#if she would have spent 2 hours of raging through the forest and committing one murder after another I would have loved it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thekitchensnk · 5 years ago

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and the spider lilies bloomed in the fall (chapter 22)

Rating: T Warnings: Violence - sadism, murder Pairing: Gin/Ran Part 1: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12 Part 2: Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21 Part 3: Chapter 22

“They say that lovers doomed never to see each other again still see the higanbana growing along their path, even to this day.”

A girl collapses on a dusty road one day. A boy takes her home.

The girl lives.

—

(The boy doesn’t.)

What kind of beast are you, Ichimaru Gin?

What are you becoming?

(What could drive a man to kill a god?)

It is a cloudy night. There is not a star to be seen as he sits, his sword flat on his lap, and waits. The air is calm, the night is still, the sky is gray, and he waits and he waits and he waits whilst the moon ripens behind the clouds. The student barracks are empty. Everyone has long since made the journey home since graduation, to warm and joyous families keen to celebrate their success and the prospect of their glowing futures. The halls are silent.

(He had also made the long journey home the day before, out into the dark woods of the far flung districts of Rukongai. Such a journey - a journey which would take an ordinary person weeks of foot-travel - had taken him mere hours. But there had been no warm and loving family to return to, no celebration of his success. The house had been empty but for a letter written long ago on a torn piece of sack cloth.)

Empty.

This is good. There will be no witnesses - no one to see him leave. No one to see him return.

It would not do to be seen coming back from the site of a murder.

A lurid, jittery excitement coils up in him - the sort of excited anticipation a child feels on the day of their birthday. He tries to quell it, but he can’t. The occasion warrants more caution than this, more ritual sanctity. Everything rests on the outcome of tonight. If it were to go wrong… It is no excuse to play, to indulge himself in a little petty cruelty. He has to be quick; he has to be sharp. This murder is not for him- it is for her, and so he should treat it with the seriousness it deserves.

Everything he has done has been for her.

But, he cannot help but think, squirming with the excitement of it all, it will be fun to see how it goes.

He is a prodigy, a genius, a wonder child - no one has ever graduated the academy as quickly as him, not in a thousand years. His opponent (victim) is a seated officer, and not just that, but a third seat, third only in power to the Captain and Vice-Captain.

This might end up bein’ more difficult than I gave credit for, he muses. But he can do it. He knows he can.

After all, he has to.

He cannot dampen the small thrills running through him, the urge to whistle, the brightness shining in him. It is beyond him to feel any kind of remorse for the pain he is about to inflict. He will enjoy it too much, and for once, his cause is righteous.

Tonight he should be calm. Tonight he should be still. If tonight goes to plan, there will be only one man standing in between him and the satisfaction of his vengeance and his labours will almost be at an end.

The thought makes him giddy with a twinned delight - one part ecstasy in the anticipation of bloodlust, the other part a tenderness so soft it hurts.

He turns his attention to his sword in a bid to distract himself. It is a short blade, a blade perfectly sized for a child-murderer’s hands, and his face shines in the reflection in its blade.

Shinso. Shinso, he sings to his sword happily, keen to share his excitement with someone.

But if Shinso has something to say now, it is keeping it to itself. Gin waits a moment for a response, and then aims a mental kick at his sword.

It says nothing, and he frowns in annoyance.

The night before he had walked into the darkness in his mind, slipping down, down, down into the empty hole where his sword’s spirit dwells within him. The labyrinthine dark is as familiar to him now as the sight of his own hands. He had spent long sleepless nights at the academy learning its winding passages, its eerie, quiet dead ends, its blind and looping paths.

There are times still that he cannot help but feel like he has been swallowed whole, that he is wandering in the coiling, twisting insides of a snake.

There had been a figure in the darkness, the night before. It had sat there, its legs dangling impossibly into the thick darkness. They had kicked very slightly and childishly in the nothingness.

As he had walked closer, he had seen that its hair was amber-bronze, its skin sun-kissed and freckled, the light down of the hair on its arms golden.

He had held his breath for a moment, and then exhaled, a white grin fixed on his face. And then he had walked up to it.

It had turned, the thing wearing Rangiku’s face, and it had copied his bright smile. So often, it has her dimples. So often, it wears her beauty mark. (When he sits across from it, there are only black holes where there should be eyes.)

“Are we ready then?” Shinso had asked in Rangiku’s girlish voice, a voice like sunshine, its head tilting like hers had.

Gin wonders what it says about him that Shinso does this. Shinso does this, he thinks, to unsettle him- to hurt him- to get a response, maybe. Maybe because Shinso thinks it funny.

Maybe because Shinso is everything that he is, monstrous cruelty included.

Gin had given it a cursory glance, trying not to dwell on that eyeless face. He had squinted into the darkness resolutely. “Reckon so,” he had said to it.

“Do you know how we’re going to do it?” Rangiku’s voice had echoed cheerfully.

Rangiku would never sound so cheerful to be preparing for murder.

He had known. He had known the plan down to the smallest turn. He is not so confident in his ability to defeat a third seat that he hasn’t dwelt obsessively on the details, hasn’t spent sleepless nights dwelling darkly on how it might be done. In the end, he has decided to play it safe, play it conservative. This murder is not for him and so it needs to be done carefully. It needs to be done right.

“Same plan as last time.”

Shinso’s stolen face had fallen, and its stolen lips, pink and perfect, had stretched into a look of alien disgust. Rangiku’s mouth cannot twist like that. Her teeth are not that sharp. “That’s boring,” Rangiku’s voice had announced, and it had echoed as if coming from a mile away. “Boring.”

It was boring, but Gin had shrugged. “Everythin’ hinges on how tonight goes. Can’t fuck it up.”

The bottomless pits of Shinso’s empty eyes had snapped to him, snake-like. They bore into him, those empty sockets. Every time he looks at them, the memory of eyes soft and blue as forget-me-nots stirs in his soul, and the memory disquiets him. But Gin always stares back, undaunted.

“You’re going to fuck it up if you do it that way. He’s going to want a show.” Shinso had told him. It had seemed to find the thought suddenly funny. “He’s going to want to see a show, the sicko. Give him a show. Excite him. Let him see us, see us how we really are. Let him get a peek. That’ll grab him.”

The irony of calling anyone else a sicko had seemed lost on Shinso, but it was right, Gin had realised later. If he is to pull this off, he’s going to have to perform, he’s going to have to draw him in.

Seduce him, even.

“Think ya’ might be right on this one,” he had admitted reluctantly, and he frowns now, in the present, mulling it over. Let him see us, see us how we really are.

It is a troubling thought.

No signs of softness, no signs of weakness; never let them know where your heart lies. He had heard those words, in a different place, in a different life.

Shinso had padded towards him through the darkness until there had been scarcely any space between them. Its footsteps do not echo. The blackness it wraps itself in is gentle as velvet. It had pressed its (Rangiku’s Rangiku’s Rangiku’s) head against his own tenderly, and Gin had frozen. It has Rangiku’s hair, it has Rangiku’s face, but its skin is always so cold.

“Have you thought about my questions?” It had uttered with a smile. It had whispered in his ear, but there is no warm puff of air when Shinso speaks, no sound of breathing, just the sound of dust, a hiss. “Do you know what we are yet? It is a choice, Gin. Commit; and do not turn back. Everything that happens now happens because you made it that way.”

It is a choice, Gin. Commit; and do not turn back.

When he had looked into those black hollows, he had known what it was he had to do. He had known what he had to be.

He thinks he has begun to understand what he has to give up.

(But he hasn’t. Not really. Not yet.)

“I know.”

He had swallowed. There had been nothing more he could have said.

In the present, the excitement bubbling away in his chest finally dies down. He sighs and runs a hand through his fine-stranded hair, knowing Shinso to be right.

It had all started to become so complicated, somewhere along the line. When he had seen him, the man, Aizen, in the forest for the first time, it had been so simple.

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him for what he has done. Kill him for even daring to touch her, his heart had screamed bestially.

Time had passed and he had tracked them all down, one by one, each of the animals that had laid their hands on her. But still Aizen lives, still Aizen thrives, and his heart rages now with impatience to see his vengeance wrought.

Aizen -

And one more.

But not for much longer.

It had taken so long already. Who knew what could have become of her in a year?

Unbidden, his mind drifts back to the letter she had left for him, dried mud and ash on a grey-brown sack, in a wooden hut and a shitty town, so, so far away.

Suddenly, it is too much effort to stay upright, and so he carelessly pushes Shinso from his lap and lets himself fall back against the tatami mat.

He had known that she would be devastated when he left her.

He’d left anyway.

It had been more important to him, at the time, to leave.

(That maybe, just maybe - he hadn’t cared enough to stay.)

The thought is small and ashamed.

He’d thought about her often when he’d been at the academy, on cold starless nights in shared dormitories where her hair did not tickle his nose and he didn’t have to manoeuvre around her clumsy, kicking legs in the night; where he had not woken in the night to screams that he alone had been able to soothe.

When his mind had turned to her - as had been inevitable because the thought of her had been as inescapable as gravity - guilt and remorse had twisted up inside him like a snake wrapping itself around his insides. It had been a novel feeling, guilt. He had not liked it then, and he doesn’t like it now.

It had always been a cruel thing, the sight of her crestfallen face as he left her, the way she would look dully at her hands and the way that the light would drop out of her. Something about it stung at him, and so he had tried bitterly to avoid thinking too long on how she was coping, what she doing, how she was faring.

It had been difficult, but having taught himself to steel himself against it, he finds it is the uncertainty now, the fact that he does not even know what she is doing, that she could be with anyone, which makes his heart do strange things.

His smile is strained.

I don’t even know where ya’ are anymore, he thinks distantly to himself. Did ya’ even exist? Or did I dream ya’ up to keep me company? Where are ya’ now, Rangiku?

“I’m not angry that you left,” she had written for him. “Not all of the time, anyway. Sometimes I am. Sometimes I hate you. But most of the time I’m just sorry that you felt like you had to leave. I just wish I knew why.”

“Thank you”.

“You’ll always be my friend.”

My friend, he thinks fervently. My only friend.

He sighs.

The letter had just been further proof of what he’d always known: that when all was accounted for, when all was tallied up in the book of their lives, she was a better person than he was, and always would be. She had that elusive ability to care for others, and the even more elusive quality to forgive.

It wasn’t that she didn’t get angry.

(He shakes his head ruefully at the thought. He had suffered too many punches to the arm to think anything otherwise).

It was just that her anger had always been quick and passionate - fierce, but quick to burn itself out, gone almost as soon as it had arrived. She could be shouting and throwing things at him one minute, but she’d be joking with him the next, all wrongs forgiven as if he’d never done anything wrong in the first place.

Would it be naïve to hope that he could be forgiven this time?

He has rarely felt remorse for anything in his life. Remorse means caring that you have wronged another person. Remorse means having the ability to know, know in your heart, that there is such a thing wrong in the first place.

But Ichimaru Gin does not care. He lacks that compass inside of him, that invisible magnetism, which seemed to guide everyone else towards the good. He has heard talk of evil, but it had always seemed to him a label which people gave to the things they disliked, to the things that caused them disgust or pain.

It is still an alien sensation to him, this prickling, this strange curling and twisting inside of him, the feeling of guilt. If he’s honest, he’s still not even sure he knows what guilt is, but it hurts him to have hurt her and he figures that must lie close to the essence of it.

Rangiku was considerate of other people, he thinks stubbornly. Though she had hidden it well, she’d had a melancholy streak in her that ran a mile wide and as deep as the blue sea. It was born of abandonment, he muses, of fear that she would be left alone again. She was always considerate of other people. Too considerate, he thinks to himself. When something went wrong, she always sought to smooth over the edges, to please people. As far as he was concerned, they could die in a ditch.

She’d have done anything to avoid being abandoned.

He’d done it to her anyway.

(Simply, shamefully – it had been more important to him to leave than it had been for him to stay. There was nothing more to it than that.)

Had she managed to convince herself that he’d left because of something she’d done?

The thought twists at his insides. It troubles him.

It has been a year since he had left. He had eschewed all academy holidays in order to concentrate on his goal, had endured the braying of the idiot sons of Seireitei noble families, had shut himself in libraries night after night, had sweated and bloodied himself and ran himself hoarse on the training field, all to graduate as quickly as possible. All to murder Aizen Sosuke in cold blood for all that he had done to her.

Does she still have nightmares? Has she learnt to fight ‘em off without me?

Does she still-

He cannot bring himself to complete the thought.

(-need me?)

But him?

He has grown strong without her.

He will be graduating as a seated officer. He is a legend, a prodigy, the first person to graduate from the academy in a year.

Tonight - tonight he will carry out his plan. He is a boy, a child. No one will suspect him. No one will know. Everything will go as he wants it to.

It is an easy thing to convince himself that it will be easy. Aizen will never see his true nature, or at least, he amends to himself, not enough of it to know what he intends. The man’s blood will dye Shinso scarlet soon enough, even if not tonight, and Gin will laugh and laugh and laugh to see it gush out of the man and to see his corpse crumpled on the ground, like trash.

The excitement is back, the lurid satisfaction, and he lets it bubble away merrily inside of him.

He has found his smile again, and it is like a sickle.

He hums to himself in pleasure, and rocks forward to a sitting position. He grabs Shinso from off the floor, and he jumps to his feet jauntily.

So what if it has taken longer than he had planned?

Nothin’ worth doin’ was ever done easily, he thinks to himself and he tries not to think of the heartbreak on her face as he left.

It is not as complicated as he had made it out to be. It is simple. He will steal back what was taken, and he will return it to her, and then he will return himself to her, and it will be over.

Over.

And then-

Unbidden, the words of what feels like a life time ago rise up in him. His pale fingertips ghost over his lips for a second.

She had rushed the words out, trying to explain herself to him.

"I could never hate you completely, not really. Not if you tickled me for hours, not if you made me dig up the garden and dangled every worm in my face, not if you made fun of every other person on earth-" her breath had hitched, and he had watched her, dumbfounded "-not even if you left me, not even then. You gave me this birthday, and for as long as I live, I'll wake up today and think of you because you saved me and you gave me a home."

He remembers every word. It has been over a year, and yet he remembers it as if she’d said it yesterday, this morning, an hour ago.

How could he not? She had-

(-kissed him. It had carved away at his insides like a disease, rent apart his chest, ripped him to pieces. The memory sat in the hole it had hollowed out, flush in the space between his heart and his soul, reigning like a king over his body.)

He will never again be rid of it.

It had been like a promise; it had been like a vow.

Nothing more had ever been said about it.

What did it mean? What did it mean? What did she meant by it?

But still that memory warms him. He can feel the lingering traces of the dizzying delight he had felt in that moment each time he closes his eyes and remembers it. His lips quirk upwards.

An eerie, tuneless whistle emerges from his mouth. He cannot help himself, not when the world is so alight with possibilities.

He has murder in his heart, a sword in his hand, a whistle in his mouth, and the ghost of her kiss on his lips.

He smiles.

Time to go.

It is a masterpiece of theatre.

He coaxes the man into the woods with a few wide-eyed, warbling words of praise, some pathetic, snivelling dross, all dewy-eyed innocence. The man doesn’t question it for a second.

When they are safely hidden by the canopy, safely ensconced in the darkness, he strikes. The air heaves and writhes with his killing intent, and the third seat crumples beneath the pressure like he is made of paper. A paper man. Goin’ ta’ fold him up and put him in my pocket, Gin hums to himself. He smiles brightly.

Nah, goin’ ta’ rip him up.

He is on his hands and knees in discomfort, retching into the soil, thick, suffocating saliva forced from his mouth. The sweat trickles from his brow, leaving a sheen; the hair on the back of his neck stands on end, mimicking the response of all prey since time immemorial. The man is frightened. It is written all over his face.

He should be. He’s going to die.

The third seat tries to rise, but he can’t.

“Come on!” Gin cheers him on. “Ya’ the third seat, so act like it. Come on up and get me, Mr Third Seat! You can do it!”

The man grits his teeth and lets out an inhuman roar of effort, pushing with all his might to try to get to his feet.

“So close now!”

The man has made it off his hands. Gin makes an appreciative noise and claps his hands at him, delighted. He has only the most rudimentary knowledge of that thing called empathy, but if he were hard pressed to guess, he would say right now that the man must be feeling something akin to hope.

The third seat stumbles low to the ground, and Gin cheers for him.

And then, his expression never shifting for a moment, white grin still stretched across his face, he aims a vicious kick straight to his head. The man’s nose bursts across his face.

He collapses to the ground again, making a low, heaving noise. Gin wonders vaguely whether he’s crying.

“Oh no!” Gin sings at him. “Whoopsadaisy! Ya’ve fallen over, Mr Third Seat! How clumsy of ya’!” He shakes his head at him theatrically. “How clumsy! Fallen over ya’ own feet!”

The man seems to have given up on trying to stand with Gin’s spiritual pressure beating down at him again and again like a hammer against an anvil, and so he begins to crawl, hands and knees, across the forest floor, blood gushing from the splatter that had been his nose.

“Oh no, no, no,” Gin says to him, grin wide. “Let me help you up! Mighty third seats shouldn’t go crawlin’ through the forest on their hands and knees. That’s for bugs.” Something burns in his eyes for a second, but it is gone the minute it appears. “Or vermin.”

The third seat looks back with fear-filled eyes. He inhales and exhales rapidly, in the broken breathing of the terrified. His hands are scratched from where broken branches have torn at them.

“So stubborn!” Gin bends over, wiping his hands on his black shihakusho, and drags the man to his feet by the collar. “Up we get! Was that so difficult, askin’ for a bit of help?”

The third seat is not stupid enough to fail to see where this is going. His face twists into an animal snarl. He has realised what should have been obvious since the beginning: that he will be permitted to leave with Gin’s permission, or not at all. His stupid, ugly curtains of hair fall into his face as he grabs for his sword. His beady little eyes have blown wide with hatred.

Just try. Just ya’ try.

He tries.

His zanpakuto comes free from its sheath, and he swings it brutishly, clumsily, at Gin’s side. Shinso is in his hand in a second, and he knocks the third seat’s blow aside with an almost clumsy laziness.

“’S not very nice to take your anger out on other people like that, Mr Third Seat,” he says reproachfully. “’S not my fault you can’t get up.” There’s something hysterically funny about that. His grin widens.

The third seat swings again, and again, and again, until he is trembling and sobbing with exertion.

“Shhh, shhh,” he soothes. “Shhh. It’s nothin’ to cry over! ‘S just a fall. ‘S just a fall. We all fall down sometimes. Gotta tell ya’ self it doesn’t hurt.”

He pauses dramatically, looking behind him to the thinning tree line. Aaah, he thinks coldly and he turns back to the man. Good timin’.

“This though,” he says, turning Shinso over in one hand casually, “this is goin’ ta’ hurt like hell’.”

He pushes the blade through the man’s stomach, slowly, slowly.

Shinso is sharp, but the organs of a grown man are thick and spongey, filled with gristle and muscle and gore and blood. It explodes outwards in a thick stream, making his hands and his chest slick, and as he slices upwards, it spurts in a hot, unexpected shower across his face, the wetness. He can hear the dull slap of the man’s guts as they slide out and hit the ground, the shocked intake of the man’s last breaths.

There is no performance now.

He lifts the man by his collar, still lodged on his blade, and looks at him, watching his eyes cloud over.

It is a strange thing, a heady thing, to watch. A person is never more themselves than in extremis, never more honest in their desires, in their choices. Those categories called good and evil- how easily they seem to be forgotten in the overwhelming impetus to survive. How much more, he thinks, people seem to resemble himself in their final moments. How clear it seems then, that there is no good, no evil- only people. Beautiful, ugly, strange people.

The man’s eyes were brown. In death, they are black.

It is done.

He shuts his eyes for a moment and raises his head towards the sky.

Behind his eyes, he sees her as he had first seen her, collapsed on the ground, the man's hand buried to the elbow in her chest, taking something vital and shining from her. Rangiku's yukata had been bunched up around her thighs, and her face had been wan and marred with bruises like storm clouds. As the man rose, he had cupped her face almost tenderly, caressing her cheek. And then he had slapped her, and the sound had rung out through the deserted road. There had been dirt in her golden hair.

The nightmares she had suffered, how she had struggled to walk for days after, the blood on her face and her fat, split lip-

The man had turned to his companions afterwards, and he had laughed.

He had laughed.

There is fury boiling in him. He has forgotten the performance.

Gin only regrets that he cannot kill the man twice, regrets that he had not thought to inflict more pain while he still had the chance. Overcome by rage, he sends another kick crashing into the man’s face, and then another, breath hissing through his teeth.

Overhead, a gap forms in the clouds. The moon emerges; it is eerily bright. He readies another furious blow.

“Ah…”

And then he stills, exhaling a shaky breath through his nose.

The voice, rich and lazy and loathsome, issues from behind him. He had wanted an audience, and now he has one. He had almost forgotten in all the excitement.

“They weren’t exaggerating then. I’d heard, but I had not given much credence to such inflated rumours. A mistake, obviously. What’s your name?”

Gin turns, and as he does so, the moonlight falls on him like a spotlight. The blood, which had seemed black in the shadows, has painted half his face red, like a mask. His fine hair is soaked with it, and it has separated into damp strands. He looks at the man’s face.

Aizen’s eyes are warm, and honey brown, and so gentle.

Except they aren’t.

Gin has known enough monsters to recognise a face put on for polite society when he sees one. He has seen this man obliterate people, seen them blur into thin air, like tea in hot water. He doesn’t dare buy for a second the look he sees on this man’s face.

He looks closer.

Cruelty. Amusement. Intrigue. Hunger.

(The eye of a fellow connoisseur; the eye of a fellow artist.)

(The thought sickens him.)

He steels himself for what he’s about to do. His heart fights against his ribs to burst out of his chest. He has never done anything so terrifying.

(He thinks of her.)

Perform. Perform, he thinks desperately. Keep his attention while you have it. And he lets his most blood-chilling smile stretch across his face, a bright rictus grin.

“Good evenin’, Vice-Captain Aizen!” he calls out sweetly, the third seat’s guts at his feet. He can feel the blood starting to soak through into his tabi. “Lovely moon we’ve got out tonight.”

Nothing like surprise crosses Aizen’s face. If anything, he looks rapt- darkly pleased by Gin’s response.

“Good,” he murmurs softly, before smiling. “You’re even better than I’d heard. I’ll ask you again. What is your name?”

It is a choice, Gin. Commit; and do not turn back, Shinso had told him. Everything that happens now happens because you made it that way.

“For as long as I live, I'll wake up today and think of you because you saved me and you gave me a home.”

Gin takes a deep breath, and hopes that Aizen will blame it on the exertion of murder.

“Gin. Ichimaru Gin.”

There can be no turning back.

#Bleach #GinRan #gin ichimaru #sosuke aizen #ichimaru gin #aizen sosuke #look who's back!#a grotty disturbing gremlin of a boy #who is this really for Gin? is it really for her? coz it doesn't seem that clear #me writing this: hahah i can do tenses... unless???#Aizen and Gin - a seduction?#it's more likely than you think

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devnicolee · 5 years ago

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Snowfall (1 & 2)

A/N: This first chapter sets the stage for the series so it is a bit slow. I am anticipating this series will being kind of long. A lot happens in a short time span so far and I have a skeleton of the whole thing but honestly, I keep finding new things to add and change so we will see. Anyways enjoy!

***Chapter 2 is now included in this and it is a flashback to what happens to Zarah while M’Baku is out.

Warnings: None for this chapter, just slow burn-ish and angst

Word Count: 4,285

*****

Lord M’Baku had seen better days during his tenure as Chief of Jabariland. Long days were a part of the territory as a leader, but today felt unnaturally exhausting. He wanted nothing more than to retreat to his chambers, snuggle up with his wife who had likely left her office by now. Instead, he found himself pacing by his window overlooking Gorilla City.

He knew he couldn’t leave until he addressed the small stack of paperwork waiting on his desk. He tried, poured over the pages for all evening since he returned from dinner but he couldn’t concentrate on them. He spent thousands of quiet days in this office and today was the first one he felt such anxiety for no obvious reason. He worried about the future of his tribe and Wakanda like any good leader but the Jabari always prevailed, leaving him confident in his decisions. But today, anxiety trailed him like a ghost through what seemed to be an extremely boring and uneventful day in the mountains. As it loomed over him, he second guessed every decision he made and his wildest fears running rampant through his head. He dismissed it, as best he could, that is until his guards were alerted to two problems: a potential blizzard forming in the west and a fire in a village on the outskirts of Gorilla City.

Neither were anything new for the Jabari. Snow storms were par for the course of living in the mountains. Residents knew how to prepare and hunker down when needed. Since everyone burned fires all winter for warmth, the occasional fire broke out as well if someone was careless. However, once he heard of the fire’s location and the potential number of victims, M’Baku rounded up his Kingsguard and headed to the village to help. The fire, localized in a popular pub, was extinguished quickly thanks to brave patrons and the warriors patrolling the city. It was a miracle there were no deaths, just some injuries and lost property. M’Baku and the guard ensured all injured Jabari were sent to the healing center, moving quickly to settle the incident before the storm hit and the roads became impassable for the night. Once everyone was taken care of, M’Baku headed home, figuring he could finally relax and put his anxieties to rest.

Maybe I have a third eye or something, he wondered jokingly to himself as he settled in for the journey back to the Lodge.

The Chief grunted impatiently as he glanced out of the carriage window for the 100th time, hoping to see the palace gates in the distance. But every turn on the winding road up the mountain concealed yet another turn and not the statues of Hanuman that promised him warmth and rest. He let the dark grey window curtains fall and hid the passing forest. He slumped into his seat and let out a deep sigh of frustration that this fire had to happen in the village farthest away from the Lodge.

And right before a snow storm, he whined internally. He hated that all the bad things seemed to happen right before a storm was barreling toward tribe. He could see the dark clouds headed their way, it would be at the western border mountains within half an hour, possibly sooner depending on how fast the clouds moved.

The Jabari’s giant-sized chief resembled a toddler as he rubbed his eyes, the exhaustion from the day seeping into his body. After an emotionally-taxing day, the only thing on the chief’s mind was getting home to Zarah. His best friend. His chieftess. She was his solace, his beacon of light that guided him through the fog of leadership. M’Baku was fiercely devoted to his people, proudly taking the mantle of Chief after his father’s death. However, his reign became significantly easier since Zarah took her place beside him as chieftess. She was compassionate, intelligent, fiercely devoted to the tribe and beautiful… all the things he wanted in a life companion and needed in a chieftess. He knew he wouldn’t be half the chief or man he was without her and the people knew it too. Their love and loyalty for Lady Zarah ran deep, deeper than their love for M’Baku (though no one would ever say that to him). Thoughts of snuggling with her in front of the fire were the only thing that carried him the rest of the trip home.

M’Baku silently thanked Hanuman when the carriage passed through the gates. I wonder if I can convince Za to give me a massage, he thought, feeling the tension and ache in his shoulders as he sat up straight. Well, she won’t need much convincing, he reminded himself, a small smirk on his face. Past experience taught him that massages quickly turned into something more. Usually with Zarah on her back with her thighs wrapped around his head as he feasted off her nectar. That is what the chief had to look forward to as the carriage rounded the final corner to stop before the Lodge steps: a massage and the melody of his wife’s moans and screams as he pulled an orgasm or several from her. Unfortunately for him, the world seemed to have other plans.

M’Baku jumped out of the carriage before it could come to a full stop. His march up the stairs faltered slightly when he noticed someone waiting at the doors. A smile graced his tired features as he saw his best friend and brother-in-law, N’Danna. The lieutenant general of the Jabari Forces quickly ended a call from his kimoyo beads before shifting his attention to his approaching chief.

“Brother! What are you doing here so late?”

He pulled his brother into a hug, his confusion growing when his enthusiastic greeting was not returned with the same energy. Instead, N’Danna only offered a stiff pat on the back and tight smile.

“Evening, my Lord. There is… there is something I need to tell you.”

His eerily somber tone filled M’Baku with trepidation. N’Danna’s formalities were not lost on him. He wasn’t talking to his best friend now, he was talking to his general and his tone did not foreshadow good news.

N'Danna inhaled deeply, as if he had to summon the courage within to utter his next statement.

“I am afraid to tell you that Lady Zarah is missing.”

There was a beat of silence before M’Baku let out a boisterous chuckle from the depths of his belly, amused by the absurdity of his brother’s statement.

“Very funny N'Danna… She hasn’t left the Lodge all day. I just saw her a few hours ago. Before I got dragged away to deal with that damn fire. How does one set fire to Jabari wood anyway? It is practically indestructible - we will need to look into that. Well, actually… correction, Zarah will need to look into it. Hanuman knows she is the only one in this tribe that actually understands Jabari wood, the rest of us are just kidding ourselves. The guards say it was an accident but I don’t believe it,” M’Baku rambled, starting to walk inside.

If M’Baku had been paying attention, he would have noticed the growing distress on his General’s face as he trailed behind him.

“But anyway… did she put you up to this? I know your sister is a practical jokester but she goes too far. I will get her back for this one no doubt,” M’Baku let out another hearty chuckle while shaking his head, not even considering the notion that his wife was anywhere but safe in their shared bed.

He continued down the hallway before he felt a tight grip on his arm pull him backward. M’Baku’s eyes bugged out of his head at N'Danna’s behavior. He wondered if the man had drunk one too many glasses of mead, that was the only explanation for such reckless behavior.

“What the hell has gotten in-”

“M’BAKU! Shut the hell up and listen to me. This is not a joke. While you and the guards were across the lands, someone broke in and took her. We are trying to determine how they entered and escaped undetected. No one even realized anything had happened until I came to drop off the weekly reports. I found your chambers empty, her guards knocked out.” N'Danna had to pause to take a deep breath - to steady his tone and reel in his emotions. “This is not a game, brother. This is not a joke. She is gone.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, simply staring at each other, as the news settled in the air. M’Baku backed up from N'Danna slightly, his body finding and leaning against a wall to support him. After a few minutes, M’Baku started to shake his head. She couldn’t be gone. She just couldn’t.

“No… no she… she can’t be gone. No,” M’Baku muttered quickly to himself, refusing to believe it.

Of course, in his heart, he knew her own brother would have no reason to lie about such things. The tears in his eyes and undeniable emotion in his voice should have been enough to convince M’Baku because N'Danna was the least emotional person he ever met. Still, his mind was committed to believing she was still home and merely a short walk through the Lodge from him, not lost and in danger. His mind held tight to this delusion as if letting go meant the loss of his sanity. He didn’t care how crazy that made him look or sound.

M’Baku raced to his quarters. Staff jumped out his way like the parting of the Red Sea, afraid of being swept up in the currents of his rage.

N'Danna followed closely on his chief’s heels, not surprised by his reaction. His sister was the single most important thing in this world to M’Baku. Their love was one of a kind. So he knew this would devastate him. He was barely holding it together himself, he just did a better job of hiding his emotions than M’Baku. This destroyed every expectation he set for himself as her big brother - her first friend and fiercest protector until M’Baku. How could they live with themselves if something happened to the brightest, most crucial star in their skies? With no time to process his own thoughts before M’Baku’s arrival, N'Danna knew he wouldn’t have the chance. Someone had to be strong and logical, be willing to set aside all emotions to find her. M’Baku’s current reaction indicated that he would be unable to fulfill that task. That role and burden fell squarely on his shoulders.

When M’Baku and N'Danna reached the Chief’s chambers, reality came crashing down all at once like a collapsing skyscraper. Despite the warmth emanating from the raging fire in their room, a chill overcame him as if ice water coursed through his veins instead of warm blood. His visual survey of the chambers forced him to confront the harsh reality surrounding him.

There was clear evidence of a struggle. Zarah’s favorite white fur blanket, a gift from M’Baku after he proposed, was torn and tossed to the floor, the glass coffee table in front of the fire was shattered, Jabari mead and small blood stains littered various spots on the fur carpet, Zarah’s knobkerrie splintered and thrown aside. M’Baku’s body was on autopilot as he steered himself to his bed after feeling his legs grow weak beneath him. His head fell to his hands. He tried to calm his mind and the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. However, this proved to be a pointless effort. His rage was uncontainable and quickly burst from him.

“HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?” He yelled. The chief was beyond anger, he was seething.

“I have a team on the way to search the entire Lodge and pull the security cameras as we speak. I arrived here and realized what had happened only moments before you did. Her guards are still unconscious. When they wake, we will know more.”

This explanation was wasted breath as his chief was not even listening. M’Baku’s mind was racing while he wildly paced by his bed.

“What are we going to do? We have to find her. Your team must have some leads... something. We should be out there searching for her now. She could be hurt. We... w-w-we have to find her,” he ranted. His rage morphed into pure panic as shock wore off and the realization of his wife’s predicament set in. No one ever kidnapped anyone with pure intentions. Whatever they wanted with her, it can’t be good.

“First, you need to calm down. We won’t get anywhere without thinking clearly. We can send an initial search team out but without a plan or any indication of where to start? And where will they go? Half the Lands will be inaccessible for the night within the next two hours. Any search efforts tonight would be futile. We would be searching aimlessly. Let’s go to the throne room and wait for my team there. We will find her. I have no doubt in my mind.”

M’Baku nodded. He no longer thought about the blizzard about to dump multiple feet of snow on his tribe. He could only think about this, the storm already destroying his world.

We will find her. I will find her.

His eyes filled with determination as he grabbed his knobkerrie and marched out of his bedroom, not waiting for N’Danna to fall in line behind him. He was not going to rest until he found his wife, even if he had to move every mountain in Wakanda or destroy every person who stood in his way.

****

[Earlier in the evening]

“Kasim?” Lady Zarah called out to the head of her Queensguard standing outside her chambers. He poked his head in to see his chieftess tying her robe around her waist.

“Yes my lady?”

“Any idea where Lord M’Baku is? He didn’t answer his beads… did he leave the Lodge?” Zarah wasn’t usually needy. But she had a long day and was expecting her husband home by this hour so they could cuddle by the fire.

Kasim spared a quick amusing glance at his second-in-command, Mosi. They found M’Baku and Zarah’s inability to go long periods without the other to be quite amusing and endearing. More than half of their time was spent sharing her whereabouts with the Kingsguard or vice versa because they couldn’t stand to be apart for more than an hour.

“Yes, my lady. Lord M’Baku and the guard are in the East Village, responding to a fire. He will return before the storm crosses the border mountains.”

Zarah’s faced scrunched up in disappointment.

“Alright, thank you. That will be all, you and Mosi are dismissed for the evening,” she said with a soft smile, hating to keep her guard longer than needed.

“No, my lady. We are to stay with you until Lord M’Baku returns,” he responded.

Zarah rolled her eyes, flopping down on the edge of her bed.

“You realize no harm will befall me in my own bedroom yes? It is late, a storm is coming. Don’t you all want to get home?” she questioned.

Kasim laughed, “While we appreciate your thoughtfulness Lady Zarah, neither of us fancy being thrown from Dead Man’s peak because we abandoned our post. And that is exactly what Lord M’Baku will do if we leave.”

“Touché,” she laughed. Her husband was known to be a bit overzealous when it came to her safety.

“We will leave you to rest my lady,” Kasim gave her a smile and turned to leave. He paused before addressing her again. “Apologies, there is one more thing. The maintenance staff asked if they could come by and work on the leak in your bathroom tonight? They will come back tomorrow to fully fix it but they said they can patch it up for the night and that will last until they can examine the pipes.”

Zarah sighed, she just wanted to collapse into bed, not wait up for the staff. But she also knew if the storm was bad, there was no guarantee the staff would make it in to fix it tomorrow. She hated leaving things undone and knew M’Baku would be happy to come home and not have to maneuver around the steady leak that started in their bathroom the previous night. It didn’t matter how many times they insulated the pipes around the Lodge, they always had an issue or two this time of the year. Zarah tried to convince M’Baku to install vibranium pipes, which would last forever and never freeze in the dead of the winter. But he refused to budge. So of course, the next pipe burst had to be one in their bathroom.

“Yes, that is fine. Thank you!”

Kasim nodded and bowed before exiting fully. Zarah decided there was no point in getting comfortable if the staff was going to arrive momentarily so she poured herself a glass of Jabari mead, pulled her favorite book off the bookshelf and settled on the couch. She shivered slightly, despite the raging fire across the living room space in their chambers, so she wrapped the white fur blanket from the couch around her. It was made of the softest fur Jabariland had to offer, a gift from M’Baku after he proposed. She only used it when she was craving his presence. M’Baku sprayed his favorite cologne on it so it always smelled like him.

She got comfortable, reading Jabari folklore. Tonight she decided to reread the tale of Chief Omarr and Chieftess Oba, two of the greatest leaders the Jabari ever saw. Their story was legend and Zarah’s favorite.

Zarah pulled her long goddess twists into a ponytail, growing tired of them falling into her face as she read. She didn’t make it far into her book when she heard a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she called.

“The workers are here, Lady Zarah,” Kasim announced before ushering two men into the space.

“Thank you Kasim. That will be all.” she said, lifting her eyes from the pages to greet the workers. “Thanks for coming. You all know where everything is. Let me know if you need anything.”

They both nodded and shuffled to the bathroom. Zarah’s head tilted slightly as her curiosity for the two men grew the longer she looked at them. Zarah wasn’t sure what set off alarm bells in her head. There were no obvious red flags with the two men or Kasim wouldn’t have let them in. They were seemingly average at first glance. But there were small things. First, Zarah didn’t recognize them. The tribe wasn’t that big and after becoming chieftess, Zarah made it a point to know every person who worked in the Lodge.

Maybe they are new, she thought internally. Second, these men were seriously underfed, almost sickly looking, unlike most of the Jabari. Their uniforms seemed to be sizes too big, hanging off their thin frames, certainly unlike anything she had seen within the staff.

Individually, neither of these were that odd and could have reasonable explanations. But Zarah spent enough time with her warrior brother and husband to know that ignoring the warning bells in your own head was never a good practice. Zarah decided that she would rather be safe than sorry and got up to alert Kasim. At least he could wait in the room with her until they finished.

But before her manicured hand could touch the gold doorknob in their quarters, she heard a cold voice behind her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Zarah.”

She whipped around to see one of the two men, now standing right behind her with a spear in hand. Her heart started beating out of her chest, its strong thumping loud in her ears as she tried to quickly strategize. Her eyes glanced at the couch, where she knew her knobkerrie laid on the floor. She wondered if she could buy enough time to get to it or discreetly alert her guard that something was amiss.

“Looking for this?” the shorter of them asked as he walked over to the couch and grabbed her knobkerrie. Her heart sank into her stomach. There was an extra weapon in her closet but she knew she wouldn’t make it in time. The man twirled her weapon in his hand a few times before tossing it to the side.

“Who are you and what do you want?” she asked calmly.

The taller of the two men answered, “Who we are does not matter. We are merely servants of our master. And we want you. We don’t want to hurt you.”

His words were slightly muffled, drowned out by Zarah’s own heartbeat as she struggled to stay calm. Whatever they wanted, it couldn’t be good.

“You need to back away from me” Zarah demanded, pulling herself to her full height. The man cackled before wrapping his hand around her neck and lifting her off the floor. Zarah choked, felt the air running out in her body as she struggled to fill her lungs with more. Her nails clawed at his hand to loosen his grip.

“We don’t want to hurt you, but we will if you continue to be uncooperative,” the shorter man said in a slightly bored tone, as if the chieftess’s antics to save herself were an annoyance to him.

“Ka…Kasim!!”

She tried to push her vocal cords to yell but they wouldn’t, not under the weight of his hands crushing them. The smaller man whispered something Zarah couldn’t hear as she continued to thrash under his grip and he let her go. Zarah didn’t have to be a military genius to know this was her one shot. She deduced that there wasn’t enough space to open the door and make it through with his body pressing hers against one door and the shorter assailant leaning against the other so she decided to make a break for the closet. At least that would give her time for her guard to come and save her.

“KASIM!”

She screamed as loud as her vocal cords would allow. She didn’t look back to see if they heard her. Zarah made it to just past the couch before she felt a rough grip on her arm. She tried to loosen his grip on her as they struggled against the arm of the couch.

“I… see… you want us to do this the hard way,” he struggled out as they fought. He used his free hand to strike her, the force of it caused her to tumble sideways to the floor and tip over the glass coffee table.. She let out a few coughs as her body reacted to the impact of hitting the floor.

Zarah refused to stop fighting and yelled yet again for her guards. She didn’t understand where Kasim and Mosi were, why they weren’t running to her rescue but she couldn’t dwell on it. Her hands went behind her and she pushed herself onto her hands and feet to crawl backwards away from her attacker. She didn’t make it far, his hand enclosed on her ankle and dragged her back toward him. She cried out in pain as he drug her over the broken shards of glass now littering the floor. Next thing she knew he was on top of her, both his hands closed around her forearms, forcing her into the ground. She thrashed and kicked, tried to buck his body off of hers but nothing worked. She let out another scream that quickly became muffled as a set of hands forced a wet cloth over her mouth. She was forced to breath in the disgusting taste of whatever liquid they dosed it in.

Zarah knew immediately that all hope was lost. Whatever chemical she just breathed in, she could feel its effects immediately. She suddenly felt weak, too weak to continue her thrashing movements beneath him. The weight and pressure of the body above her was suddenly gone but all of her limbs still felt heavy as she tried to move. Zarah felt her body lifted into one of their arms as they moved. Her head fell back as the drugs started to affect her vision and tether to the conscious world. The last thing she saw before her eyes fell closed was the body of one of her guard’s on the ground, slumped outside her door.

The men made quick work of placing her unconscious body in a body bag, exiting the Lodge and loading her into a cart waiting at the back of the Lodge. They rode quietly through the mountains. They stopped once to pick up two men who were waiting at the edge of the Jabari territory. The men would have looked odd to any onlookers, their oversized clothes covered in soot.

As she lay in the back of the cart, the world was completely oblivious to the state of the Jabari’s chieftess. Jabari boarded up their windows to prepare for the storm, her husband loaded up his guard to head home and her brother finally wrapped up his work day three stories below her bedroom in the Lodge. Everyone was completely unaware of the plan that was just set into motion by five foot soldiers.

***

In a corner of the mountains just outside of the Jabari territory, a man sat reciting his evening prayers at his desk when he heard a knock at his door. He let out a grunt.

“I asked not to be disturbed. Leave me, now!” He yelled at the unknown person behind his door.

“My lord, it is urgent! They have her,” the voice called back to him, the excitement in his voice was undeniable.

His head snapped up, his eyes gleamed with anticipation. His chair let out a loud screeching noise as he stood up quickly, almost ripping his door of its handle to face his assistant.

“What?”

The man was breathless, having run through the compound to tell his master the news.

“They have her. She just arrived. It is time.”

The man couldn’t believe it. Years of planning for this moment and it was finally here.

He grasped hands with his most faithful and devoted servant.

“Yes, yes, it is.”

****

Tags: @muse-of-mbaku @dawva @great-neckpectations @destinio1 @missmohnique

#black panther fics #black panther fanfiction #m'baku x oc #black panther imagines #m'baku imagines #first fic

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thamizhachig · 6 years ago

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Warrior's Rumble: Daughter of Time- Prologue

Prologue:

200 years ago…..

She ran through the Anaimalai Forest of the Western Ghats like her very life depended on it. It did, in a manner of speaking. The animals of the forest, though recognized the threat, stayed away. They were, after all, intelligent than the humans ever gave them credit for. These intelligent beings trust their instincts more than they trust themselves, and so they recognized their instinct when it urged them to stay hidden. For something untoward was about to happen.

The girl ran, her hands clutching on to her saree, as she ran with her bare feet, not bothering about the twigs and thorns that were testing her soft feet. She had no time to feel self-pity, for she must lead her enemy deeper into the woods. The deeper she went in, the more successful she would be. It was not her first time to do this. She knew his weaknesses very well, the same way he did hers. She searched her memory to find something that she could use against him. But the more she thought about it, the more empty-handed she came up with. What could she find in the forest that could be used against him?

So she ran. As fast as her twenty years old body could afford it. She silently prayed Seyyon to give her strength a bit more. She was not an idiot to think that she could outrun him. He was faster than her. She could only imagine that he was enjoying the thrill of the hunt, as he was not upon her yet.

She forced her senses to stay alert. Not for the first time she trusted her instinct to guide her. They never let her astray. For now, the only weapon she had was his weakness for the thrill of the hunt. He thrived on it. That was why the higher beings selected him to hunt her.

She felt her body growing tired. Her strength was spent, her senses going dull, her legs were begging for a rest. She knew if she pushed herself anymore, she would spend what was left of her strength.

Looking around her, she realized that she was in a clearing. It added to her advantage. She sat down in the centre of the clearing, one leg crossed to her body and parallel to the ground, while the other was planted to the land. She shook her head and let her raven hair tumble down. She brought her really long hair to her nape and put it in a neat coil. Her left hand flat on the ground, her right hand rested on the leg that was planted on the ground. Her coal black eyes were searching the forest for that man to appear.

If she knew him as well as she thought she did, he would not let this chance to pass. And he did not disappoint her. He came as if he was a storm, and stood before her with his eyebrows high.

She tilted her head as if to ask, ‘What are you waiting for?’

He stared back at her with a smirk, his eyes cold as usual. Like his heart. She was disappointed but was not surprised. Every time, he stood before her, to kill her of course, she tried to see that man who vowed to love and protect her like an older brother over five thousand years ago. But no, he was not there. She was not even sure if he was the same person.

However, deep inside, she knew it was him. The man, who promised that he would love and protect her like his little sister, was the same man standing before her. To kill her, like every time he did in the past.

At last, he spoke, in his cold mocking voice. “Aren’t you going to run any further?”

She smirked, “Did you really expect the daughter of Thamizhannai to run like a coward?”

He raised his eyebrows, his arms crossed over his chest, “Isn’t that what you were doing?”

She couldn’t contain herself any longer. She laughed, throwing her head back. “I lead you here, Thamaya. But apparently, you mistook it for cowardliness” she said, in between her laughter. Both belatedly realised that she used the term for ‘older brother’.

Though she felt uncomfortable, he didn’t seem to be affected. “Don’t think that you can bring that old Thamayan back, Thangai”, he mocked.

She closed her eyes to keep the tears from escaping, “I long since gave up hope for you. So, what are you waiting for? Let’s end it here”

“Oh we shall,” he said, as he drew his sword and charged toward her.

With one swift move, she stood up and removed her dagger from her hip that she had hidden in her person. The sword that was about to strike her was stopped by her dagger. She drew her own sword and started striking him. With every strike she started to move forward, forcing him to take equal steps back.

He managed to block her every strike, but she was desperate. To hurt him at least once. She flipped through the air and sliced her dagger a hairbreadth below his left eye. As she landed her dagger hilt still clutched to her right hand, a drop of blood rolled through its tip.

She smirked at her handy work. Her smirk grew even wider when she saw his cold face grew enraged.

With a cry of rage, he charged toward her. But she was ready for his attack and swiftly blocked him. The moment their swords clashed, she swung her right hand as the dagger cut his neck vein. Blood poured out of his person, but he still stood tall. He swung his sword to her right, but she took the opportunity to drive her sword straight into his heart.

This time he swaggered back with a look of disbelief. His sword left his hand and cluttered on the ground. His eyes that were cold just a moment ago, looked at her with such affection that she nearly reached her hand toward him.

“Mathi” he called her, for the first time in five millennia, “I am sorry”

And he dropped dead.

She stared at his body. The tears poured down her cheeks, as she dropped her dagger and sword and moved toward his dead body. She dropped to her knees, the long controlled tears released.

She didn’t know how she was supposed to feel then. On one hand, she was happy. Happy that the one person, who managed to kill her countless times was dead. That too, by her hands. For the first time in millennia, she killed him.

On the other hand, she was extremely remorseful. She had killed the one person who she loved as an older brother. The one person who had vowed to be there for her forever. Even though he failed to keep that promise, she was ready to forgive him. She was in no place to complain when she failed to keep her promise to always be there for him.

The daughter of Thamizhannai backed on her word. And she has no right to complain.

All of a sudden, all those memories she had of him were starting to resurface again. She tried all her might to keep them at bay, but it seemed that her heart was not ready to listen to her.

She dropped to her knees, her sword and dagger long since left her hands. With her trembling hands, she shook him. But his body was still, already cold from death. His blood now covered her hands. Her palms found their way to her face. Covering her face with the bloody hands, she screamed.

She screamed like it was her own life taken.

It was hell. The moment you realize, the only person you love so much was killed by your hands.

It was hell. Even beyond that.

Why, why, why???

Why was it he, her brother, who protected her, who loved her, who put himself between her and a sword five thousand years ago, has to be the one to be turned against her?

Why?

But she already had the answer. It was the curse.

That bloody curse.

She sat there like that for hours, staring at her once brother’s dead body, with tears running down her cheeks.

With a shattered breath, she stood, picking up her sword and dagger. She doesn’t have much time left. By nightfall, she would fall as well, since their lives were linked.

She turned toward the east and knelt down. She put down her sword and dagger on the ground, on her either side. She joined her hands above her head and looked at the sky. “Devi, here’s my blood. Take it, and bless me to fulfil my mission in my next birth”

She picked up her sword, stood it on the ground, in front of her, with the sharp tip facing up. She then took her dagger, without so much as a blink of an eye, slit her own throat. Her body that was losing its soul, fell straight through her sword.

Mathiyarasi, the daughter of Thamizhannai, committed Avippalli, in the name of Kottravai.

Footnotes:

1. Anaimalai Hills: A hilly area in South India.

2. Seyyon: Ancient Tamil God of Hills.

3. Thamizhannai: Mother Tamil, a normal way the Tamil people refer to their language and culture.

4. Thamayan: Older brother.

5. Thangai: Little Sister.

6. Devi: Refers to Goddess Kotravai.

7. Kotravai: Ancient Tamil Goddess of war.

8. Avipalli: An ancient Tamil suicidal ritual in which a warrior kills himself praying Devi to help his country win the war.

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evangelineartemiasamos · 8 years ago

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Calorn AU Part 3 - Rebels

Note: This is a Red Queen Retelling in an AU. Things are a little more different from canon.

Note II: There's some angsty plot before we get to Calorn again.

Find this on wattpad

Part 1

Part 2

Kilorn POV

Work kept me occupied for weeks before I finally managed to bargain a day off. Or evening, to be exact, as the sun was already setting as I started the trek from Summerton to the Stilts. Walsh had told me she'd spoken to some people, so the news of my current job would find the way to Mare and her family, but I wanted to make sure she knew I was alright. Even more so, I wanted to see her again. We hadn't spoken since I'd left her standing as I walked to Summerton the evening after the mayhem. I felt bad far too long about this, and about Gisa. Mare was my friend, and she deserved better.

Simply said, I missed her. The other servants were nice to chat with and helpful, even Thomas Mayfair who was Prince Maven's personal servant, a young man much more close to his Silver master than to his fellow Reds.

I wondered if Prince Tiberias had hired me to become someone similar to himself, but his approaches, though friendly and more respectful than what most Reds received in the Hall, stayed reserved. Maybe the glares I flashed at him from afar, or my unwillingness to meet his eyes when we were close, were the reason for that. I was glad to avoid him, even when I still wanted to cherish the one night we'd spent as two young men, almost like equals.

The sky was dark, with black clouds promising rain creating an early twilight. Despite the long walk, my pace quickened as I came closer to the Barrow house, only waving to the villagers recognizing me in my stride. I grinned when I saw Mare sitting in front of her home.

"Mare!" I shouted, "it's me, I'm back!" She lifted her head but didn't return my smile. No, as I stopped three paces in front of her, all I saw was a girl who had cried for hours.

I fell to my knees, grabbing her shoulders. "Mare, what is it? I'm safe, I'm here. Took me some time, but..."

" ... You're okay ... " she said huskily.

I nodded. "I've got a job in the palace now, and I couldn't come to visit any sooner-"

"I've heard as much, but I couldn't believe it," she replied, turning her face away as she stifled a sob.

"Mare?"

Suddenly, she hugged me, buried her head in my shirt and breathed raggedly. "I'm glad for you," she whispered. "But Shade..."

My heart sank, and fear settled in my stomach. No.

"They said Shade died, executed for desertion."

I couldn't speak.

I noticed Mare stroking my back, comforting me for her own good as well. We sticked together in our grieve and troubles, as we had done for years. But the loss of Shade was nothing to get over with through some jokes and mock rebellion. The hard fist of the Silvers had dealt a fatal blow, taking away the person Mare and I loved the most.

How could I return to Summerton? How could I continue to work for the haughty and brutal Silvers?

We sat there for a long time before Mare pulled herself away, her eyes red but full of resolve - and vengeance. I swallowed, expecting her to scold me for being a servant though I didn't know what to do about that. I dissembled. "I should go greet your family too." Mare nodded as I rose.

I'm leaving her behind again, I thought, yet I went in. I offered my condolences and mentioned my new job, but neither Gisa, nor her parents nor me felt like talking. I asked abut Gisa's hand yet she only shook her head. She was doing well enough, regarding the death of her brother, she implied wordlessly. But I noticed it in her eyes, the tiny flickers of frustration of seeing her future undone, as well as the relief of meeting at least me alive and well.

It had started to rain when I left the house, yet Mare stood straight and determined while the drops wetted her hair. I heard thunder in the distance and Mare let out a coarse laugh. I frowned, but whatever she'd thought in that moment remained a mystery.

"I've always liked lightning storms," she said, turning to me. "Come with me."

I wanted to ask where she was going but I didn't dare, didn't want to pry to hard. She should be okay, as long as I stay with her, shouldn't she? A new, dangerous sense of purpose had taken hold of Mare and in a way, I was proud of her anger. A part of me longed for revenge too, revenge for the friend and brother we'd lost, for everytime we'd suffered because of Silvers. How only serving Silvers saved me from becoming one of their human shields.

We walked right into the forest, despite the lightning brightening the dark sky and the thunder growling above us. I wanted to warn her, but suddenly, Mare stopped and spun to me. "Look", she said and I saw something that I could not believe.

As the storm thundered above us, tiny violet and silver flashes of lightning sprang from Mare's hands.

"Mare, what the bleeding hells is that?"

She grinned bitterly, throwing the sizzling bolts into the trees around us.

"Mare! Please be careful!" Fortunately, she didn't set the woods ablaze, yet she ... created even more electricity between her fists.

This is not an illusion.

"Seems like the SIlvers aren't the only ones who can control the elements," she sneered. "I've found my mean of justice."

As much as the menace radiating from Mare scared me, I felt oddly impressed. Mare had always been better than people thought she was. Even as she herself did.

"What's the plan?" I asked playfully, trying to soften the dire mood, as I was used to do.

"You think I'll run headfirst into the Hall of the Sun, screaming bloody murder?" she retorted.

"No, but - "

"Good thing I already know some rebels." My eyes widerned. "I guess Farley's Scarlet Guard will be thrilled about a girl like me. You know, Shade has been a member too, and so will I. Now, Kilorn. Are you with me?"

I shared her ideas, and I thought about my position at court. I remembered I just got away from fighting in the endless war. But I already knew what I wanted, needed to do. "I'm with you, Mare."

That Farley wasn't waiting for us, as Mare had assumed, but Tristan, another member of this Scarlet Guard was. It didn't make a difference - Mare joined them and I followed. I felt proud of myself to finally stand up against the Silvers. That feeling lasted only for a moment, until Tristan reminded us of our coming tasks, duty, commitment and, most of all, secrecy. He was glad about recruiting me, a servant at court, but not as much as I'd expected. I almost suspected they already had people there yet he didn't tell. Neither was I allowed to know about Mare's role in all this. Tristan's surprise about her ... ability seemed forced, an act, as if he'd known about such people, and I played along. I didn't question him and his group. Despite them popping up in the back of my head, I couldn't bring myself to talk the longer our introduction lasted. Sorrow and pain pierced my heart, because whatever I did, Shade was still dead.

I guess Mare felt the same way though it was revenge that held her up, as relentless as her lightning.

It took hours to walk back to the palace. Mare had offered me to stay at her place - if I wanted to - but I had to be at the palace for my next shift starting at 6:30 am in the morning. I wouldn't get much sleep until then, yet I didn't hurry, despite the rain falling down on me. I was wet to my bones, but I was a fisherman used to clamminess and I didn't give a damn. The cold froze the pain as well, so I didn't need to think about Shade while the sky and the storm were drowning me.

Lights flickered behind me, and I heard the roar of an engine, a sound that become more familiar the more time I spent in the Hall of the Sun. I jumped to the side as the machine, a two-wheeled, strange transport, reached me, but it stopped beside me instead of passing me.

"Warren?" The driver asked me and I had to realize that he was no other than the fire prince Tiberias, just as drenched as me but steaming. I cackled coarsely. Great, just what I need right now.

"Hey, Warren," he asked again. "What are you doing here?"

For a moment, I felt caught. Here I stood, just having pledged myself to the rebellion as the crown prince himself found me. But no, he couldn't have made such a connection just by meeting me, and he gave me the same lost puppy look as ever. As if I could do no wrong, as if he truly worried about me, and he was fucking right.

Only that I would have none of his pity. I wanted to scream at him, blame him, shove him of his bleeding engine. Shade had died because of people like him, Silvers who treated us like dispensable chattel. And the prince was a general too, it was his "job" to send soldiers into death.

But I couldn't say any of that or he would strip me of the job he gave me, or have me conscripted after all. Honesty wasn't an option. Rage wasn't an option.

"Leave me alone!" I shouted instead, fighting my anger against the roar of the storm, still knowing I should add "good night Your Highness," but I couldn't bring myself to do that.

"I won't!" was his answer and he didn't even blink. I did.

"You're freezing in this rain, and it's miles to the Hall, and, ... and ... " eventually, he started to stutter but his eyes didn't leave me. "Let me take you home," he offered and gestured to his machine.

"That's not my home."

"Yes. Yes, of course not." He looked down. "I can't assume what you feel, and probably, I never will. But I want to help you. I won't let you down."

Did he wanted to say that to me the whole time?

"Do you say that to your soldiers too?" I asked back.

Despite the raindrops fogging my view, the shock on his face became crystal clear. There it was, I had hurt him. Did I feel better now?

"You're right," he whispered after several long seconds. "I do tell my soldiers the same thing. Maybe I should not."

"Shade is dead." The words finally left my mouth because they were all that mattered. The fact of his death, not the manner.

Cal didn't hesitate to embrace me and in the end, I let him drive me back.

Neither Cal nor me let ourselves be bothered by those seeing us walking to the prince's chambers, dripping onto the plushy carpets. Thus I came to sit on his couch as he went to fetch some towels. I wondered why he didn't ask for another servant - or let me do it. Apparently, the crown prince of Norta was able to do some things by himself. As I was alone, the doubts returned. I shouldn't have come here with him. I was thankful, but I could not trust him and it was time for me to leave the royal apartment, to get back to my own dwelling. But I was unable to move. I was freezing and shivering and I realized it weren't only raindrops but tears as well that fell from my head.

No. No. No. No.

Just breath in and out, and -

A towel fell on my hair and warm hands touched my cheeks. I didn't need to look up. And I didn't stop crying while Cal rubbed my hair dry.

"Do you feel warmer now?" he whispered. "Do you want some of my clothes?"

His care almost made me smile. I was close to say no, or give another snarky reply, but my power to rage was long gone. What was the point of rejecting his help?

"I'd like a shower as well," I murmered.

The prince's hot hand stroked my shoulder encouragingly. "The bathroom is over there."

For another time, I spent a night talking with Cal, only this time, I was the one with the secrets. That didn't stop me from feeling drawn to him, as I had been this whole time. I wanted to trust him, to tell him about me and to be close to him and he, apparently, desired the same thing. With his identity revealed, he used the chance to be honest with me.

"I'd always known what I had to do, everyone reminded me, most of all the queen. I'll have to marry the victress of Queenstrial, they say. It's the tradition, to honour the dignified alliance of the Nortan crown with the High Houses.

" 'Remember what happened to your mother, Prince Tiberias. She was too frail, but the bride chosen by Queentrial will be the strongest, like she was made for the throne.' Pah." He cackled. "It's so easy to believe in traditions, even for me at times. Don't object, don't rebel, and you will be happy. Even Father says so, as if he ever forgot Mother. It's all pretend, and I know it. I'm not sure if I'll ever fall for a girl, so how does it matter if I marry the one the court has deemed the best choice?"

"But - " I interrupted him.

"Excuse me?" Cal asked, completely unaware about what I thought about his prattling. That no one had to be forced to marry, that he didn't need to make another person live in a loveless marriage. Cal had a brother, there was no need for him to do it - to marry and produce heirs, no matter what.

But those ideas were way to liberal, and logical. "And what does the Lady Evangeline think?" I asked instead.

The corners of his mouth twitched. "She thinks," Cal dragged on the words, "exactly the same as me."

I blinked.

"She doesn't like men either. She has a girlfriend."

I fought the urge to grin.

"Indeed, my dearest betrothed is only in for the power and the fame and family duty," Cal continued. " And perhaps, in ten years from now, after we'd done our task of breeding little royal torches, both of us will present our beloved same-sex consorts."

"Cal -"

"No, Kilorn, just imagine. Eve and me have been made for each other. We understand each other and maybe we'll be the most harmonic couple that has ever ruled Norta. To fire and steel!"

His cynical self-pity was too much for me to bear on top of everything this night.

"You Silvers are stupid," I said, walked close to him sitting on the floor and batted his chest.

"Is that so?" he grinned joylessly.

"Yeah. You have everything, every comfort, supply and luxury but you choose to chain yourselves by silly traditions, rules and bloodlines"

He frowned. "They aren't silly, they exist to maintain -"

"The dominnace over the Reds?" I finished for him and he gaped. It wasn't what he wanted to say. Good. Someone needed ot remind him.

"I assume that is part of it," he admitted. "But -"

"Are you telling me it's a good thing to treat Reds like animals?"

"You have quite a lip, Kilorn Warren," he retorted.

"You can think about that, Your Highness, or throw me out. But don't shut me up. Your choice."

Cal hesitated. I saw his mind working, fighting his wishes. Finally, he took my hand. "I'd be glad to have your insight, Kilorn."

Insight. What a big word for the opinions of an illiterate Red boy like me. I sighed. "Thank you, Your Highness."

"Please continue to call me Cal," he said and kissed my knuckles. I tore away after a few seconds and stood up.

"Good night, Cal. Until next time." I bowed mockingly.

"Good night to you too, and take care. Do you need the day off?"

"Not necessary, Cal. I'm used to hard work"

I lef this rooms behind, as I had left the memory of Shade in the last hour. Being with Cal was like playing with fire, but it was the only thing I could offer to the Scarlet Guard.

Commentary:

It's weird to angst about Shade when you know he's still alive and probably rolling in the sheets with Farley In The Meantime, yet you also realize how real the pain becomes later on Q_Q

I guess my "fuck traditions!" attitude is showing here. I didn't want Kilorn to go history nerd here, but if you think about the Calore queens (if they existed though), you realize they had to assume they wouldn't have Calore heirs of their bodies and thus they had to rely on they male relatives to continue the line, so Cal relying on Maven isn't too far-fetched an idea. Convenience marriages aren't the only option.

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#calorn au #red queen au #cal x kilorn #red queen fan fiction #kilorn warren #tiberias vii #cal calore #red queen fanfiction #calorn #crackship #m/m ship #gay ship #victoria aveyard #my fan fiction

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