tormxntum

[tormxntum]

The flickering lights from the French quarters spilled through the window, casting shadows into the night, and like a moth, Cailean couldn’t keep their eyes off it. They could almost imagine seeing Abby in his bedroom if they stared hard enough. Perhaps he was already fast asleep, half-covered by his sheets. Maybe he was reading his book with the slight crease between his brows that Cailean loved. Or had he found someone willing to help him forget their encounter and to forget them? 

The fear and creeping doubt had nearly forced them to turn back. It would have been easier if they had let the walls around their heart grow taller until barely any emotions or weaknesses remained. Until they were barely even human. However, when they saw Abdullah again, his light somehow managed to pierce through the crack in their wall. It reminded them of what life had been like when they had each other. They missed his light, his warmth. They couldn’t turn their back on him, not again. 

Their heartbeat thudded too loud in the stillness of the night. They could hear drunken songs and music playing somewhere from within the building. Every nerve within their body urged them to leave. It would be safer for both of them if Cailean returned to their own quarters and acted as if Abdullah meant nothing to them. That’s what they had been doing all along, hadn’t they? This shouldn’t be so different. They bit their cheek, tasting iron and their own fear. They would have left a year ago, but now they would not let anything stand between them and even a mere second with Abby. 

They entered the French quarters, expecting guards to be waiting for trouble, but all seemed too drunk to care. Cold sweat prickled at their temple as they marched down the corridor. Leaning against the wall was a guard, red in the face from drink, who could barely have been old enough to be there. ‘Where’s the advisor?’ They asked in their broken French. They expected resistance, but he pointed with shaky fingers toward a closed door instead. In the end, they wouldn’t have needed his guidance. They were certain their soul would have guided them to Abby even if they would have to travel the world to find him. 

Standing before the closed door, their mind swam with millions of what-ifs. What if Abdullah had already moved on? What if he had found someone else? What if he didn’t want to see them? What if it was too late? It was too late, wasn’t it? They lost him. 

They knocked on the door, their other palm resting on the wooden surface as they waited. 

Please let it not be too late…

Amber eyes scan the room over the top of Cailean's head; he focuses on the emperor of China, flits his gaze to the princess of Scotland, and finally his own court — France, where the monarches and their government alike were far more focused on the lesson at hand than who was dancing with who. In a more youthful part of their mind, Abdullah doesn't believe there is anything to fear nor any danger lurking in the shadows of this room but he's no longer young and wild, yelling their name as loudly as he could through fits of breathless laughter; he knows better. Beneath his palm now, although the same heart that raced as they ran through trees and mulberry bushes as children, wasn't a heart that beat for him any longer but a heart that grew warm for The Rebellion. Like an out-of-body experience, the advisor can no longer feel their warm hands tangled in his shirt though he knows they're there, doesn't recognize their face though they are so close now that he could see every sun-kissed freckle that speckled their nose, darkening with help from the Spanish sun, and despite hoping for them to agree, Cailean doesn't. "—Okay." Abdullah breathes out less of an agreement to their statement but an understanding of their boundaries instead. While he'd known which Cailean would choose if given the choice, hearing his rejection in the tone of his voice, like he'd expected, makes a tremor start in his hands and causes a lump to form in his throat. The back of his tongue stings, his eyes blink quickly but when he speaks again, there is no hint of disappointment nor upset in his tone. "However, you, more than anyone know that it may never be safe again, Cailean. I suppose that is simply a truth we will never be able to out run, though we have tried..." Slowly fading out, the end of their time together was imminent as the instructor asks them to swap partners. He thinks about pressing a kiss to their cheek as a farewell, a quirk of early mornings when Abdullah was running late and Cailean, still bleary-eyed, stood above a cook pot — he doesn't. It was cruel, he thought, to have once been accepted so openly in public only to now, even quietly, be rejected in the same fashion. Perhaps, unlike the once commander had promised him, they really were simply, to one another, just boring, unimportant people meant to keep each others beds warm when one of them was bored. Abby knew he should be angry with them, should corner them and scream until his stomach had settled and his mind was clear but he couldn't; for even catching glimpse of the tremble of Cailean's lip would have his walls crumbling and his arms around them in apology far faster than either could draw a sword. They no longer had such luxuries in the world they lived. Still, Abdullah cared too much about them, especially now. "If you change your mind then, you know where to find me." The advisor whispers, tapping the flag on his collar. "My offer stands, now or whenever you need it." "Take care of yourself, alright?"

[tormxntum]

A round of applause washed through the crowd when another grand vessel approached, but their eyes never left the Stuart flag. It flew high among the flags of empires, sending a clear message: We are still here. We still hold all the power. Cailean knew, long before their feet ever touched Spanish soil that this visit would be different. Even though the visit was born from a need for unity, the rebels would never be part of it. The Stuarts and the other monarchs would never let that happen. They would use any second they could get to undermine the victories they had won. ‘Remember…’ They didn’t want to think about the rebellion. Standing beside Cora, they naively wished they could return to a time when the two of them still had their innocence. ‘Years ago, you might have been four or five, and you got so mad about something I can’t remember, and-’ the everlasting tension broke for a moment with their soft chuckle, which sounded foreign coming from their lips. ‘And I’m pretty sure you either threatened to run away or to fight the entire world.’ What they would give to go back in time… Their smile slipped; they could never go back. ‘I have a bad feeling about this, Cora.’

if  the  rebellion's  flag  adorned  the  mast of scotland's ships then the pride she exuded wouldn't be forced. unlike some of her peers, cordelia possessed a fondness for the finer things in life, pretty dresses and jewels filling her drawers, and grandness. in moderation. unlike the monarchs who'd let their greed, amongst other traits, blind them. thoughts she could not portray. the mask of a loyalist was melded to her flesh; one never knew when eyes were watching. yet no eyes felt heavier than theirs. cora glanced at cailean out of the corner of her eye, trying to decipher the expression she found.   ❝ despicable, ❞   she hissed, teeth grinding against each other despite maintaining a serene expression.   ❝ you would've thought they'd done enough mocking during the play. i won't be surprised when it continues at the ball. ❞   a shame, she normally adored parties but the bitter taste lingered in her mouth.

[tormxntum]

They weren’t friends, not after everything that transpired between them. Cailean couldn’t blame him. How could anyone remain their friend after everything they had done to him? They had used Elias’ title to win favour, his body to gain leverage, and their friendship for cover. They had used him without flinching to bring the Stuarts to their knees, yet they wondered, despite it all, if Elias grieved their friendship as they had? It was a lonely trade ripping the power from the clenched fists of the royals. They may be surrounded by counsellors and people with agendas, trying to whisper in their ear, but friends? They were few and far between. They had once been able to rely on Elias, but that, too, had been ripped from them, all for the sake of a rebellion that had cost them everything.

‘Perhaps it was for the best,’ they sank a bit deeper into the bath as if trying to drown away their thoughts, which they had not intended to voice out loud, but it was too late. ‘We were never meant to be friends. Were we? No matter how hard we would try not to screw each other over, it would never work. You would either have ended up throwing me in a cell or even the damn gallows, or I would have betrayed you. It was only a matter of time.’ They shrugged their shoulders as if they hadn’t wished with all their might that they could have preserved their friendship. 

When Elias asked about their own broken relationship, their body acted without counselling from their mind. Their feet and heart itched to run away from Elias and any questions or stabs from him regarding Abby. Though they knew they deserved it. They had started this game after all. They stood up from the bath, stepping out of it, water dripping from their body. ‘Yes,’ they spoke at last. Their voice held a slight quivering before they stilled their racing mind. ‘Well, what can I say. It was convenient to have a warm body waiting for me every night, but it grew tiresome.’ Each word felt like a shard of glass on their tongue. Liar. They caught Elias’ eyes, trying to decipher if they could see right through them. Could he tell that it destroyed them in a way nothing else had? ‘This is much better. I can now focus on my work.’ They said at last, as they wrapped their towel around their waist, their voice much lower than they had intended.

There's a crack in his facade, visible just long enough to give him away. Oh, he could play the game of seductive, double-entendres until they were both red in the face and hard in the shaft. Elias might even enjoy it. Lord knows he enjoys what's unorthodox and difficult. But it's the use of friend that makes him bristle. Because before rebellions and one night stands... Isn't that what he considered Cailean? A friend?

"You've made it abundantly clear. We are not friends." He says, voice low and seemingly unperturbed. If they wanted to play a game of stony faces, then Elias would play. Like in bed; wasn't it always about who blinked first? "No," he snorts, in agreement. "You do not hide behind a crown. You hide behind a cause. The ends justifying the means, and all that." So instead, he poses a different question.

"Did it?" Elias asks, bold and curious, perhaps looking for comfort. He's an ambitious, son of a bitch too. Maybe if Cailean could have it ring true, that their egregious actions were worth the fight, he would let it go. Alas...

"My sweet wife is just that. A companion to warm my bed, break my fast with." Not that Elias was much for that life himself. But it's said as a barbed point, directly at Cailean's heart. "I suspect in your rise, that aspect of your life has fallen. Fast."

[tormxntum]

Cailean had tasted defeat's rotten fruit and the nectar of victory. For each step they had taken, they were knocked back half a step. After decades of serving in the royal army, fighting wars they deemed pointless and immoral, they had learned that war had no winners. No one will walk away from this crowned as the victor, not the rebels nor the royals. War devours you, then spits you back up into the world in pieces, leaving you unrecognisable even to your own eyes. 'What is it that you think we want?' They asked the prince. Did he believe them to be monsters lurking in the dark of night, looking for their next victims? 'Do you think we want domination over the world?' Cailean knew that was hypocritical coming from them. They thought back on their broken and bloodied throne and their control over part of the country. Yet this doubt would never reach Stefan's ears. 'I don't care if rebels don't control entire empires. We don't need a throne for the rebellion to be successful. People now know that life without you is not an abstract idea. It might take years, but eventually, people will gather again and demand a change. Let's see, then, which one of us in history chooses to favour.'

the  lack  of  true  response  echoed  loudly in his ears. the truth must be uncomfortable. if the revolutionaries naively thought they'd be lauded as heroes then reality had bitten back. shoulders shrugged.   ❝ you'd have to ask my brother about those decisions. ❞   stefan had desired no seat at his father's or brother's council table, politics happily kept as far away from him as possible. the benefits of the spare.   ❝ i'm quite happy with my current friends. ❞   another roll of his eyes. with whispers of poor economic conditions, the rebels were who couldn't afford to make enemies of the bank of europe.   ❝ your side couldn't even successfully take over an entire country and have already tasted defeat in another. ❞   had he been asked to bet on who would've weeded out the revolutionaries, japan wouldn't have been where he'd placed his coin. a pleasant surprise.

[tormxntum]

Where: The Practice Ground

Who: Gabrielle (@ymir-heart)

Their soul had not found peace since they unsheathed their sword, marking the beginning of the rebellion. It had been over a year. Every piece of Cailean’s life now belonged to the rebellion, to the cause. It had taken a while, but eventually, they accepted that since the reckoning, they were no longer a person. In the eyes of the rebels, they were a twisted idol who was there to make all their dreams come true. For the monarchs, they were a scapegoat, the cause of all of their heartaches. They were not a person and barely a human. 

Something broke in them as they sat in a stuffy room listening to old men who had once counselled the king. Their voices turned muffled, and Cailean simply stood and left. They walked until the noise grew fainter, and finally, the world became silent. At last, they found peace. They sat in a small meadow, surrounded by wildflowers. They began picking one at first, but then they kept going, braiding the flowers into a crown of blue, white and gold, just like their older sister had taught them. ‘Well, you finally have your crown,’ they muttered as they crowned themself with flowers. 

A sound as familiar as their own breath echoed through the air. They had not wielded a sword since the white flag had been raised; after the fight, they were too blood-sickened to raise their sword. Yet when they heard the crashing of the iron, they followed the sound like a loyal dog. It was not a battle they interrupted but a woman wielding a strange-looking sword. ‘What are you doing?’ They asked, leaning over a fence to get a better look at the strange sword. ‘Are you dancing or fighting?’ They tilted their head, the flower crown still in its place, albeit slightly lopsided.

[tormxntum]

'Cailean tangled their fingers in the delicate fabric of Abdullah's shirt. They were glad to have this thin barrier between them; without it, they might have lost all their senses. Their rhythm slowed until they were left gently swaying as one. Still, Cailean clung to him as if he was the one thing that could anchor them down, and without him, they would be adrift. The vultures of the court no longer mattered. The only thing that did was Abby and how their heart raced beneath his palm. Could he feel their heart beating? Did he know it was beating for him? 

They knew they should hate him. Their anger for him should engulf them until nothing but their hate for him was left. They should despise him for leaving them to pick up the pieces of their heart, but how could they hate him? It was their fault Abby left at all. 

I was teasin’ lamb… 

Like a lamb being let out for the first time, Cailean had run wild in their youth. Their curls were always a bit too long and unruly, dark as ember, appearing like a spark of fire as they ran down their road with Abdullah right behind them, the sun turning their hair into halo. Even back then, Cailean could feel Abby's eyes on them, dark and warm and all-knowing, as if he had seen the darkest corners of their mind, yet he did not shy away. Why couldn't that be enough for Cailean? Why had they desperately craved the adoration of people who did not know them when they had Abby's all along?

It was too late. They could drop to their knees and beg until they turned blue in the face for a chance to walk away with Abby, but it was too late. They had chosen the rebellion, accepted their call, and now were forced to rise and fall with it. 

Nevertheless, they were still only human, and Abby was all they wanted. He overwhelmed their senses with his touch, rough, soothing voice, only theirs to hear, and the scent they still longed for after all this time. They tried to force their feet to obey and step away from him to help them gather their senses, but it seemed they had gone rogue along with their heart. 

'We shouldn't…' There was no venom in their voice; instead, it spoke of their desperate longing, and if he listened carefully, he could hear the silent pleading: Please, don't be near me. I will only hurt you again. But Cailean had always been selfish and oh so greedy. They could never get enough of Abby. They would always hunger for more. 

'It's not safe,' with the last bit of strength they could muster, they let go of his shirt, only to brush their fingers down his arm, nearly taking his hand. Don't be greedy… 

An oddity it was for Cailean to feel the buzz of a hive just under their skin while Abdullah merely felt the sting. Though he'd never given them the chance to choose him or the rebellion, from the first of a million 'I love you's' he'd known nothing good would come of it despite his consistent, unwavering hope. Wrongly, at least for a little while, he'd assumed that he could persuade them to walk away if he loved them hard enough; in the end, the advisor had chosen self-inflicted pain over watching them march to their death without an ounce of power in his hands to protect them this time. Did they know how difficult sleep had been without them? How the scent of rain from an open window in the spring and chimney smoke consoled him even in the French palace? Could they see it in his eyes? The hunger for the same warmth that being so close to them twisted in his stomach? And if none of that, could they feel how difficult it was to cage it? Abdullah hadn't meant for his leaving to upset them, he only believed that giving them that ultimatum — him or the rebellion — would have hurt them more. Dark eyes scan the hardened, furrowed lines of their face where once only happiness and laughter had lingered, and Abdullah no longer feels armed against them. From what he'd heard of Scotland, it now resembled purgatory more so than heaven, he hardly believed that Cailean, even in his opposition, didn't grieve for it as they all did. It was the worst thing about rebellions; from an outsider looking in, everything looked under control but somewhere, lurking in a dark corner, there was something uncontrolled — whether a person or an idea — and it was only a matter of time before it leapt forth and dismantled every bit of organization once held. In other words, one could not truly predict the outcome of one, not really. He expected that the rebellion Cailean experienced was truly far from what they'd set out for it to be; a simple dismantling of their monarchs, a push for change, well-intentioned pressure. Not murder. Not their country in flames and innocent lives deemed guilty. At least, that hadn't been the rebellion they'd lived their entire lives for; they were rebelling against the monarchy, not the people of their country. Cailean's words, spoken low, take more out of him than he wished. Abdullah lets his grip on the leader's hand fall to their chest instead, palm flat against their heart; his face, un-guarded. "I was teasin', lamb..." He coos, quietly, curling his fingers around the buttons of Cailean's shirt as his heart droops into his knees.

In the silence between the reiteration of his question and Cailean's answer, he looks at them, really looks, soaking in the curvature of their nose, the round nature of their ears, and the thin line of their mouth, deep in thought. Abdullah's hand falls away, a thick, hurt swallow moves his throat. "You got everything you fought for..." But not him, not their relationship; not freedom. "— then I'm glad..." He whispers. Abdullah wants to admit next that he doesn't understand anymore, that he would rather die than watch them and Scotland burn under his command but he does understand. He'd been in the same rooms as them, heard the same nonsense uttered over and over again, and he had believed it too for a time; the fire of rebellion was rarely quelled once lit, he was merely an outlier. He suspected, in this moment, that Cailean needed a hug more than a lecture and so he leans in close again. "Meet me later, in my quarters, there we can talk freely...or perhaps, sit quietly, if you wish that instead."

[tormxntum]

‘Do I know nothing of your family?’ Had the prince forgotten already? How Cailean had spent a decade living among the Stuarts? They had watched Blair grow into the man he was today, even if he was merely a few years younger than them, but life beyond the castle walls ages you in a way a prince could never imagine.

They may have been the military commander, but they had been so much more than that in the end. They had cared for them in a way they couldn’t quite understand. Perhaps it was the orphan in them desperately searching for a family in every person they met.

‘I know you and your family, and I know that you may not be capable of cruelty, but you must know what the Crown is capable of.’ The mask had slipped for a moment, and at that moment, they had not been the infamous rebel leader but a soldier pleading to their prince, but the moment was over as quickly as it appeared. ‘If you think I’m cruel for wanting justice and freedom for Scotland, then just you wait. I’m only getting started and will not stop until all of Scotland is free of Stuart rule.’ Was it their words or their father’s and mother’s?

He watches as Cailean takes a bite, every movement of their jaw as a quiet jab to the Prince's recollection. Soft, foolish Prince. No one in the family faulted Blair. The Stuart's love runs too deep, and they lauded his life over losing each other. And so his guilt remains unpunished. There is something oddly satisfying about being dealt Cailean's cruel blows. At least then, it is slow work to be exonerated. "I know what they say." Because Blair listens. The usurper? "Do you?" Didn't he and the rebels laud themselves on being 'for the people?' But if they were, would Scotland have suffered the way it did. "You know nothing of me, or my family." It's the most he can say, without admitting the truth. Blair truly was that foolish - believing that cooperation could help the family cause. Instead, he swallows, hard. "As for your beliefs--" He doesn't do Cailean the honor of calling it politics. "I believe in Scotland, her people. The proper way. I will never believe in your cruelty."

[tormxntum]

Power tasted bitter on Cailean’s tongue. They knew what power did to those in charge but also what the insatiable hunger for power did to those who had none. They wanted to bring power to them, to the people who never had anything and were stuck being pawns at the whims of their royals. They had clawed and snarled at the system, ripping power from the hands of those withholding it, but at some point, they had unknowingly turned into someone they despised with more power than they ever had any right to wield. 

Did they even want it? 

What did they want? 

It didn’t matter what they wanted. After all, they were barely even a person; they were merely the image of the Scottish rebellion. When the people of Scotland, whom they had sacrificed their entire life for, looked at them, all they saw was the violence and destruction of the rebellion.

‘Aye, they are frightened.’ It was difficult to imagine the people in the theatre frightened as they laughed and enjoyed their show. Yet, they were afraid, but so was Cailean. The fear had not settled in their chest until the white flag had been raised and the land grew still after all the fighting, and they were left thinking: what now? Only then did their fear morph into a beast hanging over their shoulder, whispering in their ear.

‘Aye, I ken you’re right. You’re right about it all. The monarchs are frightened of everything we have gained already, but they have a lot of allies here.’ They were silent, there was so much Cailean wanted to tell Antonia. They wished they could say to her that perhaps they had gone too far and weren’t sure how long they could hold onto the power they had ripped from the Stuarts, but those were things not even meant to be whispered in the dead of night.

‘We all need allies during these turbulent times, you included.’ They drew in their breath. It was not time to falter, not when all eyes were turned to the rebellion, waiting to find a weakness. ‘I met Elias earlier,’ They watched her, trying to discern any change in her expression. If there was one thing they pitied when it came to the royals, it would be how blatantly they played with love. The king and Queen of Germany were no exception. ‘He made his position clear, but what about you? Where do you stand?’

She had remained neutral for so long, following in her family's attempts to play the odds. Then she married into a side, supporting the monarchy because it was the decision her husband's family had made, although she knew better than to think he was loyal to anyone but himself.

Whose side was she on? It was a question no one had bothered to ask, a question she hadn't even thought to ask herself.

Perhaps she didn't need to decide. Monarch vs rebellion mattered little to her. What mattered was finding a way to survive a husband who could stab her in the back at any moment and a court which would always be loyal to him above her. Cailean could be an important piece of that.

"You do not put on a display like this one simply to ridicule. It has taken a lot of work and planning. They have done it because they are scared. The rebellion has lost a lot of good people, but their fear is a sign of the ground that has been gained."

There was a freedom in it, being able to speak to someone in this way, as if their words would not be considered treasonous by half the kingdoms here. "Surely you don't really believe that Cailean? Think of all the momentum you have built. This does not end with simply a scrap of power."

It was concerning, the speed with which this was all moving. Even without the day's events no one would be able to remain neutral for long. Things were coming to a head, and Antonia could not risk standing alone once they did. "We all need allies. People will have to pick sides eventually. There is no worse feeling than not knowing who you can trust."

[tormxntum]

Cailean did not flinch at the prince's snide remark. They were used to royals like him, those who saw the world as their playground and anyone in it beneath them, theirs to toy with. Yet Cailean wondered, would the crimson drip from their fingers if they dared to look down? 'And what of those of us you imprisoned and executed for daring to speak against you?' This was a mistake. To think they would be accepted as one of them, how pathetically naive. Their father's words came to them, spoken to them when they had been too young to understand the world they lived in: they did not need to be liked or accepted, not when they could be feared, and the little play proved they were already feared. 'Did this speech of yours make you feel strong? You may think it's easy to despise me but don't forget that there are more of us than there will ever be of you. So if you know what's good for you, you might try to make friends among us rather than enemies.'

normally,  he  took  great  care  in  keeping his image as golden as the coins that filled the hatzfeld coffers, but his smirk only grew sharper. no reason to play nice when the scot had made their opinion on all royals clear. yet stefan still feigned contemplation as he took another drink.   ❝ perhaps some light reading is in order, sir. to refresh yourself on the difference between fighting a war and sneaking around like rats to murder unarmed people in their homes. ❞   he chuckled, the sound blending in with another wave of cheers from inside the theater.   ❝ even so . . . i don't recall hearing of a peaceful division of scottish lands. i wonder how many men have you sent to carry our your killings. ❞

[tormxntum]

Halil’s reassurance was enough to unlodge a dread nestled between their ribs. Rostam was safe; he was happy living a quiet, married life with the man of his dreams in an unnamed village where no one knew who he was or what his title had once been. Cailean could feel the tightness in their chest ease.

When they were young and still fueled by the fire of the rebellion, they would have considered that kind of life nothing short of torture. Each morning was the same, waking up by the side of the same person and resting their tired bones beside them after a long day, knowing that after a long life together, your place would still be beside them, even after an eternity had passed and everyone who once knew them was gone.

Now that they had tasted the bitter fruit of the rebellion, they knew that life was what dreams were made of. Yet it could never be theirs. The rebellion- no, they tainted everything they touched. 

‘Nae,’ they looked up to meet Halil’s eyes, a smile curling at the corner of their lips. ‘I wouldn’t want to bring this hell to them. Not when he has found peace at last. Besides, I would probably accidentally burn the village to the ground.’ They hadn’t intended to say that; startled by their words, they laughed to cover their surprise. 

‘Would your guards throw me in a dungeon and lose the key if I kidnapped you for a couple of hours?’

Palm up, the sultan averts his gaze as the other bows to him, almost-offence written in the lines of his face, motioning for them to stand straight once again. "You do not have to bow to me, Cailean. Perhaps lesser men would believe you to be of lower authority, I, on the other hand, believe that you have earned your position. Rebel or not." For many, it would be a hard pill to swallow; a sultan siding with a rebel and their respective monarchs - the same sultan who had a sibling currently facing the consequences of their actions in the same regard. However, Halil believed that while all actions had consequences, labelling those actions was up to the individual. Despite the horrors of the Scottish empire at its current time, Cailean had a good heart albeit twisted by nurture. "The interesting thing about wild animals, my friend, is that they act simply from a place of not knowing any other form of life. In that way, they are predictable, aren't they?" Halil's breath is sharp, his light eyes glance around them to ensure, much like Cailean had done moments prior, that there was no-one around to overhear him when he answers. The sultan nods, "Where I was born, there is a small village, it has everything a common man and his husband would need. Perhaps one day, I will show you."

[tormxntum]

Abdullah’s warm breath against their ear, calloused hand in theirs, and the rough touch of his stubble were enough to leave their body buzzing, like a hive of bees deep within their soul. They felt like the seams containing their heart were straining, pulling them closer to him, greedy for any scrap of warmth Abby could give.

Did he know they were entirely at his mercy? 

For a fleeting moment, the world and its horrors of the past loosened their crushing grip on Cailean's heart, and they were just themselves again. They were not a rebel, not a traitor, just a person swaying in rhythm with the man who once made the world seem a better place. If they closed their eyes, they could almost imagine the rain pounding on their kitchen window and the warmth of the fire reddening their cheeks as they held each other to escape the crushing expectations of their world.

They hadn’t felt this since he left. They sparked back to life at his touch, like kindling catching fire, but it couldn’t last. Even the smallest kindling could grow into a forest fire, burning everything in its wake, including them. They let Abby lead; their bodies gliding across the dancefloor like nothing had happened, as though his words had not left his soul reeling.

‘Is that what you think of me?’ Their voice was low, trembling slightly. Let the others stare, but this was theirs. ‘Do you think I’m heartless, able to forget you the moment you are gone?’ They were cold, but they knew they were not heartless. How could they be heartless when every thought of their love made their heart bleed?

Everything they did was in preparation for their arrest. Though they longed for the world to know how they loved Abdullah, how their life had lost its flavour without him, their love could never escape the confinement of the tiny home they had built. If the Stuarts knew how he consumed their heart they would have saved him a spot on the gallows beside them, these bastards took everything precious from the world.

Perhaps in their dying breath, they would confess their love for him. 

‘Is it everything I expected?’ To scorch the Stuarts, they had lit a flame beneath Scotland. They watched the land they loved and swore to protect burn, and everything they held dear with it. 

‘Aye, I got everything I fought for, but the rebellion did take more than it gave back. Still, you must understand why I had to do this?’ 

A million 'I love you's' in the hushed tones of their voice had soothed a weary, hopeless, misshapen heart into softness. Too many times he had trudged through their front door, his boots tracking mud through the cabin, and declared that his life was over only for Cailean to break his spirits with a laugh. Somehow, even in his irritation, he'd find himself laughing too, eventually forgetting what his father said that had angered him that day altogether. Like finding shelter in heavy rains, Cailean, from the time they were small, became a reprieve from a storm neither of them should've been caught in. Scotland was a mess, it always had been, it was ignorant of them both to believe they could do much to change it. Yet, without his stubborn, passionate determination, Cailean wouldn't be Cailean; in turn, they wouldn't be the person that, even now, took his breath from him like a strong punch in the gut. This moment stirred a thought, one that he'd kept secret, a mere desire burning holes in his stomach in hopes to find fulfillment one day when they were both ready. Marry me. He'd hoped to whisper one evening, just as they'd crawled into bed, their stomachs full and the sweet sound of a cat's purr echoing from somewhere among the pillows. Marry me. He thought in the same pub, the first time that an 'I love you' was preceded by the right action. That night, being open to the world, not caring if a Stuart loyalist watched or what the consequences might be if Cailean was outed as a rebel, the child who had always been chasing them finally caught up. Abdullah understood their reasons, had promised that it didn't matter if their love was only ever known between them but he'd be lying if he said that it hadn't led him into a false sense of security. They hadn't chosen him in the end and once again, he'd fallen behind. It's the brutality of their tone, clear with pout and pettiness, that has him grinning fondly as they move together. "You might've forgotten my name and face by now, lammy, but none of our countrymen have - they know we're acquainted."

As if reading their mind, Abdullah leans closer on purpose. "Aye," It doesn't roll off his tongue as easily as it used to but spoken so close to Cailean's ear, it makes him grin mischievously regardless. "Tell me, was overthrowing the Stuart's everything you thought it would be?"

[tormxntum]

How many kings and queens, long gone, have sat where they now did? Steam rising around them, blurring their surroundings as alliances and treaties were forged and broken, all within these stone walls? With a smile faint enough to barely register on their face, Cailean rested their head on the brink of the bath, the curls at the nape of their neck caught in the water. They could feel Elias’ eyes on them, and a wave of shame prickled down their spine. Elias had seen them in a way few had, not since- 

No, they couldn’t think of Abby or the night with Elias. Cailean raised their head to meet his eyes. No matter how deeply it stung, they would not let the regret of using their friend show. ‘That is the difference between us, old friend.’ The mask of indifference fell back into place. To survive this they needed to think straight and not let their emotions cloud their judgment. ‘I am well aware of my sins, but I refuse to hide them behind the crown, no matter how bloody they are.’ Perhaps they were being too cruel, but it seemed the role of this vicious, rebellious beast fit them too well. ‘Now tell me, what has been happening in your life since we last saw each other? That sweet wife of yours still hasn’t gotten sick and tired of you?’ 

They made for an unlikely friendship. Forged through tenuous, European alliances - Elias took to Cailean's company by sheer likeness. Naturally athletic, and with the sort of smirk that could start a pub fight. Finding a friend like Cailean made for many rowsing nights and dramatic stories. They were young once, weren't they? Riding horses, starting fist fights... Before the crown, before Cailean's treachery. Now, he stares upon a body Elias once knew intimately.

He sees nothing but a shell, and their eyes betray what their cool response does not.

"Rare is a place where all people are equal." He points out, as a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. "Even rarer where anyone is truly disarmed." Cailean proved that themselves. Each vulnerable conversation, each mark of friendship... All tools in the rebel leader's toolkit. "Ha!" A boisterous laugh, as Elias sinks further into the hot water. "Shall we list each one of our sins?" It's his turn to play the offensive, to execute a blow. Leveled eyes against Caliean's deep blues; "I guarantee your list is longer than mine."

[tormxntum]

They turned away as she spoke, watching the soft golden glow of the street lanterns illuminate the strange city. They were safe from where they stood, hidden from anyone who might recognise them. ‘I used to think the worst part of the rebellion would be the fighting.’ They spoke as if the memories of the rebellion did not haunt them. That they didn’t wake up most nights drenched in cold sweat, their mind numb with regrets. ‘But this…’ They turned back to the theatre, where they could imagine the royals sitting in their velvet seats with tears streaming down their reddened faces, laughing at their expense. ‘This is torture. To still have to play by their rules after everything they have done to us, only for them to ridicule us? It is easy for them to laugh at our fight when so many of us are no longer here to fight back.’ They knew they should stay quiet. They may have a common foe, but they were not friends. Yet, it had been long since they could speak this candidly. ‘Maybe this is all we will get, a scrap of power while we’re still begging them for a seat at the table.’

At the mention of Antonia’s siblings, Cailean couldn’t deny the pit of pity settling in their chest. There was no way her siblings could claim impartiality after this. ‘I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes. It doesn’t matter what they do; there’ll be no winning. But maybe that’s the only thing the rebels and the monarch have in common.’

"It certainly was... something." Antonia said, attempting to repress her smirk. "How naive of us, to think we could enjoy a night out without politics." Her eyes roamed over the person who had spoken, unable to miss their obvious anger. "It all seemed a little... on the nose." She was choosing her words carefully. "I think everyone here is clever enough to see through it. I doubt anyone has had their mind changed, it likely only empowered those who agree with it, and angered those who don't."

That didn't make it insignificant however. "Still, it will be hard for my siblings to remain neutral after this play in their territory. Silence will be seen as agreement, rejection a sign that they support the rebellion. Perhaps someone is trying to force their hand?"

[tormxntum]

game of thrones meme: one king

↳ Robb Stark

“There sits the only king I mean to bow my knee to, m’lords. The King in the North!“

[tormxntum]

Their smile had morphed into something different; it was a grin, feral like a wolf that had cornered its prey, knowing the kill was theirs. Cailean tore a piece of roasted chicken from the bone and popped it in their mouth, but it wasn't enough. Their stomach still growled. 'I see you have grown a spine since we last spoke?' Adorable. Fighting the urge to finish everything on their plate before licking it clean, they put it down. They refused to let any Stuart, even the prince, see them hungry and enjoying anything provided by a monarch. 'I think we both know what people are saying about you.' One only had to step outside the gates of the castle to hear the whispers of the foolish crown prince. 'But I disagree with it. You're not stupid. You knew exactly what you were doing when you helped me. You knew the cost but were still willing to sacrifice your family.' Their eyes were honed in on him, waiting for any sign of cracks in his facade. 'Maybe you even agree with me, and oh, you hate that.'

His life was a series of haves - the most decadent meals, the finest horses, the sharpest blades. The Scottish Prince had it all, and then some. Never knowing hunger or need, only knowing luxury. And yet, it did not darken his heart or fill him with entitlement. Blair believed good intentions would be enough to win the game of politics and power. Some fanciful belief that good always prevails over evil. But if that were the case, his family would still rule, and he would not be faced with the man who toppled a family dynasty. Smug and boastful, with a gesture that haunts more than any battle ever could. "I've lost my appetite." He says, with a tight lip and fist, with Cailean's plate left untouched. "The nerve of you..." He says, with a click of his tongue. It could never last, a mask of cool indifference. Blair wore his heart and temperament on his sleeve, and it shows when his dark eyes dart between Cailean's. "If you wish to stand on my family's soldiers and call yourself tall, go on. But I won't be your audience for it."

[tormxntum]

The evening air was not cool enough to soothe their anger, which was boiling dangerously close to the surface. While laughter from the theatre spilt into the night, their vision darkened from the edges as the last bit of resolve slipped through their fingers. If those living in the comfort of a palace thought they knew loss, knew death, they would soon come to a rueful awakening. 'If we are murderous villains, what does that make you?' They did not shout, even when their hands shook with restraint. 'I have watched your side sit on your bloody throne while killing those below you for centuries. You have sent people, desperate for coins to feed their families, to wars to carry out your killing. So what if we fight back for once?'

his  laughter  and  applause  had  flowed  freely throughout the play. politics weren't what he preferred to be reminded of during trips to the theater nor did he know those who'd fallen during and after the reckoning, but the amusement of certain lines was enough counterbalance. the tension, however, was what truly drew his eye. he hadn't realized so-called revolutionaries were such thin-skinned. then again, their minds were likely so small that they must've expected all to laud their violence as great. fools. rising from his seat, stefan exited the theater in case the rebels lost what little control they had. flask was halfway to his lips when the scottish drawl made him pause.   ❝ ah, yes, how audacious for those who lost family and countrymen to paint their murderers as villains. ❞   green hues rolled, and stefan took a large swig of alcohol.

[tormxntum]

‘Your Highness,’ there were few who Cailean would bow to. Each time they took a knee for Stuart, they felt it chip away at them until they were left hollow, despising the person they had morphed themself into to gain the trust of the monarchy. After the reckoning, they had vowed to never bow to anyone who believed themself to be above them. 

They did not hesitate to bow to the sultan. 

‘I knew I would be walking into the lion’s den, but I did not quite expect to be walking straight into the mouth of the lion.’ They would have to be naive to think the monarchs would accept the rebels, greet them as friends, and mourn fallen friends and comrades beside them. They expected retaliation, but foolishly, they had thought it would be hidden with gilded paint just like they hid the cracks of their reign. 

The mention of Rostam was a cold fist clutching their heart. How Cailean wished they had their friend with them. He would have shared their anger; he would have stood beside them and protested the damn play. No, they did not want him there. They did not want him to see the creature the rebellion had turned them into. Their voice was much lower, careful to ensure it wouldn’t carry with the gentle breeze, ‘have you heard from him?’ They ask, desperate for any news of him. 

Ethiopia; Japan; Persia; their ideas held ill-intention, whether they were yet to understand such nuances or not. Had another Abdul sat on his throne, they might've fallen victim to similar ignorances; though he hoped that his brothers and sisters would remain strong necked regardless of the weight of the position. Rebellion, lack-there-of; both caused destruction, both instilled hope yet both negated the pain caused in the middle of it to regular citizens, who without, monarchs would not have their empires. He supposed it would come down to what each nation could live with in the end. For him? He would do whatever it took to keep his people safe, whether born to his nation or adopted by it. Which is why when he feels the air of the theatre shift, blue eyes fall to the Scottish rebels, to their clear discomfort, tense shoulders, and quiet mutters - all eyes on their leader, who seems to cave into their anger in the darkness. An easy breath leaves him, his hand comes down on the knee of his guard; a signal to let him leave, alone. To which he follows by sliding from his seat in pursuit of Cailean. "Yes." Halil admits against the eerie stillness of the air between them. "Terrified monarchs often use audacious action to force the hands of thoughtful, democratic people or worse, to scare them into complacency." An inhale, soft and fond in nature for the person who stood before him, leaves the sultan's lips. "Did you expect this event would be anything but a show of dominance? At one point in time, our mutual friend, was condemned as something adjacent to a rebel - they mocked him too, prodded him too, for standing up for the vulnerable. If he prevailed, I have faith that you will too. Do not let it shake your resolve."