#support when she's in ascendant and shift to what seems more beneficial

[fideidefenswhore]

Do you think AB alienated her allies, sometimes?

I mean, for sure... I think the extent of that has been exaggerated by Alison W/eir, but you can definitely find examples of that. Like, Thomas Cheney, one of her relatives that she interceded for above Wolsey's protests, seemed pretty firmly in her camp. Then, by 1536 he's part of the faction that's supporting her stepdaughter.

Generally, though, imo, it's underestimated how difficult it is to maintain allies when one has power/influence, and how it's basically impossible to keep everyone happy all the time.

[teaplease1717]

The Stars Guide Us; They do not Bind Us

Ship: Todoroki Shouto / Yaoyorozu Momo

Rating: T

Words: 9,627

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28904745

It’s been a long while since I’ve had a story basically decide to write itself (not since Masquerade) so thank you Haru for creating such beautiful work that I just couldn't stop a plot bunny from forming! The art this story is based on is linked Here!

Also, I'm trying out a new style. Present tense and short little scenes with indirect dialogue. The whole story is meant to be very subtle. Hope you enjoy!

Big shout out to my betas: Kuyashii, and Emberstork.

XXXX

The Stars Guide Us; They do not Bind Us

XXXX

It's useless to dream because nothing ever changes.

Yaoyorozu Momo has come to accept this. The fickleness of fate that young maidens whisper of in wistful voices does not reach her position. Since birth, her destiny, like so many princesses before her, has been inked on vellum contracts and in expensive lineage trees.

So perhaps it is because of this — or despite it — that on dark nights Momo finds herself sneaking out of her bedroom and heading back towards the one wing of the castle where she can pretend, if only for a few hours, that she is the master of her own fate.

Bare feet glide silently as owl wings across cold stone floors. The hallway is empty. There are no tapestries or rugs here, nothing that could mask the footsteps of intruders.

She clutches a golden lantern in her left hand, but it’s unlit.  Momo can’t risk kindling the fire until she is tucked away in the safety of the library where the guards can’t find her — where her cousin, the King, can’t find her.

She knows she has to be careful. Her position is precarious.

When the old king, All Might, had died suddenly without an heir, it had left a vacancy that ambitious nobles quickly rose to contest over. During the ensuing five year war, the first and second successors to the throne were deposed.

It was during this time her cousin, Shigaraki Tomura, claimed the crown.

But his position as monarch remains uncertain. The old nobles don’t truly accept him as king. He wasn’t in line for the throne. And with rumors that the third successor is still alive and working with All Might’s illegitimate son as insurgents, the nobility are divided in their support.

That is why she is here. Due to a complicated and convoluted succession process, she is fourth in line to the crown. If her cousin marries her, the lords that keep to the old ways will fall in line.

She is the link Shigaraki needs to hold the throne.

Momo presses up against the bare stone wall at the juncture of the hallway. The stones chill her through her long nightgown, but she ignores the cold as she holds her breath. Her heart pounds in her chest as she listens for the heavy footfalls of the palace guards.

She may be the link Shigaraki needs to win but her life is still that of a pawn. A piece on her cousin’s chessboard, only slightly more valuable alive than dead. And alive has varying definitions. If her cousin catches her sneaking around, he may not take the kinder definition.  

In the distance an owl hoots.

Momo waits, listening for a moment longer. The corridor is silent, there are no other sounds besides her heartbeat. She breathes a sigh of relief, relaxing, then hurries around the corner to stop before two large mahogany doors.

The hallway is too dark to make out the ornate trim that details the tales of heroes and kings of old but Momo remembers the curves and cuts of each story etched into the wood. She cracks one of the doors open just wide enough to slip through.

Inside the library is impressive, larger than anything she has ever seen. Aisles and shelves of books with a large spiral staircase lead to a second story with paths running along with more shelves. A railing of ornate spindle work and gingerbread detailing encloses the balcony.

Against the opposite wall, expansive windows are carved into the stone, providing just enough light to illuminate the library in a soft glow.

Momo closes the heavy door behind her and then makes her way over to ascend the stairs.

Shigaraki never allows her into the library without a chaperone, someone loyal and handpicked by him. And even then he forbids her from the second floor, where books on magic, warfare and independence line the shelves.

A princess shouldn’t concern herself with the topics of men, dear cousin.

Her bare feet patter against the stones. The autumn moon is full tonight, illuminating her path as Momo makes her way down the aisles. The thick tomes that line the shelves stare down at her as if they know that she isn’t allowed, but Momo continues on, towards the back of the library, her sanctuary.

She exits a row of bookshelves and a cold wind blows around her, ruffling her nightgown. Momo instantly stills and looks up. A chill rakes down her spine.

The window before her is open.

The windows in the palace are never open.

Her breath feels like lead in her chest. Momo stumbles back. The shadows behind her shift and a hand suddenly darts out of the darkness, grabbing her and spinning her around to pin her against the bookshelf before she can even scream.

The force knocks the unlit lamp from Momo’s fingers. It clangs as it hits the stone floor and rolls away.

She gasps in shock and a rough hand covers her mouth. Instinctively, Momo’s own hands shot up, trying to pull the intruder’s fingers away, but the grip over her mouth is like a vice. She can’t get free.

The wood of the bookshelf digs into her skin through her nightdress as she struggles.

“Be still,” a man’s deep voice commands close to her ear.

Momo instantly freezes.

Her eyes dart up. An intruder in a black robe looms over her. The hood that covers his face seems to blend his features into the darkness but his eyes shine, silver and a brilliant turquoise.

The deadliness in them is palpable. A wolf in human clothing.

The temperature seems to drop around them. A whimper climbs up Momo's throat as the intruder leans forward and plants his other hand above her head. Their faces are mere centimeters apart now. And she can feel his icy breath upon her cheek.

Momo’s skin prickles and she closes her eyes reflexively. She tries to shrink away, but the bookshelf behind her won’t budge. Her chest stutters in tiny, rapid inhalations as she realizes this may be her last few minutes alive.

I don’t want to die!

I don’t want to die!

It’s not fair...

Everything in her life has been taken from her. Fate has taken her parents. Her home. Her freedom. When will it be enough?

Suddenly, Momo is filled with explosive anger. Her hands tremble. Her life is not her own but she’s still a princess. A Yaoyorozu. Even if destiny wills for her to die here, she will not stand before her fate cowering in fear.

Momo’s fingers tighten on his hand. Her nails bite into his flesh; her eyes snap open, and she glares at him with all the fiery rage she feels at her position in life.

Her anger seems to surprise the intruder. He blinks, his eyes flashing momentarily with an emotion she can’t read, before his expression steels behind a cold wall of insouciance. And Momo feels her anger doused as quickly as it had ignited.

Fear washes back over her. She is suddenly acutely aware of how close he is. How his body is pushed against hers indecently. His leg pressed between her own, pinning her to the wall.

Struggling to tamp down on the panic rising inside of her, Momo forces herself to look back up and meet his silver and blue gaze. His expression is masked as he stares down at her as though considering what to do.

“Don’t scream,” he finally says. Then hesitates, as if unsure, before adding. “Nod if you understand.”

Her heart pounds heavily against her ribs.

It’s a bargain; her life in exchange for silence.

It doesn’t make sense. The rational side of her mind points to the fact that it isn’t beneficial for an intruder to have witnesses.

This could be a trap. A false hope that he will spare her when, in fact, he only intends to rape her before silencing her forever. Momo’s stomach twists.

It’s a gamble, but her options are limited. She will have to take her chances and trust him.

Momo swallows thickly and gives a short jerk of her head in assent.

The intruder studies her for a moment longer, then slowly removes his hand and draws back enough to stare down at her.

She breathes in a shaky breath. Now that he isn’t supporting her, Momo can feel her legs tremble under her own weight. She forces herself to straighten. She will not show weakness.

He watches her with those unnerving eyes for a moment longer, assessing if she will keep her promise. Then he steps back and turns, jumping up onto the open window’s ledge and disappearing into the night.

Momo slides down to the floor and sits frozen, trying to control her heartbeat. Her hands are shaking. She watches the window until her heart stops pounding painfully, then rises and returns to her room, shaken.  

She wonders if she should tell her cousin or at least one of the guards, maybe Iida Tenya, but decides against it.

She is inconsequential, a pawn only slightly more valuable alive then dead.

It would matter little to her cousin if the intruder had killed her.

XXXXX

It takes two weeks before Momo has rebuilt her courage to venture back down the dark, quiet hallways towards the library. The hooded man isn’t there and she feels the tight knot in her stomach uncoil.

Slowly, Momo returns to her normal nighttime routine.

XXXXXX

It’s a moonless night when the dark bandit returns.

There is a soft click of a latch turning. Momo freezes as the air suddenly shifts and the hooded figure appears in the windowsill of the library. His cloak flickers around him, hiding his figure except for those piercing heterochromatic eyes that shine in the glow of her lamp.

There is a moment's pause as they stare at one another. His gray and blue eyes are wide. It is evident he didn’t expect to see her again.

Momo's heart pounds. She can almost imagine him asking if she is going to scream once more. And part of her wonders if she should. It would certainly be the right thing to do. He is an intruder, a thief possibly but — if she alerts the guards — she will be found out and never be able to sneak back into the library.

More than that, the guard on duty, Iida Tenya, will be punished and it will be because of her. She will lose the only person kind to her.

Momo's fingers tighten around the book in her hands. She holds it up slightly, as if in greeting.

The stranger seems to relax at the gesture. He slides silently into the room and disappears down one of the aisles.

Momo sits silently for a moment. When her heartbeat is normal, she returns to her story.

XXXXXX

The dark intruder comes more often after that. His visits are always irregular; sometimes he visits a few days in a row, other times he shows up after a week or two.

Momo suspects that he must have bribed one of the guards to let him in. A regular intruder without connections wouldn’t be able to get past Shigaraki’s men.

Then again, he isn’t a regular intruder.

He moves through the library like a wraith. His magicked cloak swirls around him, blending him into the shadows as he pores over books but he never steals any. He’s smart enough for that.

The walls are enchanted to alert the King’s innermost guards if anyone removes one of the volumes. It’s ancient magic that only those with connections to the royal family and a few select guards know about.

She wonders how he learned.

Perhaps it comes with the trade.

XXXXXX

He has pulled back his hood to read and it’s the first time Momo is able to glimpse what the dark intruder looks like.

The light from her golden lamp shines, highlighting short hair that is perfectly split between red and white. It is unique coloring and not a surprise that he has to use an enchanted cloak to disguise his features.

Her eyes trail lower over his face. There’s a scar covering his left eye that she hasn’t noticed before. But in the flickering light of her lantern, she can distinguish the discolored flesh.

A curse mark.

Probably meant to kill him, but perhaps miscast or canceled. Incomplete.

He’s lucky to be alive.

XXXXXX

Momo stumbles forward with a gasp before catching herself. The bones of the corset bite into her flesh through the silk undergarments, cinching her waist smaller.

Her personal handmaid - the only maid who never changes - Himiko Toga, stands behind her pulling on the lace strings.

“No pain, no gain,” Toga says in a sing-song voice. “With my help, you’ll be the most beautiful lady in all the land. I’m like your personal fairy godmother! Got to look after my sweet, sweet princess.”

Momo doesn't say anything.

Toga hums happily as she ties the lace along Momo’s spine. While she works, Momo testingly draws in a slow breath before a sharp pain pokes her as the whale bones squeeze her waist.

She can't breathe.

XXXXXX

Her mouth is dry as she stares at the red and orange flames flickering in the intruder’s hand.

Momo doesn’t know many mages. Sorcery is rare and elemental magic even rarer.

It is said that the old emperor of the Northern lands had been a conjurer of flames, his wife an enchantress of ice. His disowned son, Toya, certainly has his father’s fire magic coursing through his veins. Momo has seen her cousin’s right hand man demonstrate his gift enough to know.

But Toya’s flames are blue and blistering hot. Meant to incinerate and strike fear into all who behold them, allies and foes alike.

The intruder’s fire is warm, and Momo realizes she doesn’t mind it.  

XXXXXX

Momo settles back into her usual spot on the floor. It gives her the best view of the entire library, while also allowing for her to remain hidden.

“You really have this down.”

Momo looks up at the dark intruder. He rarely speaks.

She licks her lips. “Yes,” she says after a moment. “I have to be careful if I don’t want to get caught. People in the castle aren't stupid. The guards have been trained by my cousin, Shigaraki. The only way to stay ahead is by being smarter.”

He nods and turns back to look down at the table where a new set of books are laid out.

Momo watches him for a few moments before returning to her own volume.

XXXXXX

“What are you looking for?” Momo asks one night.  

The dark intruder looks up. The light of his flames reflect off of his eyes making him look ferocious.

Momo forces herself to relax as she approaches and places her lamp on the table. It’s been long enough that she knows he won’t hurt her. She pushes her loose hair behind her ear, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t have anything else to do. I don’t mind helping you search.”

He stares at her and his eyebrows furrow as if trying to read her intentions.

Momo is tempted to roll her eyes but refrains herself. It isn’t lady-like.

She looks down at the table and pulls over one of the books he has discarded, History of Curses and Ailments . She flips it open.

“It’s not all out of charity, just so you know,” she says after a moment. Momo doesn’t need to see him to feel her companion’s eyes narrow. “The faster you find what you’re looking for the sooner you’ll leave, and the risk of me being found decreases.”

She looks up and meets his gray and turquoise gaze. His expression is a mask, and she says. “Think of it as a mutual symbiotic relationship.”

He stares at her, and Momo thinks a faint smile pulls at his lips but it may be a trick of the lamplight.

XXXXXX

“It’s for a client,” the intruder says.

Momo looks up from her book at the sound of his voice. It’s deep and husky, pleasing to listen to. “What is?”

“What I’m searching for. My client asked me to look up a cure for a curse he got during the war.”

Momo nods. Then she tilts her head to the side to study him. “But why here? Surely there are safer places to search in than sneaking into the king’s castle.”

He hesitates for a moment. “I’ve been told this is the best library in all of the country. The old king supposedly liked to collect information on countering dark magic.”

XXXXXX

Momo stares out her bedroom window at the snow now covering the palace grounds.

It’s lonely and cold in her cousin’s castle with nothing to do besides watch the days slip by.

Sometimes Momo has to wonder if it’s her destiny to decay away in her cousin’s palace.

XXXXXX

“Will you tell me what it’s like outside?”

The dark intruder’s fingers still. “What do you mean?”

Momo looks down. “I don’t get news about the outside world. I’d like to know what is happening.”

“Why don’t you ask one of your handmaids? They’d tell you.”

“I can’t.” Momo’s lips twist. “They’re all assigned by my cousin. And Shigaraki changes most of them every few weeks.”

The intruder seems to consider this. “Don’t you have any friends?”

Momo shakes her head. “There is a guard who is kind to me. Sir Iida. But we don’t speak much. He’s the reason I’m able to sneak in here at night. If he spots me I’ll get a scolding but he doesn’t tell Shigaraki.”

The intruder studies her. “What about your parents? They don’t bring you outside?”

Momo looks down at the page open in front of her. “My parents died a few years ago. The insurgents supposedly attacked their carriage on the way home from the capital.”

The dark intruder is silent for a few moments.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Momo drags in a shaky breath. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”  

XXXXXX

Snow drifts down slowly outside the library window.

Momo’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Socks?”

The intruder shifts. “Your feet are cold, aren’t they?”

Momo blinks and curls her toes against the stone floor. She has gotten used to wandering the castle barefoot. Her wardrobe is in the room next to the maid Shigaraki has assigned her. There is no way for her to sneak out any garments without Toga Himiko knowing.  

The intruder must take her silence as objection. “If you don’t want them I’ll take them back.”

“No,” Momo says quickly, shaking her head and reaching for the woolen pair of socks in his hand. “Thank you. You’re-you’re very considerate.”

He shrugs and looks away. “It's winter and you’re barefoot. If you’re worried about your handmaids finding them, I can bring them with me when I visit.”

Momo fingers the pair of socks. They’re nicely made. Thick wool of high quality. She looks up and gives him a small smile. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

The back of her neck feels warm.

XXXXXX

“There’s been rumors that Lord Aoyama, from the south, may be... sympathetic to the bastard’s side. Maybe even housing some of the bastard’s men.”

“Oh?” Shigaraki raises a brow, and a small smile curls on his lips as he picks up his golden chalice. “We better invite Lord Aoyama to come assure us of where his loyalties lie.”

“Of course, my liege.” The knight bows his head, but doesn’t move to stand.

Shigaraki’s eyes narrow slightly. “Is there something else?” he asks, looking over his cup.

The knight hesitates; his eyes glance towards Shigaraki’s left where a man with dark burn wounds sits pushing around the food on his plate.

Todoroki Toya — her cousin’s right hand man and the Lord of the North.

Momo finds it interesting that her cousin keeps him around. He would have been the heir to the throne if not for his father disowning him and naming his youngest son his successor.

But then again, her cousin has always liked violence and Toya has a disposition for it.

“You can speak freely, knight.” Shigaraki’s voice is light, but there is a hint of impatience laced in his words.

The man lowers his head. “Of course, my king.” He clears his throat. “There have been rumors that the Lord Toya’s brother is among the men.”

This catches the burned man’s attention and he sits forward in his chair. “Oh? Is that so...And you’re sure of these rumors?”

The man nods. “One of the spies identified a man with a curse mark that is identical to the one my Lord gave to his brother.”

Momo doesn’t have to see Toya’s face to know the maniacal gleam in his eyes. Even she knows of his hatred for his younger brother. “I better have a look myself then.”

Shigaraki waves him away blithely.

“Do you hear that, dear cousin?” he asks, once the men are gone. His smile is a little too wide. “We’ll catch those traitors who killed your parents. I swear to you that I’ll make sure your parents are avenged.”

Momo lowers her head and dips a spoonful of steaming soup, but it tastes cold on her tongue.

XXXXXX

“Are you not researching the curse tonight?”

Her companion’s fingers still over a leather bound book. Momo notes that he seems more haggard tonight. Dark circles sit under his striking heterochromatic eyes and his red and white hair is unbrushed.

It’s the first time he’s visited in a while.

“I’ve… gotten a sudden urge to read about Hizashi Yamada,” he says slowly.

“The war general?”

He doesn’t answer and instead pulls the book down from the shelf.

Momo swallows thickly as she watches him leaf through a few pages. Her hands tighten around the sides of the books in her arms, and she looks away. “Yamada — he always gets the most attention, but he was just a peacock in uniform. My favorite general is Tsunagu Hakamada, for his tactics.”

She can feel her companion’s eyes on her. Momo licks her lips and wavers, for a moment, before moving towards a bookshelf further towards the back of the library. She can’t hear her companion’s footfalls but knows he is following her.

Momo stops in front of one of the shelves. Her eyes run along all the spines before reaching up and pulling a plain book from the shelf. “Yamada had a good publisher, but his strategies weren’t all that sound. Tsunagu is the better strategist.”

Her companion raises a brow as he stares at her, and Momo gets the impression that he is coming to a new conclusion about her. “I didn’t know they taught war strategies in Princess class?”

Momo shifts. Her cheeks feel warm. “They don’t.” She looks down at her feet. “I have a lot of free time.”

“I’ll take your advice,” he says after a moment.

XXXXXX

Momo stares blankly, trying to disassociate from the scene. The rowdy crowds. The wooden stand. The line of the usurper's men kneeling before the blade.

She is dressed in her best; Shigaraki wouldn't have her in anything less when he is trying to make an example. Her mother's prized golden necklace with a Phoenix tear hangs around her neck.

Shigaraki curls his hands into tight fists on the arms of his chair. His knuckles are white.

The majority of the usurper’s men have escaped, and her cousin is craving vengeance for the embarrassment. The golden crown reflects off of his white hair like a halo, and he smiles, his eyes shining in malicious glee.

The crown sitting atop her cousin’s head is gold adorned with rubies and diamonds.

It is a symbol of power. A symbol of the prosperity and richness of their nation.

Momo thinks it’s hideous.

She crosses her hands demurely in front of herself to hide the shaking. She knows if she shows any emotions that she will pay for it later. Her cousin doesn’t like weakness.

Shigaraki raises his hand and the crowd roars. The executioner raises his sword.  

Momo hopes in her next life she can be someone strong enough to save others.

XXXXXX

“What are you doing?”

The night air shifts behind her and Momo can feel her companion looking over her shoulder. Her stomach curls slightly but she ignores the feeling.

“Coming up with a cure for your client,” Momo says without looking up as her quill scratches out a point. “We haven’t found a counter spell to your patron’s dark curse, so I’m inventing one.”  

“Do you think you can?” He sounds almost curious.

“We’ll see, but I think I can.”

XXXXXX

The glass smashes as it hits against the wall. Her cousin paces up and down the room trembling in fury at the news that the usurper's men have not been caught. His hand travels up to his neck, and he scratches himself until blood runs in rivulets down his pale skin like red streams.

Momo stares silently at the floor and imagines that fate has made her someone else. Although she knows it is useless. Dreams aren’t meant for princesses.

XXXXXX

“I wish I were a man. Then I could do whatever I wanted,” she says at the end of one night.

“What would that be? A pirate?” She can almost hear the hint of a smile in his voice. And she can’t help but feel pride for being the one to change his mood.

He’s been quieter and angrier than usual.

Momo leans forward to poke him, but he dodges away easily. Momo huffs. “Do I look like a pirate to you?”

“No, you’re too clumsy.”

She goes to poke him again but, as if the universe wants to prove his point, her nightgown catches on the side of the table. Momo stumbles. Her companion catches her arm, steadying her.

Momo feels her face warm. She looks away as he releases her and bends down to deftly untangle the edge of her nightgown from where it’s caught.

“Thank you,” she mumbles.

He nods, straightening. The playfulness has dissipated from the room. They collect the books from the table and begin to reshelf them.

There were more deaths that week. More insurgents from All Might’s illegitimate son’s army. She had stood there as they burned, unable to do anything to stop it, unable to make her cousin reconsider their sentence.

She is powerless and she hates it.

“I-I think in my next life I’d like to be a knight,” she says quietly as she pushes the last book back into place and settles back down onto her feet. “I’d like to be someone who can make my own destiny. Maybe I could even leave here, roam the land, protect those in need.” She turns and leans against the wooden bookcase. Her throat feels tight. “It…it feels very confining to be a woman, and a princess most of all.”

The cloak casts dark shadows over her companion’s face but Momo can feel his attention on her. She licks her lips and turns to lean back against the bookcase.

She’s never told anyone these dreams before. Men don’t want to listen to a woman’s silly thoughts.

Her companion is different. He has never judged her for her mind but it is still awkward to voice her dreams aloud, like touching a fresh cut. You never know how bad the sting will be.

And she is ready for the sting. He stares at her for so long Momo is about to recant her ideas when he says. “If you’re a knight, maybe I’d be a princess and you can protect me.”

Momo blinks at his strange answer and then laughs. She can’t remember the last time she laughed. She has forgotten how freeing it is.

“I think I’d like that.”

XXXXXX

Momo isn’t a romantic. Someone in her position in life does not get that luxury. She will be married off for political stability. But sometimes, in the dead of night, as she watches her companion’s long fingers flip through pages of old worn books with gentle tenderness, she wonders if this is what it would feel like if she were to be in love.

She pushes those thoughts away quickly. Thinking about something that isn’t for her, won’t do any good.

Her fate has been set since the moment she was born, and nothing will change it.

XXXXXX

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to break it.”

Momo stares at the ruby that has fallen out of the golden crown. She swallows thickly and kneels down next to the maid with short brown hair.

She reaches out and covers the woman’s hands with her own. They both knew the maid shouldn’t be in the throne room. “It’s okay. I’ll handle it.”

“But my princess!”

“It’s okay. I’ll tell my cousin it was me.”

“But—he’ll be furious!”

Momo avoids the maid’s gaze. “It’s okay. I’ll think of something.”

The woman looks up at Momo with a mixture of relief and fear.

Momo reaches out and strokes her short brown hair. This is the only way Momo can help. If her cousin knows who ruined the crown, the maid will be beheaded. The only way to save her is to take the blame.

Her life may be a pawn but she is more valuable alive than dead…for now at least.

XXXXXX

“What’s that?”

Momo’s hands still on the page as light footfalls draw closer. She drops her hand holding the lantern by her side and looks down, hoping her long hair and the dark of the library will hide the ugly purple bruising climbing up her neck and splaying over her cheek.

He stops in front of her. Then warm fingers grasp her chin. Momo flinches slightly at his touch, but her companion doesn’t seem to notice as his hand gently lifts and turns her head towards him. “What happened?”

The words almost sound angry.

Momo stares at his chin. A small, bitter smile curls on her lips. “I did something I shouldn’t have.” She tries to pull back, but his fingers tighten. Not painfully, but enough to keep her in place. “It's nothing.”

The room is cold, even for it being the beginning of spring. She can see her breath in the air.

Momo reaches up and touches the back of his hand, but he doesn’t remove his fingers. His flesh, just moments before warm, is now icy and rough, like rocks.

“Does this happen often?” Her skin prickles as his breath ghosts over her skin. A shiver runs down her spine.

She thinks his voice is lower and darker than usual, but it could be her imagination. There is no reason for him to care.

“Sometimes,” she says after a moment. Her opposite hand curls tighter around the lantern handle. “When I anger him.”

Her companion stares at her for a moment longer, before releasing her and stepping away. He pulls his hood up, hiding his expression and the dark stones that have started to protrude from his skin.

He’s quiet and leaves soon after. It is probably for the best. Momo shouldn’t get her hopes up that he cares.

Dreams aren’t meant for princesses.

XXXXXX

“Here. I brought you something.”

Momo looks up from the book she is poring over, surprised.

Her companion steps closer. Momo holds out her hand, and he drops a pouch into it. It’s unremarkable, a brown drawstring bag that feels weightless in her hands.

He steps back and stares at her. His expression is carefully masked, but something in his posture almost seems uncertain. “It's not much, but I thought you’d like it.”

Momo stares at him for a moment then slowly opens it. A small object no larger than a pebble falls into her hand and her breath catches.

She feels her heartbeat quicken.

The stone is small, an oval the size of a pebble, but it's radiant.

Her hand shakes. Carefully, she holds it up. Glowing reds and golds shimmer forming dark clouds that morph into luminescent fog. The remnants of ancient magic linger along the smooth edges.

Momo can barely breathe. “A creation stone,” she whispers, voice quivering.

“Do-do you not like it?” he asks softly from next to her.

Her vision blurs. The stone can only be mined in her family’s lands; there haven’t been any found in hundreds of years.

She shakes her head. “It’s beautiful.” The words don’t give it justice. It’s like starlight—an entire nebula—caught inside a stone. “Why?” Her voice trembles.

“I thought you’d like it.”

Momo wants to cry, instead she smiles and holds it up to the moonlight. It gleams and Momo can almost imagine the magic shimmering around it.

She closes her eyes and makes a wish, even though she knows that it’s useless. The magic has left the stone a long time ago.

XXXXXX

“I finished.” She hands him a piece of paper. Her throat is tight, like the words are bitter honey sticking in her mouth. “This is a list of ingredients your patron will need for the reversal spell. Most of the ingredients are easy enough to find but...”

Her companion takes the slip and scans it. His face grows ashen. “A phoenix tear?” His hands tighten around the piece of paper until his knuckles are white. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Momo avoids his gaze. “I did the calculations and formulas a number of times. It’s the only way.”  

His shoulders slump forward. “It would take forever to find a phoenix tear — There must be another way.”

Momo doesn’t say anything. Sometimes there is only one way. Destiny isn’t that kind.

XXXXXX

Her companion continues to visit, looking for an alternative spell to counter the curse. Momo wonders every time he leaves if that will be the last time she will see him. She doesn’t understand what drives him. Why is finding a cure so important?

XXXXXX

“I was thinking it was about time we married. The summer solstice is coming up…that seems like a good time. What do you say, my dear cousin?” Shigaraki turns to her, his eyes dance with cruel glee.

Her stomach twists.

I don’t want to marry you.

The words echo in her heart, but Momo doesn’t say them aloud. Her fate has always been to be queen. She folds her hands respectfully in front of herself and lowers her eyes. “As you wish, my king.”

He smiles; it’s the response he wants to hear.

XXXXXX

Momo stands before her window looking out at the moon kissed grounds beginning to bloom with summer flowers – hydrangeas and hyacinths.

The creation stone feels heavy in her hands. She brings it up to her lips and presses the rock to her mouth as she says a silent prayer.

Then she goes over to her jewelry chest and opens it. She locks the stone back into its secret compartment. Then takes a deep, steadying breath and pulls out her mother’s phoenix necklace and slides it into her nightgown pocket.

XXXXXX

“I wanted to say goodbye. This is the last time I will be able to see you.”

Her companion looks up sharply.

Momo opens and closes her mouth several times before she is able to put the truth into words. “I’ll-I’ll be getting married in two weeks. On the summer solstice.”

There is a resounding silence, as her companion stares at her. His turquoise and gray eyes shine brightly, like fallen stars.

She sees his hands curl slowly into fists at his side.

“How do you feel about that?” he asks after a moment. There is a faint tightness in his voice but his expression is masked.

She opens her mouth and hesitates. “I’m scared,” she finally admits in a soft voice barely above a whisper. She looks down at the stone floor as her vision begins to blur. Her feet are covered in the woolen socks. “I don’t want to get married.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees her companion move closer until he stands near enough that his dark robe almost brushes against her gown.

Momo swallows. Her hands twitch by her side. If she reaches out, she can grasp onto his cloak.  But she knows she shouldn’t. If she touches him now, she worries she won’t be able to let go.

Her fingers tremble. She brings a hand up to curl over her heart as she bundles her courage and looks up to meet his gaze.

“May I ask a favor before you go?” Momo whispers.

He stares at her intently, and she takes it as a sign of acceptance. She inhales slowly.

“Would you kiss me?”

His eyes widen marginally, and Momo continues before she loses her nerve. “It’s silly, I know. But I want my first kiss to be with someone I choose. Someone not my cousin.”

She can see her dark companion’s jaw tighten. His expression flashes for an instant. A myriad of emotions flicker behind his heterochromatic gaze so fast she doesn’t have time to read them before his mask slips back in place and he stares at her.

Momo looks away. Her chest hurts. She thinks he is going to reject her when he takes a step closer, planting a hand above her head. She can feel the heat of his body through his robe.

His other hand comes up. His fingers brush against the column of her throat before his thumb slides up to nestle under her jaw and he gently lifts her chin, leaning forward. Momo’s heart stutters, and she closes her eyes as his lips skim against hers.

It’s a chaste kiss and so gentle her heart aches.

And it doesn’t last long enough.

He pulls back slightly and Momo opens her eyes. He’s staring at her, his expression intense. “Run away with me. Right now. I’ll protect you.”

Momo’s heart skips a beat as his breath brushes over her lips. Hope and longing fill her chest.

It would be so easy to leave and forget everything. She could create her own destiny. But — she is a princess and her cousin, nor would fate, ever let her go so easily. Someone always has to pay.

Momo draws in a quivering breath and shakes her head. Her chest hurts. “I-I can’t.” Her voice breaks slightly.

The necklace in her pocket is heavy. She swallows and reaches into her dress and slides a finger over the curve of the pendant before pulling it out.

“I brought you something to say goodbye.” Her voice is small. She holds out the golden necklace and places it gently in his open hand. “It was my mother’s. The phoenix tear in the middle should be the last piece you need for the spell.” Gently, she closes his fingers over the pendant.

Her fingers are shaking and she withdraws her hands quickly to curl behind her back. There is a sharp tightness in her chest. “Remember your patron will need about a week or more to recover. Having been cursed for so long will take a lot of energy to undo. Make sure he only has his best men around him during that time.”

Her companion doesn’t respond. He continues to stare at her, his gaze piercing as if he is trying to memorize what she looks like, but perhaps that is just her own reflection shining back at her.

He doesn’t come again after that night.

XXXXXX

The palace is in an uproar. The usurpers have planned well.

They attacked the northern lands drawing Toya away before staging the main assault on the castle, the day of her wedding.

Momo stands in her room, dressed in rich silks. Her hands shake and she clasps them together over her chest as she listens to the shouts and the clang of steel that echo throughout the palace.

Toga Himiko stands by her side. Her eyes shine, but Momo has a feeling it's not from the same emotion as the one making her own heart rate spike.

The screams draw nearer. Momo’s lips tremble and her eyes dart to her dresser and the jewelry case sitting on top. Her creation stone is locked securely in its compartment but she wishes she were holding it.  

“Looks like the usurper is here,” Toga says thoughtfully. Momo looks back at her and the maid’s eyes flash and suddenly Momo is on the floor. Her head rings from the impact against the stones. There is something wet in her hair.

Toga straddles her. A knife flashes down towards Momo’s throat and instinctively she reaches up and closes her hand around Toga’s, trying to push the steel away from her jugular.

For being of smaller stature, Toga is strong and gravity is on her side. Her maid laughs. “Stop struggling, my princess. Your king doesn’t want his precious cousin to be defiled on her wedding day by these cruel, cruel men. This is the sweeter way out.” Her smile is deranged.

The blade lowers.

Momo strains. Years of inactivity weigh against her. Her arms begin to give.

The knife inches lower. A drop of liquid rolls down her throat.

Bang!

Suddenly the door of her room slams open and Toga is gone; a woman with short brown hair is standing over her, breathing hard.

The maid from the throne room, Momo realizes.

The woman’s expression is ferocious as she holds up her short sword covered in blood. When it is clear that Toga won’t be moving, the maid kneels quickly by Momo’s side and helps her sit up. There is a sharp pain at the base of her skull, and when Momo touches it, blood covers her fingertips.

“Are you alright?” the maid asks. Her eyes shine with unfiltered worry.

Momo doesn’t know. Her heart is racing in her chest. She stares past the maid at Toga’s slumped form against the wall. The maid notices, and her expression hardens. Her fingers tighten around Momo as her chocolate eyes meet hers.

“I won’t let her harm you. I won’t let anyone harm you. This time I’ll be the one to protect you. I made a promise to him.”

Momo doesn’t dwell on what the woman means. Hope is a dangerous thing, and dreams haven’t ever been for princesses.

XXXXXX

The battle ends. Her cousin flees, and All Might’s illegitimate son, Izuku Midoriya, takes the castle.

Celebratory singing fills every corner of the palace.

The once quiet dining room is alight with laughter and feasting. Midoriya sits in her cousin’s seat. Flanking his left side is a blonde man with beady red eyes and Sir Iida. On his right is the maid, Ochako Uraraka - who it turns out, isn’t really a maid but a lady from a small southern province that has sided with Midoriya.

Momo sits next to Lady Uraraka, who chats happily about the future.

Momo tries to listen but can’t. She can barely eat. Her stomach keeps twisting as she unconsciously glances around the room.

Uraraka reaches over and squeezes her arm. “It’s okay. He’s fine. You don’t need to worry. Todoroki’s strong.”

Momo wants to ask who Todoroki is, but then the towering doors at the other end of the hall open and Momo’s heartbeat jumps as a man with red and white hair strides in.

He’s different from her memories. The black robe is gone, replaced with a blue uniform but it’s him - her dark companion.

She wants to be shocked to see him or at least surprised but she isn’t. She realizes she’s known for a while — perhaps for months now — that he is a fighter in All Might’s illegitimate son’s army. She just has never acknowledged it.

His heterochromatic eyes scan the room and Momo’s breath catches in her throat as he glances towards her. It’s slight but something in his shoulders seems to visibly relax as their eyes meet. Then he looks away as he moves closer.

“Lord Todoroki!” Midoriya says, his smile widening as he stands.

The man on Midoriya’s other side growls. “What the fuck are you doing here half and half? What about the north?” — Captain Bakugou, Uraraka whispers to her — “You didn’t just run with your tail between your legs did you?”

Todoroki stops at the edge of the table. Up close she can see his blue uniform is haggard. He still has the curse mark over his left eye, but now Momo also notes he has a new burn wound on his right cheek. She clasps her hands together on her lap to stop her fingers from twitching.

“It's secured,” Her dark companion — Todoroki says. His usual husky voice has a slight raspiness to it that makes Momo’s chest ache. No one else seems to notice as the hall erupts in cheers and loud banging of cutlery. “I defeated my brother. I came to report and...”  He trails off and Momo thinks she is imagining it as his eyes flicker towards her.

Midoriya's eyes shine and he nods. “Of course, there will be plenty of time to talk after dinner. Join us.”

XXXXXX

The moon is high in the sky when dinner ends and yet the dining room is still packed. Momo tucks behind a column as the men and women of Midoriya’s army clear the tables to make space for dancing.

Across the room Uraraka sings drunkenly with a group of men and women. Momo smiles faintly. Then turns and leans back against the pillar, closing her eyes.

She breathes deeply. Her fingers twitch. It’s been a long time since she has experienced an event like this.

“Yaoyorozu.”

Momo eyes snap open and she looks up. “Lord Todoroki,” she says, straightening. Her cheeks warm. It’s strange referring to him as anything but as her dark companion. “I was just taking a moment.”

She wants to touch the creation stone that now hangs on a pendant beneath her dress but forces herself not to.

“I see.” His expression betrays nothing as he moves closer. He stops in front of her and his eyes roam over her face before narrowing. “Your neck…” He reaches out slowly as if to touch her.

Momo feels her face warm and her hand instinctively reaches up to her throat and the shallow cut running across her jugular. “It’s nothing,” she says quickly. “Lady Uraraka saved me before anything could happen.”

Todoroki drops his hand and inhales slowly.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he finally says. His voice is rough, as if the words are hard to say. Perhaps they are. Her gaze lingers over his face, noting the scars and burns along his skin. The frayed edges of his uniform.

The battle up North must have been difficult.

Her heart clenches as Momo mets his eyes. “I’m glad you’re alright as well.” She swallows and gives him a small smile. “And congratulations on your victory. I expect you won’t want to wait for your coronation.”

His expression hardens. “No,” he rasps.

Momo blinks. “No?”

“I’m not going to be king.”

“You’re not going to be king?” Momo repeats slowly. Her heartbeat quickens.

Todoroki straightens as he looks back at her. His eyes shine in the candlelight. “No. I’m not.”

“But why?” Her eyebrows furrow. “Men kill for the crown. My cousin killed for it.” She reaches up and curls her hand over her chest, she can feel the creation stone underneath the rich fabrics but it doesn’t provide her the strength she is used to. “You were next in line.”

He breathes deeply. “I know.”

“I don’t understand.” There’s a sinking sensation in her stomach.

He swallows visibly and looks away. “I’m tired of all the fighting.” His hands fist at his side. “I want to live quietly; I will still serve but, the duty, the responsibility, the politics of the crown - I don’t want it. The crown should go to the one most qualified. I think a piece of me even resents it.” he says. There is a tightness in his jaw

Oh.

Her mouth closes. The sentiment stings with familiarity. It’s a thought she herself has had but never put into words. She wets her lips. “Then...who?” she forces out.

“Midoriya.”

Momo inhales slowly through her nose. “I see.” There is a lump in her throat that makes it hard to breathe. She folds her hands together in front of her. “He seems kind and clever enough.”

Todoroki nods and looks back at her. “He’ll make a good king.” His voice is filled with conviction.

He truly believes it.

She swallows thickly. “So you’ll leave again after the coronation?”

Todoroki’s expression flickers and he almost looks regretful. “Before.” He slides his hands into his uniform pockets. “The north has always been harder to control. Midoriya needs someone he can trust up there, and Bakugo’s personality isn’t the right fit. Our summoner, Majestic, is bringing me back tomorrow.”

A bitter taste fills her mouth, but Momo ignores it.  “Is that how you were always able to visit the library? Your summoner transported you across the country?”

Todoroki nods. “Yeah, as long as you've been to a place before Majestic's magic can teleport you there and back again. That’s how I was able to get here tonight.”

She drops her eyes to stare at the stones under her feet. “I see.”

A lute starts up.

“Yaoyorozu.” She looks up and meets Todoroki’s eyes. He’s staring at her intently now. “Thank you.”

Momo gives him a small smile. “I didn't do anything to be thanked for. You’re the hero of the North.”

“That’s not true.” His voice is firm and he steps forward. He pulls his hand from his pocket and hesitates for a moment, before reaching up and pushing loose strands of hair behind her ear. Momo’s breath hitches as his fingers skim against her cheek.

“You saved me. You created complex magic to break my curse. Gave me the phoenix tear. You helped devise battle tactics that saved countless men and women. And you used yourself as a shield to protect Uraraka. You can’t say you didn’t do anything. Out of all of us you’re the hero.”

Momo gasps and her breath hitches in her chest. She presses the back of her hand to her mouth and looks away.

He is standing close. As close as he had the night she had requested for him to kiss her. Momo keeps thinking he will move away, but he doesn’t. After a moment, she feels something brush against the back of her hand and she looks down as his fingers slide against hers. “What will you do now?”

Her chest aches. Momo opens her mouth and then closes it. “I don’t know,” she finally says. Her voice wavers. “I’ve been here for so long, this is all I know.”

He regards her silently for a moment then looks away and clears his throat. “Perhaps, you can visit the North someday. I—”

“Lord Todoroki.” Momo jumps back and turns as Midoriya pokes his head around the column. “We’re going to meet now.”

Todoroki’s expression betrays nothing. He nods. “I’ll be right there.”

Midoriya glances at her and gives Momo a tentative smile, before disappearing back behind the column.

Momo’s chest tightens as she drags her gaze back to Todoroki. She presses her lips into a thin line. “I guess this is goodbye then.”

Todoroki’s expression flickers. He reaches out and his fingers skim down her arm to catch her fingers and he brings Momo’s hand up to press a kiss to the back of her skin. Momo’s heart stutters. He straightens and his expression is serious as he meets her eyes.

“You're free now, princess. You can do whatever you want,” he says, letting go of her hand.

XXXXXX

“Lady Yaoyorozu?”

Momo blinks in surprise and turns from the window to see Midoriya at the edge of the library staircase. “May I join you?”

She drops her hands from where they twist in her necklace and curtsies. “Of course, my king.”

He blushes and his hands fidget. “Not quite yet, but I guess that means you’ve heard that Lord Todoroki is stepping down from the line of succession?” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his neck.

Momo’s expression hardens and she looks out the window at the men gathering below. “Yes. Lord Todoroki told me last night.”

“I see,” Midoriya says.

Runes are drawn in the dirt. Portals to bring them back north.

“Do you have anything in mind what you’ll do now?”

Momo looks back at him. “Aren’t we to be married?”

“What?!” Midoriya’s voice cracks.

Momo stills. “Was that not why you requested to join me?” Her mouth is dry.

Midoriya’s face turns red and he sputters. “I don't - That’s not - We aren’t getting married. That’s not what I was coming out here to talk to you about."

“Then,” Momo’s eyebrows furrow, confused. “What may I assist with?”

Midoriya smiles shakily. The redness starts to fade from his cheeks. “I was wondering if you have any plans now for your future? And I don’t mean getting married to me!” he adds quickly.

Momo’s lips thin, and she shakes her head. “No.” She reaches up and rubs her opposite arm. “I don’t have any family left or a place to call home. I thought - but if we aren’t...” she trails off.

Midoriya smiles sympathetically. “Well, we could use your expertise here if you are willing.”

Momo blinks. “Lord Midoriya?”

He stares at her, his forest green eyes serious. “Your operations and strategies led us to victory countless times, and Todoroki told me you were the one who discovered how to break his curse. We could really use your help as an advisor to the crown. I mean – only if you want to.”

Momo is silent for a moment. Unconsciously, her fingers reach up and touch the creation stone hanging from the pendant around her neck. “Thank you but I - I don’t think I want to stay here. The palace – this place has been my prison since my parents died. I don’t know where I’ll go but,” she hesitates and swallows. Todoroki’s words from the night before echo through her and settle in her chest. Momo inhales a shaky breath. “I’ve come to resent my position in life,” she says softly.

Midoriya’s green eyes soften.  "I understand.” He looks back down at the men below the library window. “But you don’t have to be here to advise the crown,” he says after a moment.

“My lord?” Momo tilts her head.

Midoriya smiles wistfully. “The road to reconciliation is going to be long and we could really use your assistance. The country is big. You don’t have to stay here. Is there anywhere you’d like to go?"

Momo’s throat feels tight. Outside, sunlight reflects off of red and white hair as Todoroki walks amongst the men, preparing for their departure.

Her fingers tighten around the creation stone.

Her heartbeat quickens as a foreign feeling fills her chest. “If – If I may, I think I know where I’d like to go.”

XXXXXX

“Lord Todoroki, wait!” Momo calls as she hikes up her dress and hurries through the crowd of men gathering in the yard.

The sun shines down brightly from a cloudless sky.

Todoroki looks up. "Yaoyorozu!” He steps forward as she stops in front of him. “I was looking for you,” he says, his gray and blue eyes study her face. “I wanted to see you once more before I leave."

Momo shakes her head and smiles. “I’m going with you.”

“What?” Todoroki blinks, owlishly.

“I’m – King Midoriya has asked me to be an advisor to the crown and gave his permission for me to assist with the northern reconciliation” She raises her head and juts out her chin. “I’m going with you.”

Todoroki opens his mouth and then closes it and his lips thin. “Are you sure? The north is harsh and they keep to the traditional ways. There are easier lands to help reconcile.”

“I know.” Momo hesitates.

Does he not want her to join him?

She licks her lips and summons her courage to meet his gaze. “But you’ll be there,” she whispers.

Todoroki’s eyes widen a fraction, then his expression softens and it’s like ice melting in the summer sun as he smiles. "I see.” His eyes are silver and turquoise as he stares down at her, and for the first time it feels like she is seeing the real him. “I look forward to working with you then."

Momo’s heart clenches. An unknown feeling rises in her chest. “As do I.”

The world fades away around them.

He stares at her for a moment longer, then straightens. “Go get a few items that you’ll need. We can come back for the rest later, once we’ve settled in.”

Momo shakes her head. “I don’t need anything. I can go now.”

Todoroki tilts his head. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Her smile widens, and she reaches up to touch the creation stone around her neck. “I have everything I need.”

His expression flickers down, and then a faint smile pulls at his lips. “I see.” He holds out his hand. His turquoise and gray eyes shine in the sunlight. “Let’s go then. Don’t let go of me.”

Momo slides her hand into his, her fingers slotting between his. Her heartbeat quickens. His palm is warm, and he holds her hand as tenderly as she had once only imagined in her most forbidden dreams.

In the distance, bells ring signaling noon.

Todoroki squeezes her hand once, and they step into the center of the circle.

The ruins carved into the dirt begin to glow a fluorescent blue.

Magic crackles around them and for the first time it feels like the future she chose for herself.

[fandom-meanderer]

Not Your Classic Vigilante [Pt. 11]

Pairing: Batfamily x Batsis!Reader

Part: (11/?) [First] [Previous] [Next]

Genre: General Fiction

Fandom: DC Universe

P.o.V.: 3rd

Word Count: 3,793 Words

Warnings: Language

Further Notes: From now on, I’ve decided that chapters will be longer! I hope you enjoy :D

Eve had proved to be beneficial, the thought resided in Damien’s mind. Thanks to her, he was able to clear a few things up.

First of all, her, his sister, and the others in combat were all a part of a unit known simply as the Brigade. Their roles in battle are determined by the main color of their uniform, black being front-liners and white meaning support. The embroidery further specialized, red being combat specialists, silver being magic, and copper being artillery. Amongst the Brigade, his sister was the Captain, and her right hand was Alexander.

The nation they were in right now was known wholly as Caelum, while their zeroed in location is a small village known only as Hymnal. They were currently at war with the neighboring nation Imperium. From his understanding, the people of Caelum all came from different Earths, while the one they stood on at the current moment was artificial, man-made. But despite that there stood an established government, a monarchy to be specific, and an absolute one at that. The Brigade was at their mercy and, according to Eve, they couldn’t have had a worst ruling family, for reasons unspecified.

Regardless, Damien’s eyes shift over to the blackened window, they’ve been sitting in the house for who knows how long now. He was certain that the land beyond them was scorched even further down that the earth it once resided on. He scratched his head, he came here out of impulse and, no doubt, the others were probably looking for him. He couldn’t stop the wave of guilt that overcame him, but at the same time he couldn’t care less. They were the ones who didn’t understand, it wasn’t his fault, he was doing this for his very-much alive sister, after all. They, for some reason, wouldn’t understand.

—

(Name)’s vision was starting to blur. How long had they been fighting again? How many of the monsters have come? God only knows. (Name) looks over at the forest. There aren’t anymore approaching, but that doesn’t cancel out the ones still fighting. She takes a step back to steady herself, but with the growing casualties, the overlapping dissonances, and the lowering visibility, it was clear that if she stayed on field she would just become a hinderance.

“Captain?” The voice was indiscernible, be it because of sheer exhaustion or the loud howls, it didn’t matter. (Name) felt two steady hands on her arms, holding her upright.

“Don’t worry about me, I’d be fine even if I didn’t want to be,” (Name) musters out. “Who… who are you?” (Name) turns her head, but her vision just continued to blur.

“Damn, you’re in no condition to continue,” the voice continued. He slung her arm around his shoulder and led her to the safe house.

“Captain!” Another distorted voice.

“Sister?”

‘Eve and Damien,’ the Captain relaxed as whoever it was laid her on the floor. Eve kneeled over her and began performing a healing charm.

“I’m heading back out there,” the voice continues.

“Right, I’ll take care of her here, Carter,” Eve says. (Name) groans, and finally blacks out.

“What… what’s wrong with her?” Damien asks. Eve just scrunches her face.

“She’s pushed herself too long,” Eve shakes her head sadly. Damien’s eyes glossed over his sister, or whoever the hell that was. His sister didn’t look like this. His sister wasn’t supposed to be covered head to toe in blood, she isn’t supposed to have a dislocated arm, or a giant gash across her abdomen. His sister would have never worn a military uniform, let alone be the Captain of one. (Name) Wayne would have never step foot near danger, no, she would have run away and called one of them.

And, if rumors are true, she tried to call all of them that night.

“Damien, how long do you think we’ve been here?”

“A few hours?”

“For you, yes, but the Captain has been here since the fight broke out,” Eve frowns. “Which was two days ago.”

“What? That’s impossible,” Damien grunts.

“For you and me, yes, but the Captain is a special case,” Eve explains. She moves her hands to the unconscious woman’s head and rests it gently, a calming light emerging from underneath her palm. “We all arrived at different times, the latest one was Nixon, he arrived just a few hours ago.”

Damien’s mind flashes back to the man who told (Name) to abandon him somewhere and he quickly grimaced. He definitely wasn’t going to get along with him any time soon, and hopefully if things work out, he wouldn’t have to. If things worked out, in just the next day they’ll be back in the manor, as things should be.

“Either way, your sister will be back up in no time,” Eve reassures. “From what the transmissions have been saying, she’s going to make a beeline back to the Capital as soon as she wakes up… She’s been away from her post for too long, and the Royal family is starting to become impatient.”

“Post?”

“Oh, well she is the Captain of the Guard, plus, with what Alex has been saying over the transmission, one of us is going to have to head over to the Kingdom Capital and explain what’s going on,” Eve says. “Carter was going to go before, but the Captain volunteered herself. Knowing her, she’s probably going to take you with her.”

“I see.”

“She would prefer to stay, but with the hoards dying down and with Alex’s mentor coming along soon, the Captain is assured everything will be fine.” Eve quickly retracts her hand as (Name) groaned softly. Slowly, she opened her eyes and pushed herself up.

“Thank you… Eve…” she mumbles. She rolls her dislocated shoulder a bit. “Can you… Can you pop that back?” Eve nods and does as she is told and (Name) let out a satisfied sigh and thanks her.

“Anything for you, Captain,” she smiles. (Name) turns over to look at Damien.

“You and I have a lot to talk about, Damien,” she rubs the back of her head. “And as much as I’d rather rest for a bit more, I’m going to have to cut to the chase. We’re going to the Capital, and you’re coming with me. No arguments.”

“Alright,” Damien bit his tongue back.

“Eve, do you mind?”

“Not at all!” Eve stood up and waved her hand in a circle, a large portal materializing. “I’ll send you updates, Captain.”

“Please do, and be safe.”

“When am I not?” With that, (Name) nudged her head towards the portal and watched Damien enter first, then she followed close behind, the portal closing itself right as she entered.

Damien and (Name) stepped out of the swirling vortex and found themselves in the middle of a technology wonderland. If you can think of it, it’s there. Flying cars, androids, hover boards, holograms, etc. (Name) raised her eyebrow and laughed.

“Welcome to the Kingdom’s Capital,” she says. She digs through her pockets and holds out a small cube.

“Jason… Jason has taken you on his motorcycle before, right?” The name seemed uneasy on her lips.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, this will be the exact same but three times faster,” she smirks. “Try not to get whiplash, Boy Wonder.”

“Do not—” he stops talking once she tosses the cube to the floor and it expands into a large motorbike.

“Climb on,” she says, gesturing to sit in front of her. “Oh, come on. Some knights ride horses, I ride bikes, it’s much more effective.” Damien shakes his head out of his shock and obeys. In a quick rev of her engine, the two sped down the streets of Capital City.

Damien thought he wouldn’t have been so awestricken by the sight, but for some reason he was. He knew they were speeding down the highways, that much was evident by the blurring lines of light that surrounded him, but time seemed to be at a simultaneous standstill, it felt peaceful, as strange as that sounds. He decided to chalk it up to their departure from the previous war zone.

The two come to a slow at a rather run down area, and (Name) helps him off while she recondenses the motorcycle back into it’s capsule. Unlike the marvel of mainstream Capital, this area seemed more familiar, the roads were a bit less kept, there were overgrown plants in some areas, the shops had certainly seen better days, but it felt familiar.

“More like Gotham?” (Name) seemed to have read his thoughts. He only nods. “Yeah, I thought so too, follow me,” she nudges to a bar, and the two walk in swiftly. It was empty, even the barkeeper was absent, Damien looked at the clock on the wall and saw it was only 8:32 am.

“Is it that early?”

“Being in battle really fucks with your sense of time,” (Name) explains. She opens a back door and gestures for Damien to ascend the stairs first. She closes the door behind them and leads him to the eighth floor. After a series of torn wallpaper and stained carpet, they stop in front of a plain looking unit. “Home sweet home,” she kicks open the door and pushes him inside.

“I thought you were the Captain of… whatever it was,” Damien eyes her suspiciously.

“Yeah, I am, but those idiots in the Brigade break so much shit it comes out of my paycheck,” (Name) deadpans. “I’m going to go take a shower, the Queen would have a heart attack if I got blood anywhere in the mansion. There’s some juice in the fridge if you’re up to it. We’ll grab lunch later,” (Name) instructs. She disappears into the hallway and Damien is left alone once again.

He sits on the couch in the small living room and bounces on it slightly, feeling the stiff springs under him, and he looks around the unit. It was nothing like where they used to live in Gotham, even her dorm was better than this, from what he remembered. A true downgrade, and he was certain (Name) would want to come back to the Manor just from comparing it to this alone. He looked out the window, the skyline of Capital in perfect display.

At least there was that one thing worth it in this place. He continues to stoop around and his eyes land on the mantle, the only thing sitting on it was one of his father’s tools, he remembers that Dick had jokingly called it a “batarang.” He picks it up and feels the weight in his hands. Now why would his sister have kept it if she never wanted to go home.

“I made it myself.” (Name) read his mind once again. “It’s not made out of the same metal though, but I figured if I could replicate it I could apply it to other weapons for the Brigade to use.” She walks up to him and takes it from his hand, placing it back to it’s rightful place. Damien looks her over, one wouldn’t have been able to tell that she was just massacring monsters only an hour earlier. Instead, she was in a pristine uniform with a specific emblem etched onto a badge on her shoulder.

“Ready to go, kiddo?” She asks.

“Yeah.”

—

“What do you mean, you can’t find him?” Dick shouts. Tim rubs his head angrily and gestures toward the screen.

“Do you see him on the radar? No? Well, neither can I!” He argues. Jason rolls his eyes.

“Stop arguing,” Bruce sighs.

“Why am I even here?” Jason grumbles. He takes his helmet. “I’m out, this is stupid. He’ll come back when he wants to, and when he’s not thinking like some crazy lunatic.”

“Jason has a point, this isn’t Damien’s first tantrum,” Bruce concedes.

“Jason, Bruce, wait, come on, we should make sure he’s alright,” Dick reasons. Tim turns back to the bat computer and a notification pings. “It’s from an unknown source…”

“What is it?”

“If you want to find your brother, here’s a hint,” Tim recites. He looks back at his two brothers, who just shrug and look back up at the screen. Tim obliges and opens the file. It was a grainy CCTV footage, but the figure centered in it was unmistakable. They watched as Damien ran around the area, asking random people who happened to be passing by, and what not, then a stranger walked up to him and inaudibly told him something. Whatever he said, Damien followed him into the cafe. Then they walked out and into a back alley. Although they were out of sight, the bright light that came from that alley was enough to hint to them what happened.

And so, operation Save Damien is a go.

—

Soon enough, (Name) stopped in front of a building and climbed off.

“We’re here, stay close.”

Damien, at first, trailed behind (Name). They entered into the huge manor, and he quickly found that it existed in a state that was in a stark difference from the technological marvel that was Capital City. Though, a strange thought, it resembled Wayne Manor in some ways. Damien noted that the manor lacked the advancement as the city, but who was he to judge? He just fell into the world a few hours ago.

“Hey, catch up,” (Name)’s voice was softer, more familiar. She stopped to let him walk next to her. “I know what you’re thinking, why does this place look so different from the outside?”

“Yeah.”

“The Queen is paranoid that technology will be the death of them,” (Name) explains. “Which is ridiculous, I mean I get it, but we have the best cyber-security team in all of the Earths, she should just learn how to accept it by now. I can’t wait until the Prince gets coronated, I swear,” (Name) sounded more like she was complaining now.

“I’ve heard the Royal family isn’t the best,” Damien comments. (Name) nods.

“You’re right. The King and Queen are too stuck up for their own good, if they talk to you keep it brief. The Prince is more lenient, you should be fine with him. But do not speak unless spoken to. The Queen is a bitch and the King is a pushover.”

“So why are you talking about them like that?”

“They couldn’t kill me if they tried. And it would be a dumb move on them to get rid of their best playing card.” (Name) stops in front of two large doors. “Ready?”

“Sure.”

(Name) pushed the doors open and they walked into the grand throne room. Before them sat three of the most powerful people in that world and, to say the least, Damien felt the pressure in the atmosphere. It was similar to those few times when he knew his enemies out-skilled him. He found himself subconsciously moving towards his sister.

“Captain,” the King spoke.

“Your majesty.” (Name) stopped a few feet away from the thrones, bowed her head, and put her hand to her heart. Damien followed suit.

“What is that behind you,” the Queen spat. Damien didn’t miss the annoyed look in (Name)’s eyes as she looked up at the other woman.

“My younger brother.”

“I see,” she relaxes into her seat. “Quite the predicament you’ve found yourself in. If he will affect your duties, dispose of him.”

Damien’s fists clenched behind his back, but he said nothing.

“That won’t be a problem. I’ve decided to take him in as my apprentice.”

“Tch,” the Queen turned her nose. Damien suddenly realizes why Jason would be so pissed when he did that to him. “So he’s virtually untouchable.”

“Yes.”

“Give me news on that village,” the King cut into the conversation.

“It’s unsalvageable, your majesty,” (Name) replied curtly. He shifted slightly.

“How many survivors?”

“Five.”

“Hundred?”

“No, your majesty. Five,” (Name) touched her heart again. “Correction, three.”

“My god,” the Queen shook her head. “How could your team, your special operations unit, have failed?!”

“I believe I’ve told you before, your majesty, there have been frequent sightings of a new and much stronger daemon in our midst. Before, we were able to handle up to five at a time on our own, but, for reasons unknown, an entire herd descended upon the village,” (Name) stood her ground and continued to explain the situation, all of which Damien already knew as Eve filled him in.

Damien’s eyes wandered to the Prince, who was silent this entire time. He was watching (Name) with a strange mix of curiosity, confusion, and concern. His head rested on the palm of his hand as he tried to feign superiority, but he held a similar annoyed expression that (Name) had, with his eyes constantly shifting to the Queen, who seemed ready to boil over with rage.

“I see,” the King tapped his foot, the sound bouncing off of the room’s walls. “I take it the situation is being dealt with at this time.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“You are to remain in the Capital until your unit returns, the Royal Family needs top security. These attacks you have been detailing have occurred far too frequently.”

“I understand, your majesty.”

“Dismissed.” (Name) bowed her head again, turned on her heel, and left.

—

“When you called her a bitch I thought you were just exaggerating,” Damien huffs. (Name) pushed his salad towards him.

“Eat.”

“I am, I am,” Damien pouts.

“Okay, now that I’ve figured out an excuse not to get you killed, you’re still on thin ice, Dami. You have to stick with me from now on, no wandering off. And don’t try lying to the Queen, her ability is TruthSeek. It’s impossible to lie to her.”

“Ability?”

“Oh, right. Well, everyone in this world, or at least when we entered, gained something we call “Special Abilities,” basically they’re all unique things we can do. The Queen can tell if you’re lying, the King can cause all of your bones to crush in the snap of his fingers, and so on.”

“What’s your ability?”

“Confidential.”

“Why?”

“We’re in a public space,” (Name) shrugs.

“What about the Prince?”

“We call it SharpShot, but after a few demonstrations, Alex and I are thinking it’s something else. Basically, he is able to always hit his target. He could throw it the other way and it would still find its way to its destination. Alex theorizes that it has something to do about manipulation of space now, but we’re working on it,” (Name) rambles. “Now it’s your turn. How’d you get here?” It sounded more like a demand than a question.

“The morning after you came home, you left again, and for some reason no one remembered that you were ever really there. So I went out to look for you on my own. After that this man in a lab coat came up to me, told me where you were, and took me there.”

“He landed here with you.”

“No, just me.”

“Describe him some more.”

“Gray hair, tan vest, silver pocket watch—“

“Do you remember the watch’s engraving?”

“I do, but I can’t describe it.”

“Can you draw it?”

“Yeah.” Without wasting another second, (Name) grabbed a pen from her pocket and a napkin and handed it to him.

“Take your time.” (Name) drank her coffee as Damien scribbled away in front of her, but truth be told, as soon as he began to draw the head of a dragon she already knew. “The man who took you, his name is Kristoff Hargreeve. He’s the head scientist for Imperium, and also who Alex and I believe is orchestrating the daemon attacks. But I’m curious as to why he would bring you here to me, and not with him.”

“It would make more sense to use me as a hostage,” Damien adds in, (Name) nods curtly.

“Exactly. And it can’t be a distraction, even if I was away the rest of the Brigade are more than capable of handling the war,” (Name) leaned back on the back of the booth and stretched her legs out. “I’ll talk about it more with Alex when he gets back.”

“That name is familiar,” Damien mutters.

“Well you have heard it tossed around left and right,” (Name) chuckles, the annoyed look from Damien makes her laugh even louder. “Geez, kiddo, I’m just kidding. Yeah, he’s the same Alex who I used to penpal.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“He has the picture of me that I sent him, even with the note on the back. And it’s not weird, I have his too,” (Name) shrugs. “So we stuck together, it was easier to have a familiar face in a world of the unfamiliar.”

“Why didn’t you ever come home?” Damien asks. It was clear that they had the ability to traverse the different Earths, (Name) had a feeling the question was going to come up, but she had secretly prayed it didn’t.

“I didn’t want to.” Damien opens his mouth to argue, but is quickly cut off by yet another new face.

“(Name)! Thank god you’re okay!” The waitress bounded up to them and wrapped her arms around (Name). “I was afraid that I’d have to pay Tyler.”

“What?”

“We were betting on whether or not you’d make it back.”

“Oh fuck you two get out of here!”

“Pay up, bitch boy!” She looks over her shoulder at another waiter, Tyler, who rolled his eyes and pulled out a bill. The waitress slides in next to Damien. “This your secret kid, (Name)?”

“No, he’s my brother.”

“Oh my god, he is so adorable—“ the Waitress reaches out to pat his head but Damien catches her wrist before she could move another inch. “And now I see why he’s your brother. Hey, I’m Rebecca.”

“Damien.”

“(Name) and Damien Wayne, huh? Has a nice ring to it,” Rebecca smiles. Her eyes fall on the drawing in front of Damien and she straightens herself, she leans in and whispers only loud enough so that he and (Name) could hear.

“They’re pulling back their forces at Gronder.”

“What? Why would they do that? They have the upper hand,” (Name) mumbles.

“Me and Ty were wondering too, but according to Crys, a huge shipment of whatever was just delivered to their position. It was blue flagged too.”

“Living cargo,” (Name) mutters. “The entire East army is about to get wiped out.”

“If the King deploys you there I will not hesitate to rip his head off, (Name).”

“Please don’t do that.” (Name)’s lips draw a straight line. Then everything started to make sense, the pieces fell together, and Damien was able to pinpoint the exact moment (Name) realized that she had made a mistake.

Tag List:  @loxbbg @holymotherofchickennoodlesoup @ijustwannabecanadian@oneshots-galore @xapham @peqchynero @sono-sakana@theroyalbrownbarbie @audioshoes @allycat4458 @izzy28901 @buchanangaby @gabytodd

[stonebreakerseries]

Day 5: Beloved + “Unacceptable, try again.”

Another piece for @oc-growth-and-development‘s OC-tober, also incorporating the Day 5 #Fictober20 prompt. This one was, ah... a fair bit harder to merge. But I did my best!

This piece is set about 10 years prior to the events in Stonebreaker, focusing on the aftermath of the War of Chains (I might include it as a flashback or an interlude between parts - I have yet to decide).

                       -------------------------------------------------------

Series: Stonebreaker (Original Fiction) Character(s): Dassian Varo, Alessia Torvul, Faldoran Crestus, Hemlan.

                       ---------------------------------------------------------

The pale stone walls of the war room seemed too bright that morning. Garish, pristine, uncompromising. Perhaps it was fitting, given the group that currently crowded around the replica map. The undulating landscape of central Peiora was crafted with minute and painstaking detail, spanning from Talvera all the way to the Bleakwood. It used to be the map that encompassed all of the Allied Kingdoms. Now Valcreta, the City of Artifice, stood like a stain at the southwestern corner. A reminder of their failure.

Breathing out, Dassian Varo, War King of Signea, High King of the Allied Kingdoms, found himself staring at that spot. One of the mapmakers had painted the area gold, the colour used to denote Khathi Empire territory. It was recently done; the paint was still tacky, its damp gleam visible in the mid-morning light.

Where had we gone so wrong?

Of course, Dassian knew. He knew when the decree had been passed, though he had been too much of a fool to admit it. The idea of it - freedom for the bondsmen throughout the Allied Kingdoms - had been something he had supported for years. Decades, even, though perhaps he had been less vocal in his youth. Less self-assured. Less powerful. 

Divider’s Own, what he would give, now, for even half the confidence he used to have.

Deep down, Dassian had known it wasn’t truly about freedom. It never had been. But his doubts at the time had simply been outweighed by his belief that, sometimes, intentions didn’t matter. What mattered was the result. It was hard to imagine that any man or woman, when freed from their chains, would care about whether it was done for the ‘right’ reason. All that mattered was that it had happened. Their lives were now their own, to do with as they pleased.

Or, at least, that had been the ideal, sold to them just under two years ago. It had been the start of Felling, when High King Leoric had called a meeting of the rulers. He remembered it vividly - the trees had just started to change, soft leaves turning crisp, red bleeding into green... 

“Your Majesty?”

Stirring, Dassian blinked and tore his gaze from the map. Crowded around the table stood his closest advisors. They were the only people, so soon after ascending to the throne, that he was willing to trust.

To his right stood Faldoran Crestus, his well-cared sword eternally strapped to his side. Dressed in a thick doublet, the courtly attire was barely able to contain his powerful form; an incongruity that only emphasised the man’s obvious discomfort. Recently promoted to Marshal, he was now expected to attend all meetings pertaining to Signea and her defense - a fact that, upon its discovery, had twisted his scarred face into a perpetual frown. They did not always agree on matters, but Faldoran was the only man Dassian could have chosen for such a vital position. The only man he trusted to replace him. 

Next to Faldoran, a wooden writing board resting along her forearm, was Alessia Torvul, the former king’s Cipher. The woman, with pale Talveran skin and copper hair, was a handful of years his senior, and carried each of them with pride. She met Dassian’s gaze without a moment’s hesitation, green eyes calm. Knowing. Encouraging. Most had assumed he would not trust her, given her proximity to King Leoric and his family. They had assumed he would petition other Cipher families for a replacement. 

They had assumed wrong. 

Finally, a short man stood on Dassian’s left, his brown hair thinning, his stomach straining against a dark leather belt. As though sensing Dassian’s thoughts on him, he cleared his throat. “Ah, if you please, your Majesty. With Valcreta being... u-um… well, I how should I put this---”

---“Unacceptable,” Dassian snapped, dark eyes flashing dangerously as they cut across to the man. “Try again.” 

Hemlan stiffened, mouth dropping open in shock. Dassian had expected that response from him. He’d always been spineless. But Alessia’s frown, scalding him with disapproval from halfway across the room, was his cue that he had genuinely misstepped. 

Stop it. You need these people on your side. All of them.

Sighing, Dassian leaned forward, pressing his hands to the lacquered edge of the table. “I apologise, Hemlan. Please, just... say what you mean.” Divider, he was tired. It didn’t seem to matter how much he slept. Not that he slept well, alone in a room large enough to house an entire platoon. “King Leoric may have ruled by platitudes, but I have no patience for them.”

Even as the words left his lips, Dassian winced, wishing he could take them back. There he went again. It was never wise to disparage a fallen monarch; certainly not before his funeral had even taken place. This meeting was a mistake. He should have waited another day. Divider, he was almost too exhausted to even feel ashamed of himself. 

Almost. 

“This has been… a trying campaign, your Majesty. A few improprieties behind closed doors are to be expected.” To his surprise, the timidity in Hemlan’s voice had all but vanished, even after the undeserved reprimand. By the time Dassian looked back at the man, his entire demeanour had already shifted. He stood straighter now, pale gaze regarding the map, the thumb of his right hand hooked into his belt. Bemused, Dassian sent a questioning look to Alessia, who simply shrugged, a faint smile tinging her lips. 

I see. 

He’d always wondered how a man like Hemlan had found his way into a position as coveted as Court Advisor. In truth, he was only even present at Alessia’s insistence. Whenever he had spoken to Hemlan in the past, the man had been a stuttering mess, barely making eye contact, frustrating him with his sweating and apologising and bumbling until…

Dassian froze.

… until he had told Hemlan whatever he wanted to know, just to make him leave.

“If I may,” Hemlan continued, tugging Dassian from his quiet revelation, “it is important that we discuss the potential of a Khathi assault. With Valcreta now a viable waypoint for their army and their knowledge of our weakened forces, the threat is greater now than it has been since the conception of the Allied Kingdoms.”

The Allied Kingdoms. Their formation had been a defensive maneuver, spurred by King Leoric at the beginning of this reign. That had to have been, what… twenty years ago? More?

Where had the time gone?

“Have the armies patrol the western border,” Dassian said. “I trust we still have the numbers for that?”

Faldoran nodded, arms folded, the heavy shelf of his brow almost casting a shadow over his eyes. “We do. But I wouldn’t waste any soldiers down by Tel Shival.” He leaned forward, tapping a gloved finger on the swath of blue directly east of their current location. “The Pale’s still swollen from the thaw up north, so all those feeders running into the marsh will be full to bursting.” He shook his head, straightening. “No - there’s no fear of an army getting through that way. Not at this time of year.”

It was true enough. Even their own army had been forced to swing north, bypassing the Crossroads, adding a full two-turns to their journey. In any other circumstance, ten days would have felt like nothing. But among exhausted soldiers, wounded, hungry, battle-worn…

Alessia shifted her footing. “If I may? It would still be beneficial to build more outposts along the southern outskirts. If nothing else, we will find ourselves better positioned once the weather changes.” She glanced at Faldoran, who just grunted, then returned her attention to Dassian. “If we cannot spare soldiers for the task, I imagine there are a number among the recently liberated seeking paid work.”

“Yes. Good. See it done.” As Dassian replied, he noticed that Alessia was actually transcribing the discussion, her quill scratching away over the parchment with her usual ruthless efficiency. Of course. This is all official, now. 

However, more importantly, Alessia had raised a valid point. In Dassian’s opinion - one he shared with many - the handling of the bondsmen had been one of Leoric’s greatest failings. Of all the kingdoms who had implemented the decree, the High King himself had taken the most indolent approach. He had simply declared the owning and trading of bondsmen a criminal offense, signed a few papers, and considered the matter resolved. Even back then, he had already been fixated on the war with Valcreta - the war he knew was coming. He’d lost sight of his own citizens at the very moment they needed him most.

Of course, many of the former bondsmen were resourceful. Some grouped together, forming their own communities in the kingdom’s outskirts. Some stayed put, joining the more welcoming towns and cities where they had grown up or lived out a good portion of their lives. Some returned to their homelands, seeking families that may or may not still be waiting for them. But others? Others struggled, without property, without work, without support, cut off from their pasts, uncertain of the futures. 

The rest just left Signea entirely, once they realised the extent to which the King had forgotten them. 

To some, High King Leoric was beloved. To others, his shortcomings were simply too great and too many to overlook. Dassian had yet to decide in which camp he intended to raise his own flag.

Closing his eyes, he bowed his head and drew a deep, slow breath. He could feel the concerned gazes of his closed council on him, but chose to ignore them for the moment, collecting himself, gathering his thoughts. After all, Alessia and Faldoran had seen him in far worse states than this - recently, too. 

And Hemlan? 

Well, Hemlan seemed willing and able to adapt to whatever he needed, whenever he needed it. He had yet to decide if that was incredibly useful, or incredibly terrifying.

“Tell me,” Dassian said suddenly, “what are the people saying?”

At first, silence met his question. Alessia shifted, rolling back her shoulders, but seemed hesitant to respond. Even Faldoran somehow managed to look even more uncomfortable, his mouth drawn into a tense line.

That left Hemlan.

“It is… mixed, your Majesty,” the portly man began, clasping his hands behind his back. He kept his blue eyes fixed on the map, as though he somehow knew the last thing Dassian wanted was his scrutiny. “The sudden retreat from Valcreta was a surprise to many. Soldiers, common folk, and nobility alike.”

“Damn right it was,” Faldoran agreed, crossing his arms. “Had my work cut out for me, explaining that one to the soldiers. Reckon I got through to most of the ones that mattered, but…” He shrugged. “There’s always going to be mutterings. Just the way it goes.”

Dassian nodded stiffly. Of course he knew that. But still, somehow, he just wished he could make them see. Make them understand that it had to be done. 

“Some call you a hero,” Hemlan continued, unfazed by the interruption. “Being named War King on the field of battle gained you favour among the more military-minded, as well as a number of noble families. But, as with all things, even the most valuable coin has two sides. Others call you a coward, some even going so far as to raise questions about the legitimacy of your ascension.”

“What?” Dassian stood up straight at that, alarmed. Not at the accusations of cowardice - he had expected those. Prepared for them. But the idea that he had somehow cheated his way to the throne? “There were witnesses present - several, high and low ranking alike. They have all made statements. On what grounds are they questioning it?”

“Unfounded grounds, your Majesty,” Hemlan replied quickly. “I apologise if I caused undue alarm. The accusations are not enough to pose any real threat, nor are they bold enough to outright denounce you...” He paused. Looking up, Hemlan studied Dassian’s face for a moment, gauging something. Then, he sucked in a breath, and added, “... yet. Right now, the war is still fresh, as is the memory of your coronation. It is important we continue to monitor these rumours, but at present, that is all they are.”

A cold feeling settled at the center of his chest. “At present,” Dassian repeated quietly. Divider...

Expression softening, Hemlan simply nodded. “At present, your Majesty.”

“We will be vigilant,” Alessia added, voice firm. “If the talk ever becomes serious enough to threaten your life or the stability of the kingdom, we will convene and act accordingly.” 

Dassian nodded distractedly, then paused, realising something. She had stopped writing, leaving this part of their conversation off the official record. 

So it’s that much of a concern, then.

“Very well,” he said after a moment. “Hemlan, report to me every second turn. I don’t want to find myself blindsided by any of this.” He shifted his gaze to Faldoran. “Marshal Crestus, meet with me this evening. We will discuss the fortification of the border in more detail then. For now, you are both dismissed.”

The two men nodded and took their leave, Faldoran snapping a sharp salute, Hemlan bowing low. That left him and Alessia, standing at opposite sides of the large map. Slowly, calmly, she went about organising her affairs, capping the small vial of ink, dabbing the tip of her quill against a piece of sponge inlaid in her writing board. 

Dassian just watched her, silent, and waited for the inevitable.

“You can’t solve every problem in the kingdom on your first day, Dassian.” She glanced up, green eyes seeming to pierce right through him. They always did. “It will take many Kings - High, War, whatever you like - to fix the mistakes of the past twenty years. Even then, new ones will only rise to take their place.”

“Then what would you have me do?” he demanded. She had stood by him when so many had refused; believed him on the battlefield when his own men had started to doubt. Practically committed treason with him. He owed her more than he dared admit, but sometimes she drove him halfway mad. “Should I do nothing? Delegate my duties to others, like Leoric did? I can’t do that, Alessia. I’m not that kind of man.”

As he expected - as he feared - the Cipher just sighed. She didn’t seem disappointed. Not even angry or bitter. In fact, she almost seemed to have been expecting his exact response. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d written it down before he’d even said it. “Then it is something you will just have to learn, Dassian, whether you want to or not. That, and many other things.” She shook her head and stepped away from the map, angling towards the door. “Despite the way it is portrayed in the history books, ruling a kingdom is never done alone. The crown is a symbol. It is a kind of power, yes, but it is not absolute. You need to surround yourself with people. The right people.”

She began to walk out, shoes whispering over the floor tiles. “I’m not alone,” Dassian said as she passed by him, voice low, gaze averted. “I have you, don’t I? And Faldoran. Hemlan.”

Alessia paused. Just for a breath. “You do,” she said. “But we are not enough.”

With that, she bowed and left, her floor-length dress shifting gently with each step. Soon, the War King found himself alone once more, the light streaming in through the high windows suddenly too bright. Too damning, laying bare all of his flaws. There were certainly enough of them.

Rest, he thought, leaning his weight against the table, not quite trusting his legs to hold him. I just need to rest. 

Then I can worry about fixing everything else in this damn kingdom.

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 03

Read Along on AO3 Here

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This time: Thrawn is visited by Vah'nya and exchanges a handful of words with Eli.

Next time: Ezra doesn’t feel like he’s made a very good impression on the Chiss. Thrawn doesn’t really make him feel better. Vah’nya and Ivant discuss Un’hee.

-/

Thrawn was not used to having time. At least, not true free time. Sure, he indulged his love of art within the scope of his duties, but rarely did he do something just because he could. In fact, in his later years with the Empire, he rarely did anything but work. Leave was unnecessary, and he found he gained more enjoyment from fulfilling the tasks required of him while mentoring others along the way.

Briefly, his mind struck up the image of Karyn Faro. He wondered not for the first time what she made of the news, how she had so narrowly avoided sharing the fate of the Seventh Fleet. Ezra’s actions - the Revels' last ditch effort - had still managed to kill tens of thousands of Imperial troops. The survivors had all gone different ways, trying to get a lock on civilization. Thrawn had managed to convince Ezra to stick with him, though it was likely more so that Thrawn had been open about his lack of inclination to kill the young Jedi than any true kinship at the start, while the majority of his officers had at least considered murdering him in his sleep.

Now, he woke up expecting to be in his too small room aboard the Chimaera, not in comfortable lodgings amongst his own people. And despite it, he was not sure what to do with himself. Things here had changed. There had been a tension in the lines of the panel members’ faces indicative of strife. Which meant it was bad, if he was able to see it on the faces of Chiss politicians.

Not to mention that somehow, in the span of the not-quite two years since he’d parted with the Steadfast after their encounter with the Grysks, Eli Vanto had earned another promotion - and a large one, at that. Was he also tangled up in the politics of whatever was happening with the Aristocra? He did not act like it.

But then again, Thrawn was not entirely sure which side of him was the act, if any of it was. Originally, he’d come across as warm and nearly paternal toward Ezra during their first interaction. Human. Then, he’d become… stoic. Emotionless. Practically Chiss-like. It was impressive, Thrawn could admit, though he couldn’t help but remember the coldness of Vanto’s eyes, how he’d made direct eye contact with Thrawn and spoke evenly, no hint of anger and yet a solid weight behind his words that gave the seasoned military-man pause.

Something in Thrawn’s loins had shifted with those words. Eli Vanto was telling him, without saying explicitly so, that he had betrayed his principles. The cost of such a choice was loyalty. Loyalty between them that had been built upon time and effort, that had been forged both by time and hardship. Anger would have made Thrawn more comfortable than hard eyes and durasteel words. This was an unknown he knew nothing about how to deal with, much less if it could be dealt with at all.

Yet, he stood by his actions. At the time, over Lothal, he had done what he had to. It was a regrettable course of action, one he would have to live with for the rest of his life. But he had been trying to salvage the broken scraps of the TIE Defender Program, trying to piece back together what Arindha broke. It had been pointless, in the end. He’d known the Defender Project would be shut down before he went back to Coruscant that last time. Still, he had wanted to try and press forward. He was single-minded, determined to make things work. If he could not salvage that project, there had to be something he could do to get the Emperor’s favor. The Emperor hadn’t kept Thrawn in the confines of his upper echelon without a reason. Surely Thrawn could have found some way to turn Emperor Palpatine’s use of him into a mutually beneficial situation.

Now, he’d never know. The Ascendancy had intercepted his signals after roughly a year of being able to establish a stable frequency with the adequate trajectory. They’d managed a safe, covert extraction - not that there had been much to extract from, the remaining soldiers on the jungle planet would likely remain there for the rest of their natural lives by choice. Thrawn had relinquished his command of them early on, when it became clear that they were stranded in deep Wild Space and there would be no rescue. By the time he and Ezra had left, there was no one remaining to care.

His entire career with the Empire, more than a decade of his life, had been gone in an instant. To show for it, he had hardly anything at all. He’d brought the Ascendancy no honor, guaranteed them no support or security for his actions. His mission, overall, had been a failure.

And his assignment, now, meant that the Chiss felt him to be either a liability or-

A buzz of the intercom stole into his thoughts. Extracting himself from the chair he’d been sitting in, Thrawn crossed the small room to tap the console beside the door. “Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” A woman greeted him. Her voice was familiar.

“Navigator Vah’nya,” He replied in kind, letting his thoughts slip into the depths of his mind. “Come in.” He keyed access for her to the suite and opened the door that linked his quarters to the shared living space. Vah’nya carried two trays with a delicate ease, setting them at the low table before selecting a side of the couch in the space for herself.

She’d grown a little more since he had last seen her, her features a little more weathered, a touch more severe. “I had suspected you would be on the Steadfast with Admiral Ar’alani,” He said, sitting a respectable distance away. He did not move toward the second tray even as she picked up a steaming mug of tea from hers.

She smiled at him. It was a touch unusual, the delicate look on the serious Chiss. “My path has taken me down a different road,” She mused thoughtfully. “Please, eat. I waited for you in the mess hall, but in hindsight I should not have expected you there.” He listened, helping himself to some of the warm bread and rosy jam placed on his tray. “I have time before I begin instructing my younger sisters,” She said, “And I had hoped to see how you were settling in.”

“Your concern is appreciated, Navigator Vah’nya,” He paused, frowning. “You are still-”

Vah’nya nodded. “Yes, I am still a Navigator despite my old age.” Another smile, more rueful this time. He noted that her expressions were significantly less guarded on her face, though she held herself stiffly. “You are not settling in easily,” She commented. “The ozyly-esehembo, he is your assignment, I heard.”

“I suspect,” Thrawn met her gaze, “You knew that without having to be told.”

“Un’hee does not hold back much, but I suspect she would if Captain Ivant asked her to.” Thrawn does not react to the name, though Vah’nya seems to pause on it for a second too long, testing him. “Nevertheless,” She conceded gracefully, tilting her head, “I was informed by the Captain himself. I oversee the Navigators aboard this vessel.”

“You are a part of the project the Admiral mentioned during our hearing.”

“I am,” Vah’nya acknowledged. “I will be evaluating your ward this afternoon.”

“Bridger is not my ward.”

“You are tied to him indefinitely, and he is far younger than you,” She pressed, before segueing just as Thrawn parsed a response. “Finish eating. I will take you around the ship and fill you in on the goings on. I do not think the Jedi,” Her accent curled strangely over the title, “Will remember half of what Ivant tells him.”

The Compass is small. Compact, but not claustrophobic. There were around three hundred staff (including the officers) and a troop of less than twenty fledgling Navigators aboard. It was a far cry from the Chimaera, an Imperial Star Destroyer, and far older than his last vessel. He considered it the equivalent to an Imperial cruiser by comparison. Despite this, the ship was outfitted with new technologies and had dedicated facilities to the training and upkeep of the young Navigators being trained.

Vah’nya introduced him to most of the crew members with whom she suspected he would work in close quarters. She even took the liberty of contacting the bridge crew in advance to make sure the Captain was out before taking him up to introduce him to the rest of the officers.

“I am sure you realize,” She said, “That I am not acting in an official capacity. I am not sure what your role with Ezra’Bridger will entail, but knowledge is something that makes me feel more secure now.” She rubbed her arms, voice holding something dark and hidden. Something had happened to her, Thrawn suspected. He filed it away for later consideration.

“It is a wise strategy,” Thrawn agreed. Their backs were to the bridge now. Vah’nya was explaining their patrol mission, scouting along the edges of the Unknown Regions. The chance of combat was low, and the traffic was significantly non-existent and thereby safe enough to allow newly identified Navigators to test their abilities in the field. Thrawn nearly welcomed routine military procedure.

The Navigator took him back down to the eighth deck, where his quarters were. She waited for Thrawn to let them in and shut the door quietly behind her. "I should not tell you this," She said softly, not moving from the doorway. "But I do not believe Eli will."

"Do not incriminate yourself," Thrawn retorted, his command voice smooth and dangerous despite it’s recent lack of use. He had sensed an undercurrent of something going on throughout their interaction, as though Vah'nya had been trying to decide whether or not to tell him something. "If I should not know it, do not tell me."

"It is nothing of consequence to our objective," Vah'nya responded. "I have told you next to nothing about our project," She reminded him. "This is more…"

"I did see him during the hearing," Thrawn admitted, though he did not appreciate the subtle twist of the conversation towards matters personal instead of professional. His reply was opinion, not fact. "He was unimpressed."

"There is more than meets the eye," She supposed, gaze flickering to him. "You understand?"

"I am deserving of his ire." Thrawn looked out into space through the tiny window. "More than anyone else's," He added, quieter.

"You feel sorry for yourself," She pushed. Her assertiveness was new and likely brought out by her current assignment. "It is not a good look on you, Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo."

He did not glare, but the glow of his eyes, the way he positioned himself seemed to focus on her with elevated intensity.

She produced a data card from her pocket. "This should help to close the gap in your knowledge of the Ascendancy," She said, stepping closer to drop it on the low table.

"And the project?"

Vah’nya’s eyes narrowed, and her mouth twisted in a way that suggested displeasure. "I am not at liberty to discuss it. And I would warn you not to use your Jedi to glean the information from my sisters. Captain Eli’van’to will not take kindly to such games." She warmed. "But what I wished to tell you was-"

The door to the suite opened behind Vah'nya's back. In a covert and practiced move, Thrawn slipped the data card into his pocket, head tilted in a cool greeting Ezra.

Except, lingering in the doorway behind the young Jedi, was a second human, dressed in a Captain's uniform. "Oh," Ezra said in Basic, rubbing the back of his head. "I-"

"Senior Navigator," Captain Ivant said. His wood-brown gaze shifted to Thrawn. "Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo." He nodded to them both, cordially. The fierce coldness Thrawn had experienced the previous day was gone, and in its place was a cool confidence. He had the airs of someone knowledgeable and approachable. Worthy of command. Ivant did not seem to linger on Thrawn for more than the greeting, though. He shared a look with Vah’nya before asking, "I trust you have settled in alright?"

It took a moment for Thrawn to realize he'd been addressed, but military procedure was deeply ingrained. "Yes, Captain," He said.

"Good," He said in Cheunh. To Vah'nya, he quirked an eyebrow, then drew their attention to the two completed meal trays. "Take them back to the mess," He instructed her. "The Commander and his charge will not have time, and it is on the way to your seminar."

"Now?"

"Yes, Vah'nya." His Cheunh was melodic, almost, with the inflection many of the Navigators and officers used, rather than the flat language used by most subordinates. Thrawn had expected nothing less, but it was impressive to hear all the same. At least, in this, he had not been mistaken. Eli Vanto had lived up to what Thrawn had seen in him. Perhaps he could find something positive in that. "I will discuss this with you later." The heat that didn't color his face in infrared splotches came out in his voice.

Vah'nya sighed. "Yes, Sir." She scuttled around Thrawn to collect the trays.

"Thank you," Thrawn bid her as she passed him a second time to leave. "The tour of the ship was most useful."

Vah'nya nodded, suspecting that was the least of which he was thankful for. She had served with many leaders, and none of them had ever handled idle time well. "You are welcome, Thrawn." She stopped in the doorway to regard Ezra and her superior. "Captain," She nodded.

"Navigator."

The Chiss woman left, leaving Ezra to look between Ivant and Thrawn. "The data card she gifted you should have plenty of art on it," Eli said. "Ar'alani compares her love of music to it frequently."

"It is similar," Thrawn agreed, but there was an edge of caution in his voice.

He wondered if Vah'nya had been sent to collect information, rather than visiting him of her own devices. Vanto did not project any malice or anger, though his emotionless state yesterday had given a lasting and uncanny impression of it. Today, he was cool, calm, and kind, though no less in control. Intensity lingered about him. Confidence was reflected in his movements and stance. It was an interesting catalog that Thrawn would pick apart when he had time for reflection. He knew, deep down, Eli Vanto was furious with him, to a point that he'd forsaken his emotions to make the point known. He had seen humans react that way before. It made an excellent point, as Thrawn so clearly experienced first hand.

Because of all of his transgressions and the wrongs he'd done, perhaps his most severe crime was he had taken this man's life and molded it in the interest of others (though to a lesser degree, for the man himself). Thrawn gave him a task that would cast him out of the Empire, and then he himself had failed. Eli Vanto, in the wake of Thrawn's own life, had always been collateral damage. And Vanto knew it, too. From the first.

Now, Thrawn’s failure meant there was no going back.

Captain Ivant spoke into his thoughts. "I know. You'll glean more from inspecting recent pop culture pieces from Csilla than from reading texts. That's why I had asked her to compile it for you in addition to the official reports."

Vanto had to know. There was no way for him not to understand the political ramifications of Thrawn’s actions. And yet, this. He’d asked her to do this? Eli was kind, he had always been the first to want to help. It was what started their uncanny relationship, and had helped forge them into an impeccable team. What was he playing at? What angle was he manipulating? What did he see? Thrawn needed to know.

It was nearly too late. "If anything stands out to you, or you want clarification, don't hesitate to ask," Vanto said in Basic. He turned to leave. "My door is always open."

"You did not want her to visit, and yet you gave her the data card to give to me," Thrawn pressed him in Cheunh. It was a test. A thinly veiled jab at Vanto’s temper, but Thrawn was shaken by the need to know how deep beneath the surface his new superior officer's anger was. Would this be enough to stoke its flames?

The human cast a glance over his shoulder, one dark eye catching Thrawn's. "I believe she was trying to prevent us from experiencing an uncomfortable moment," He replied in kind. His voice betrayed nothing.

Thrawn continued, "Surely you could have sent another."

"Sometimes it is far easier to permit a situation to unfold rather than allow it to run rampant behind one’s back." His lip twitched into a half-smile, but it was crossed with some faint emotion Thrawn couldn’t place. Sadness, perhaps? He wasn't sure, but something about the way Vanto regarded him bothered Thrawn immensely. He wasn't used to, nor did he like the sensation. Vanto dismissed him politely all the same. "Good afternoon, Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo."

With a click of the door's hydraulics, he was gone. Thrawn stared after him. Something in the way the Captain spoke, an inflection in his tone, the slightest dilation of his eyes was a clue, and yet none of the tell-tale facial heat or reddening of his ears had indicated embarrassment or rage.

It was not sadness, Thrawn realized suddenly. It was disappointment. And it stung like an open wound in a place behind Thrawn’s ribcage and oozed unpleasantly into his core. He blinked at the closed door for a moment, trying to push the feeling down and away. It lingered.

"Uh," Ezra nudged at something invisible with the toe of his boot. He looked at Thrawn sheepishly. "You alright?"

"Why do you ask me that?" Thrawn did not mean to snap at the young man, but Ezra didn't seem to take offense.

"I can feel your sadness," Ezra said softly. "And I can pretty much never feel your feelings through the Force. It's like… like you've lost something," He rambled, "I just-"

"I am fine, Ezra."

Ezra closed his mouth. Thrawn only ever called Ezra by his given name when he really wanted the young Jedi to shut up. And usually, Ezra knew, that meant he was right about whatever he'd been saying to the Chiss. Whatever was happening in that big blue head right about now, Ezra assumed Thrawn had far more questions than answers.