#otp: I'll send a storm to capture your heart and bring you home

[seasaltmemories]

Regret

Rating: T

Summary: When the nurse finished her tale, Celica promised herself that she would never become such a pitiable woman. [Arranged Marriage AU] [Trigger Warnings]

~

The first time Anthiese remembered meeting her father was when she was eleven.

A year after the villa was attacked, Sir Mycen sent a letter to Novis declaring all of Desaix collaborators jailed or executed. Since heirs were now in a sudden short supply, her father had decided it best for her to join him at Zofia Castle.

She had only started to allow herself to view the priory as a home the prior month; nevertheless, Anthiese followed the dark-hair mercenary back to the capital without complaint. With both a decade and the fire under her belt now, she didn’t feel like a child anymore. And because eleven was the oldest she had ever been, she thought that meant she must be ready to be an adult now.

For all her poise, though, it didn’t make that first night in one of the castle’s guest-rooms any easier. It was furnished with the same silks and mahoganies of the royal villa, and no matter how much she tried to reason with herself that such similarities were only natural, she still found herself dreaming that she was choking on ash. That morning she woke up convinced she was buried in the villa’s rubble and scrubbed her cheeks near raw.

Her nurse had scolded her once the episode passed and spent the rest of the morning brushing powder on her face. If she couldn’t act like an adult, then maybe she could at least try to present herself like one.

She hated the process, feeling like a porcelain doll being painted and brushed to perfection. But if someone ever took the time to ask her what she wanted, she didn’t know if she would have protested in the slightest. She suspected she wouldn’t have been able to explain at all what she expected from this journey. It was only the distance that memory provided that allowed her to give words to such a childish desire. That if she bore all her pain with grace and determination, somehow, someway she’d be rewarded.

And so, Earth Mother, she tried. She tried to hold her head high and approach the throne as if it was where she belonged.

The man who sat before had hair as red as hers. It shouldn’t have been all surprisingly, but Anthiese found herself clinging to detail all the same. She liked to think she had never needed him before in her life, but it was thrilling to imagine he might need her in return. So she went through whole ritual of curtsying and giving her most genuine respect.

When she lifted her head again, she found her father looking at her as if he was meeting a god. Trembling, he extended a swollen red hand.

“Liprica?” It was barely a murmur, but the stink of his wine-soaked breath still overwhelmed her. When he moved to cradle a curl of hers, she couldn’t help but recoil.

His eyes widened, as if coming out from a waking dream, and somehow she knew in that instant that he’d never look at her with that same reverence ever again.

It didn’t take long for him to dismiss Anthiese back to her chambers. Once there, the cool mask of maturity she had been weaving since she had received the missive fell apart. She found herself bawling like a newborn, kicking and screaming at any of the maids that tried to restrain her.

Then, like a flash of lightning, her nurse struck her across the cheek. The fear and pain that followed was so overwhelming, Anthiese went silent almost immediately.

“How dare you behave in such a selfish manner! What kind of daughter refuses her own father’s affections?!”

Something deep inside of her started to catalyze. She didn’t quite know what she was becoming, but she had the feeling she wasn’t quite Anthiese anymore.

“Who is Liprica?” It felt dangerous to ask, but the question fell from her lips before she could take it back.

The nurse furrowed her brow in pity. Surprisingly, she picked up the child and gathered her in her lap. In the last show of tenderness she could remember, the nurse recounted the story of the only woman the king had ever loved.

When she finished her tale, Celica promised herself that she would never become such a pitiable woman.

~

When Celica awoke in Mila’s cell, she felt that same sense of transformation pull at her limbs. While her memory and vision came back to her slowly but surely, some third, indescribable part of her seemed to leak out onto the ground. Like a cocoon cracked open before it could hatch into a butterfly, if she was supposed to become someone else again, she had no clue anymore on how to get there.

She liked to think it was courage or bravery that compelled her to stand, but that felt too optimistic a conjecture to make. Picking up Falchion and climbing past the torn cell bars seemed more muscle memory than anything deliberate. She didn’t know what could possibly be fueling her at this point. With each breath she swallowed, she tasted the ash that still lingered in the air.

Earth Mother...

She didn’t know if it was a prayer or a curse. As much as Celica rather forget it, the memory of Mila’s grasp had been burned into her memory. No matter how many times she went back to try and construct a different version of events, Mila’s claws seemed to tear into her mind each time.

You didn’t take imprisonment gracefully either...

Celica’s mind drifted back towards the Rigelian maid she burned. She must have seemed just as monstrous and terrifying as Mila in that moment. Guilt swirled inside Celica’s stomach like a storm, but she tried to channel it into something positive. If there was hope for her, then perhaps Mila might calm with time.

Are you sure you’re so above reproach?

Celica bit her lip and pressed forward into the darkness of the tunnels. Perhaps this whole underground was her cocoon. She wouldn’t be able to see what she’d become until she left.

~

It was dawn when Alm reemerged from his grief. Not because the pain had subsided or because he had somehow overcome it, but rather because he was simple too exhausted to sob any longer. All his pity and empathy had been wrung out of him like washing rag.

From the distance, he saw Berkut lead a squadron of soldiers up towards the bastion. And despite how he knew Father meant to Berkut, meant to everyone, a strange possessiveness overtook him. He found himself moving towards the top end of the ramparts, blocking any view of Father’s body.

“Alm--” Berkut struggled to catch his breath, eyes wild and unfocused. “--there you are! Do you have any idea what’s been--”

“I know!” Despite himself, Alm’s voice came out harsher than he wanted. “I know, I know, I’m sorry, I’ve just--”

As Alm struggled to find some words that might capture the last few hours, Berkut pushed past him. Alm couldn’t stop him before he managed to catch sight of the ugly scene.

“Uncle...” Those two syllables managed to break Alm’s heart all over again. There was a weakness to Berkut’s voice he hadn’t heard since the two of them were children. Alm leaned forward to comfort him; however before he could complete his embrace, Berkut gripped his forearms in a tight squeeze.

“Who did this!?” Berkut hissed.

Mila’s shadow hung heavy over the two men. This was a conversation that they had sworn to keep behind closed doors, but what were they supposed to do once everything had been blown open?

“It was her, wasn’t it? Never should have let her out of our sight!”

“What do you want me to do?!” Alm could feel what little control he had mustered start to fray. “He’s gone now! Nothing can change that! Not even a brand!”

Alm wondered what this must look to the outside world: Rigel’s two fine princes yelling like madman. All of Father’s hard work to crafting the perfect golden hero vanquished before he even had a grave to roll around in.

From that thought, the sorrow returned, stronger than ever before. However before the tears could return, Berkut dug his nails into his skin.

“Don’t you dare.” There was a dangerous calmness to his voice. “You don’t have the luxury of grief anymore. You have to be able to do what’s necessary for the country.”

He turned around to face the squadron. “Everyone kneel! You have the honor to bask in the presence of our sovereign emperor!” Berkut fell to his knees in front of Alm, and like dominoes, each following soldier did the same.

“All hail Albine Alm Rudolf II, may his reign be righteous and just!” The cry went out like a chorus, ringing across the ramparts. With each round, another further group repeated it, until the entire castle was shouting as one voice.

It took all of Alm’s willpower not to vomit.

When Berkut rose again, he was quick to issue orders about funeral and burial preparations. As the squadron dispersed Alm wanted nothing more than to fade into the wind--to let the one who truly wanted this responsibility take it. But before he could voice any of those thoughts, Berkut caught him off-guard with one final question.

“Do you have any idea if your wedding gift is still secure?”

Alm was puzzled for a moment. Wedding gift had been their code for Mila since his marriage was arranged. How could he go from recognizing her involvement to asking about her imprisonment?

Suddenly everything came together with terrifying clarity.

Where in the world was Anthiese?

~

Celica had trouble discerning how long she had been in the underground tunnels. There was no natural lighting to indicate if it was night or day. No people going about their daily routine. For all she knew she could have been unconscious for centuries, and spend another few running around in circles. The only way to prove herself wrong, would be if she kept pressing forward regardless.

On one hand the solitude was, all things considered, welcomed--she still felt too fuzzy to attempt any stealth maneuvers. On the other hand though, the further she ventured, the further she felt unmoored from the rest of the world. When she first descended down here, she had mostly followed the pain in her brand. Without its guide, she had no idea where to go.

After what felt like ages wandering in the darkness, Celica found a green feather lying at a crossroads. Immediately she ran up to it, as if it were a talisman that might save her soul. And while even under closer scrutiny, she couldn’t discern anything further about the feather, she noticed a fresh set of claw marks on the rightmost wall. Whether intentional or not, the Earth Mother had not completely abandoned her. And so despite all odds, Celica allowed herself to believe in the hope that she would not stay lost forever, that if she was meant to die, it wasn’t here.

For a moment, it seemed as if her hopes weren’t for nothing. In time her makeshift trail of plumage and scratches brought her to an room so warmly lit, it almost blinded her. Something about that orange glow tugged at Celica’s heart strings. The relief was so great, she almost believed she might be able to truly love Rigel. That she’d never need anything ever again, and she’d be good and obedient if it meant staving off the dread that seemed poised to swallow her whole. She couldn’t help but run to the light without looking back.

However as her vision adjusted, any comfort she had managed to dream up, evaporated in an instant.

From the slick marble tile and high-vaulted ceilings, she could tell that this once was a place of grand splendor. There was a strange nostalgia to the splintered benches and crumbling columns, but she found her gaze being drawn mostly to the broken slab at the far end of the hall. It was hard to say, but perhaps if she put all her attention to reconstructing what it could have been, then maybe the stench of death and decay would fade away. Things would go back to the way they were supposed to be, and she wouldn’t have to live in this nightmare anymore.

Celica didn’t realize she had continued wandering forward until she tripped and found herself on the cool floor. Blankly, she checked to see what had made her fall. She expected to find a loose stone or cracked board, but instead a limp, bruised arm laid sprawled across the path. When it twitched, she could help but shriek.

However rather than reach out and grab her, the arm did nothing but spasm weakly. Instead the true source of life came from the groan that echoed across the room. She followed the arm to find the source to be Jedah of all people, crushed under a pile of rubble.

“Anthiese...is that really you?” His words were slurred and difficult to make out. The only sign of life on his blood-crusted face was the slight tremor of his lip as he spoke.

Celica shivered. His choked voice made her blood run so cold, her tongue felt frozen in place. She tried her best to get away from the horrid sound, but in the process of trying to push herself up, Falchion clattered against the floor with a piercing ring.

“That sword!” He gasped. Quickly Celica picked it back up, a new possessiveness overwhelming her, but he seemed content to simply follow the light that bounced off the blade. “...that’s why he forsook us. You used our own tools to conquer us.”

“My intention has never been to conquer Rigel.” Celica spat.

“Look around you. Duma’s Faithful have been on death row for the longest time. This is just the noose finally tightening around our neck. Now your goddess can reign completely.”

Again Celica remembered the sensation of Mila’s claws on her chin. She wondered if she looked closely, how many other corpses she might find. She wondered if their bodies would carry the same wounds as her.

“Perhaps this is Duma’s last lesson...” Jedah mused. “In my arrogance, I thought I had tamed you thoroughly enough. Let that boy influence me too much. Now you shall be our undoing.”

Celica’s skin crawled. As much as her hatred for him hadn’t diminished in the slightest, she did not want to watch him die. Even as she tried to look away, she couldn’t stop from noticing all the blood stains that lined the walls. Just how many other corpses were hiding among this room? How much blood would stain her hands before Mila’s rampage ended?

“I didn’t want this.” Celica whispered--as if any of that mattered at this point.

When what remained of Jedah’s life began to fade away--she found herself closing her eyes and raising her face towards heaven. If it was a prayer, then she only prayed her drumming heartbeat would drown out his dying gasps.

When she heard a group of soldier shout for her arrest, she didn’t resist.

~

News of Anthiese didn’t get to him until late that night. After Berkut found him, he passed Alm off to Massena for a more formal coronation. Even if Rigel Castle hadn’t been in such a dismal state, succession had become a fraught topic since Father ascended to the throne. Up until now, every heir had been required to be blessed by the Duma Faithful before they could rule. In theory such a thing shouldn’t be necessary now that the Emperor also doubled as head of the Church, but wars had been fought over more insignificant details in the past. As a result, Alm spent most of his day signing documents and sending letters, certain Jedah would interrupt him at any moment. When sunset came and there was still no attempt of a coup, Massena finally bestowed Alm his crown and declared him emperor.

The only witnesses were General Zeke and his wife.

Alm was escorted back to his old chambers afterwards. In theory, they’d have a more public ceremony tomorrow, so it be better if he looked like he had at least gotten an hour or two of sleep. Still even his study had not escaped the day untouched. A pile of notes the height of his forearm laid on top his desk, all addressed to Emperor Albein Alm Rudolf II.

Despite the hour, he still felt the vast emptiness from the morning, somehow too exhausted for sleep. So he tried to do what he thought a chosen hero should do. He lit a candle and went to work.

Anthiese’ report was nestled in between a record of civilian deaths and an estimate charge for castle repairs. He’d be lying if he acted as if he hadn’t be thinking of her all day, but he forced himself to read the paper at the same detached pace as every other piece.

It claimed that the lost princess had been found in Duma Temple, next to Father Jedah’s wasting body. Considering the number of Duma Faithful found dead, she was currently being imprisoned on charges for mass murder. However most of the corpses had been found under rubble and other debris; the report argued it was unlikely she had been the only one responsible. The only piece of evidence she could have been involved was the sword she had been found with.

Alm read the last sentence over. Then he read it again and again, until the words started to blur before his eyes. He pushed the document away and took a deep breath. He tried to hope against hope.

He pulled out the charges for repairs. He read the first line of figures. Then he crumpled it into a ball and headed for the dungeons.

On his journey downwards, Alm couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time he made this trip. If he had reported first to Father as expected, would he still be here today? As illogical as it sounded, he couldn’t stop from trying to pinpoint everything went wrong, when Father’s demise had been locked in place.

“Promise me you won’t let her lead you astray.”

That had been some of his last words. And yet despite everything, when Alm thought of Anthiese, he still imagined her flushed face and the sensation of her lips against his eyelids. He didn’t want to open his eyes, see what she must really think of him when not performing for his pleasure.

This time there was no forcing his way in. The minute the guard saw him, she immediately stepped aside and gave a deep bow. “Is this going to be a private interrogation?” She asked while handing him the keys. And maybe this was another mistake, another point of no return he was damning himself to, but he wanted the two of them to be honest for once, about Mila and everything in between.

“Yes,” He answered. And by the time the door slammed shut, she had all but disappeared down the hall.

A long time ago, Father had told him that the worst thing an Emperor could do, was appear anxious. Any physical tics or irregular breathing could turn into a terrible tell for enemies to exploit. Therefore, Alm took his time facing Anthiese, slowly inhaling and exhaling until the rise in his chest was barely noticeable.

When he finally looked up he found her curled up on the floor wearing a torn set of his shirt and trousers. Shackles chained her to the wall, only allowing a short range of movement, yet even that amount of freedom made him uneasy. He struggled to predict what might occur if she got her hands on him.

“Wake up,” Alm ordered.

He struggled to trust what might occur if he got his hands on her.

The only sign of life she showed was the singular cold eye that peeked out behind her curtain of hair. She looked less like the alluring temptress from the night before and more like a stray hound.

“Most of the time, the high judge is the one to lay out the case, but just this once, I’m going to give you the chance to explain yourself.” He tried to speak with Father’s commanding presence.

Anthiese tilted her head to the side. For a moment she just stared. Then a sickening giggle began to scratch its way out of her throat.

“How nice. Do I get to choose the method of execution as well?”

Alm’s eyes narrowed. “I’d stop the jokes if I were you. The high judge lost his wife this morning. He’s not likely to have much sympathy for you.”

Anthiese stopped giggling. “Do you have sympathy for me?”

His brand ached at her words, as if it was just now being etched into his skin. He wondered if perhaps it was something like an infected wound, slowly spreading to the rest of him.

“Don’t mock my mercy,” He took a step forward, ignoring the pain. “Do you even realize what you’ve done? What wielding that blade means?”

“I’m not an idiot.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “I know you already know about the temple and how much blood they say is on my hands. What’s the use in asking for my story?”

“A man is supposed to think the best of his wife.” His words caught on something sharp inside of himself. “An orphaned king must be the loneliest creature in the world. If possible, I don’t want to lose you too.”

“That’s your problem,” Anthiese snapped. “You’ve forgotten Jedah’s warnings. How could a Zofian woman be anything but duplicitous and selfish? It doesn’t matter if you pamper her with flowers, you can’t change nature.” She leaned forward and bared her teeth. “You should have locked me up our wedding night.”

Alm could feel his blood hum through his body. It felt like an entire colony wasps was needling at his skin, wanting to burst clean from his body and swarm. Images of a manor in the woods he did not want to think about flooded his mind.

“Tell me you didn’t know you were doing.” He begged. For a moment he believed that was all they needed to return to the magic of their night together.

Anthiese pushed herself up so that they were eye level. “I rather watch the continent burn than become anything resembling my mother.”

He wished he could say he was blinded with rage. He wished his body had acted as a separate creature from him. but if anything, he felt more like himself than he had all day when he slammed his fist into her cheek.

Anthiese hit the floor hard, her chin catching on a loose stone. A slow stream of blood started to dribble down her neck as Alm gasped for breath. Carefully, she picked herself up, cradling her cheek.

“Thank you, Emperor Albein--” Her voice was cold and distant. “--for finally showing me your gentle, tender care.” The giggle returned louder than ever.

But despite all her best efforts, she could stop the tears that were streaming down her face.

A.N. Well, man was last chapter a bad cliffhanger to end on.  I'm real sorry for the whole two year hiatus, definitely had a lot of personal projects to focus on.  Good news though, this is now the WIP at the top of my "to finish" list.  At the very least, I finally feel as confident as I'll ever be with this chapter, while there are still plenty of questions to answer, I thought it important to really get this personal reactions from the two of them, I wanted to show how grief and trauma can really consume ppl in the worst ways, how it can be defined by painful absences as much as vivid hauntings.

[seasaltmemories]

Mors Debitionem Onem Retribuit: Chapter 2

Rating: T

Summary: In which Alm gets acquainted with the rest of the household [Start at the Beginning]

~

Waking the next morning proved to be a difficult venture. Alm was used to thinking of himself as an early bird after having to rise before the sun often in his Ram days. Compared to the his urban-dwelling classmates, he had easily made all the early lectures Engel offered.

Yet here in Vaduva, returned to the waking world felt like mucking through a flooded field. Each step grew more and more difficult as the mud clung to your boots. When they were young and Kliff had shared a book of fairy-tales his mother had bought him, Alm started associated the sticky clinginess of the mire with the tight grip of mermaids dragging sailors below the waves.

It’s funny, he thought by now that he had outgrown those stories. But as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, it was difficult to escape those flights of fantasy. The outline of his room was hazy and difficult to make out. It would be easy for him to assume he was still dreaming some strange and dark nightmare and slip back into slumber, but just as Alm was about to close his eyes, a flash of sunlight cut across the room.

With a start, Alm rose, pulling back the curtains. Outside the sun hung high in the sky, burning bright and fierce. Good lord, how had he slept in until the middle of the day!? He wanted to just curl in a ball and die of embarrassment right there, but shame wouldn’t save what goodwill he had managed to cultivate last night. In a rush, he tried to make himself somewhat half-decent. Ugh, he hadn’t even changed out of his clothes from yesterday before falling asleep.

He stumbled out into the hallway prepared to get on his hands and knees to apologize for his faux pas. However as he scanned the hallway he remembered he had no idea how he got to this part of the manor. That revelation made him pause long enough for him to also realize just how quiet the manor was. No wonder he had been able to sleep for so long. The few noble households he had visited were bustling things with servants of all kind. The only sign of life he had observed so far had been the Countess herself and that silent maid of hers.

Before he could dive down more rabbit holes of conjecture, his stomach growled. For now, getting food was a good next step. That would likely involve people and help ease his nerves.

With all the courage he could muster in the moment, Alm went to the work exploring the manor. To his relief though, the task proved to be less harrowing than he feared. In the light of day, Vaduva Manor proved to be less gruesome than it had appeared the night before. It might be a little run-down, but it was far from the monster he had imagined it to be. There just never seemed to be enough light for his taste. As he descended down the staircase, he noticed just about every window in the place was curtained shut with heavy drapes. The fact even a flash of direct sunlight had been able to slip inside his room now felt like a miracle after seeing how carefully the rest of the manor was arranged to stave off the sun.

As Alm stepped down to the first floor, he could suddenly hear the faint sound of someone singing. Carefully he followed the voice further into the manor. As he sneaked past locked rooms with imposing mahogany doors, he found the interior blend into the plain, efficient trappings of a servant’s corridor. Unintentionally, Alm began to relax. He was much more used to handling servants than he was aristocrats. As fascinating as the latter were, with the former he didn’t need to use extremely formal language or keep track of any list of rules around them. It would be a nice break after last night.

The singing was louder as he approached the end of the hallway. As he pushed opened the last remaining door its hinges gave a loud creak.

“Excuse me, I--shit!” Alm dodged just in time to watch a knife whiz past him and land in the door, mere inches from his head.

“Oh?” He turned to find a woman with a messy strawberry blonde bun and stained apron studying him. “You must be the new guest Miss Celica mentioned last night.”

“Why did you just try to attack me?” He was doing his best to keep his voice level but couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting back to the knife.

“I wasn’t trying to kill you, I was just startled,” She explained as if talking to a small child. Without a second thought she walked up to him and grabbed the knife. “It’s a good thing I wasn’t holding my sharpest one, it could have gotten damaged.” Idly she plucked it from the wall before extending her other hand. “Name’s Mae Eder.”

“Um...Alm Scafer...” Still a bit shell-shocked and unsure of what else he should do, he shook it. “I really should be going...”

“Pfft, don’t act like you weren’t peaking your head around here just a minute ago. Trust me I don’t like spilling blood in my kitchen, so I won’t be throwing any more knives.” She grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and lead him to a stool next to the counter. “But why don’t you really try to stay on my good side and entertain me while I prepare lunch.”

So she was the cook. That wasn’t too unexpected given her attire, but for all her matronly nagging, she didn’t look that much older than him or the Countess--although he couldn’t help but spy a wedding band on her ring finger. It was difficult to focus much on that though because he was still having trouble ignoring the blade in her hand. If he was anywhere else, he’d demand a more sincere apology, but Vaduva Manor continued to prove to me more than just any other place. For now he’d do is job and try and untangle this curious mystery of an estate.

As he thought to himself, suddenly Alm came to a starling observation.

“Wait a second--” He turned back to the cook. “--you’re speaking German!”

“Oh, Miss Celica told us last night you struggled with your languages and asked that we accommodate you.”

Alm bristled at the backhand insult, but did his best to hold his tongue. “Does the entire household know German? I’m impressed. Does Countess Vadvua have family in the Empire?”

Mrs. Eder laughed, and Alm had trouble telling exactly what she thought was so funny. “Wow you’re exactly like Genny described you--just all hopped up on questions.” She pulled out what looked to be a fish and began preparing it.

“Is there something wrong with that?” Again his eyes were drawn to the metallic edge.

“I just have questions about you too.” She studied his figure without a degree of subtlety. “You’ll answer them, won’t you?” Her smile should have been friendly, but something about it continued to unnerve him.

At this point, Alm should have probably just listened to his self-preservation skills, but social conventions and the need for civility had hijacked his brain at this point.

“I suppose you’re interested in what I’m studying!” He forced on a smile. “I’m very fascinated by aristocracy, particularly in how it functions in newly-born modern nation such as Romania, and how the nation-state in turn influences--”

“--yeah, yeah--” Mrs. Eder interrupted him with a wave of her hand. “But anyway, I’m not the one to ask if you want to go digging in Miss Celica’s past, but German wasn’t that too hard too pick up. There’s only my husband and Genny besides me working here, so she doesn’t mind teaching us stuff when she has the free time.”

Only three servants? For this manor to be so understaffed, either the Countess was a neglectful mistress or there must be some serious financial problems. Damn it, he wish he had brought his journal down with him so he could take notes.

“Now it’s my turn to ask you a question.” She moved from her work and rubbed her hands together excitedly. “Just what type of weirdo would travel across the continent for that mouthful of a reason?”

This time Alm’s laughter was genuine. “You think I’m weird? My buddy Forsyth wanted to travel all the way down to the South Pole. He tried to sell it as part of some zoological research, but the man is a law student.”

To his relief, Mrs. Eder’s giggle seemed to be just as real as his. “I swear you university boys don’t have a lick of self-preservation in you!”

“I think he came up with it purely because his best friend dared him to.”

She descended into another fit of laughter before leaning in towards him. “What’s your excuse?”

A shiver went down his spin. He couldn’t have been more caught off-guard. He did his best to keep smiling and not break eye contact, but when he tried to open his mouth to speak, he found he really only could do those two first things.

Just when he was sure he was gonna faint from it all though, his stomach growled, answering for him.

“Well I’m here because I’m hungry. Hope that clears things up!” He scrambled off the stool, pawing at the counter for some sort of snack to grab onto. However just as his fingers grazed a bowl of some soup or another, Mrs. Eder lunged toward him.

No!” She grabbed the bowl from his hands and held it as far as she could from him. “Don’t touch that!”

Looking back, Alm had to admit he had forgotten his manners in his panic, not even asking if he could have whatever reddish thing was in it. His first instinct was to apologize, but as he looked Mrs. Eder in the eye, he found himself completely bemused. Even when at her most incomprehensible, there had always been a playful glint in her eyes--like a cat playing with a mouse. But now all that had been replaced with a naked fear. And with the way she bit her lip, she was starting to resemble more an animal with its back against a wall.

“I’m sorry,” Alm murmured. “Is there anything I can have?”

“No, it’s...it’s--” She glanced between the soup and the fish. “This is the servant lunch. It would be completely improper for you to eat with us.”

“Well when do you serve Countess Vaduva her meals?”

Mrs. Eder gave him a blank stare. “Umm, come around six? That’s the fastest I can whip you up a meal.”

“Alright, I’ll see you then.” He did his best to leave with some semblance of dignity, but he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder one last time.

He couldn’t help but wonder she might find herself “startled” again.

~

Once Alm made it back to his room, he fished out a loaf of bread from his satchel. Absentmindedly he tore at it as he recovered from the encounter with Mrs. Eder. Clearly she was not just any regular cook. He was trained never to make assumptions and inference without concrete evidence, but a knife in the door didn’t get anymore solid. Royalty had historically employed servants who could also serve as bodyguards, so in theory he could see lower nobility doing the same.

With his meal done and more questions than ever before, Alm went venturing again through the strange labyrinth of hallways. After he somehow managed to find himself outside he located a young man with light brown skin and a shock of white hair managing the stables.

Mr. Boey Eder seemed just as surprised by his appearance as his wife had, but thankfully this time no sharp objects were thrown. But then he seemed like a guy used to getting scared a lot. His interview was less than ideal considering Mr. Eder had been concerned about getting his work done as soon as possible, but while brushing a midnight-black mare, he let an interesting personal story slip.

“I’ve always had weak nerves. My family is prone to graying early from fright.”

“Oh have they tended to work with the Vaduva family?” Alm could see himself following a similar path if he had grown up in a manor like this.

“No, we’ve been fishermen all across the Mediterranean mostly. I was only hired after Madam Vaduva came to power.”

“I can see why a young noblewoman would need a stable-hand.” He focused on the second mare, this one a pale white, hoping to make his questioning less obvious. “She must enjoy traveling.”

“The Madam is too...” Mr. Eder paused, as if searching for the right word. “...fragile for much extensive travel.”

Alm couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. The Countess he encountered last night had seemed many things--powerful, arresting, but certainly not fragile. The only possible hint of sickness he could imagine was her alabaster skin, yet such a complexion he had written off as common here. For the life of him, he had trouble discerning why it seemed so natural, but the nagging insistence still persisted.

“I honestly would have never guessed...” Alm stroked the white mare absentmindedly. Somewhere he had lost the thread to this conversation; he didn’t quite know how to weave it all together. “Still it must be nice to have a mistress who doesn’t demand too much of you. I know some folks who would die for a position like this.”

He thought he was being civil by pushing the conversation in that direction rather than suggesting his job was unnecessary, but suddenly he felt Mr. Eder’s previously evasive gaze heavy on his body. Alm looked up to find dark brown eyes staring at him.

“Service isn’t something you perform halfheartedly. Madam Vaduva doesn’t demand much of me today, but tomorrow I could get assigned to run to the end of the earth. If all it took to buy my loyalty was coin, I wouldn’t be here. Her wages are made from something much more valuable.”

Previously Alm had been eager to write Mr. Eder as the more harmless of the couple, but suddenly he was aware that while there were no knives in the stable, there were plenty of shovels and pitchforks. Even in the hands of a well-intentioned person he had seem them do a fair share of harm.

This time he didn’t even bother to conjure up an excuse.

Back in his room, he tried to make sense of everything. His previous theory of court intrigue and clandestine meetings had completely collapsed. If the Countess wasn’t traveling to dangerous balls and other aristocratic outings, then who would she need protection from? What would she need protection from? Had this household once been more than a deadly loyal couple and a nearly mute wisp of a girl?

He started wondering how long it would take to schedule a trip back to Berlin, but pride steeled his nerves. What would he tell Mr. Herrman, that a few unsettling servants had scared him away before he had been there twenty-four hours? He hadn’t even had a proper conversation with the Countess yet!

The Countess...remembering her calmed his panic From a purely intellectual standpoint, she was a catch. He had chosen Count Lima as his case study because from the little information Engel had on him suggested he was a fairly average. Sure the fact he was a countryside recluse wasn’t ideal, but even in the Empire, nobility had been fading into the background. He did his job, kept his head down, and had the potential to be plied through intellectual curiosity.

Countess Vaduva was an entirely different creature. Just being a young woman was enough to set her apart from other potential subjects, but it was more than her gender and age that enticed him. She carried herself with a regal sort of authority. Nobility seemed to be more than just a title she had been given, but a quality she knew like the back of her hand. The few disowned aristocrats he had come across in Berlin had been underwhelming and disappointing. She felt like the real thing--something worth crossing the continent for.

Is she truly your Platonic ideal or are you simply infatuated? What kind of researcher are you to end up with a mess like this?

Alm rubbed his eyes. He wished he could unscrew his head and discard his brain for just a few hours, be thoughtless and free. It seemed even his overly long slumber last night hadn’t fully erased his exhaustion from travel it seemed. It would be indulgent to nap again, but he needed something to occupy himself until dinner. Might as well let his body rest after all piling all that stress on it.

As he snuggled back under the covers, he thought of the letter he had been meaning to write to Grandpa. If he craned his neck, he could still spot it peeking out from his overcoat pocket. He had started it thousands of times, now that he was here would the words finally come?

Alm pulled the blanket over his head. He’d save the mysteries and conundrums for a version of himself that might actually have the mental capacity to untangle them.

Although as he drifted back to sleep, a little voice inside his head questioned if that would ever be the case.

~

When he awoke a few hours later, the darkness of his room frightened him. Not because he was still a child scared by shadows, but because as he blinked away the sleep from his eyes, he remembered Mrs. Eder’s promise of a meal. As he barreled out of his room, he ran across the first clock he had noticed in the entire place. Its plated face informed him that, yes he was not only late, but about an hour late. In a made rush he scrambled down the stairs, only realizing he wasn’t sure where this meal was supposed to take place.

Panic perched itself on his shoulder, as if it was an old friend by now. He had heard Forsyth describe an American game where the player was give three chances to hit a ball. Alm didn’t want to test his own luck and see if it would take more before the manor itself decided to throw him out. He couldn’t fail. Not now, he wouldn’t go back to Berlin empty-handed and lost.

With one last burst of energy, he pushed aside a pair of mahogany doors. As he caught his breath, he found something that managed to be both exactly what he expected yet completely different. A splendid dining table laid before his, cloaked in a pristine white cloth and perfectly set. Candles lit the meal, and in another world the formality of it all would have taken his breath away a second time. But when he looked closer to examine the actually dishes laid out, he found them perplexing. There were no meats, vegetables, or even simple bread-stuff. Jars of all different shapes and sizes were arranged across the table. Inside them he found different jams and preserves. He didn’t know what confused him more, that Mrs. Eder had pulled out an entire dinner’s worth, or that she hadn’t even deemed it necessary to remove them from their cases.

“Is everything to your liking sir?”

This time, Alm couldn’t stop himself but jumping at the sudden sound. He swiveled around to find the quiet maid from before, now speaking full sentences.

“Of course!” He fawned like an idiot. Internally he cringed, wondering how he was expected to survive on jellies alone, but then he noticed one important detail. The Countess was nowhere to be seen.

“Um...Miss Genny?” It seemed he had caught her in the middle of one her stealth escapes, because she was already half out the door when he spoke. In a bird-like manner she cocked her head back to look at him with those wide eyes. “I was told that I was to attend the Countess’ meals. Is this not her dinner?”

“Dinner?” She repeated, as if it was a foreign concept.

“Is she eating?” He tried in his best Romanian.

“Oh, the Countess won’t appear. She says she is feeling under the weather.” With that, Genny made her get-away, leaving him alone with the odd meal.

Not knowing what to do, he plopped down in a random chair. Idly he grabbed a reddish-colored jar. It looked to be a strawberry concoction of sorts, but as he tried to scoop out a bite, its rank scent turned his stomach.

With a sigh he pushed it away. It seemed he was better at finding questions rather than any true answers.

A.N. A bit more exposition and letting Alm get acquainted with the rest of the cast, he's already not having the best of times, but unfortunately he still hasn't seen the half of what's in store for him

[seasaltmemories]

Mors Debitionem Onem Retribuit: Chapter 1

Rating: T

Summary: The year is 1897, and Alm Schafer is just another university student looking to find his place in the world.  However, when his studies take him into foreign lands, he finds himself in the strangest manor he has ever encountered.  From the maid's too large eyes to the cook's fondness for knives, what ties them all together is their mysterious mistress: Countess Celica Vaduva.

The Countess is many things: brooding, eccentric, capricious, yet also alluring.  As the two are drawn together, Alm starts to wonder if the secrets lining her past just might be the key for understanding his own.  Still all information comes with a price.  The only question is if he'll regret paying it.

~

As Alm hugged his overcoat closer to his body, he couldn’t help but bemoan just how far from Ram Village he was.

Back when he had first left, gifted with Gray and Tobin’s teasing remarks and Grandpa’s warnings to carry him to the train station, Berlin had felt like the ends of the Earth. All he had to his name was a newly discovered yet dead father’s inheritance and a burning desire to learn. It was too much to waste away in the countryside, but the sheer volume of universities and libraries the capital had to offer him seemed like it might swallow him whole.

Yet here he was, in the heart of an entirely foreign country with nothing but a satchel and the clothes on his back to call his own.

It had seemed like such a romantic notion back in Berlin. When his professor had waxed the wonders of field research, the chance to engage with a living history and build an entirely new understanding of culture and society, he had wanted nothing more than to be a part of that. He had signed up for the program that day, ignoring Kliff’s letters questioning the practicality of such study or Faye’s worries for his safety. He was going to be a man of science, a pioneer of philosophy, and nothing like inconsistent funding and dubious travel plans was going to stop him.

But reading of Romania and navigating it were two very different things. Asking the locals for directions only revealed just how awkwardly his tongue curled around words he had thought he had known. Their rat-a-tat replies sent him diving for his translation dictionary with an embarrassing frequency. And with only the ever dimming autumn sun to light his way, he was becoming acutely aware of just how alone he was.

He had been lucky to find himself a carriage driver who knew the manor he was looking for. The fact he had charged double of what Alm had prepared to pay had been unfortunate, but he had been too eager to get out of the chilling winds to complain too much. If he had possessed half a mind, then perhaps he would have been prepared for the sight that laid before him once he arrived.

It seemed the estates here less resembled the clean and modern architecture he had grown familiar with in Berlin and more the ancient castles of fairy-tales. Vaduva Manor was a twisted labyrinth of spires and dark stone. He couldn’t imagine any man to have designed such a monstrosity. If he didn’t know better he might have convinced himself the place was some ancient, eldritch beast that had decided to rest on this cliff. It seemed primordial, alien to all conceptions of humanity.

It was only the whine of a horse that managed to bring him back to earth. Alm turned around just in time to see the carriage driver take off back down the hillside.

“Wait!” He ran after him. “Just give me five minutes--please don’t leave me alone!” But despite his cries, the most the driver gave him was a quick “God bless,” and the sign of the cross across his heart.

Alm felt his blood run cold. With a sigh, he mirrored the cross as well and turned to face the manor again.

It was hard to get out of that loop, stewing in the unfortunate turn of events. It was like his thoughts were a runaway train. There was a reason he had described the place as a sleeping beast. It seemed as if it had been untouched by humans for centuries. With the driver gone, he’d have to stay the night here no matter what, possibly doomed to wander an abandoned citadel home to dangerous creatures of all types, and oh why had he ever left Ram if this was all university was going to bring him?

With a surge of energy, he slammed the brakes on his thoughts by slamming the knocker against the door. The heavy thud echoed in his ears, consuming his mind until there was no room left for worry. All he could do was wait.

When the door opened, Alm finally remembered to breath. Quickly he reached for the speech he had prepared.

“Greetings...freends!” He cringed at his mispronunciation. “I have come to request an audience with the Count.” He glanced at the servant, hoping he had made a lick of sense. However instead of the old maid he was expecting, a young girl stood before him, staring.

“Excuse me?” That by now he had at least memorized. Alm had expected to be received in a variety of ways, with confusion or frustration, maybe even disgust, but he hadn’t expected this: a girl swallowed in amber-golden puffs of hair blankly assessing him.

“Count Lima Vaduva.” At this point he was trying to grasp at anything, provoke something in the maid, but her face stayed just as undisturbed. “Please I’m from Engel College you see. My adviser is Clive Herrmann. He told me the Vaduva’s have been benefactors of us in the past, so he might be interested in helping me with my current study and--”

“Count’s dead.” The servant girl voice came out in a slow wisp.

“Dead?” Alm whispered. It was only one word, but it managed to kill all his hopes in one fell swoop. A gust of wind tore through the slips of his overcoat, slithering across his bare skin. He wondered if he had ever been this cold in his life before--if he had even been so lost and alone.

“Yes dead.” The girl’s tone was firm, yet a furrowed brow marred her otherwise empty countenance. “Perhaps you would like to see the Countess?”

Relief flooded his veins, a more heady champagne than the bottle Python had stolen for the gang back during their first years. “Yes, thank you, thank you so much!”

As he was led inside the manor, he felt his nerves calm for the first time in days. The dim candlelight and finely furnished interior proved that the girl was not some ghost haunting an abandoned estate. With a polite yet professional briskness, the girl set him down in a parlor.

“Wait here.” With that she vanished into the rest of the manor without a sound.

Left to his own devices, Alm tried to study his surroundings, hoping it would put the strange exterior into context. After all the, um, eccentricities of the place probably had its own charm. He probably just had to get adjusted to its taste.

Looking at the parlor closely, he could tell that it had been decorated with both care and taste, even if it wasn’t his particular style. Although the more he thought about it, this style didn’t seem to look like anything that had been made in the past twenty years. So strange, usually the parlor was where a family displayed their finest dressings, but then these were probably antiques that had been handed out. Well then again he was just an uncultured country boy, that’s what Alm kept telling himself when he noticed the layer of dust coating the tables.

There was a creak, and he couldn’t help but flinch. Now that his eyes had adjusted from the darkness of outside, he realized just how much the candles left unlit. The corners of the room shifted with shadows. Obviously it was just do the flickering lights, not because there was something there. With a little more time he’d adjust to--

There was a tap on his shoulder, and it took all his willpower not to jump out of his skin. Slowly he turned to find that the girl from before had entered again without him knowing.

“Announcing the Right and Honorable mistress of the manor,” She fell into a deep curtsy. “The Countess Celica Vaduva.”

Immediately, Alm stood bowing just as fully.

“Your Ladyship...” It was only know that he was bent did he regret not pulling out his dictionary to practice this beforehand. “I am honoring to be in your pree--”

Before he could continue, a hand gripped his chin. As it lifted his face, he couldn’t help but gasp. Maybe it was the loneliness of his trip getting to him, but in that moment all he wanted to do was stare and take in the stranger that stood before him.

The Countess was beautiful, that much was obvious to anyone with seeing eyes. But Alm wasn’t a lecherous pervert, he had seen many pretty ladies and gone on his day without giving them a second though. Still for her simple, black silks, there was an unearthly grace to her entire silhouette. From how she held her elegant neck to the way her red curls fell gently across her shoulders to frame her face, it all moved him in a profound yet incomprehensible manner.

“Please don’t try that again.” Her nails scraped lightly against his jaw. “Do you speak German?” Her grasp of his mother-tongue was much more thorough than his of Romanian. What trace of an accent that lingered only gave her words a gentle, soothing lithe.

“German, yes, thank you!” God, even her speech was captivating. Her ruby red lips against her pale white skin were a striking contrast. He wanted to commit everything about them to his memory, from their shape to their texture.

With a jerk, Alm forced himself to look away. Swooning over a noblewoman was not the way to start his field research.

The Countess giggled. Her laughter was thick and weighty, like a warm cloak had suddenly been fastened to you. “My when Genny described you, I didn’t expect you to be quite so shy.” She laughed again, but before he could self-combust from her teasing she graciously let go of his face and moved to sit across from him. “I’m curious about what kind of creature would show up at my door at this hour. Pray tell what is your name?”

“Schafer--Alm Schafer.” He scrambled back to his seat, grateful to move back into familiar territory. “Engel College...Clive Herrmann, does any of that ring a bell for you?”

“Not a single chime.” She laced her fingers together.

“I was surprised to find out that the former Count is dead,” Alm couldn’t stop himself from thinking out loud. “If we hadn’t been under the impression he was still alive Professor Herrmann would have never sent me to disturb his...” He trailed off once he realized he had no clue just who in fact this woman was.

“Daughter. I’m his daughter. Forgive me for not informing the entire world about his death while I have been grieving.” Her apologetic tilt of her head did nothing to hide the bitterness of her words.

“Oh, no, no, I understand that is was just a miscommunication error, please--”

“--Pardon me, Mr. Schafer, but all I really care to know is why you are here.” The Countess huffed. “I’m a busy woman, and you can’t ever regained wasted time.”

Alm took a deep breath. This had not been how he had anticipated his proposal going. It was all moving so much faster than he had prepared, banking on Count Lima’s pride as a patron to secure him a fortnight or so as he eased him into the idea of his research. Yet his sharp daughter had yet to turn him down. He had to adapt and make use of what goodwill he had if he truly cared about his studies.

“I’m very fascinated by aristocracy--” Alm tried to find words that would make sense to someone unfamiliar with academia. “--particularly in how it functions in newly-born modern nation such as Romania, and how the nation-state in turn influences the aristocracy.”

“I see.” The Countess said as if she clearly did not understand. “I’m not sure when Wallachia stopped being Wallachia, but I can tell you are a pupil of sorts, however peculiar you are.”

“See that’s what I’m talking about!” Alm leaned forward, carried away by the insight. “My research is all about learning what people like you think and why you feel that way. The past and present are not two separate planes but shape one another constantly. You must understand both to even approach one. Getting to observe your daily life, talking with you about various issues, why even just being allowed to access your family trees would make me the most blessed of scholars!” He fiddled through his satchel for his coin purse. “I know it is strange to request room and board before it is offered, but I can compensate you. Please understand that I come with nothing but sincere intellectual curiosity. Your compliance could help us expand our understanding of humanity like never before.”

The Countess was quiet, entwined hands hiding her expression. He didn’t quite understand what, if anything, had changed about her in their short time together, yet it still seemed as if something had soured between the two of them. The rancid odor of the faux pas seemed to consume the entire room.

“You play the ingenue quite well, Mr. Schafer, but I also see the true fox that hides behind your eyes.” There was a raspy quality to her voice now. “You come to a maiden’s abode at sunset, begging to know her. To turn you away from shelter at this time would be completely unexpected, a monster’s choice. You’re only mistake though was assuming that I couldn’t be cruel.”

She looked back up at him, those enchanting red lips quirked in a sly grin. “So tell me again Mr. Schafer. Why should I invite you into my humble home?”

Panic settled into his skin. When she put things like that, he did sound like quite the rake, asking to live with an unmarried woman. His first instinct was to try and defend his character, but the Countess gaze was so intense it left him speechless. Why was he here? He knew the steps that had carried him from Berlin to her doorstep, but now with an outsider’s eye, his actions seemed that of a madman’s. Disturbed, Alm cradled his temple. He was trying his best to string his thoughts together, but his mind was like a fogged moor. All he could do was wander it aimlessly as the shadows in the room seemed to grow larger and larger.

And yet just when he was sure they would swallow him, the Countess’ voice managed to dispel the darkness with just a word.

“It was wise of you to not try and deceive me. I have no need for your money, but honesty is quite the rarity.” She stood. “You may stay and conduct your odd research, but by it’s end you must convince me why I have also profited. If I find your answer lacking well--” She smiled, but something about the action was wrong. The vast whiteness of her teeth seemed as if it might devour him whole. “--I’ll suggest my own payment.”

Before he could respond, the Countess had already turned her back to him. “Genny can show you to your guest room. I suggest you retire soon. You’ll find Wallachian nights are often best avoided.”

After the constant back and forth his heart had endured, Alm find it difficult to muster much of a reaction at all for the rest of the evening. Even when the maid and her too quiet steps guided him into another equally alien and dark room, he found sleep was all that could move him.

But before dreamland could claim him, he remembered his journal. He had only gained it recently for this trip, but without proper notes, all his travels would be for naught. Dutifully, he tried to record the day’s events in as neutral and objective manner as possible. Yet when it came time to describe the Countess, he found his mind wandering.

Her eyes were the most exotic of shades. Even know I struggle to name the particular hue. They were likely a unique shade of brown, one that would be perceived differently depending on the lightning.

They were quite stunning, sometimes even appearing to be red.

A.N. Happy Halloween!  To celebrate I decided to give these two a vampire au to have some Gothic fun, expect heavy shout-outs to Dracula and general nerdiness!

[seasaltmemories]

You Say You Wanna Go to Heaven, But You’re Human Tonight

Rating: T

Summary: And so, Alm added idolatry to the list of his sins.

~

The morning after Duma was slayed, Celica rose at dawn to pray.

The first time, Alm saw this, he had wondered if in her half-awaken haze she had somehow forgotten the events of yesterday.  Such a theory might sound crazy at first glance, but some mornings he imagined himself back in Ram Village.  Memories took a long time to die, so rather than inflict her any pain, he had faked slumber and let her go along her day, before “properly” waking up himself.

In time, he thought, they would both learn to accept the present.  Morning lies always faded away in the afternoon’s bright light.

But as the days turned into weeks and then months, still she continued to pray.  Ignorance nor denial could explain her actions.  She spoke of Mila’s and Duma’s demise with as much certainty as anyone else. Yet as busy as they were with rebuilding Valentia, she continued to find time to converse with those who would never answer her.

It would have been easy to write it off as madness, a quirk she had picked up to survive.  Most of them had strange habits of their own--like how Mathilda always carried a knife up her sleeve, even when the battlefield was far away and she was decked in her court finery, or how Valbar refused to be placed anywhere besides the front-lines, even when he looked ready to pass out from so much marching in his heavy army.  Everyone found their own way to cope, and the polite thing to do was turn away and pretend you didn’t notice anything.

But then Alm’s own idiosyncrasies made that difficult to do.  Like a voyeur, stealing away a moment of intimacy, he woke early to spy on her prayers.  He never let on that he was awake, rather he silently studied her closed eyes and clasped hands, searching for the method to it all.

It seemed faith had little to do with the gods themselves.

It wasn’t as if Alm had ever disliked religion.  Growing up, he had done everything expected of him: attended every religious holiday with a proper tribute of wool in tow, said his prayers to thank Mila for the year’s harvest, even as they dwindled with each famine.  But unlike Faye, whose eyes had sparkled with purpose when she had donned the clock and pledged herself to be Mila’s personal tool, Alm had never been able to understand such devotion.  He couldn’t give himself up for a being he had never even seen before.

The hypocrisy didn’t escape him.  It was because of Duma’s blessing, Valentia had deemed him their Saint-King.  Without Mila’s mercy, he would have been powerless to save Celica, forced to kill her by his own hand.  However it was those very boons that caused him to chafe against the concept.  Because if Duma had cursed him with his dying breath, if Mila had deemed Celica a proper sacrifice that must be made, was he supposed to have just step aside and bend to their will?  Was he supposed bleed himself dry for creatures whose talons had shed so much blood in the first place?

Even if the gods hadn’t been mad, hadn’t deserved to finally have some peace, he knew he would have slaughtered them still if it meant saving the life of one of his loved ones.  He couldn’t understand Celica having done the near opposite.  When they had discussed such matters in the dead of night, huddled together and whispering secrets against the other’s skin, her words might as well have been spoken in another language.

“Of course I rather live a long and happy life, but Valentia is much bigger than just you and me.”  Her red curls had tickled the crook of his neck and she settled in.  “It’s our birthright to take care of it.  My one life was hardly a price if it had really meant peace would return.”

There was no point in arguing with her when the matter was all said and done, but despite their physical closeness she seemed so far away in that moment--so virtuous and good that she was untouchable.  And later on it seemed as if he wasn’t the only one to feel this way.  Already many former clergy members had taken to preaching her as Mila incarnated as a human.  While most days he was glad for her, during lonely, selfish nights the devil inside would want to cut her wings, pin her to the earth, and never let her go.

“She promised herself to me, and me alone!  I’m sorry, world, but you can’t have her!”

Each time such a thought came to him, he followed the same routine.  He imagined himself picking up the thought, examining it thoroughly, and then locking it inside a black chest, never to be considered again.  Such a route was dangerous to travel, placing his love for his own desires over his love of Celica. Still whenever the box rattled and screamed, he cracked it open just one inch.  He allowed him to steal that one moment of privacy with what remained of the gods.

In the last week or so, Celica had finally scheduled a meeting with her new acolytes.  It was useful to have such loyal allies during a change in power, but it was tricky business to keep such a following from getting distorted into an actual cult.  Still it was the first time they had been separated from the war.  Despite knowing she was safe and doing important work, it was difficult to calm his nerves.

She was due to return in the early morning, so he tried to get some sleep.  Still he tossed and turned throughout the night, getting little rest.  He must have dozed at one point, because he ended up waking with a start when he heard the door to his quarters open.

“Hello, darling,” Celica whispered as she entered.  “I’m home.”

“Celica...what are you wearing?”  It was a pitiful response, bu  the outside light haloed her body provided just enough illumination for him to make out that she was wearing a saint’s garb.  Such a choice perplexed him so, he lost any greetings he might have offered up.

“It’s a long story, but the Church of the One Kingdom offered me a promotion,”  She padded across the room to sit at her dresser.  “Even though technically priestesses can’t qualify as saints...I must look ridiculous, don’t I?”

Ridiculous was far from the truth.  She looked radiant, holy, every bit of the heavenly angel they believed her to be.  It made his heart ache like nothing else.

“It’s late, so feel free to go back to sleep.  I’ll tell you about my day in the morning proper.”

“I’m not that tired, I don’t mind staying up longer.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t miss a thing.  I”ll make sure it’s the first thing I do.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Silence seized the two of them.  Shame compelled Alm to turn away.  He didn’t deserve to look at her after such a blasphemous slight, but there was some enthralling about the sight of her staring at him like that.  Celica had removed her makeup yet still remained gowned.  It was if she was caught between the divine and the earthly.

Slowly, she removed the pins from her hair.  It fell like a curtain across her shoulders.  “You’re right.  I guess I’ve gotten used to white lies in my time away.  The things they expect of me...”

“You’ve earned your stunning reputation though.”  Alm insisted.  “No matter how difficult it is, you’ll always choose the right choice.”

“I guess, absence truly makes the heart grow fonder.”  She undid the tassels flowing from her sleeves before taking off her gloves.  It was strange how much beauty seemed to linger in such a simple motion.  “Although we must be living proof of it.”

“There’s something tantalizing about what you can’t have.” He was trying not to concentrate on the heat pooling in his belly, but he couldn’t stop his breath from hitching as she unfastened her breastplate.  Still he could not look away.

“Where did you get the idea that I am not yours?”  Celica laughed. She made a show of sliding her hands down the curves of her body as she removed her skirts.  “You usually wear green with more grace.”

How odd.  He felt more like a heretic to be called out for his jealousy of the gods than he did after slaying them with his own hands.  “I’m just a fool chasing after a girl too important for his little dreams.  Didn’t stop to consider my competition until it was too late.”

“You of all people shouldn’t put me on a pedestal.”  She shucked the last of her clothes until only her small-clothes remained. “I’m too flawed to survive up there.”

“You don’t think you’ll resent me for dragging you down?”  You didn’t tame envy by fanning its flames, but oh if he could be allowed this moment of weakness.  She had already shed so much of her celestial exterior for him.  He didn’t want to be her world forever, only for this night.

Instead of responding, she slide off the last of her modesty.  From the foot of their bed, she crawled on all fours until she was perched in his lap.  Faintly her tongue traced the shell of his ear.  “As long as you know how to worship me properly.”

And so, Alm added idolatry to the list of his sins.

A.N. Religion is fascinating to me, especially in the context of Celica’s arc where her devotion remains yet she kills a god (and later gets imagined as one in her ending), I also for a dreamwidth event got challenged to write a story with a striptease in it, and this Bastille song has been in my head, so as usual I set about trying to weave together differing elements 

[seasaltmemories]

Suffering

Rating: T

Summary: You’re mistaken to believe hate swallows every other emotion.” Slowly he closed the distance between them. “Love and hate are a masochistic pair of dancers, yet they continue twirling around one another all the same." [Arranged Marriage AU] [Trigger Warnings]

~

Rigel Castle was quiet. After an exciting night of song and dance, it seemed no one had the energy to return back to the land of the living just yet. Few guards remained at their posts, and the ones that did were often, sleeping, drunk, or both. It was a blessing Celica was thankful for, but it did nothing to alleviate her anxiety.

The only things left fueling her plans were desperation and determination. Neither logic nor well-constructed strategies meant anything, anymore. Tonight might be her last chance at freedom, and if she wasted it and got caught then returning to the dungeon might be the least of her worries.

 Earth Mother, guide me please. Don’t let my escape me in vain.

Just then, Celica heard the sound of clear, hurried footsteps. Frantically, she scanned her surroundings for a place to hide. Like the rest of the Rigel Castle, there was a restrained formality that offered little decoration. The only break in its strict design was a large door that laid at the end of the hallway. It made the hair on her body stand on end, but there was no time for second thoughts. As quickly and carefully as she could, she cracked open the door and slide herself inside.

Just as she rested her back against the door, she heard the sound of voices, and like that ever muscle in her body froze.

“Disgraceful!” A low voice scoffed. “Absolutely disgraceful to see Rigelian soldiers like this. Doubt we’ll be able to find enough to form a half-sober platoon.”

“Aren’t you being a little harsh, sir? After the last few days, they’ve earned their relaxation.”

“They’re not done yet though.”

“Excuse me? I thought the Deliverance had already ridden out.”

“Exactly. We’re not done dealing with them yet.” At the news, Celica’s eyes widened in fear. “Like I said, get me the least drunk men you can. We ride out at dawn.”

Something like a scream curled in the back of her throat. Not just because of the footsteps growing louder and louder, almost upon her, nor the bitter taste of betrayal on her tongue, but because of all that had happened since the Rigelians first step foot into Zofia--since this terrible marriage bound her to them in the first place.

I will never go back to that dungeon.  Magic crackled at her fingertips. We all will die before that happens.

But soon the footsteps grew soft again, then completely silent. She was completely alone with nothing but her burning hatred as company.

Before she could dwell on it much longer, she notice that the prickling sensation had not gone away. In fact as Celica examined herself, she found the pain had all concentrated around her brand.

For the first time, she noticed her surroundings were much different now. This part of Rigel Castle felt like neither like its brutal dungeons nor its deceptive residential wings. It seemed...older, less another man-made structure and more as if it had emerged from the earth itself.

A flight of stairs descended before her, yet as she peered over the edge, she could see no bottom. It just extended deeper and deeper into the cave. Every instinct in her body warned against what might wait at the bottom, but her brand seemed to sting even more the closer she got.

What did such a phenomenon mean, Celica couldn’t say. But she wanted to it mean something. That was the only thing she was certain of anymore.

And so she mouthed another her prayer to herself as she ventured down.

Time seemed to elongate, seconds taking minutes to pass. The steeper the stairs grew, the more the brand burned her skin. Soon both facts were all that she was focusing on. What if in reality she was just falling into a giant pit? She usually wasn’t one to doubt her perception so much, but the pain seemed to twist and bend her sight. When she made it to the bottom would she find her limbs broken and mangled for her reckless endeavor?

Just when she was sure the pain in her palm would grow overwhelming, when her courage would finally give way and she’d scramble back to Alm’s room to forget about the attack on the Deliverance and play the good Rigelian wife, she came across a strange cell of sorts.

In the middle of it sat a great skeleton of a dragon with a sword piercing its skull.

“Oh Mila...” Celica murmured to herself.

“You called?”

It took all of her willpower not to shriek as she moved closer to find another dragon lying just out of her initial line of vision. Brown-dried blood stained its scales while feathery wings curled around its body. It had been centuries since she had assumed that form, but could it really be?

“Earth Mother!” Celica’s voice cracked with emotion. Her arm seemed to move with a mind of its own, straining to touch her, yet what little distance she could reach through the iron bars wasn’t enough.

“I’m here, child.” She sighed. “It pains me I can’t take a shape you are more comfortable with, but it really is me.”

After weeks of refusing to cry, it was like the floodgates opened. Celica found herself sobbing like a child again as she collapsed to the floor. There was so much she wanted to say, it all swirled together into a mess of tears. Had Mila heard all the prayers she had offered up, knew the pain and humiliation she had endured in her name? Dragon or no, she wanted to be there with her, pressed against her scales as she babbled away every hidden secret she had carried since the fire.

But no matter how close she was to true peace, Celica knew she couldn’t fall apart. Not yet. Slowly, she rose so that she could sink into a proper bow.

“I traversed all of Valentia in search of you, Earth Mother. How may I serve you?”

“You may rise, Anthiese.” It felt strange to hear Mila address her. Outside of the disaster of a honeymoon, she had only visited her once or twice. Her purpose had always been to stand as her father’s daughter rather than an individual, to be seen and not heard as the pageantry and rituals took place before her eyes. “My, you look so much like Liprica now. You’ve blossomed into such a fine lady.”

Celica stiffened. Sometimes even she forgot about her mother’s life before becoming just another wife of her father’s. She had been a sacred and well-respected priestess at Mila’s Temple. To directly serve their goddess was an honor only few ever received. She should have held that position until the day she died.

Yet after her father’s men had kidnapped her in the middle of the night, Mila hadn’t remarked on the situation at all.

“Her sacrifice was a tragedy I grieve to this day,” Mila closed her eyes and paused as she took a labored breath. “But without it, I couldn’t have claimed you as mine.”

“Claimed me?”

“Yes,” With one word it was like a spark had been ignited her eyes. “Neither Duma nor I knew the exact details, but we shared our blood with you humans, for a reason. One day our bloodline would return to save us from our darkest days.”

It was difficult to process such news, but something deep inside of Celica accepted it without question. Her pain and suffering had been for a reason. She wasn’t a failure. Her goddess needed her, specifically. Despite the rush though, she tried to remain calm and level-headed.

“What did they do to you, Earth Mother?” Her gaze drifted back to dragon skeleton with the sword. “Is that--”

“I’ll explain everything to the best of my abilities.” Mila tilted her head towards the other dragon. “That is, indeed, my brother, and that is Falchion. It was a secret weapon he held, back during our quarreling days. If he died against me, then one of his branded could return the favor and avenge him. Only it seems the current emperor has gone mad and fancied himself a god greater than Duma. I don’t know what spurred this betrayal, but I pity my brother all the same.”

“What about the prince?” She found herself interrupting Mila by accident. “Forgive me, but I perceived that he was the one to harm you.”

“He did.” Something like laughter bubbled up from her fangs, but it was as if her body couldn’t form the right sounds. “Poor boy has been twisted from his birth to hate his master and true destiny. He used Duma’s hair and teeth to create a special net to ensnare me. Can you imagine such blasphemy?”

It was only with that information, Celica finally noticed the wires extending from Mila’s body. They were thin, only visible when they caught the light. Usually such trifling things would be easily ignored by a goddess. It had to be something about coming from Duma that did this.

“Why haven’t they killed you too? What twisted purpose would they torture you for?” It felt like she was on the verge of something, like she was slowly putting together a puzzle and just needed a few more pieces, but she still couldn’t quite tell what the picture was.

There was that not-laugh again. Was she trying to smile? Mila was showing teeth, but there was little mirth in the action. “My dear brother isn’t dead. He almost is, but it seems sentiment got in the way at the last minute. Or spite, who can tell? But this is where you can come in and save me.” Mila strained to lean forward, yet could only move a few centimeters. “You are branded. If in his dying breath he gives you permission to wield Falchion, you could cut me free. Nothing else can break these ties. You’re my only hope, Anthiese.”

The weight of her gaze laid heavy on Celica’s chest. As honorable as such a role was, the responsibility was beginning to drown out her previous elation. She was so tired. She didn’t know how many more burdens she could carry before her body gave way.

“Are you sure this is the only choice, I don’t what would make Duma trust me now when I’ve--”

“Don’t question my judgment!” Her sudden roar made Celica flinch. “I apologize,” Quickly Mila lowered her voice. “But you do know what a brand means?” There was that spark again. “Your life is mine. I nursed your ancestors for centuries. As the product of their prosperity, you have no right to refuse me now.” This time, Celica could tell she was indeed trying to smile, although the expression was terrifying on her face. “I believe in you.”

Celica took a deep breath. Mila was right. How selfish could she be to abandon her country and people right at the last minute? If that ambush on the Deliverance was really going to happen, she couldn’t waste anymore time dallying about.

“I’ll do it.” She bowed deep and low to the ground. “I won’t let you down.”

After examining the cell, soon, she had found an entrance. Considering Mila was trapped in her dragon form, it seemed they hadn’t bother to lock a small human-sized door on the other side. When she entered, the size of both dragons took her aback, yet Mila continued to give that fanged grin in encouragement.

“Take Falchion. Then all will be made clear to you.”

As Celica took hold of Falchion, she didn’t know what she expected. Perhaps more pain, or holy fire damning her for touching another god’s sacred weapon.

Well she didn’t know when she closed her eyes, but when she opened them instead she found a tall man standing before her.

He was dressed in Rigelian armor, long green hair done back in a ponytail. Despite lacking any similar facial features to his sister, somehow she recognized him immediately.

“Duma,” Celica whispered. Then realizing her error, she tried to bow while still holding on to Falchion, although of course she couldn’t bow as deeply as she had for Mila, as that would be disloyal to her, yet for some reason she couldn’t see Mila nor Falchion anymore where had they--

“Peace, child.” His deep voice steadied her thoughts.

“War Father,” Celica ducked her head. “I petition you on the behalf of my own patron. Please excuse any sacrilege I might have committed against your Faithful and put aside any old grudges because the only way I can--”

“I said peace, child.” This time there was an edge to his voice. “Although I am in this decaying state, I still have not lost my hearing. I know my sister’s schemes. The only thing I remain ignorant of, is if you are worthy of my judgment or not.”

It took all her willpower to stay standing tall, to keep looking him in the eyes. She didn’t know what was more likely to happen once her nerve gave out, if she would cry or strike him.

“You have the bearings of a warrior, child of peace. That’s not something I’ve seen in many of my kings, much less a pet spoiled on milk and honey.”

“Forgive me War Father,” Before she could stop herself, the words were already slipping past her tongue. “But I don’t recall ever being given milk and honey.”

Red eyes set on her, and for a moment, Celica was certain she’d be vaporized any second. Instead, Duma tilted his head.

“Elaborate.”

“I don’t know what you want to hear, but Jedah talked as if you loved suffering. I’ve had enough suffering just to get to where I am standing now. I don’t wish to suffer more simply for your entertainment.” Alm had been the first to insist that pretty lies had no place in Rigel. Even if that had proven to be a pretty lie in of itself, she wanted to see how their god would fare against a brutal truth.

Duma just continued to study her. “Tell me, child of peace. Do you hate me?”

The question took her aback. “I respected you. Even if Mila guarded Zofia, without you, Valentia would have never survived. I’m grateful for that.”

“Why do you use the past tense?”

“Because when I was forced to pray to you until my voice went hoarse, when my torturers hurt me in your name, I truly did loathe you. Even if you never wanted any of that to happen to me, I can’t help but carry that pain with me when I think of you now. I don’t know which one will win out after this is over.”

“You’re mistaken to believe hate swallows every other emotion.” Slowly he closed the distance between them. “There’s a part of me that still hates my sister, yet the only reason I’ve refused to die yet is in hopes that she might be spared.” As large as he was next to her, there was something in the curve of his lip that seemed to bring him down to her level. “Love and hate are a masochistic pair of dancers, yet they continue twirling around one another all the same."

Something uncomfortable swirled in the pits of her stomach. She did her best to push it down. “So did I fail your judgment?”

“I wanted Prince Albein to wield Falchion so badly.” Duma sighed. “He reminded me so much of Rigel. I thought we might take all of Valentia together. Maybe even dethrone Naga and her precious people.” Whatever vulnerability that had existed before was gone now, replaced with a proud strength that could snap her like a twig if he so pleased. “But I supposed his soul partner shall do. I see fire in your eyes, child of peace. You know how to do what is necessary.” Gently he placed his hand on top of her head.

“I’m putting a lot of trust in you. Once Falchion is unsealed, there will be no going back. Promise me you’ll save my sister.”

“I will.” Celica clasped her hands and brought them to her lips. “I swear on my life.”

“No matter what she says.” The last part startled her, and her confusion must have shown on her face. “I’m afraid I don’t have enough time to explain. Still I always believe even the worst suffering can bring wisdom. I hope it may guide you well.” He turned around, looking at a horizon that didn’t exist. “Is it alright if I close my eyes now? I used to be too stubborn to ever accept peace. Perhaps this old fool still has time to learn.”

In an explosion of light, Duma’s image dispersed. When Celica found herself opening her eyes again, Falchion was free and the skeleton gone.

“I’ll pray for you, War Father.” Celica found herself whispering. “I’ll pray that you learn peace.”

“Good work Anthiese.” Mila’s voice was high and tinny, breaking Celica from her musing. “Now just cut the wires and then everything will be fixed.”

The weight of the sword felt heavier than it should. As she dragged it toward Mila, she tried to assess Duma’s words. Did he believe Mila to have lost all hope? Or perhaps he worried that she might unknowingly drag her own brand bearer into another trap.

“Wait,” Celica slowed to a stop. “Before we start this, there is something you have to know. I have soldiers who could be walking into a trap--”

“None of that will matter once I’m free!” Mila groaned. “Please you’ll understand soon.”

It seemed in this panicked state, there was little reasoning with her. It was selfish of her to not consider how Mila’s pain might cloud her mind just as it had clouded her own in the dungeon. There seemed to be one only one way to dispel the chaos. With a sigh, Celica readied her blade.

Once Mila is free, everything will be fixed.

With a single swing, Celica cut the wires embedded in Mila.

In an instant, she stood on her hindquarters, form shifting rapidly between her full draconic size and a woman of feathers and scales. Every time Celica’s eyes got used to one version, Mila snapped back to a different one, sometimes even ending up stuck in a grotesque half-form. It was only once her mind gave up on processing this did she finally register the guttral scream that remained just as pained and tortured no matter what.

“Oh Earth Mother,” Celica whimpered, not sure if she was calling out to the being in front of her anymore.

“No...I-I expected...this,” Mila croaked out between cries. “I apologize for my deceit.”

A great clawed foot crashed into Celica’s chest as Mila straddled her. Her claws tore through her shirt with ease and laid readied above her skin to do the same thing.

“Mila please, I didn’t mean to hurt you!” She pushed uselessly against her leg, unable to escape its weight. “I’m sorry, please forgive me!”

“Your soul is so bright...it’s such a beautiful thing,” Her voice was more gentle than ever, sounding scarily human-like now. “Just one bite won’t hurt,” Her right foot transformed into a human hand, and it gripped Celica’s chin. “Quit squirming and remember your vows, Liprica.”

What followed next shouldn’t have occurred. Falchion had been knocked from her hands and laid out of reach. And even without the lack of touch, enchanted weapons always took a while to master. Arts couldn’t be called from them without intense practice. Yet once Mila grabbed her, Celica felt as if her bones had been turned to gunpowder.

And well Duma had said the fire had been there from the start.

An inferno of red and gold consumed them both. Mila’s cries, their brilliant blaze, it was all drowned out by the blood boiling in her veins. The part of herself aware of what was happening wondered if this is what her siblings had felt in the villa, if they had now bestowed on her combined pain of their deaths as they had slowly burned to ash. Or maybe it wasn’t ghosts, but fate that had paid her a visit. Maybe all the times she should have died had now converged to make sure she couldn’t slip away this time.

The rest of her could only weep in fear.

As quickly as the flame had appeared, it died out soon after. Celica struggled to remain conscious, but darkness blurred her vision. The only thing her eyes could focus on was Mila, now charred and burned as she stumbled back. Yet as she regained her footing, she took off running towards her.

 Oh this is it

The thought came to her with sparkling clarity. Killed by her own goddess, how crueler could the universe get?

Yet right as Mila was about to trample her, she leaped and crashed through the cell bars. A roar filled the tunnels and once it faded away, equal parts dread and relief flooded her body. Soon she could tell her vision would darken completely.

 Seems I’m still the princess who refuses to die...

 I guess even I don’t deserve such kindness.

~

The first thing destiny took from Alm was his dignity.

A servant had barged into his room, and in his half asleep state he had cared little to listen to her. Rather he had frantically pulled at his covers to try and maintain some degree of modesty for him and Anthiese.

But as he reached for her, all he found was empty space.

While stunned, the servant had dragged him out at bed. She was an older matron who between frantic cries scoffed at his bashfulness. Rather than noticing his indecency at all, she kept yelling about a giant beast ravaging the halls.

In an instant, Alm became completely awake.

He sent the servant in search of his sword and armor as he dressed himself, mind whirling with worries. There was so much to consider, where to find Father, if the Duma wires had given way, and if so, would it be worth it to try and pry Falchion out of Duma’s skull for the umpteenth time. But one thought concerned him above all else.

She’s not here. She said she’d stay here.

His first instinct had been to run up to Father’s bedroom, but by the time he made it there, he was nowhere to be found. Anxiety and fear gripped his being. He searched for a servant or guard to guide him, but everyone he talked to proved to be just as agitated and confused as him. Would Berkut be any help? Or would there just be another naked, surprised prince to have to explain everything all over again to? Gods, where had Anthiese gone?

There were so many questions, so many possible answers he didn’t want to face. He couldn’t tell if it was a blessing or a curse when a rumbling shook the castle, jostling him from his thoughts. Before he could regain his footing, there was a crash, and a soldier was thrown through a nearby window.

“What’s going on? Can you report on the current situation?” His first instinct was to help the soldier up, but on closer expectation he found her legs broken, bloody things.

“Monster...” The soldier muttered as she clung to his breastplate. “You have to help the Emperor, he’s--” Her words descended into an unintelligible mess of groans. As much as her state pained him, he couldn’t help but drop her at the revelation.

For a split second, he almost prayed.

Instead though, he rushed out onto the ramparts the soldier had been thrown from. The night was still dark, with only a few torches to light the way. But for his lack of sight, the sounds and smells illuminated enough. There a low, constant moan, humming from station to station. With each source a disgusting mixture of blood and piss tainted the air. While Alm was no stranger to the battlefield, this wasn’t anything so honorable. This was a massacre.

 Don't look at them, find Father

He ran down its length, trying not to focus on the bodies the light settled on, trying not to listen to their calls for help. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry--” Maybe that was all he was good for anymore: useless apologies that were uttered too late. None of his words had ever been good enough for Anthiese, why did he thing they would do him any good as hurried whispers? At this point he felt as he was no longer himself anymore, but some puppet on a string desperately trying to remember his dance. Gods, he had to do something. He was the brand bearer, it didn’t matter who started the fire, if the world burned, it only do so because of his failure to stop it.

 They have to be alive, they have to be alive, please take me if you must, but they have to be--

Both his thoughts and steps came to a crashing halt once he reached the far bastion. In the darkness it was difficult to make sense of it all, but there was something almost in the shape of Mila. It was the right size, bearing both feathers and scales, but something in his mind couldn’t put all the details quite together. He had already seen her draconic form, already faced down the goddess and her greatest power, yet something about this terrified him to the core of his being.

The earlier rumbling crystallized into something like words as she bent towards the soldier pinned beneath her.

“Heretic, blasphemous rat, wicked man, rotting in my shit is too good a fate for you, you don’t deserve to wear my brother’s brand--”

“No!” The cry came from somewhere young and foolish inside of him. At the interruption, the dragon turned to reveal a beautiful woman’s face stained with blood. Her movement allowed a beam of moonlight to slip through and confirm the worse of his fears.

This time even just focusing on the details couldn’t save him from the truth. Even if he could have somehow missed the emperor’s lance which laid still clutched in his hands, if he brilliant red and gold armor wasn’t a give-away, if the entire face had been smashed in and not only halfway where he could still fear like never before on Father’s face--

His body was in motion before he could realize it, sword poised to hit not the most lethal locations, but the most painful ones. Yet with each swing, she deflected the blow with hardened scales lined against her legs.

“My, my, you need to save your breathe boy,” It was only then Alm realized he was screaming, no roaring as if he was a wild beast himself. Yet such taunts only made him grow louder and his lunges more frantic.

“I’m trying to do you a service!” She laughed. “While you couldn’t help your upbringing, your pain will be a long, (delicious) experience.” Despite her crowing, she stumbled at those words. Alm wasted no time. In one swift motion he raised his sword--

--and just missed her as jumped off the bastion and flew away.

For a minute, Alm could only stare at her slowly fading figure and seethe in his rage. He wanted to transcend his bones and flesh, become a force of nature with no higher purpose in his life than to destroy. But as he lost sight of Mila, the grief and pain became all there was left of him.

Before he figured it would consumed him completely, he approached Father’s corpse. There was little that would make such a grisly sight palatable, but he did his best to straighten his armor, to place his crown back upon his head. He did his best to fight against the tide of regrets. It was a warrior’s death. He had protected his country until his last breath. Better to mean something than to just waste away.

But it didn’t stop Alm from wishing more than anything that he had at least gotten to be there with him when he died, to have more memories of the end than a mangled corpse.

“Father, what am I supposed to do now?”

The only answer he received was his own chocked sobs.

A.N. Lots more blood and pain in this chapter, which was similar to the writing process for this lol, I had a rough semester, plus some outside projects, which made what I knew would be a difficult chapter even more of a challenge, sorry if this feels thin content-wise, but there is a lot going on with lore and action so I figured it would better to stop obsessively editing it and to just get it out before Three Houses takes up a lot of my free time

The plot of Echoes have finally come to terrorize the PLBT!cast, just when a stable status quo seemed in sight, now both of them most handle the consequences of their choices

[seasaltmemories]

celica alm cooking fluff plssssssssss

Celica’s calves burned from the walk up the stairs to her apartment.  She had told herself she should exercise more and taking the stairs instead of the elevator was an easy first step, but after a long day of working late, her body was regretting that decision.  As soon as let herself in, she kicked her heels off to the side, and peeled off the rest of her sweaty clothing until she was down to her underwear.  After running across the city and back in the hot sun, all she wanted to do was take a shower and then collapse into bed.  Tomorrow was going to be just as strenuous, so there was no need to drag today out any longer, even if that phone-call still hung in her mind.

However, before she could make it to the bathroom, she noticed the tv in the living room was still on.  As she went to turn it off she found Alm asleep on the couch.  Strange, he wasn’t the type watch much tv and doze off.    Figuring he’d prefer to sleep in his own bed, she nudged him gently.

“Mmhm?”  Alm groaned as  he lifted his head.  “Celica?”

“It’s me,” Up close, she noticed the stains lining his t-shirt and a glob of something smattered across the bridge of his nose.  Knowing him, Gray and the rest of the gang must have dragged him into something stupid, but that would be a story to hear another day. “You should wash up and get to bed.”

Slowly he began to sit up, stretching his limbs out like he was a cat.  “What time is it?”

“11:00pm.  Don’t worry, I’m gonna be joining you soon.”

Immediately his head snapped towards her, suddenly alert and lively.  “Ah! Good then I didn’t miss it!  Follow me!”  Before she could protest, he had already grabbed her hand and dragged her to the kitchen.  “Ta da!”  With a flourish he flicked the light-switch.  “Happy Birthday!”

Sitting on the counter was a plastic cake container with a note proclaiming the same cheery message. If it had been any other day she would at least appreciate the effort, but after everything that had happened, she couldn’t mask her disappointment.

“Alm...we talked about this.”  It had been bad enough having to spoil Mae and Boey’s attempt at a surprise lunch date.  “I just don’t really have the time for--”  She tried to search for the right words, but ended up coming up blank.  “--that.”  She gestured at the container.

Alm ran a hand through his hair  “I know you didn’t want to celebrate, but I thought something simpler could help make the festivities go down a bit easier.  So what if it isn’t a birthday cake, just one I happened to make this afternoon?  We can save it for tomorrow if you’re really too tired.”

In the light she could see it was flour that had gotten all over his clothes and face.  Considering the evening out together he had originally planned, Alm really was trying to meet her on her level.  It wasn’t like she disliked her birthday, but with her polling and research running her more ragged than usual on top of the other normal stresses of life, she felt as if she physically couldn’t relax, that if left doing nothing for too long she would snap and lash out at those just wanting to help her and ruin everything.    

Without warning, her stomach let loose a loud growl.  When she did the math in her head, she realized she hadn’t had any food since her quick lunch at 3.

“I guess one slice wouldn’t hurt.”

Alm’s smile was so bright, she thought it might blind her in that moment.  “Sounds great!  One slice coming up!”  With a flourish he removed the top...

...and revealed the saddest cake she had ever seen.  She hadn’t expected any homemade effort to be professional quality, but what frosting had managed to stay on the cake seemed to double its height.  The poor thing couldn’t even stand up straight.

She couldn’t help.  Immediately she broke in an ugly laugh, so hard she buried her face in her hands in an attempt to keep some measure of dignity.

“Hey! I worked very hard on it!” Alm scowled, but he couldn’t hide the flush slowly creeping up his neck.

“I know you did, honey.  I appreciate it, truly,”  She leaned forward to kiss his cheek.  “What matters the most is that it tastes good.”

Back in highschool, when imagining the grand and ambitious life she’d have once she left home, Celica hadn’t picture herself eating an ugly slice of cake in her underwear at midnight.  But as Alm and she ate (it actually turned out to taste pretty decent) something in her slowly began to still.  Ugh, somehow she always managed to forget just how much slowing down helped her, even when every bone in her body screamed not to.  Funny how humans were like that.  Repeating the same mistakes over and over again.  Really she was a pro at it.  But instead of beating herself over it, she tried to focus on the way Alm’s thumb skimmed over her knuckles.  It was harder to lose her head with him anchoring her.

When they both finished, Alm moved to put the cake up, but before he could leave, she squeezed his hand.

“Hmm?”  He raised an eyebrow.  With the way that flour was still caked across the bridge of his nose, she couldn’t help but smile and lean forward to wipe it off.

“Dad texted me today.”

Alm muttered something under his breath, yet from the way his grip tighten around her she knew more or less what he said.

“I thought you had blocked that bastard’s number?”

“And changed mine since the last time he pulled this stunt.”  Celica massaged the side of her temple with her free hand.  “But he must have been using his latest girlfriend’s phone bc I didn’t recognize the number and thought it might be one of the priests I’ve scheduled to interview.  And once I started reading....it was like a train-wreck, couldn’t look away no matter how much I wanted to.”

“What’d he say?”

“The same old about not being sure about how much time he has left,” She sighed as she pulled at a loose string.  It always felt like she pouring salt in an exposed wound right after she thought it had closed.  “And he tried to worm his way into getting an invitation to the wedding.”  

Alm let go of his hand to cup her face, his thumb stroking her cheek gently.  “Cel...don’t feel like you have to forgive him just it’s what you’re “supposed” to do.  You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your special day for other people’s happiness.  Least of all, his.”

“Oh the guilt is definitely there, but I feel like I’m handling it better,”  Despite her light pitch the bitterness steeped through all the same.  “Rather it feels like I have no choice.  If he was able to get my number he can probably figure out where its gonna be and invite myself.  I feel tied to being his daughter no matter what I do.”

Alm bit his lip--a common habit for when he was frustrated.  One one hand it was touching to see him emphasize so much with her, but on the other she hated making him suffer.

“I called my therapist about it.  When I get around to my next session we’ll be ready to tackle it.”

“Doesn’t make me want to try and fix everything any less,”  Alm pulled away, fists clenching and unclenching.  This was an old song and dance for them, yet that didn’t ease the pain a bit.  “You know I’m always willing to do whatever I can.”

“And I love you for that.”  It was Celica’s turn to stroke his arm.  Truly even this meant the world to her. “It doesn’t help that he offered to cover expenses.  Almost makes me want to tolerate him just so that money isn’t stuck sitting in his trust funds and--”

“--Celica, I would never ask that of you.”  Green eyes bore into her soul.  “I feel awful that you’ve had to be working yourself to death for me, but I promise once I pass the bar exam, things will get easier for both of us.”

She took that moment to study Alm closely, to really observe the man she would dedicate herself to in the matter of a few months and the worry that lined his face. My my in moments like this she could trace out the boy she first met, who had been doing his damnest to befriend the lonely, rich girl.

“Look at us--”  Celica gestured from her underwear, to the cake, then to the rest of the apartment, at a lost of what to say.  “--just...tripping over each to see who can do the most for the other.  I thought it was my job to overthink things.”

“We’re both the professional types,” Alm ran a hand through his hair.  “Professional disasters for now but one day we might get prompted on up to professional mess.”

“It will be quite exciting won’t it?”  Celica laughed.  The memories swarmed before her eyes, of the two of them sharing their dreams during homecoming, imagining the world that would wait for them once they left their small town. They had managed to survive high school together and even made it through undergrad all while thousands of miles apart.  The fact they made it this far would have blown her fourteen year-old mind.

“Hey, don’t worry about saving the world, Superman.”  This time she pressed a kiss to his nose.  “Just be my Clark Kent.”  Even with no clear solution to her father, the wedding, or tomorrow’s long hours, her shoulders still as if some of the weight had been lifted.

“Eh not sure if I can ever give up on the world,”  From the faraway look in his eye, he must have been reliving the past just like her.  “but you think it’s ok for now?”

The same tired side of her was ready to insist everything was fine, that she had to rush to bed so she could rush all tomorrow again.  However its tiredness seemed to have drained even her own weariness.

“Can we cuddle for a bit?”  She felt like a teen voicing such a desire.  “We’ve been out of sync with our schedule for a while now, and I’ve really missed it.”

Without another word, Alm wrapped her in his arms.  As Celica rested her head against his heart, she knew that everything they’ve been through would have all been worth it just to have this moment.  

A.N. Idk if I know how to fluff anymore, so some hurt/comfort as much as it got away from the prompt I am just happy to finish something

[seasaltmemories]

idk if the writing asks were for a specific fandom so don't feel obligated! but "You have approximately 5 seconds to get out of my face before I kill you.” for Alm and Celica?

The week after her wedding, and Celica found herself trapped in the same dull captivity from before.

According to the Rigelians, she and her husband were supposedly so overwhelm with ‘marital bliss’ that it would be too much to let them deal with the state of affairs.  What rubbish.  Even if the two of them hadn’t touched each other since that disaster of a wedding night, they could have at least given her the dignity of having her kingdom stolen from her outright.  This was a farce.  There was no need to dance around the truths of war.

Really there was nothing she could do.  More and more the staff was getting replaced by Rigelian servants she didn’t know herself.  She had been hesitant to ever call the castle home, but more than ever see felt caught in a foreign land.  Even in the privacy of her own room, it was impossible to shake that feeling.  Maybe there was no avoiding it.  It had been a long time since she had ever felt truly at ease.

Despite these brutal truths as the Rigelians would say, Celica preferred to at least pretend she still held power.  So on a sudden whim, she found herself wandering the halls as if she was still the one in control.  It didn’t matter that the action was mostly empty.  The fact she was allowed to hold her head high was a slight comfort she tried to relish.

Eventually she came across Alm sparring in the courtyard.  His opponent was that Rigelian royal who constantly wore black armor.  What was his name again, Bertholdt?  Oh well, it didn’t matter to her at this moment.  Already she had gotten pulled into watching their battle play out.

For all their talk of power, the Rigelians knew of grace as well.  It was like a dance, the way those two fought.  Each slash of the blade was followed by a sidestep, parry, and then another attack from the opponent as well.  Neither seemed content to go on the defensive, looking to strike at every opportunity.

Just as Celica thought the fight was really heating up though, the two of them laid down their weapons and shook hands.  Despite their heavy breathing and sweat, the two of them looked to be rejuvenated instead of drained from all the movement.

“Until tomorrow, cousin,”  Alm slapped him heartily on the back.

“You know they say,”  The man in black replied.  “Don’t let the bastards grind you down.”

“Here, here.”  They parted, strengthened by whatever male-bonding exercise that had been.  It wasn’t until Alm turned around to grab a towel did he finally notice her.

“Ah–”  Green eyes blinked twice.  “–Anthiese, nice to see you.”

“Likewise, Your Highness.”  Despite her polite tone, her expression shared none of its cordiality.

“What brings you down here?”

“Do I need a particular reason to  go somewhere in my own home?”  Celica bristled at the comment.

“’Course not.  In fact I’m glad you came down here.”  He pulled out a sword from a weapon rack and presented it to her.  “A wedding gift from North Rigel.  They left a note saying that it was meant for you specifically.”

Gingerly, she inspected it.  As much as she rather not admit it, the blade was truly a work of art.  She gave it a few experimental swings.  It was a near perfectly weight for her.

“Glad you like it,”  Alm gave that bright, wide-eye grin of his.  “Say if you’re up for it, I wouldn’t mind helping you test it out.”

Red eyes narrowed in suspicion.  Was this some sort of apology?  And if it was for what?  It’s one thing to try and amend a relationship after a disastrous wedding night than to try and make taking over one’s country a less bitter pill to swallow.

“…A servant of Mila has no use for violence.”

“I don’t mean to disrespect your religious beliefs, but I’m sure you’ve bent the rules from time to time.”  He leaned forward with a knowing look in his eye.  “After all bandit kings don’t just disappear on their own, now do they?”

It took all her willpower not to drive the sword through his forehead right there.  Those missions had been not only top secret but a necessity.  Her father had refused to act, so the burden had fallen on her shoulders.  It was nothing like this dreadful invasion of theirs.

“If you wish to spar then I will entertain you, my Lord.”  She took a few steps back and entered a fighting stance.

“A physical one this time, please.  I’m not sure I could survive a thrashing from your tongue.”  The transformation was instantaneous.  In the blink of an eye he turned from the smiling, easy-going boy she knew as her husband into the cunning and deadly general she knew as her enemy.

Just as with the previous match, his attacks were quick and fierce.  It took all her focus just to deflect each blow.  However thanks to her previous observations, she could tell he was moving slower than he had against his cousin.  It was only a minute difference, but it could be the difference between victory and defeat for her.

Celica kept up the defensive front as she thought out her next move.  Then she kicked her leg out to knock him off his feet.  As expected from a trained soldier, he recovered from it easily, but that was enough time for her to lunge forward and press her blade right against his neck.

Immediately his entire body went rigid, adam’s apple bobbing up and down in fear.  It was such a delicious reaction, Celica couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction as she leaned in closer.  This rush of power was not just addicting but familiar.  All it took was one kiss and it’d be ripe for her taking.

But then she felt the edge of Alm’s blade pressed against her stomach.  Just like that night, this was all an illusion.  He was probably laughing to himself at the fact she was fooled so easily.

“What’s wrong?  How did I mess up again?”  His voice wavered like a tree branch in a storm.  “I don’t know why I keep hurting you without meaning to.”

“You have approximately 5 seconds to get out of my face before I kill you.”  She growled before shoving him away.  She had to get away; do something, anything but keep looking at those damn green eyes of his.  Already her feet her moving on their own, but before she could get completely out of earshot, he called out,

“If it matters to you, we’re leaving for Mila’s Temple in two days.”

Celica turned on her heel, red eyes flashing with anger.  Yet despite such a scene, Alm continued on calmly.

“It’s for our honeymoon.  You don’t have to like it, but for your sake I assumed you’d like to prepare for the journey accordingly.”

With a huff, Celica stormed off, not even sparing him a glance.

[seasaltmemories]

Pretty Lies and Their Brutal Truths

Rating: T

Summary: Whatever warm feelings Celica had towards him shriveled up in a flash.  He was not simply a bystander in this disgusting war, but the person who had planned it from the start.

And according to father’s news this morning, he was also her fiance.

“Fine garden isn’t it?”

Celica looked up to see a man had joined her side while she had been musing to herself.  No man was too strong a word.  He was not a child, but still to deem him an adult seemed unfitting.  There was a better word to describe him, but at the moment she couldn’t find it.

“Of course, it’s one of Mila’s greatest blessings to all Zophia.”  Her words were laced with a trained formality she had acquired over these last few years.  As uncomfortable as her “princess voice” made her, Celica wanted to study this stranger without raising too much suspicion.

He was dressed in fine yet well-used armor, a rarity in Zophia, while a thin band around his head brushed green bangs back.  However what stood out to her were his eyes.  They were such kind things, coupled with the roundness of his cheeks and his easy smile, and it was hard to believe he had come with the rest of the Rigelian soldiers to desecrate her homeland.

The word hit her then: teen.  He really couldn’t be more than a day older than herself.

“Your land is truly beautiful, your Highness.”

“Thank you...”  

He seemed to notice her hesitation with addressing him personally because he was quick to ease her confusion.  “Ah I really should formally introduce myself.  My name is Albein Alm Rudolf, crown prince of Rigel.”

Whatever warm feelings she had towards him shriveled up in a flash.  He was not simply a bystander in this disgusting war, but the person who had planned it from the start.

And according to father’s news this morning, he was also her fiance.

Regardless she forced her princess voice on again, in all it’s cold politeness.  “Princess Anthiese, crown princess of Zophia.  As I was saying, thank you for your kind words, your Highness.”

“It’s not a problem at all.”  He shot her a boyish grin.  “And feel free to call me Alm.”

“As you wish, Lord Alm.”  She decidedly refused to share him the same pleasure.  The name Celica was tied to a too precious time she couldn’t let these barbarians tarnish.

“Anyway would you be willing to show me around the gardens some more?  It’s not often I have a moment to breathe without Cousin Berkut trying to hunt me down for a sparring match.”

He phrased it as a question, as if she had any decision in the matter.  If she so much as looked at him the wrong way, the Rigelians could call off the peace treaty and go right back to burning Zophia’s villages to the ground.

“Of course, Lord Alm.”  She adopted an expression of passive contentment.  Let her embody Lady Mila’s grace as best as she can.  If this was who she must share her life with, then she was going to need it.

They made their way through the gardens together, Alm chattering on about idle topics she mainly nodded her head whenever prompted.  Again she wanted to get as best a read of him as she could with being noticed.  Despite what any peace treaty said, he was still the enemy in her eyes.  No bright smile could make her forget that.

She waited for a flash of brutality to flirt across his features, a sign of Rigelian cruelty, and yet it never came.  He just continued blathering on like a fool at everything.  If this was a time to assess his dominance over her, than he was more concerned with making bad play on words about vases and cooing over kittens.

Still Celica couldn’t miss the sense of confidence that oozed from every pore of his being.  His steps were military and precise.  As benign as he tried to appear, there was no ignoring the danger he possessed.

“You seem quiet Princess Anthiese.”  Again Alm dragged her out of her thoughts and into the real world.  “Could there be something troubling you?”

Could there be something troubling her?  As if it having your sworn enemy in your home was a pleasure.  “My disposition is naturally contemplative, my Lord.”

Green eyes softened.  “Lies don’t suit you, your Highness.  We in Rigel find it better to face a brutal truth head on, than accept a pretty lie.  I assume you have your reservations about our marriage.”

“You assume correctly,”  Celica sighed.  “I was only notified of the treaty this morning, so you must understand the surprise I’ve experience.”

“Agree.”  He stopped to study a nearby blossom, twirling its petals around in his fingers.  “It was quite a surprise to me as well.  Regardless I hope you understand that I plan to take care of you and the rest of Zophia, so you can ease your mind.”

Celica tried to stifle her laughter as best she could, but she couldn’t stop the treacherous noise that escaped her lips.  

Alm turned his attention to her once more.  “What do you wish to say?”

“Nothing, my Lord.”  She quickly recovered her composure.  “I merely meant to cough.”

Green eyes narrowed into slits.  “As I said before your Highness, I prefer a brutal truth to a pretty lie.  Do not hold your tongue for me.”

“I do not hold my tongue for you but for my country.”  A flash of passion stirred her soul.  “Zophia values honesty just as much as Rigel, but I doubt we could survive many brutal truths.”

“Then I will do my best to mitigate the damage as must as I can.”  He crossed his arms and leaned back against a decorative pillar.  “Speak freely.  I promise to cause you no harm for it.”

Celica took a deep breath.  It was unwise to speak as freely as he urged, yet the idea of loosening her speech ever so slightly was alluring.  “If that is the case, I merely wish to suggest you have not taken care of my country so far, Prince Alm.”  She clasped her hands together, smiling just as pleasantly as she had before.

“I can see how you’d come to that conclusion.”  He scratched the back of his neck bashfully.  “Still I hope now that both our countries will be united, there will be no need for future violence between us.”

“Then why wage war in the first place?  The border has remained peaceful for decades.  What slight against your honor was so great as to call your men to arms?”

“This isn’t a means of punishment; I merely wish to save us both.  You may laugh at such a statement, but you can’t deny the fact that Zophia has been decaying for years now.  As much as Father and the others would like to hide it, the same holds true for Rigel.  In these trying times it would best for Valentia to band together so we may both survive this storm.”

“Then why not send soldiers as opposed to diplomats?”  Slowly Celica wandered ahead, drawing near to the orange tree that sat at the heart of the garden.  “You should know peace is the language we’re much more fluent in.”  There was a sharp bluntness seeping into her words, but she was more concerned with seeing this verbal sparring match to its end, preferably as its victor.

“Would you willing wish to unite with us?”  Alm quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Likely not.  Still I doubt you act from pure motives alone.”  Gently she plucked an orange and began to peel its skin.  “I think you’re a conqueror, Prince Alm.  I’ve seen the affliction in all kinds of men, from bandits and pirates, to generals and kings.  Even if you wish to put your people first, there’s a fire in your blood only war can sate.  Though your intentions are goodhearted I doubt that desire will be quenched for long.”

“Now I understand why Zophia tolerates pretty lies.  Your brutal truths could are sharper than any steel,”  Alm laughed.  “However your theory holds no weight as there’s nothing else for me to conquer, so I guess I’ll be forced to adjust to peace.”

“Not necessarily.  You can always sail for Archanea if you get bored leaving me ripe with your dynasty’s future heirs.”  There was no hiding her bitterness anymore, but Celica couldn’t find it in herself to care.  No matter how hard he tried to present himself as her savior, she would not submit to a life as a breeding mare as quietly as her mother had.

“Is that all you see this arrangement as?” Celica was shocked by the genuine confusion of his voice.  Green eyes were wide with emotion, but she refused to let them sway her.

“Why did you come here if not to survey your future home, to parade among the flowers with one nestled in your arm?”

Slowly he approached her, gaze aimed downward as if he meant to choose his words carefully.  Then he lifted his head to look her squarely in the eye.  “To get to know my future wife.  I hoped that we might share at least a friendship, but if that is impossible, then I will take my brutal truth with as much dignity as I can.  Good day Princess Anthiese.”  With that, he turned on his heel and headed back into the castle.  

The feeling his absence left her was hard to describe.  Not knowing what else to do, she brought the orange to her lips.

Its juice was less sweet than expected.