out #just look at other similar fandoms please lets not make those same mistakes!!#sorry can u tell Ive been having just. A time recently #anyways back to making my queer ass bendy fan game full of so much diversity mike will prolly shit when he sees it DKFJGHKSDJHGKJHSD

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