#imscaredasfuuuuuuucccc

[through-the-untempered-schism]

Royoza Fan Fic

This is the fault of @Selina_Hypable 

I’m working on getting an account on Archive of Our Own, but since it seems like that’s going to take a few days, here’s da beginning of this crazy fan fic (crazy for me, I don’t do this, K? cool.) that will star the epic love story of Charmaine Diyoza and King Roan of the Anomaly.

(I might be having a little fun making up Anomaly mythology. Enjoy!)

Prologue

The Anomaly [Octavia has left]

“It’s done. She made it through.”

Upon hearing her mother’s words, Hope finally turns away from the green aurora wall, obscuring the life it had just swallowed. She clenches her small fists, and scrunches her eyes close.

Leaves crunch and a warm breath tickles her ear as her mother pulls her in close. “She is brave. She is strong. She will survive.”

Tears squeeze out of her shut eyes as Hope starts to shake. Her small arms encircle her mom’s neck, her breath quickening. “But she won’t be living with us,” she huffs. 

Diyoza’s eyes grow sad and turn inward. Softly, she responds for herself, “No, but she will save us all.”

The anomaly roars its strange roar, and Diyoza picks up her daughter and turns her back to it. It is time for them to face the King.

Chapter 1

Five Days Later

Diyoza sits propped up in the corner of her cell, arms resting on her bent knee, head supported by the bars behind her. Her jaw is loose as she breathes through her parted lips, the taste of stale heat and rusted iron clinging to her dry mouth. Three days she’d been in this cell. There’s no escape. Not from this kind of prison. 

The first day she had paced and plotted. As soon as the blind fold and ropes binding her hands had been untied through the bars of her cell, she turned and grabbed the bars, frantically crying for her daughter. “Where is my Hope? Where did you take my daughter? I’m her mother, tell me my daughter is safe!” 

She played the role of altruistic mother for three hours. Being that the sentiment is completely true, it was not difficult to do. The extended time frame forced the guards to acknowledge some part of shared humanity, that of motherhood. We all come from mothers, and we all understand its bond. Though the guards never moved to acknowledge her words in anyway, she watched the back of the guard directly in front of her door as his muscles began to tense and stiffen his posture for the last hour of her play. She then fell silent for an hour. When she started talking at the end of that hour with a soft, dangerous voice, she saw the shoulders of all 10 guards stiffen.

“I don’t know who you are or where to came from, but I’m going to take a guess and assume you are descendants of Earth, like every other human being I’ve met in my two-hundred and eighty years of life.” Her words were slow and measured, never quickening in passion. “I’m going to assume you read your history books. Which means you know exactly who I am and what I’ve done. On the peculiar chance you don’t know who I am, let me introduce myself. It’s only fitting that I should share my story with my capturers. Even the history books mess up sometimes.

I was born into a family that loved me. But our world was dying. Literally we were clogging the planet with our waste, refusing to clean up after ourselves, or to efficientize our process because “the cost was too high.” Figuratively, we were electing fear and terror as our ruler instead of controlled, logical patience. Tears appeared in the seams of Life’s Portrait, and as we pulled and pulled, the tears began to touch more and more of the portrait and its occupants. Including my family who loved me. When I was 18, my mother was killed during a domestic terror attack. My father and I were the only guardians of my three younger siblings, and my mother had been the breadwinner. My father’s health prevented him from working in any serious capacity. Back then things like an “education” and “viable careers” mattered. They needed those to succeed. So I joined the Navy. Did you know most countries military’s will hand you the world if you just give several decades of your life to its service? Well, mine did. And I was good at it. Really good. I was a three time decorated Navy Seal, doing the impossible for my country, so I might give a life to my two brothers and sister. It worked too...Wistful is not an adjective I ever identify with, but thinking about them, how they took care of each other in secondary school, stayed at the top of their class, got into the best universities around the world...well, it makes me wistful for a time when they were happy. 

Of course the story doesn’t end there - you see, I never got to be a part of their lives very often. My trips home were limited. Killing war criminals is very time consuming. But it paid well. Two had already graduated from their schools, one of which became a big shot accountant at a big and powerful law firm, the other who went into academia to teach and do research at a premier university. The third, my younger sister, became an artist, at the forefront of a group of individuals leading a neo-impressionism movement. Our careers scattered us. But the three of them still got home to celebrate the important things, both big and small. Holidays, birthdays, anniversaries of our mother’s death...they shared those things always. Even so, they always made me feel completely included when I could come. Our familial bond was too strong. 

You’re probably thinking you know how this story ends. My siblings are killed in some event for which my government is responsible. I start up a terrorist organization for revenge. But that’s not the case.”

A furrow appears in Diyoza’s brow, the first crack in her mask, and is gone in a second.

“My name is Charmaine Diyoza. I worked with the United Liberation Army to destroy facist governments like the one that destroyed my country. At the time of my capture, I was the most wanted criminal in the world. They put two bullets through my father’s head for harboring me, and keeping me safe. They saved me when I slashed my own throat. They sent me on a galactic mining trip with hundreds of other unwanted criminals to die. 

I do not just have blood on my hands. There is enough blood to soak my body 100 times over. That is what I was responsible for - until Hope came along.” She finally pauses, a heavy silence settling over the group. “Tell me,” she whispers softly, “what do you think a woman like me would do to save the one who gave me back hope?”

Diyoza stopped and listened to the silence. The only sound was the whispering wind in the branches of the trees. The soldiers made not a single sound, afraid to twitch or so much as breath. Diyoza slowly backed into a corner of the cell, sliding down to sit, her arms propped up on one knee in front of her. A low laugh escaped her lips, and she leaned her head back against the bars, never once closing her eyes.

Day two was their turn to make a move, and she didn’t have to wait long. She had heard the sound of a group approaching for some time now. Her cell was suspended high above ground, nestled amongst branches, with a platform three feet away from the bars encircling her cell on all four sides, leading to the trunk of a tree upon which a staircase wide enough for four people at once circled around and around, until reaching the bottom. It had taken this particular group twenty minutes to ascend. It was the only way up or down from her position.

She had been given no food or water, and the heat was sweltering. The leaved branches at least provided shelter from the sun, but it didn’t prevent the heavy, wet heat that rolled and settled over every inch of her body and clothing. She had moved to stand 15 minutes ago, and her body shook with the effort. But she stood leaning a shoulder against the rods of her cell, one ankle crossed over the other, arms crossed, head tilted, nonchalant superiority radiating from her body. At least she hoped. 

Three of the ten guards stepped aside from the front of her cell to make way for the delegation. No, not a delegation, she decided looking at the knives and swords strapped to their muscled bodies. At the front stood a woman with sun-kissed brown hair, burnt honey skin, and amber eyes. A single sword lay on her right hip, her hand resting on its hilt, but she bore no other weapons like the rest of her companions. Either she is far more deadly than she looks, or she is a royal delegate sent with a dozen soldiers. Looking at the well woven cloth of her garments, still bright in color and in firm shape, she decided on the latter. 

The woman stopped in front of her cell, crossing the 3 feet boundary to stand at her door. She was close enough that Diyoza could see the slight wrinkles on her forehead, and the crows feet at her eyes. Aged, but younger than her own two-hundred and eighty years.

“Charmaine Diyoza, you are hereby notified that you and your daughter are prisoners of the King on account of your actions against the Word of the Stone.” The lion lady’s eyes looked right into her own as she read out the judgment. “The chaos and disorder you have wrought in the few months since your arrival has been considerable and difficult. Under the Laws of the Anomaly, you and your daughter face severe punishment.” Lion lady stopped here, and paused for a lengthy amount of time, enjoying the sight of the weight of her words settling over Diyoza’s traitor frame. 

Diyoza could face any consequence for herself. She already had many times over in her lifetime, what’s one more scar? Except for her daughter. Hope. She had struggled for so long to move on from her blood soaked past, never quite able to stop drowning in it long enough to live. But then she learned of her pregnancy...other humans still lived...she spoke to people who wanted to do better. At first, it didn’t happen. And then we found this god forsaken planet moon with a peaceful society where kids can be kids and grow to be adults with normal problems and a normal life. Until that too turned out to be a lie. Now, she’s here because she knows what she heard, and she will do anything, anything for her daughter. 

A shadow fell over Diyoza’s face as she realizes that as long as they have Hope, she’s fighting with her hands tied behind her back. Still dangerous, but not effective enough to overcome this enemy.

“Hope is receiving the same treatment as you. No human contact, exposure to the elements, and kept without sustenance. She will die by tomorrow if left like that.” Her head tilts, amber eyes gleaming, as she observes her prey, “Though I suppose you could survive a day or maybe even two beyond that,” her eyes dropped to the scar on Diyoza’s neck, “I am sure you’d have no desire to.

The King is willing to spare you and your daughter if you agree to meet and tell him everything you know about the Stone and plans of the Skairipa girl. If you don’t, your daughter will die, and he will get the information he needs from you one way or another.” She straightens her head and reveals a charming smile, sending chills down Diyoza’s spine as she hears the words she says next - “I have no preference for which option you choose.” The smile lingers as she begins to back away. “Simply let a guard know when you are ready to talk, and your daughter will be saved. Otherwise, we will continue tomorrow after her death.” She lightly spins on a heel and walks through her guards to the front of the group to start down the stairs. Diyoza re-evaluates her assessment of the woman being a warrior. 

Diyoza stays standing for another 20 minutes, before allowing herself to slide to the floor, taking up her pose to sit in silence for the remainder of the night.

The sun rose on day three. Diyoza sits propped up in the corner of her cell, arms resting on her bent knee, head supported by the bars behind her. Her jaw is loose as she breathes through her parted lips, the taste of stale heat and rusted iron clinging to her dry mouth.

She knows what she must do. She is trapped in enemy territory, with no leverage or friends on the outside or inside. They have her daughter. She either lives to protect her daughter another day, or dies doing nothing. As she unglues her mouth, moving her tongue to form the words around the cotton its stifled in, she knows she’s making the easiest decision of her life. 

“I will speak with the King.”