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cinaja · 4 years

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Before the Wall part 18

Summary: Five hundred years before Feyre Archeron is born, the world is much different from the one she lives in. Humans are slaves, seen as little more than animals by the Fae who rule. But things are beginning to change. Talks of rebellion is spreading and on the Continent, some Fae territories begin to consider the potential gain of War. All it takes is one spark and everything will explode.

Masterlist

----

It hurts. For a few seconds, it takes all of Drakon's self-control not to scream in pain. He tries to calm his breathing, but each breath sends needles of pain shooting through his body.

Carefully, he opens his eyes. He is lying on his back on a hard bed, looking up at the ceiling of a tent. He blinks a few times, trying to clear the fog in his mind. The battle is a mess of blood and fire in his mind. But if he is still alive, they must have won. Right?

Then, another memory resurfaces. A female with light-brown skin and curly, dark hair looking down at him – her face so very familiar. But no, he must have dreamed her. There is no way she could have been here.

Slowly, he turns his head to the side. At the first glance, the tent appears empty save for a mess of books, herbs and clothes lying strewn around. Only when he turns around a bit further does he notice the girl who is sitting curled up in a corner of the tent. Her clothes are still splattered in mud and blood and her hair is falling in her face. She looks like she didn't mean to fall asleep, just sit down for a second.

Drakon wasn't about to wake her, but, like she felt his gaze, her head jerks up and she stares at him. He stares back.

She has grown older in the last years, turned from a stick-thin girl he met in Ravenia`s palace into a grown female. And there is a new confidence in the way she holds herself. Still, there is no mistaking who she is. (Not with her face permanently burned into his mind.)

"You..." He doesn't know how to finish the sentence. She can't be here, he must be dreaming.

She grins at him and courtesies. "A pleasure to meet you again, your Highness."

"You are..." Drakon shakes his head ever so slightly, trying to clear it. "I have been searching for you. For the entire three years, I have been searching."

She frowns ever so slightly. "I didn't think you'd even remember me."

"How could I ever forget you?", he asks. Then, he notices what it sounds like and immediately wishes he could disappear into his pillow. Trust him to make the situation even weirder than it already is.

"Well, I'll assume those are the painkillers talking", the female says.

"In that case, I wish they'd do their job instead of talking", Drakon mutters.

She laughs. She's beautiful - how hadn't he noticed before?

"No more painkillers, I'm afraid", she says, "We are running low on those and have to save the rest in case we need to amputate someone - not you, don't look so worried. But I could offer you some water." She must be one of the camp healers, Drakon realizes.

"Yes, please", he says, "Do you have any news of the battle?"

"We didn`t lose", the female says, but the way she looks as she says it implies that the victory came at a steep price. She takes a glass of water from a table and helps him drink, which is somewhat humiliating.

"How many?", Drakon asks quietly.

"Eight hundred. Five hundred of ours, three hundred of yours. We haven't counted the wounded yet, though."

Drakon curses softly. He tries to sit up and hisses with pain.

"Oh no, you don't", the female says and rushes over, "I did not spend an hour trying to stitch you up only for you to ruin it all by being an idiot." She glares at him and unceremoniously pulls up his shirt to inspect the stitches. "What is it with you soldiers and being unable to listen to your bodies? Or, you know, the healers?"

Drakon laughs, then immediately stops because it hurts. "Sorry." He gives her a sheepish smile. "And thank you for... you know, keeping me from dying. Looks like I'm in your debt twice over."

"You are in my debt?" She arches an eyebrow at him. "You saved my life, gave me my freedom. If anything, I'm in your debt."

"Your freedom should never have been mine to give, anyways. What I did was basic decency, you needn't feel indebted to me for it. And you kept me from marrying Ravenia, so it's me who owes you."

"No, I..." She cuts herself off and laughs. "This is a stupid thing to argue about."

Drakon smiles. "Indeed it is."

#"Well then, your Highness-"

"Oh please, don't call me that." He holds out his hand to her. "I'm Drakon."

"Miryam."

It's the answer to a question he hadn't known he'd been asking. And then, something else clicks. "Miryam as in one of this camp's commanders?", he says carefully.

"Maybe?"

"You've got to be kidding me!"

He can't quite wrap his mind around the fact that the female his emissary talks about in such glowing colours, the female he heard soldiers whisper about, is the same slave girl who saved him from the biggest mistake of his life. It just seems too unlikely.

"How?", Drakon asks.

But the female - Miryam - is already looking towards the camp's entrance. A shadow passes over her face.

"I can't stay", she says, "I'm sorry, but there is a lot to do. I shouldn't have fallen asleep, that was..." She shakes her head. "Do you need anything else?"

What he wants is for her to stay, but he can't say that. It isn't for him to ask anything of her. So instead, he says, “Could you maybe send for Sinna or another one of my soldiers?”

Miryam nods, but watches him closely. "You aren't going to do anything stupid the moment I leave this tent, are you?"

"What do you expect me to do? I can't even sit up on my own."

"You'd be surprised", she says, "I once treated a soldier who thought it was a good idea to try and get up even though his insides were hanging out. Needless to say, it did not end well."

Drakon has learned his lesson that laughing is not a good idea, so he just smiles. "Don't worry. That's not my kind of stupid."

“Alright”, Miryam says, “I'll be back in a few hours to check in on you."

Then, she vanishes out of the tent. No more than five minutes pass before the entrance of the tent opens again. This time, it is not Miryam who enters, but a human man, light-skinned and brown-haired. He scans the tent before focusing on Drakon. He gives him a lopsided grin.

"Always a pleasure to find a strange male in my lover's bed."

Drakon winces slightly. It hadn't occured to him whose beg he was lying in. In spite of his assurance to Miryam, it does make him consider trying to get up.

"Given my state", he says, trying to sound light, "I think I can believably assure you that nothing happened."

The man - Jurian, he assumes - smirks. "Given your species and knowing Miryam, I'd believe you even if you weren't injured." He seems to consider and adds, "No offence."

"None taken." After what Drakon has seen in the Black Land, it is a small miracle that Miryam can so much as look at any Fae, much less him.

Jurian makes to turn around, then stops. "Thank you for helping us out there", he says, "Without you, we'd all be dead."

"You're welcome." Drakon feels awkward, accepting thanks for something he deems the bare minimum. He grins at Jurian. "I couldn't well let a commander as brilliant as you die. I heard about how you destroyed Montesere's fleet. Beyond impressive."

"Likewise. Taking the Callian pass - brilliant." Suddenly, Jurian looks a whole lot more friendly. "I'd love to talk more, but I was actually looking for Miryam."

"She left a few minutes before you arrived."

"Well, then", Jurian says, turning back to the tent's entrance. "Oh, and if you want some advice: Do as she says. I can tell you from personal experience that she doesn't like it at all when you do things like trying to get up."

Drakon has to bite back a laugh. Somehow, he has the feeling that the soldier Miryam was talking about earlier was in fact the camp's Commander.

“Wouldn`t cross my mind”, he says.

“Well, then. I`ll see you around”, Jurian says and rushes out of the tent again.

----

In the Black Land, it is customary for the dead to be burned. For dead Fae, they put up a huge pyre where the dead are barred up with some of their priced possessions (including, occasionally, still-living slaves). The burning of the pyre is a big celebration. Dead slaves usually just get burned on the spot by whoever can be bothered.

Here in the north, though, the dead tend to be buried instead of burned. Dry wood is rare, fire magic even rarer, so the dead get put into the cold earth. Miryam has always hated the idea. Being trapped in the cold earth, dirt pushing in from every side. Trapped for eternity.

And somehow, she cannot stand the thought of having the humans Ravenia killed put into the earth. These people who spent their entire lives in chains should at least be free in death.

Some of Jurian's soldiers collected the heads. Someone counted. More than one thousand heads. More than one thousand dead people - people who might still be alive if not for Miryam.

She collects the wood from a nearby forest herself. It takes her hours, but she finds enough for a pyre, refuses every offer of help. She only allows one of the Seraphim to use his wind magic to dry the wood. Then, she lights the fire and watches the makeshift-pyre go up in flames.

Jurian finds her before the pyre is entirely burnt down. Miryam is standing there, staring at the flames, when he steps up behind her. Carefully, he wraps his arms around her.

"It's not your fault", he whispers into her hair.

Miryam hasn't cried - not during the battle and not during the long hours afterwards. But now, she does. Jurian pulls her close and doesn't let go.

"I was supposed to save them", she whispers.

"You will." Jurian runs a hand through her hair. "You will."

When Miryam finally stops crying, the pyre is long burned down. Nothing but ashes is left, and those are already being blown away by the wind. She gives Jurian a small smile.

"Thank you."

He carefully lets go of her. She can see the restlessness in his stance. He is itching to get back to his soldiers, but likely doesn't want to leave her alone.

"Go", she says, "I'll be fine."

Jurian hesitates for a moment longer, then presses a last kiss on her temple and rushes off. Miryam checks in on the wounded who are being treated in the middle of the camp, but no help is needed there. The ones who were about to die are already dead, the rest is likely going to make it. So she returns to her tent.

She almost forgot that Drakon is there. He is still lying in her bed, a Seraphim female is sitting on a chair next to him. She is small, one of her wings somewhat malformed. When Miryam enters, they both turn to look at her. She stops by the entrance.

The Seraphim female smiles at her. "I'm Nephelle."

Miryam manages to return the smile. "Miryam. Nice to meet you."

Nephelle exchanges a look with Drakon, then gets up. "Well, I'll be going."

"You needn't-", Miryam begins, but Nephelle has already pushed past her and out of the tent.

Miryam sits down on the now vacant chair. She tries not to stare at Drakon. Tries not to look too uncomfortable. Her tent is her sanctuary and having an almost-stranger - a Fae no less – in here makes her uncomfortable. It means she can't let down her guard.

"How are you", she asks to cover her unease.

She doesn't want Drakon to notice. No matter what he says, she owes him her life. And she doesn't mind his presence as much as she would mind any other male. Having him here, in a way, feels right. Her problem doesn't even have to do with him personally, just the general situation.

"It hurts slightly less", Drakon says. He's watching her carefully. "Look, I'm not the healer here, but I really don't feel so bad. You don't have to have me stay in your tent, really."

Damnit. So much for not looking uncomfortable.

"We're short of beds", she says, "I'm not hurt, you are. It'd be stupid for me to have a proper bed while you don't." When Drakon still doesn't look convinced, she adds, "I really don't mind." Which is, of course, a lie.

"Come on", Drakon says gently, "This is already slightly awkward for me. I don't want to imagine what it must be like for you."

Miryam crosses her arms. "Calling people out on their obvious lies is generally considered impolite."

"Sorry", Drakon says, "But then, lying isn't really polite either, so there's that."

In spite of herself, Miryam smiles. "Well, that point goes to you."

"But seriously: I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Miryam sighs and, for once, chooses honesty. "It's not you who makes me uncomfortable, it's the situation. And if I'd send you away, I'd feel even worse."

Drakon sighs. "Well, who am I to argue with my healer?"

"Very true."

For a while, they sit in silence. Miryam fiddles around with her clothes. She is covered in dried blood, dirt and ashes. Meaning that she really, really needs to change and maybe wash a little, but there's no way in hell that she is going to undress in front of Drakon. (Even though he did already see her in close to nothing. But well, once is one time too often, no need to make it twice.) She is just about to vanish off to Jurian's tent to change, but then she remembers that it burned down during the attack.

She sighs. "I'll go to sleep if you don't mind."

Drakon nods. He watches her search for a blanket and curl up in the corner with an expression that implies he feels terrible about himself. Miryam considers telling him that she slept on the ground for most of her life, but somehow, she doubts that it would make him feel better. So she just curls up into a tight ball and closes her eyes.

Miryam dreams she is back in the Black Land, back in Ravenia`s palace. She is watching as the queen orders the part-Fae slaves brought before her. The first one, a boy a few years younger than Miryam, is forced to his knees. She tries to scream, but she can`t. She can`t move, can`t do anything as a Fae male in a dark mask draws a great sword.

Miryam jerks awake, breathing hard. She looks around wildly in the dark tent. A light flares to life and Miryam nearly screams.

"Sorry", Drakon says hastily, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. But you were thrashing around."

Miryam blushes. Great. Just great. Now she looks like an idiot in front of a foreign Fae royal. Just what she needed today.

"I had a nightmare", she says in an attempt to regain at least some dignity, "Thank you for waking me."

"Sure."

Another awkward silence follows.

Finally, Drakon says, "I heard what she did." There is no need to clarify who he is talking about. "I'm sorry."

Miryam stares down at her knees. "It was my fault." She doesn't know why she says it, she certainly didn't mean to.

"No, it wasn't", Drakon says softly, "It was Ravenia who had them killed. Not you."

Miryam wraps her arms around herself. "I taunted her, though. Even though I know what she's like, I taunted her. I may not have killed them myself, but without me, they might still be alive."

Drakon sits up a little straighter in the bed and winces slightly. Miryam has to bite her lips to keep from telling him to lie back down and that he's going to tear his stitches.

"Don't do this", he says, "Don't try to take the blame on yourself. There is always a possibility that things would have gone differently. Maybe those slaves would still be alive, or maybe Ravenia would have had them killed for another reason. And maybe..." His breath catches, he shakes his head. "The thing is, the blame is all on Ravenia. You are never to blame for the actions of a monster who is trying to ruin your life."

Miryam takes a deep, shuddering breath. She tries to blink her tears away.

"Thank you", she says softly, "that was..."

Drakon's smile turns sad. "It's what I tell myself every day”, he says.

“I`m sorry about your family”, Miryam says.

“So am I.”

Silence falls again. Miryam lies back down on her blanket and stares up at the ceiling.

“After you let me escape”, she says, “I swore to one day return and free my people. And every day since then, I have been trying…” She sighs. “You`ve been to the Black Land. You`ve seen their armies, you know Ravenia. Do you think I even stand a chance?”

Drakon is silent for a moment. Miryam continues staring up at the ceiling, unwilling to meet his eyes.

“I heard the stories about you, you know?”, Drakon finally says, “I heard that you created this Alliance, managed to get humans and Fae to fight side by side. And I heard that you challenged Ravenia during that meeting – something that probably no other Alliance member would have dared.”

Miryam blushes. She is about to tell him that he is exaggerating her importance. She was not the only one working towards the Alliance and her taunting Ravenia was more stupid than brave. But before she gets the chance, Drakon continues.

“I don`t claim to know how this war will end, Miryam. But I do no that if there`s anyone who stands a chance to go up against Ravenia and win, it`s you.”

----

A/N: No cliffhanger for this chapter😉 I'm going on holidays tomorrow and that means I probably won't update for a few weeks (due to lack of time and internet access), so I wanted to end this chapter on a nice note.

Tags: @sjm-things @herpowerisdeath

#miryam #drakon #jurian #nephelle #before the wall

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