#throne: father is this how you felt? the horror that your partner chose that man over you? i think i understand now

[blahblahblahviolentpain]

My brother pointed this out to me and I couldn’t not draw it

[poems-and-pillows-and-puppies]

Song of the Sea: Chapter 2- Scabbard

Hello there! This is chapter 2 of the Pirate!AU inspired fanfic. The original AU’s mastermind is @thenerdyalchemist​. I hope you enjoy! Here’s the link to the Ao3 chapter- https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967113/chapters/54936304 

Rayla was falling. Falling, like a feather from the seagulls she loved to watch so intently with her parents. Deep, in the cold darkness of forceful rest. Her hands felt feather light, her eyes felt like lead. She knew she had to reach her fathers, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t touch, couldn’t reach- She could see nothing, but she could see everything. She could see her Papa, unconscious on the floor, and her Dad, pacing back and forth in a frenzy. She could see the looks of horror in the eyes of some of the men that had hurt her Papa, hurt her Dad, made her cry. She couldn’t help but forgive them. She was sure that this was all an accident. That they meant to snatch another girl. But the hooded guy’s words echoed in her subconscious. They said they wanted her, and it made her feel… terrified? Sad? She didn’t know, just like how she didn’t know how to comfort Dad when he was sad and sniffly and all messy. Just like she wanted to know then, she wanted to know now, how to hold her Daddy’s hand and tell him that everything was alright, that their little girl was safe and sound… But no matter how hard she tried, her mouth would not open and her vocal chords refused to play a single note. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to understand why her Papa was running away, hiding in the bustling crowd, from Dad. Why her Dad and her Papa were crying, alone in the masses, separated from each other even as they mourned in tandem for her fate. She wanted to feel the rough calluses of the crewmates again, the soft feathers of the seagull that always followed her around. She wanted to taste the briney spray from the sea that she refuses to dive into, the cold treats that she and Papa loved to seek out from their nomadic adventures through the local markets. But, even as she drowned in air, hair whipping around her face like the sail in a powerful storm, she wanted OUT. She wanted to be released from this prison, the shackles of sleep that bound her to her unconscious. She tugged at the chains, feeling hysteria clawing its way up her throat. With one final sigh, she stopped resisting the flow of time and allowed herself to fall down, down, down….

A shiver snapped her back into the physical word, and each waft of cold air brought her closer to full consciousness. ‘Where.. am I?’ She opened her eyes, trying- and failing- to blink out the film that covered her violet eyes. She felt cold bars around her, and she shifted slightly in order to stop the rusty metal bars of her cage from digging into her thighs. The rope binding around her wrists chafed her flesh slightly, and she winced from the friction. The sound of mature voices, both male and female, caught her attention. “The girl is only 10! You can’t possibly…”

“We must...Pirate..”

“Your Majesty…. Hasn’t been trained..”

Rayla strained to hear what they were saying. ‘Their accents are so different compared to Dad and Papa’s…Am I still in Alorminia?’

“The girl couldn’t possibly become the next Pirate King!”

Oh, their voices were getting louder.

“Yes, she can. Any pirate could become the next Pirate King!”

That man.. His voice sounds familiar, but she couldn’t quite place from where.

“Normis.”

“The Pirate King’s partner was no better. He flashed his weaselly eyes at me when I was spying on them!”

Oh, now she knew. ‘That roundish merchant was a spy? I didn’t think about his behavior that deeply.. No wonder Papa and Dad had been able to stay safe for so long! But then..’ She frowned. ‘Then I came along. They had to worry about me. That’s why Papa got hurt in the first place.’ She bowed her head from the uncomfortable position she was in. ‘It was my fault that this all happened. He was hurt, and it was all my fault. All my fault… All my fault.’ The thoughts rattled in her mind, destroying all of her other thoughts. ‘It was my fault, wasn’t it? If I hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have had to defend me. It was all my fault.’ Her eyes began to itch, and she struggled to wipe them without creating any noises that would alert them to her consciousness. She heard a clatter, and her heart dropped in tandem with the spike of fear that impaled it. The dreadlocked man, the one they kept calling ‘King Harrow’, had stood up from his ornately-decorated chair. His forehead flashed with sweat, and beads of the fluid had traveled down the man’s chiseled face, much to the confusion of the young girl. ‘It’s cold in here. Why is the man sweating?’ He cleared his throat, a deep “ahem” rumbling through the air like the panther’s growl. The entire room went silent. “We must not think too hastily. We must not execute the girl. She is too young for us to determine what she will be like as she grows up.” His baritone voice was deep and strange, but it comforted Rayla like a rough-shod fiber blanket on a cold and starry night. She relaxed, her shoulders drooping ever so slightly. ‘I don’t know what ‘eggs-e-cute’ means, but it sounded bad. Or maybe..’ She tilted her head, confused. ‘Cute eggs? I’ve heard someone call me that. Are they.. complimenting me?’ Perplexed by this turn of events, she chose to stay silent instead of voicing her confusion out loud, an action that would most definitely speed the debate up. “My lord!” A woman shot out of her seat like one of Runaan’s cannonballs. “What would decide to do instead? Keep her within these castle walls to spy on us? We cannot trust-” King Harrow held up a gold-encrusted hand, and she halted her barrage. “Opeli.” The lady, newly dubbed ‘Opeli’, shifted at the mention of her name. “We will not let her stay in the guest chambers.” Opeli’s tense position softened, and she began to take her chair once more. “But.” She stopped moving as if she had been frozen in time. “We will not execute her until a final decision is made. Take her to the jail cells.” 

“M-my lord! I-”

“Opeli!” The firmness made clear in his tone made everyone in the room flinch, including Rayla. “Do your duty and take her to the jails. She must not be interrogated until a final order is made. Have I made myself clear?” King Harrow looked upon her in annoyance. Opeli curstied hastily and squeaked out a feeble “Yes, my lord.” She turned toward Rayla’s cage. Rayla’s eyes widened in fear. ‘What are they doing to me?’ Opeli kneeled down to open the cage and was met with a small growl, not unlike a young guard dog. She recoiled slightly, then bent down to see the young girl baring her teeth toward her like an enraged hunting dog. “Your Majesty. The girl is awake.” Murmurs of shock and worry reverberated around the room. “How will we transport the girl there?” A voice pierced the tense atmosphere. King Harrow frowned. “Try to take her out. If she struggles, keep her in the cage.” Rayla shuddered. She did not like the cage. It felt so alien, so different from the open seas and decks that she loved to roam. Opeli kneeled down and ruffled around in her robes. After a few moments of searching, she pulled out a small copper key with a quiet “Aha!” She gently inserted the key into the lock that kept the cage’s door shut and began to turn it in different directions. A soft click signalled that her efforts were not in vain. She slowly opened up the cage door. Rayla cowered in the very corner of the small enclosure, terrified of the woman who was now reaching into her space. Opeli noticed her apprehension and drew back, worried. Rayla uncurled herself to take a better look at her. Her long, flowing hair was touching the ground, cleaning the smooth stone floor of the throne room. It framed her oval face like curtains, reminding Rayla of the caramel-colored curtains that Ethari had bought for the couple’s 5 year anniversary. She smiled, no longer the scary woman that had been arguing with the king not long ago. She extended her hand out tentatively, and the woman’s much larger, rougher hand tenderly clasped it. “Hey, there.” Her melodic voice calmed Rayla down a little, quelling her fears temporarily. She took a deep, calming breath. ‘Maybe… everything will be fine.’

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Everything was most definitely NOT FINE. Rayla whimpered underneath the board that doubled as her bed. ‘I don’t like this.. I don’t… don’t…I want Papa...Dad..’ Tears brewed in her eyes, and she let them fall, crystalline droplets twinkling like diamonds in the night-time. “I want to go home…” She curled up into a ball, wishing with all her heart to be back in her parents’ arms, to be back on the ship, frolicking with the crewmates… anything but this. The cold stone sucked away her heat, her love, her happiness… She weeped, letting her sniffles echo into the unyielding stone walls. Her dad was always holding back his emotions, but she wasn’t him, and she let the tears flow like twin rivers, moistening her bluish tattoos. The sound of sniffling echoed back to her, but it sounded… different. Soft footsteps padded on the stone-covered ground, and she shot up, ears perking up ever-so-slightly. ‘Dad? Papa?’ The sniffles continued, and Rayla realized that there was no way it could be her parents. She sighed and fell to the floor, tears continuing to flow freely down her face. She turned her head and gasped silently at who it was. It was a small boy, younger than her for sure, toting a small satchel-sketchbook and a long, winding scarf that trailed down every stair he had previously stepped on like a bridal trail. The boy himself looked no better than her, nose red and yellow in the torchlight, eyes puffy and swollen. He hiccuped, a pathetic noise that would’ve driven her to comfort him, if she wasn’t trapped in a cell. With a jolt, she realized that there were no guards accompanying him. ‘If he hadn’t done something wrong, like me, then why is he here?’ She watched, confused, as the boy plodded over to a nearby jail-bench. He unwound his scarf and turned to the side, revealing his rounded ears. He disappeared into the shadows of an adjacent cell, leaving Rayla to wonder what the boy was doing. A few minutes passed, then she heard a quiet ‘twang’ sound from within. The boy walked out, holding a wooden instrument that Rayla couldn’t recognize. ‘What is he doing?’ He began to pluck it, turning one of the four pegs in tandem. Once he had finished playing that peculiar tune, he reached into the darkness and pulled out a… long… stick? Rayla, at the expense of being redundant, asked herself, ‘Just WHAT is he DOING?’ He placed the stick straight in the middle over the instrument and took a deep breath. And, in the next breath he took, took her breath away. As his stick moved, his fingers danced upon the instrument. The indescribable melody took Rayla on an adventure. She felt the rush of wind and the feeling of leather upon her skin, of crows and green pastures that she had never- and would never- see. She saw cattle grazing, people playing with fans and cherry blossoms in the chill of midwinter, feathers dancing around an awestruck crowd. She ran and laughed and twirled in the petals of the hyacinths, played with people who she had never seen before, flew- then it all stopped. The boy stood, sobbing for breath, as his last note pealed through the air. He stood, panting, as the notes died away and the echoes began to fade. He began to pack his instrument up. Rayla looked on in wonder. ‘That was.. a song?’ She felt her cheeks and they came back wet, even more soaked than before he had came down to serenade the empty walls. As the boy scaled the stairs, she began to wonder. ‘Who was this kid? Why did he come down just to play that for me?’

‘Did he know I was there?’

As the thoughts swirled and hatched in her mind, she closed her eyes, finally content with the heat of the stone below her. How it became that warm, she will never know. However, she knew that it must have had something to do with that boy. She faded into a dreamless sleep, her face finally peaceful in her slumber. Opeli smiled from her place at the scrying bowl. “Callum, what have you done?” She stood up. “I must go. The step-prince awaits.” Her boots clacked against the floor, and the scrying bowl was clear once more, the final wisps of bluish magic fading away from its rim. “And so does she.”