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fallingskiesandrisingseas · 2 years ago

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Susan Pevensie comes back from Narnia and tries to forget, not because she doesn't believe in Narnia anymore, but because it hurts too much thinking about what she lost.

In Narnia, she was revered, respected. People wrote songs about her, asked for her hand in marriage. She was with her siblings, and she was free, and she could finally stop worrying about her brothers dying in an air raid. She had a people she protected, a land she ruled, and family to look after. She was respected in courts and battefields alike.

Narnia brought other problems, of course. Not all her suitors were kind about her rejection, and Peter and Edmund were expected to lead armies, which meant they were always in the line of fire. More than once had they come home with grave injuries that took months to recover from, even with Lucy's secret potion.

It is this Narnia Susan vividly remembers just aftee she comes back, a wild and savage land where magic roams free, but evil roams free too. It is the Narnia of eternal winter, of giants and ogres, of Aslan dying on the Stone Table. The Narnia of Telmarines, of dead friends, of failed sieges.

England forces her back into obedience, into a mold. Tells her to behave in a way expected of a young lady. Lucy can stay wild a little longer, but Susan has an education to focus on, men to impress. England tells her she is below her brothers again, should get married and have kids.

So Susan tries to forget, convincing herself that the stiff upper lip, tight collars, kneelong skirts, ridicule from adults when she speaks her mind and forced silence is better than the freedom she had in Narnia.

For that freedom had to be paid for in blood. At least in England her family and friends don't risk dying, not after the war.

She alienates from her brothers and sister further. She tells them Narnia was a game, a fantasy. But the difference in faith is also due tk the way she has to hide how it changed her. Peter, Lucy and Edmund do not have to. The boys write long essays about justice and religion, join the fencing team. Lucy dances everywhere she goes and is known to never wear shoes if she can help it.

But the archery club at school will not accept Susan. Neither will the debate team. Her teachers are annoyed with the fact she never slips up, disgruntled at the fact a woman runs rings around them intelectually. Susan is a young woman after a time of war, and all of society would rather she shut up and do what she is told.

Soon, Susan has new friends, new things that matter. All these adult thoughts she can only discuss with her brothers and sister drive her crazy, and there is no one around that takes them seriously. And so she tries to grow up as fast as possible, get to an age where people listen to her again. She forgets so that she doesn't have to deal with the feeling she was meant for much more, to ease the mourning of all that she lost when she kissed Caspian goodbye.

All the Pevensies start forgetting Narnia slowly, the memories fading. Soon none of them remember the names of their generals at Beruna. They forget the smell of battle, the weight of an iron sword in their hands. But they all still walk as if their crowns are on their heads, and ride horses in a way none of their instructors understand. It takes a while before they are back to their Narnian levels, but it is clear to them someone has instructed them before. None of them can figure out what commands they use, however. Is it western style, perhaps? Or maybe rodeo? They cannot have been taught in England, not with the amount of control they can exert with and without saddles, the sense of balance. Some of their teachers are astonished by their academic growth, but others attribute it to the lax education standards after the war. Susan is sold short most often, but all the Pevensie children suffer from arguments with teachers and attitude problems. Teachers generally don't like it if you behave like you are older or more important than them. It's worse because they are almost never wrong, even though all of them feel the effects that having a teenage brain has on their speed of thought and the coherence of their arguments.

The Pevensies deal with these remnants of Narnia in different ways. Susan becomes an actress. She picks West End over Oxford because the stage is a place she is allowed to be free. And since Narnia, dry textbooks don't thrill her like they used to, while the fantasy concepts of spirits and courts and magic and other things thespians work with entince her all the more. Inside her is a longing to become someone else. She knows where it comes from, but she doesn't want to acknowledge it.

Susan plays a queen often, or a diplomat, or a model. Something about her performances have audiences hooked, convinced she was royalty in a different life.

Remembering Narnia hurts. She scolds someone for being reckless with the stage props while teaching them the correct way for a full minute before realizing the person in question is older than her, and doesn't listen to a young woman. He has the same name as her younger brother.

So Susan forgets. But as she carves her way into the elite of old Hollywood, years later, she begins to remember as well. What it's like to have a voice. How it feels like to have people listen.

When Lucy, Edmund and Peter die in the train accident, Susan weeps for days. She knows what she has lost in them. She is now the only person fluent in their interpersonal language, the only one that still remembers the mating call of the centaurs, what jokes a forest spirit makes. She is now truly alone in the world.

Narnia comes rushing back to her during this grieving period. Eventually, she remembers that she used to have a voice, a crown, lovers of whatever gender she wanted. And also how Narnia would have you pay for freedom in blood. They gave up on that freedom to protect her siblings. only to lose them anyways. Suddenly, Susan remembers how Narnia was fair, how a bargain struck was a bargain kept. She remembers the nymphs, the trees in spring. She remembers the beauty of it all.

Later, when Susan is a grown woman and an arrived actor in Hollywood, Aslan begins returning to her dreams. He never speaks to her, but the sight of him gives her strenght. She was once Susan the Gentle, who accompanied Aslan to his death. It is time she returns to being that person.

After the Stonewall riots and during the AIDS epidemic, Susan is the only actress willing to make a public stand. It costs her 2 box office hits and a 3 month ban from the tabloids. But she remembers justice, and the price of freedom. Others start looking to her for wisdom, just like they did all those years ago. Susan feels her quiet strenght returning, her faith slowly coming back.

She stops wishing she could forget Narnia. The magic that was responsible for the memory faded with time. Maybe it was just to protect her from mourning a world where she was so much more.

When Susan looks at the boys coming back from wars in Korea and Vietnam, she recognizes the look in their eyes. Reflected in their behaviour is a maturity that shouldn't be present in teenagers. The loss of innocence, the unrepairable damage to their childhood illusions. It is a look she spent her twenties avoiding mirrors for, because she knew what it meant. No matter what she told herself then, she believed in Narnia. She still does now.

She knows her siblings are in a different place now, and that she revoked her faith in that place, but slowly, as the years grey her hair and wrinkle her face, she begins to believe she may one day join them there. She remembers Aslan as a kind lion, even if he wasn't a tame one.

She grew old in Narnia once, after all. She hopes to die there.

Once a queen of Narnia, always a queen of Narnia

#my most famous post on here is about the Pevensies coming back to England #here are some more thoughts about it.#narnia meta #the lion the witch and the wardrobe #narnia #peter pevensie #lucy pevensie #susan pevensie #susan pevensie meta #idk this concept of forgetting the other world seems fucked up #prince caspian #character analysis #fanfic #edmund pevensie #susan pevensie fanfic #the problem of susan

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 1 year ago

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𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞

Summary: Captured by Danes as a young child, you never thought you'd escape...until you were saved by a certain baby monk.

Warnings: triggering content (past sexual assault), PTSD, flashbacks, angst, Osferth being a sweetie (aka fluff), crisis of faith, and religious talks

word count | 5.3k🤙🏻

part 1 | part 2

You didn’t remember much before you were captured by the Danes.

You were just a little thing, barely even old enough to take care of yourself. So when your family was killed in front of you, you had no choice but to be subjected to the wills of your captors. You couldn’t run, you couldn’t fight, you couldn’t scream. It was a hellish existence, demons always right behind you, breathing down your neck.

You were forced to grow up with these savages, watching them pillage and murder like they didn’t know how to do anything else. They tried to make you like them, but even as a child, your family instilled such a strong faith in you that to become like a Dane was unthinkable. And they tried to break you, so many times, almost allowing the demons following your every move get closer and closer. But as you made your way into womanhood with still no cracks in your convictions, they decided you were no good for anything but work and…other things.

Getting used almost every day by your captors was the only thing that threatened to break your spirit. They were callous, uncaring about your pain, further proof that Danes were the source of all evil and that you’d eventually die by their hands.

You were always numb; unmoving. To anyone else, you may have looked lifeless if not for the man above you using your body like you were his own personal toy.

Sometimes, you wish to be killed, even thinking about disobeying or fighting back just to have your wishes fulfilled. Most of all, you wished death upon your master. You wished to be the one to kill him. But you were only a woman, inferior, weak. But your spirit was strong, it must’ve been to survive every single torturous exchange by the hands of your master. And that was something no one would ever be able to take away from you, or so you hoped.

One day, you snapped. You actually tried to fight back, but that only got you punished so severely, you didn’t wake for days. After that, you started to wonder, if God did exist, why did He let all this happen to you? Why did He let one of his children be violated each and every day, let you be beaten and forced to do the Danes’ bidding? It didn’t make any sense. You hated Him…you fucking hated Him. You couldn't devote your life to some being that seemed indifferent to suffering. But ironically, it made your existence as a Dane’s slave much worse, now that you had nothing to hope for. No warrior of God would come to save you, no reward at the end of your life, no “well done, my good and faithful servant,” once you got to Heaven.

You completely gave in to your fate, not even bothering to fight back or argue with your masters anymore, thus, allowing your demons to take over.

As the days went on after your loss of faith, the idea of staying in the company of the Danes got more and more unbearable. As your master was using you for his own pleasure for the umpteenth time, you decided that you wouldn’t take it anymore. Taking your own life was thought to be a sin in your religion, but then you remembered, you didn’t follow it anymore. So really, you had nothing to lose.

But then, your master was suddenly pulled away and turned around, blocking the view of the culprit. Perhaps it was another man who was tired of waiting his turn.

Then you felt a splash of something wet. It was red, it stained your dress and skin. Blood. Your master’s blood, you were covered in it. A sword had been pushed through his stomach, all the way until it stuck out his back. Only when he fell to the ground could you see who killed him.

It was a young man, no older than you were. He was wide eyed in panic, his blue irises piercing even in the dim lighting of the room. His eyebrows were furrowed in a way that expressed concern that was directed towards your frozen form. He looked as though he did not know whether to help you or run away, or to cry really. “Are you alright, miss?” He asked as soft as his voice, but you didn’t know how to respond. No, you weren’t but yes, you were, now that your evil master was dead. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise. You’re safe now.”

Safe? What did safe even mean? You’ve never known what it was like to be safe, why would following this man be any different?

“My lord will keep you safe, he is an honorable man.” You looked down from the young man’s face to his chest, seeing a wooden cross hanging loosely from his neck. You could have laughed, the irony was not lost on you, of course. “You don’t have to, of course. But…you’re bleeding. Please, let me help clean your wounds, at least.” He was…giving you a choice? You’ve never been allowed a choice before. He cautiously held out his larger hand towards you, his innocent pleading eyes almost mirroring yours from a long time ago, whereas now yours were blank and cold from years of torture. But seeing his seemingly caring expression, you figured it couldn’t get much worse. Everything horrible that life had to offer had already been done to you.

You were surprised how warm his hand was as you shakingly reached out to it, every other hand that has touched you always so rough and cold, but his weren’t. “It’s okay…” He spoke so softly, you almost had to strain to hear him. You were like a baby deer, him being so afraid to spook you, but he just didn’t know you still had a death wish.

When the Coccham squad came across your little village, it was chaos. Danes, killing and assaulting each other, they had only heard horror stories about places like these villages. Danes weren’t normally like this, Uhtred could attest to that. Danes took care of each other, they never would kill one of their own without reason. At least, that’s how Uhtred saw it. This village you were in, there was no saving them. They had encountered a few Danes from your village on the road, and friendly they were not. They had killed one of Uhtred’s men, and he wouldn’t let that slide.

There were many slaves in the village, you being one of them. Uhtred and his team snuck in and killed every Dane they could find, freeing every slave in the process. Osferth had grown more confident in his fighting skills, didn’t cry every time he killed someone, and the thought he’d be helping people in the process made it easier. Uhtred didn’t feel he needed to be babysat anymore, he trusted that he could take care of himself. So everyone split up throughout the village to cover more ground, and it must’ve been some sort of luck or divine intervention that Osferth found you.

Osferth wasn’t completely naïve anymore, having more experiences with Uhtred’s team in the couple years spent with him than his whole life of being a monk. But when he came upon you being violated by your master, the first thought that went through his head was how could someone do that to someone else? Anger coursed through his veins, an anger that he’d never felt before, a dangerous anger that scared him. For the first time, he felt pleasure in taking someone’s life. The filth that was rutting against you deserved the most painful death anyone could possibly imagine, but Osferth just wanted to save you as quickly as he could, thrusting his sword into the creature’s chest. He didn’t even have time to savor the moment, wanting to make sure you were okay.

You were bleeding, wounds and bruises all over your body. But what was most concerning for Osferth, was the fact that you didn’t seem bothered at all. There was no light behind your eyes, like you were alive but not really living. Which makes sense considering all you must’ve gone through over the years. He didn’t want to scare you, speaking as softly as he could without being inaudible. But you didn’t flinch, not even when he reached out to you. You took his hand without question, and Osferth didn’t know if he should’ve been relieved or even more worried.

Osferth brought you to a secluded part of the village, where no dead bodies could be seen. You’ve probably seen worse, but he didn’t want to subject you to any horrors, even if those dead bodies brought you just as much harm as the man he killed himself. He sat you down gently, near a water well, using the cool water to wash away your master’s blood that mixed with yours.

You didn’t speak as he helped soothe some of your wounds, and he started to wonder if you were mute or simply too traumatized. “I am Osferth. What’s your name, miss?” He asked, breaking the tense silence. But you didn’t answer, staring ahead despondently. Osferth smiled weakly, slightly shaking his head. “That’s alright. You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. Whenever you’re ready.” If you were ever ready, that was.

Osferth led you to where they set up camp just outside your village, sitting you down outside his tent next to a fire to warm you. You looked slightly worried at the man that was cleaning blood off his weapons, but seeing a similar cross around his neck, you didn’t feel you needed to run or fight. “This is Finan, he also helped free your village.”

“Why’d you bring her here?” Finan asked.

Osferth blushed. “I thought…she could travel with us, if she has nowhere else to go. Or if she wants to.”

Finan scoffed a laugh. “Did she tell you she wanted to?” But Osferth stayed quiet. “Uhtred will not be happy about another mouth to feed.”

“Uhtred will understand.” Osferth insisted, not leaving any room for argument, forcing Finan into a begrudging silence.

Suddenly, Osferth heard you let out a panicked gasp, whimpering and pulling out of his delicate grasp. He looked behind himself where you were staring, seeing his lord Uhtred. “A Dane…” You trembled fearfully.

“No, no, no, that’s my lord, Uhtred. He’s not gonna hurt you. He’s a good man.” Osferth tried to reassure you, but your fearful expression didn’t change.

“Osferth?” Uhtred spoke, looking back at you in curiosity.

Osferth placed you inside of his tent and went to Uhtred to push him away to speak with him. “I’m sorry, my lord. But I feel it is best if you don’t let her see you. She’s terrified of Danes.”

“You know I’d never hurt a woman.” Uhtred hissed, offended.

“She…her master was assaulting her when I saved her.” He whispered, Uhtred’s expression darkening. “Please just, let me take care of her.”

“Osferth, I’m sorry, but she’s not our concern. We have to travel back to Coccham and-”

“In all respect, my lord, I don’t care. I wanna help her…okay?”

Uhtred sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, Osferth, fine. But she’s your responsibility.”

“...thank you, lord.”

Osferth grimaced when he saw you flinch when he entered his tent, carrying a bowl of hot soup. “My lady,” He kneeled down beside you, holding out the bowl, “you must be hungry? It’s not much, but it’ll push the hunger pains away for a little while.”

You took the bowl wordlessly, closing your eyes in contentment at the taste. “Thank you…” You whispered, trying your best to give him a weak smile. “For saving me.”

Osferth couldn’t help but blush under your grateful gaze, a bashful smile gracing his own face. “I was only doing the right thing, miss.”

You didn’t speak much throughout the journey back to Coccham, only thanking Osferth whenever he brought you food and drink. Nobody pushed you to talk, knowing only what Osferth told them was enough to try to give you your space. But in the rare times you did speak, you never spoke to anyone except Osferth. He figured it was because he was possibly the first friendly face you had encountered. He saved your life, perhaps it formed some sort of attachment.

Osferth could tell him getting you to join them was a bit of an annoyance to the rest of the group, and the fact you only ever responded to him didn’t make matters any better. But he wanted to make sure you were okay, he wouldn’t be a good man if he just left you back at the village. Though, he felt ashamed, but he kind of liked that he was the only one you spoke to. He decided you just needed some time to get adjusted to a new free life, and maybe a few weeks in Coccham would give you some comfort.

You never expected you’d get to share a little home, having been used to just sleeping on a dirt ridden blanket on the floor, or even having been forced to sleep in a barn with the animals. So that fact that you had your own bed, it brought tears to your eyes, reminding you of a time when you were with people who actually cared about you. Perhaps Osferth was trying to be that for you again, though you didn’t know how you felt about sharing a house with him, even if for a time until your own house was made should you choose to stay.

Even though you didn’t have much, you found yourself unpacking what little you had and placed the various things around your new room just to distract yourself. You never had a room to decorate before, you immediately thought of plants, flowers that could survive in the winter. Pansies, which you remembered being your mother’s favorite.

You looked down at your hand, clutching the only thing you had left of your family; a small amber gemstone. You had done everything you could to keep this with you over the years, hiding it from your masters where they would never find it. But now that you’re free of them, you have no use to hide it anymore. You thought it would look nice on your own small mantel in your room. Turning around towards your mantel, you froze when you saw Osferth standing in your doorframe, leaning against the wall. “Settling in okay?”

You nodded meekly. “Yes.” You whispered, ignoring the nerves in your gut and walking to place the amber on the mantel, unwanted tears coming to your eyes at the sight, wiping them away before they even had a chance to fall.

“May I ask what happened to you, miss?” Osferth asked softly, but immediately regretted it when your face fell. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have asked. Please, forgive me.”

You shook your head. “It’s alright…it’s natural to be curious, I suppose.” You paused, clearly contemplating the right action before a pained expression came over your visage. “I’d prefer not to speak of it…” You sighed heavily.

“Of course…I’ll leave you to it then.”

You didn’t know why you had a pang of disappointment when Osferth left, his presence somehow more comforting than when you were alone. You chose to ignore it. Though, it seems like Osferth himself had trouble staying away from you. Whether it was just checking up on you or simply wanting to be in your company, he was practically attached to you from the hip. You still had issues talking to anyone else, Osferth would help you get your point across whenever you needed. Despite his lack of personal space, you were thankful for him. He never let anyone push you to speak, or even try to talk to you without your permission for that matter. He was a bit overprotective, but you’d never experienced it before, or at least haven’t in a long, long time. It was nice to feel cared for, even if you still had difficulty trusting said kindness.

For Osferth, he fell for you pretty quickly. Despite having matured much in Uhtred’s company, his heart was still prone to a sort of childlike wonder and optimism, certain traits like those often getting him picked on by his friends. Though, Osferth never wanted his heart to harden like the company he kept. He never wanted to be a brooding pessimist like his lord, nor use sarcasm as a defense mechanism like he’s seen Finan or Sihtric do so often. He was always taught to be kind to others, not to judge as that’s the Lord’s business to judge. Those traits instilled in him from birth, it was no wonder he always fell fast and hard.

Osferth thought he had been in love several times, from women he had one night stands with to women who politely smiled in his direction…another thing he got picked on about. You were no exception. As soon as he laid his eyes on you, even with the circumstances, he thought you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. And that opinion never seemed to lessen in its sincerity, in fact, it seemed to deepen the more he spent time with you.

The more time you stayed in Coccham, the more your true personality started to show. Now that you weren’t fearing for your life constantly, Osferth noticed you had a decent sense of humor. You would understand his jokes and chuckle at them, still too shy to allow yourself a full belly laugh, but he was more than content with what you managed to give him. Every giggle you made always caused blood to rush to his cheeks…and a little other places, though he felt guilty every time it happened. He never wanted to make you uncomfortable in any way.

Osferth attempted to hide his shock when one day you approached him, asking him to teach you how to defend yourself, but his eyes widened despite his attempts, causing you to shy away but he didn’t let you. He was elated that you wanted to learn, and in all honesty, Osferth would feel a lot more at ease if he knew you could defend yourself.

Osferth still wasn’t the most skilled at combat, everything he learned from Finan, so he figured the Irishman would be the most qualified for the job. But soon into the session, he realized it was the worst idea he had ever had. Finan was serious about combat, never taking it easy when teaching Osferth, he didn’t know why he thought he would be gentle with you. He seemed to overwhelm you pretty quickly, knocking your training sword out of your hands with ease, just to tease you, which you obviously didn’t appreciate. Finan was prone to being a bit aggressively playful, which is tolerated and even enjoyed by some, but it was not what you needed at that moment. Every parry by Finan, who had a constant smirk on his face, seemed to upset you more and more…until something seemed to snap in you.

The dull sword shook in your hands, a feeling of overwhelming panic washing over you. You couldn’t tell why, you were in a safe environment where you knew no one would intentionally hurt you, but as you watched Finan attempt to strike at you with his own sword, you only saw your former master.

You blocked Finan’s blow out of pure instinct and fear, but he only saw it as that you were learning, earning praise from him. “Good.” But it wasn’t his voice, there was no accent that resembled Finan’s at all, nor pitch. It was him. Could you never escape?

Fearfully, like a cornered animal, you swung at the man wildly. No technique or thought behind the blows, all you wanted was your sight to be rid of him. You sobbed and screamed, desperate to escape, desperate to kill. But the man kept evading your blows with ease, mocking laughter filling your ears, spurring you on further in a rage. You felt your blade hit something, and an almost feeling of relief washed over you, but it wasn’t enough. You barely could sense your surroundings, up until you felt a pair of arms wrap around you.

Osferth was frozen as he watched the interactions, unsure of the best decision and terrified of making the wrong one. It was clear you weren’t there anymore, not really, your mind forced back into the state you were before you were rescued, but no one else clued in on it. Not even Finan, who he figured was just playfully excited that you were being more aggressive, making the training session all the more worthwhile. But Osferth saw the frightened look on your face, immediately telling him that something was wrong. He finally made a move when you had almost connected your blade to his neck, if it had been a non-training sword, would have the capacity to cut Finan’s head clean off.

Finally, Finan seemed to sense something was wrong too. His laughter stopped and his expression fell, realizing that you were actually trying to hurt him. He hesitated for the briefest moment, but that was enough for your sword to actually connect to his body. The dull blade hit his shoulder, your fear seemingly amplifying your strength, making Finan fall on the cold ground. “Hey, hey, hey-!” Finan started to shout in a panic as you surged forward, your sword raised above your head, prepared to strike. But Osferth came to Finan’s rescue, and yours too.

Osferth wrapped his arms around you, ripping the sword from your hands quickly to prevent further injuries. You flailed about, screaming to the top of your lungs, demanding he let you go. But he knew he couldn’t, not when you were like this, a danger to others but most of all, yourself. All he thought to do in the moment was whisk you away, back to your shared home. “I thought this was only supposed to be training, lass, not an actual fight!” Finan called out angrily.

“Don’t.” Osferth called out sternly, shocking the Irishman and the rest of his friends.

Osferth tried his very best to use soothing words to calm you down as he walked you back to your home, guiding you to your bed and repeating that you were safe. Whatever you think you saw wasn’t real. Once you realized you were indeed safe, you clinged onto Osferth, your arms tightening around his shoulders, not allowing him to leave your side, not that he ever wanted to. He’d stay by your side forever if he could. But you settled, slowly releasing him from your grip, your expression bashful and ashamed; Osferth could already tell where your mind was at.

“I don’t know what happened…” You whispered, your voice cracking. “I-I was fine one moment and then…” You whimpered, huffing angrily, willing yourself not to burst into tears again. You relaxed again slightly when Osferth ran a soothing hand up and down your back, his presence more than comforting. He started to feel…like a safe space. “I kept seeing him…in my mind’s eye. The image wouldn’t go away and I felt like I was back in that village, back in his house and forced to-” You quickly cut yourself off, not sure if you were even ready to say the words out loud.

Osferth shook his head, grabbing a hold of your hand and squeezing gently. “You don’t have to say any more.” he reassured. “You’re safe here. No one's ever gonna hurt you again, not while I’m still breathing. One day, all those memories will become so distant they’ll be like a dream. It won’t hurt as much anymore. Time heals all. You’ll see.” Your gaze was so transfixed onto him, Osferth thought the skin of his cheeks would burst from all the blood that rushed to them. His own gaze fleeted from your eyes to your lips, over and over again on a loop, his own lips tingling with the thought of how easy it would be to just…lean forward and make that connection.

But no, Osferth respected you too much. He’d never push your boundaries, nor with anyone, but especially not with you. He tried to ignore your confused expression as he quietly excused himself, stating that you should find rest, leaving your bedroom in a hurry, retreating to his own room to steady his rapidly beating heart. Maybe it was a mistake to have you living with him…

Even after your first lesson not going the way you planned, you still wanted to learn to fight. Finan, unsurprisingly, was more than hesitant to teach you again, so it was up to Osferth, not that he minded. He let you take a couple days to gather yourself, recover, for it was best to train with a clear head. Unlike Finan, Osferth went more easy on you, giving you a fair challenge but not babying you. You seemed to have more fun with Osferth’s training style, a determined smile on your face never falling during that first lesson. He figured you appreciated his style, but you just loved being around him regardless of the situation, not that you’d ever admit this. Not yet, at least. And slowly but surely, over the course of a couple weeks, you felt you’d be able to handle yourself with a sword. The feeling was empowering, knowing you’d be able to fight and hold your own. All thanks to Osferth.

You still had much to learn, but you just had to thank Osferth for all he had done for you. After a training session, he looked so…pretty. Sweat beaded his brow, his chest expanding with each deep breath he took, a proud smile on his face at your progress. You didn’t think before you kissed his cheek, a shocked expression coming over your face as well as his. You almost regretted it until he grinned widely, his eyes sparkling with pure joy, making your heart warm. “Thank you, sweet Osferth, for everything.”

You had finally started to find some semblance of peace with your life in Coccham, mostly because of Osferth. Most of the time, you were content, spending time training with the baby monk being the highlights of the day. You just wished it was always day. You wished the sun never set and the world was never covered in darkness, you started to despise it. You realized that nights were the worst.

Every shadow you might’ve seen, or any twig that snapped under the pressure of various wildlife that were roaming their woods, it always startled you, pushing you to the verge of a panic attack. You felt so vulnerable in the darkness. Constantly. It didn’t help that the company you kept didn’t even try to keep themselves out of trouble, if anything they went out of their way to find trouble. While that might not have been exactly true, your traumatized mind found the extreme in everything.

You could scarcely find sleep with tossing and turning in fear and paranoia that your master would rise from the grave to steal you away again. You’d always finally find sleep once the sun had already started to rise. It was frustrating, you were angry that your mind still tormented you so. You were free now, so why couldn’t your mind comprehend it?

You knew you were fitful in your sleep, whenever you managed to find it. But no one had ever mentioned you making much noise when traveling back to Coccham, until one night.

Even after staying in this new town for over a month now, you still had such bad nightmares in the form of embellished memories, your subconscious making them seem even worse. One particular nightmare had you gasping awake, a scream escaping your mouth as you sat straight up in your bed in a cold sweat, your heart beating so fast you thought it would stop.

Osferth had heard you from across the little house, immediately brandishing his sword to frighten away or kill whatever or whoever dared to hurt you. But unfortunately, Osferth’s sword couldn’t scare away your own mind. “My lady?” He asked, panicking at your state.

You were hysterical, unable to even say more than stuttering apologies. Osferth went straight to you, ignoring the boundaries he set for himself just for you, bringing your shaking frame into his arms to try to soothe you, cooing comforting words in your ears. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s okay now, sweet girl. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

“Osferth…” You spoke in broken sobs, leaning into his touch while your body heaved with the pain of your memories.

“I’m here, love. I’m here.” Osferth’s heart broke for you, just imagining what you might’ve gone through to have nightmares that elicited such reactions from you. It also brought back that similar dangerous anger that rooted itself deep in his heart, making him hold you tighter, his expression hardening and willed anyone who was curious to keep away lest they wanted to be up close and personal with his fists.

After a few minutes of crying onto Osferth’s chest, your body finally started to stop shaking. “I’m sorry…bad dreams.” You stuttered, even though they weren’t just dreams.

“You have nothing to apologize for, my lady. I can’t imagine…” Osferth sighed, choosing not to finish that sentence. “I hate that you are troubled so. Is there anything I can do to make it better?” He moved to pull away, to fetch you water or whatever you so wished, but he was surprised to find you didn’t want to let him go.

“Can you…stay with me?” You asked timidly. “I’ve learned I don’t like sleeping by myself.”

Osferth’s expression softened, settling himself back beside you, placing an arm over your shoulders to pull you to him gently. “Of course, my lady. I’ll always stay with you, if that’s what you desire. Now, try to get more sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake. I’ll have no harm come to you ever again. I swear on the cross.”

You looked up at him, your eyes heavy with exhaustion, but no sleep could come to you when you had so many questions. “Why are you so kind to me? You don’t have to be, but you are.”

Osferth blushed, smiling bashfully. “It’s the Godly thing to do, miss. Treat others that way you’d want to be treated.”

You frowned. “I’ve never been treated with much kindness throughout my life.”

“It shouldn’t have been that way. You deserved kindness and respect, much like anyone else. But the fact that you yourself are still kind and respectful, despite all you’ve been through, is a testament to how strong you truly are, my lady.” Now it was your turn to blush, hiding your face from his view by cuddling into his chest.

“I don’t feel very strong most days, not with my mind so…shattered.” You sighed, fiddling with the cross necklace he wore. “How do you keep your faith, Osferth, when you’ve seen so much death and cruelty in the world?”

Osferth frowned. “I will not say it isn’t difficult, my lady. But all of this has to have some meaning, doesn’t it? If there is no reward after death for our good deeds, why do we bother at all? My faith remains strong because of all the good I’ve seen, in spite of the bad. The ability to be kind towards others, to show empathy, to protect the ones you love…those are all Godly things, innit?”

Osferth shifted, moving to sit up, you moving with him with a curious expression decorating your features as he removed his cross. “Here,” He placed the cross around your neck, the feeling of rough callousness of his fingers along the sensitive skin making gooseflesh rise along your body, “I want you to have this, my lady. Perhaps, let it be a reminder that there is good in this world, even if some days it doesn’t feel like it.”

You didn’t realize it until right then, but you were in love with Osferth.

Don't worry, there's gonna be a part 2. I wouldn't do that to y'all🥰 next part is gonna be even more angst and some smutty smut, so if anyone wants to be tagged for that, just let me know💕

#the last kingdom #the last kingdom osferth #osferth the last kingdom #osferth #osferth x reader #osferth x fem!reader #osferth x f!reader #osferth imagine #osferth tlk #tlk osferth

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concussed-to-pieces · 6 days ago

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Arbiter's Solstice; Part One

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village

Pairing: Eventual Karl Heisenberg/AFAB!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

Summary: There was a soft, liquid sound that you had grown to recognize as him running his tongue over his teeth, but the former lord offered no true reply to your impudent question. Instead, he remarked, almost idly, “do you know what happened to Miranda?”

A/N: I yield, I yield. Had to chop this up into a few parts and start posting them, otherwise I never would have gotten it finished. Welcome to an AU of extreme proportions, featuring multiple of my most favorite tropes in media. Enjoy!

Tag List: @stargazerofgoldenwords @cookiethewriter @crookedmoonsaultpunk @colesterstrudel @spoopyredacted @velvet-paradox @kotall-ohh @katreneebug @missjasmine98 @sunflowers-and-swear-words @savage-rhi @nova-ivy541 @xyaswrlldd @the-videodame @luvley-shadow @akashiiiiii @nerdygirlgamer1972 @problemdawgz

[If you were tagged in error, please let me know and I’ll remove you!]

[DISCLAIMER: The last Resident Evil I played was Resident Evil 1. I have not played Resident Evil Village. I have, as ever, extensively dug into the wiki and other available resources, yet I know I am by no means an expert on the subject matter. I ask only for leniency and your charity in this endeavor, as well as forgiveness for any out of character moments or glaring mistakes. Thank you so much for your interest!]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains gore, mentions of death, canon-typical violence and extreme depictions of mental and physical duress. Stay safe!]

When the elderly Mother Miranda had passed due to an extremely harsh Winter, the Lords had fallen briefly to infighting before partially uniting under the bloody banner of Dimitrescu, much to the dismay of House Heisenberg. There upon the bleak fields of the Heisenberg estate two nightmarish armies had met in a final clash, and the Soldats of Lord Heisenberg succumbed.

For his crimes of attempted usurpery, treachery and deceit, Lord Heisenberg was stripped of his lands and title and confined to the dungeons of Castle Dimitrescu, where he was drained of his previous strength by blood wards and terrible magics. Every year on the solstice since then, a new servant was chosen to attend to him, both a great honor and a devastating burden.

It had always been this or that, and you found that you could endure this.

…

Into a life of servitude you had been pressed at a very young age. Cleaning the floors, setting the table, trimming candle wicks. Once you grew strong enough it turned to bringing buckets of water in from the well for the kitchen or slopping the pigs, oiling the tack and saddles and mucking out the stables.

It had always been either this or that, and while you had survived this long, you knew you hadn't the strength to endure much more of the mistreatment at the hands of Lady Alcina and her…lovely daughters.

Then, you were Chosen. A great honor, so they said, reserved for only a select few. You were, of course, not released from your usual tasks. This was just one more thing for you to manage.

A terrifying lord, a ferocious fighter, The Iron Horse.

You knew the prisoner had been all those things and more, for all that he was incapacitated now. Indeed, the former Lord Karl Heisenberg seemed to linger in a dreamlike half-conscious state, so devoid of the purported verve and brimstone of his past. All that remained of that man he had been (from what you had heard, anyway) was the way he bolted his food from the proffered tray like a hungry vârcolac, hardly pausing to breathe, his unkempt facial hair often matted with the gruel-ridden remains of his meals. Food was the only thing to rouse him from his doldrums, and so it was food that was brought to him.

Every week since you had been picked to become Heisenberg's handmaiden you made the slow, trembling descent to the cell he had been bound to, a flimsy wooden tray in your hands. But it was either this or that, and you could endure bringing gruel-slop to an incapacitated prisoner, the occasional attempts to clean food off his face or blood from his back. At the very least, it kept you out of sight of the other lords for a few extra moments. It was technically safer. Technically.

Until the day when Heisenberg raised his head to look at you.

…

You nearly leaped out of your skin, startled to the point where you dropped the tray. It hit the floor with a loud bang and you crouched for a moment, curling into yourself defensively.

There was a loud snort and you heard the creaking of the ropes that bound him, but you didn't dare to look up. You began fumbling to get the bowl back onto the tray, grateful that it hadn't spilled much. The Lady was more than content to give Heisenberg nothing but the dregs of the kitchen, and sometimes not even that–

You felt hot breath huff out over your head and your hands clenched on the tray. He must have lowered his head again, adjusted himself somehow. A sharp nose nudged the crown of your head and there was a rattling inhale.

“F-Forgive me, my lord.” You stared down at the tray, internally panicking as you watched the bowl begin to quiver due to your nervous shaking. “I did not mean to disturb you.” Truthfully, you had bumped his upper arm with the tray when you stumbled on the uneven, crumbling floor, but he had actually responded to the touch, his head snapping up with alarming speed. Normally the only thing that would get him to move was the bowl placed beneath his nose.

You raised the tray so that he could eat (operating mainly off of muscle memory), and you were horrified when you accidentally caught Lord Heisenberg's gaze through his hair. His eyes felt like they were burning you alive, the intensity of that half-lidded chartreuse stare making you want to flee. Blessedly it was only for the scantest of moments that he studied you, the former lord soon returning to his meal with the dispassionate attitude of a large predator ignoring prey not worth their time. You averted your own gaze, uncertain of the punishment that could be exacted for making eye contact with the Iron Horse.

Heisenberg slurped at the bowl, the meager contents of which began to trickle down his chin and into his wiry, unkempt beard. Once more operating out of habit, you reached forward with a corner of your apron. You often wiped his mouth after he was finished eating, otherwise whatever he ate would mat into the disarray of facial hair he sported. Today however, the former lord’s tongue made quick work of the dribbles before you could even reach them.

His nose grazed your outstretched hand. “Th--ank…you.”

You knew your sudden gasp was rude, but you had also never been thanked once in your life. Servitude was expected, anticipated, demanded of you, why would anyone ever…

It had sounded like it was difficult for him to speak. He had never spoken before, you didn’t even know he could! You needed to respond, you had to say something. You finally managed to whisper, “y-you're welcome, Lord Heisenberg,” your grip tightening on the tray handles.

“Everyone else…” Another long, eternally long pause. It was so long, you wondered whether he had gone back to sleep. “...fears me. Hates me.” Those green eyes met yours once more, and you could have sworn there was the faintest gleam of curiosity. “Not you?”

Your swallow was too loud. You cringed on reflex, frantically trying to think of a response. It was true, most of the other villagers spoke poorly of the former lord. Some would even go so far as to spit when they mentioned him, and the Lady certainly harbored no great love for him. Honesty, you decided, the Lady would want me to be honest.

“You are a prisoner and…and you have not been cruel to me.” Your voice trembled slightly. “I see no reason to be cruel to you.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners and your stomach lurched terribly when you noticed, for he was smiling. “Oh, but I can be. You have no idea the cruelty I'm capable of.” The rasp of his voice lent a horrendous sense of surety to his words; you did not doubt that someone who was a sort of sibling to the other lords could be extremely cruel.

There was another agonizingly long pause. Your breath came quick and sharp. He seemed to be waiting for something from you, much as you didn't want to continue the unnerving conversation. “W-Well, you haven't been,” you managed to repeat weakly, praying that you wouldn't be punished for your blunt observation.

Heisenberg grunted, shifting his weight slightly. After a moment you heard his breathing even out. He had drifted back to slumber, then, or whatever his kind considered as such. You allowed a sigh of relief to escape you, then scurried out of the cell.

…

It was a week later that you made your way back into the dungeons, the tray bearing the usual bowl with various refuse from the week's meals and, safely hidden in your apron pocket, a few precious pieces of venison from dinner's herb-studded pot roast. It had smelled delicious while it was cooking; even now, hours later, your empty stomach twinged with hunger at the memory of the scent.

Being a humble servant you were, of course, not permitted to eat at the Lady’s table, instead subsisting off of much of the same scraps that Lord Heisenberg did. However, you could at least take your items from plates left behind on the table, instead of the kitchen’s slop bucket for the pigs. While they didn't exactly eat, Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters often pantomimed at dining, which led to half-mangled leftovers that you could safely manage to survive off of. The Lady Beneviento and Lord Moreau were the only ones who truly ate at mealtimes, though Lady Beneviento would often painstakingly cut her dinner into tiny bites to feed her strange doll for most of the meal.

When you went to feed Lord Heisenberg, the Lady Dimitrescu would stand over you as you poured the slurry from the bucket into a bowl, watching like a hawk to ensure her ‘dear brother’ wasn't ‘getting more than his due’. It was the most nerve-wracking part of your chores. Too little and she would scold you, “do you want Heisenberg to perish?”, but too much led to you being pitched across the room while the tall woman raged wildly overhead. There was no consistency either; some days you were barely permitted to cover the bottom of the bowl, while others had the bowl overflowing with the foul mixture. You supposed it was all down to the whims of the Lady, nothing more complex than that.

You wiped the sweat from your brow, frowning when you touched a tender spot. For all his simpering, Lord Moreau bore the burden of an explosive temper, the Piscean lord having lashed out at you earlier over a soup that was ostensibly too thick. Perhaps the temper was a family trait? Regardless, you were lucky that you had survived his outburst with nothing but some bruising. You knew many villagers had been torn limb from limb by the troubled lord, so you did your best to avoid garnering his attention for good or ill.

The cell (which was more of an enclosure really, a holding pen made of some sturdy, nearly-black wood) was damp, cold year-round and rarely frequented by the odd stray rat or crow. It wasn't exactly a sealed or watertight environment; the stone walls and stairs were coated with slimy moss and tiny trickles of water from the reservoir. But something about the area seemed to make most ordinary creatures give it a wide berth. Perhaps it was a combination of the smell of blood and the wards carved into that strange wood? You tried not to dwell on the subject, finding that the longer you thought about it, the more your skin crawled.

“My lord?” You called your usual greeting, grateful when he stirred at the sound of your voice. Some days it was harder than others to rouse him to consciousness. “Your meal, Lord Heisenberg.”

Just as he always did, Heisenberg hungrily tucked into the slop. While he was thus preoccupied you cautiously took one of the pieces of venison you had procured from the table and slipped it into the bowl with a soft plop. Despite your attempt at stealth the former lord seemed to immediately take notice if his sudden pause was any indicator. Again that stare was leveled at you, drowsy eyes somehow still managing to pin you in place.

“Where–did you get that?”

You hadn't expected him to speak to you again. You took a moment to recover from your shock, eventually getting out, “th-the dinner table, sir.”

His only response was a wordless grunt, the man quickly digging his teeth into the bloody, herb-laden bit of meat. A soft groan escaped him as he swallowed and you couldn't help the flush that heated your face, fixing your attention pointedly on the tray in front of you.

“I have more for you. I've already eaten.” You lied rapidly before you could think better of it, fishing around in your apron pocket for a moment. Heisenberg's expression, what little of it you could see through the curtain of his hair, had gone wary. Yellow-green eyes drifted sluggishly from your outstretched palm to your face, then back to your hand. “If you don't eat it, it will go to waste.” You insisted, trying for a reassuring smile.

The ropes binding him creaked suddenly. He lowered his head and you felt cracked lips, sharp teeth and a warm tongue barely graze your palm, then he was withdrawing to devour in peace. You exhaled as subtly as you could, trying your hardest not to seem terrified. Why on earth had you offered it to him in your hand?! He wasn't some tame beast, he was Lord Heisenberg! You were incredibly blessed to still possess your fingers.

He had left one piece in your hand. You looked up, confused, but he had already buried his face in the bowl anew to finish off the last of the slop. Nervously you tucked the final bit of meat into your mouth, chewing it slowly to savor it as much as you could.

“Thank you.” The lord's voice sounded slightly stronger, much to your surprise.

“O-Of course, m-m-my lord.” You stammered, trying and failing to keep your tone from squeaking.

The ropes hummed slightly under the strain of Heisenberg's motions, the man adjusting his legs beneath him until he was nearly able to stand properly. He loomed over you, still hunched somewhat, grunting in what seemed to be effort. You pressed your back to the wood behind you, bracing yourself for whatever might come next.

His nose brushed the bruise on your forehead and you flinched. “Moreau.” The animosity in his tone made you want to crumple, for all that it didn't seem to be aimed at you. The man inhaled, the subsequent growl coming from his chest. “-and the colossal bitch.”

“My lord–” you attempted to protest, assuming he must mean the Lady Alcina.

“Dinner was exquisite.” Heisenberg said abruptly, his eyes looking more alert than they ever had to your memory. “I'd be honored if you'd join me again next week.” His voice still sounded ragged, but he no longer had to pause between words.

Your knees shook beneath you but you managed a nod. After all, you didn't have much choice. You had to bring him his meals, otherwise it was back to Alcina and her spawn. It was always either this or that, and you could handle this.

Probably.

…

Sneaking Lord Heisenberg bits of unspoiled food from the dinner table became normal over the following weeks as the spring-gray valley shifted into the forest green of summer. Discarded chunks of meat and gristle, bits of bread, fruits that were a touch too ripe to catch the fickle attentions of the ladies of the village…Lord Heisenberg accepted every meager offering you managed to provide with a rough sort of gratitude, always inclining his head even if he didn't manage to speak. Talking seemed to tax him greatly, though certain days found him nearly alert, and he was not so prone to drowsiness as he once was.

“Where are you when you aren't bringing me my dinner?” He queried unprompted one evening, glancing up at you.

“I…” you hesitated. The man obviously bore no fondness for Lady Dimitrescu, perhaps you ought to lie about your usual occupations? Nothing good ever came from being untruthful, though. “I tend to Lady Alcina and her daughters.”

He grumbled, “That explains the smell.” While you were trying to decide whether you ought to be offended, the former lord shook himself bodily. His arms, bound to the wall behind him by those strange ropes, made a few distressing cracking noises and he grunted, this time sounding pained. “Can you–my back is…” he trailed off, trying to straighten up.

“Oh, of course.” You placed the tray down, pausing uncertainly by his shoulder. He had evidently been whipped recently, his back covered in half-healed lash marks. The tattered remains of his shirt were stuck to a few of the wounds and so you gently peeled it free, assuming that was what he needed in order to make himself more comfortable.

“Thank you.” His mouth was right next to your ear when he spoke, causing you to flinch at his husky whisper.

“W-Whatever you need.” You mumbled, keeping your eyes on the floor while you retreated. You weren't certain what then possessed you to ask, “does it…does it hurt when she does that to you?”

Overhead, a crow that had been pecking at the bars cawed loudly, the sudden noise making you start. There was a soft, liquid sound that you had grown to recognize as him running his tongue over his teeth, but the former lord offered no true reply to your impudent question. Instead, he remarked, almost idly, “do you know what happened to Miranda?”

Miranda. Mother Miranda? “She…we lost her to the winter. It was a-” your brow furrowed as you tried to recall what Lady Alcina had called the illness. “-pneumonia?”

Heisenberg roared; it took you several terrified moments to realize that he was laughing hard enough to make him wheeze. The crow took flight in a frightened rush. “Pneumonia, that's a fucking riot.” He finally snorted, shaking his head. “As if that old hag could be taken out so easily.”

“Don't–!” You began to protest before your brain caught up with just who it was that you were speaking to. Those strange yellow-green eyes leveled at you, as if he was daring you to continue. “Don't speak about her like that.” You finished, your voice barely a whisper.

“Were you even born when all that happened?” Karl sounded incredulous, but not irritated. Heartened, you shook your head, only to be battered by his harsh tone a moment later, “so you know exactly fuck all.”

“I know what I've been taught,” you replied tartly, “just like everyone else. Lady Dimitrescu is very thorough with our histories.”

Heisenberg rolled his eyes, looking for all the world like a sulky teenager. “As I said. Fuck all.”

You jerked upright, seizing the tray and marching out of the cell with the sound of the former lord's half-crazed laughter ringing in your ears.

You wanted to be infuriated, you wanted to be upset at his insinuation. But…

What could he know about Mother Miranda's death? It was true, you hadn't even been born when Miranda had passed. All you knew was what you'd been told by the Lady, what you had read in the histories of the castle.

What did Karl know that you didn't know? Was there more to the story than what you had been led to believe?

…

As the summer solstice drew near, preparations began to get underway for the annual festival. With the extra work you were hard-pressed to bring Heisenberg his meals in a timely manner, often stumbling down the stairs exhausted well after the sun had set.

The former lord seemed to regress somewhat as the solstice approached, no longer raising his head when you visited and simply waiting for his food with a vacant expression. Not that you were looking at his face! Absolutely not, you knew better than that. You simply assumed, that was all.

One evening you tripped on your hem, taking a nasty fall at the bottom of the stairs that knocked the wind out of you. Tears welled up in your eyes while you laid there on the hard-packed dirt, your scraped elbow resting awkwardly against the wall. A quiet little hiccup made its way out and you heard Heisenberg stir in his cell, the ropes creaking much louder than you expected.

“You–alright?” He called, voice grating harshly. “Anything broken?”

“Fine, I'm fine.” You grumbled, mainly to yourself, wiping the tears that had managed to escape. “Just winded.” You rolled over, moving to try and collect the tray and its spilled contents. Luckily the bowl had sloshed over onto the tray itself instead of the floor, and the prize in your pocket was unharmed. You breathed a sigh of relief, getting to your feet.

A low, raspy chuckle issued from the imprisoned man. “That's the first time you've talked to me like I was a real person.” Terrified by your momentary lapse in propriety, you tried to stammer out an apology. “Nothing wrong with it, sweetheart. If anything…it's a comfort to know I'm human to you.”

Sweetheart. A casual endearment, a kind way of addressing you. You were flushed immediately, continuing to stutter as you tottered your way across the floor. “U-Um, with dinner, I…” you finally paused, pulling free the precious loaf of herb-infused bread. “I found this. F-For you.” You knew the lie was weak, you knew he knew exactly where you'd gotten the bread. You had taken it directly from the ovens, wrapped it in a napkin and snuck it out before setting the table for the evening meal. It was your first and only act of true thievery, and you just prayed that no one would notice its absence. You didn't think you would survive that beating.

The former lord's eyes met your own and your heart started to hammer in your chest the longer he stared. He had never made such prolonged eye contact with you. It was terrifying, but…you didn't want it to end, either. Confused, you attempted to ignore that desire and instead tore a small piece off the loaf, extending it to him in the palm of your hand. He had never expressed any annoyance with your odd behavior and so you had persisted, but today…

Heisenberg's eyes narrowed. For a moment he reminded you of the animal you had once seen him as, the man refusing to break eye contact as he leaned down to eat from your palm. You chose to avert your eyes, more than a little bewildered by how you felt. His teeth delicately latched down onto the bread and you immediately retreated to pull off a fresh piece, the herbs staining your fingertips green as you did so. You were startled when he licked your fingers next, instead of simply taking the bread as he had before. Without intending to, you let out a surprised little squeak.

The lord’s eyes shot back up to your own and, while you couldn't precisely tell through the thick, matted facial hair he sported, you were almost certain that he was smirking at you. “What's wrong? Afraid I'll snap them off?” He chuckled. Truthfully you had actually considered that and he must have noticed the shudder which ran through you, because he quickly continued, “I'd be an idiot to bite the hand that feeds me, sweetheart. Especially after you've been so…accommodating.”

“I don't-” you paused, debating on just how brave you wanted to be. “Why does she keep you down here?”

“Fear.” Heisenberg's teeth flashed while he chewed his next bite. “I'm strong, even like this. I'll tear her throat out and she knows it.”

You balked. “You would fight the Lady?”

Lord Heisenberg shrugged as best as he could manage. “Why not? Something to do, right? Maybe I'll have better luck this time.”

This time.

“How many–”

“Can I get some more of that bread?” Heisenberg interrupted before you could finish your question, his attention fixed pointedly on the remainder of the small loaf in your hand.

“Oh! Of course, I'm sorry.” You pulled off another piece and gave it to him, marveling slightly at the docile way he ate it out of your palm. It was thrilling in a way, like gaining the trust of a skittish creature. You doubted he would be fond of the comparison, though. He didn't strike you as the docile type despite his current state.

“Alcina and I were close once, you know.” Heisenberg continued to chew the bread almost meditatively after he spoke, leaving you to await his next sentence with baited breath. “I was loyal to her, if you can believe that.” The former lord's expression darkened. “A faithful little mongrel.”

Your heart sank. “What happened?”

He didn't deign to answer you for several minutes. You had all but given up hope for a response when he spoke next. “Ambition.” The word was sneered, derision dripping from every letter. “Alcina didn't want to kill sweet, helpless Mother Miranda herself, but she sure as hell could get someone else to do it.” Karl’s sigh echoed in the cell. “And get someone else to take the fall for it when the old witch turned up dead. Pneumonia,” he scoffed, “she's sanitizing. That bitch and I both know what happened that day, and we both know why she went after me so hard.”

“To keep you under her control?” you ventured timidly.

Heisenberg's grin was full of more teeth than you'd like, most of them stained a dull green from the herbs in the bread. “To keep me from ripping her apart for her betrayal.” He clarified, his tone an odd singsong. “You should have heard what she promised me, that Amazonian fuck. My own village out of the valley, my own dominion, freedom. And like a blind fool, I…” He trailed off, his burning gaze going vacant.

“You believed her.” Now this, you could sympathize with. The Lady Dimitrescu had always been cruel to you, but it was the occasional softening of her tone, the honeyed promises she would make and break to you and the rest of the servants… ”I'm sorry.”

The former lord bared his teeth again. “I won't make that mistake again,” he hissed. “Someday, someday–she'd better watch that enormous back of hers.”

“Why does she whip you, then? I feel like that's…er, not intelligent.” You tried to be delicate, the guilt from speaking poorly about the Lady pricking your conscience.

Heisenberg lolled his head in your direction. “Blood, sweetheart. She's in the wine business and I guess my affinity for my…gift makes me a pretty decent vintage. Almost as good as her sweet little virgins.” The former lord stared at you thoughtfully for a moment, then closed his eyes. He abruptly seemed exhausted, his body going slack in his binds.

You took that as your cue to leave, carefully retrieving the tray and rising to your feet. As you turned to depart, however, Karl spoke up once more.

“Keep coming back to me, will you?” He requested, his voice soft. “We don't have much longer.”

Your brow furrowed in concern, but you nodded obediently.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, you were surprised to find Lady Beneviento's favorite doll, Angie, propped up in the corner of the landing. “Now how did you get there?” You mused aloud, wiping your hands clean on your apron before you carefully picked the doll up. Angie's eyes, as ever, seemed to follow your every move, and you couldn't help but marvel at the skilled craftsmanship that permitted such an illusion. “I'd better get you back to Lady Beneviento, little miss. No doubt she's missing you.”

Later that evening once you'd bedded down for the night, you found yourself tossing and turning despite your exhaustion.

‘We don't have much longer’. What could he mean by that?

…

Apparently what he meant was that you would be an integral part of the binding ritual on the solstice. You had always assumed (perhaps naively) that Lord Heisenberg's handmaidens were reassigned to serve in one of the lesser houses after their year of service, but now the whole horrible truth was being laid out neatly in front of you.

Sacrifice, human sacrifice. A handmaiden every solstice to keep Heisenberg bound, virgin blood spilled by the House Dimitrescu as was their want.

You had been dragged from your bedding in the lightless hours of predawn, barely aware of what was occurring before a burlap sack was thrown over your head and you were struck hard enough to lose consciousness.

You drifted in and out, the burlap difficult to breathe through. Someone was moving, shifting, carrying you for what seemed like hours until suddenly, freezing cold stone met the backs of your legs. You jolted to full awareness at the shocking chill, realizing as you did that your legs were bare to the knee and whatever you were wearing was not what you had worn to sleep.

The sack was torn from your head and you immediately darted your eyes around, fear and panic welling up as you realized you had never seen this room before. Some secret chamber in the bowels of Castle Dimitrescu, if you had to guess.

A marble altar beneath you piled high with dead branches, shallow channels etched into the marble flooring, and…

And the former Lord Heisenberg kneeling beside the altar, his head bowed and his hands bound in front of him.

You barely had the time to ponder that curiosity (why on earth would someone tie Heisenberg's hands in front of him?) before your attention was redirected to your own predicament. Your arms had been secured at the wrist and elbow, hands folded at the small of your back. From the ache of your muscles at the unnatural position, you could assume you'd been bound for a while. You were quickly realizing, to your dismay, that you were hardly clothed. Your normal garb had been replaced by a thin stained shift, only just long enough to brush your knees.

“Awake, awake, awake,” came the reedy voice of Lord Moreau, and his large, damp hand clumsily brushed your cheek. “Finally awake! Little morsel, l-l-little treat.”

You were unable to hide your revulsion, flinching back from his touch. The Piscean lord looked momentarily teary, but he quickly mastered himself and rewarded your lack of manners with a sharp blow to your face. The strike sent you tumbling off the altar, your shoulder meeting the marble with a hard thud. You bit your lip, willing yourself to stay quiet. It was always worse if you gave a reaction.

There was an infuriated-sounding gurgle and then Moreau was seizing your arm hard enough to make you cry out, the lord dragging you to your feet and tossing you back onto the altar as if you weighed nothing at all. “Be silent, be silent, Alcina trusted me with this.” He spoke half to himself, his webbed hands roiling over one another while he paced. “She's so busy, so busy, she trusted her favorite-”

“That super-sized bitch wouldn't trust you to wake up in the morning.” Heisenberg groaned. “This is sloppy work, Moreau. We've never done a pyre and the branches aren't even dry, you stupid fuck.”

“Don't call me that!” Moreau shrieked, his voice breaking. “Mother said-”

“Miranda's dead,” Karl interrupted him flatly. “She's dead and nothing that any of you do will bring her back. That old hag is rotting where she belongs.”

Moreau burbled wordlessly, clutching at his head before wailing, “stop saying those things about Mother!”

“Dead. Old. Bitch.” Heisenberg sneered, the former lord finally managing to kneel upright properly so he could glare at his ‘sibling’. Moreau quailed momentarily, watery eyes flicking in your direction.

“You…you have helped him!” He accused you, the piercing whine of his voice making you wince. “What have you done? Tell me what you've done!” Those webbed hands wrapped around your throat in an iron grip, the lord dissolving into gibbering hysterics while he began to choke the life out of you.

You knew full well that Lord Salvatore Moreau could easily have snapped your neck, but he seemed to have slipped into some kind of irrational madness. The knowledge did you little good, however. The reality was that you would die all the same whether he strangled you or broke your neck. As he shook you, you wondered whether anyone in the kitchens would even notice you were gone. Your hands clenched in their binds, more of a reflex than a true attempt to free yourself, but you managed to swing one feeble kick out at Moreau's side. Naturally, the aquatic lord entirely ignored it.

“Moreau!” Heisenberg's tone sounded strangely urgent when he barked the other lord's name. “If you kill them now, you'll fuck up Alcina's plan!”

Salvatore started, his grip easing minutely. “And you'll get free.” The naked fear in his voice cut through your rattled senses. Heisenberg's response was a low, guttural snarl. “I cannot fail.” Purpose and surety seemed to be breathed anew into Moreau's hideous form, the lord hurriedly lurching away to acquire a torch from a nearby sconce.

As soon as his back was turned, Heisenberg caught your eye. The man jerked his chin to the side, indicating the direction of the door to the chamber. Run, he seemed to mouth, but between your current disorientation and his tangled facial hair you were unsure. You shook your head all the same, confused and scared by the ferocity his face took on afterwards.

Karl leaned forward, bared his teeth and snapped them at you. Run, now!

You tried to stand and the uneven pile of damp branches beneath you gave way, toppling over and half-burying you in the process. Moreau made a noise of distress, shambling back towards you with a torch in hand. “What h-have you done, oh what has happened?” He asked in dismay. “All my hard work–and the solstice-! You keep ruining everything!” The lord raged, his temper seeming to flare once more. “I cannot allow-”

Clang!

The noise echoed sharply off the walls, making Moreau jump. All you could see from your awkward vantage point was that it looked like one of the sconces on the wall had given way, dumping a torch onto the chamber’s floor. The misshapen lord huffed out angrily, throwing down the torch he'd carried onto the pile of sticks by your leg.

You frantically tried to get away from the guttering flames, the dampness of the surrounding wood your only saving grace at the moment. Moreau giggled softly to himself, obviously enjoying your panicky struggle before he sauntered off towards the newly-downed torch.

Another metallic noise rang out further down the hall, but you were so intent on escaping the smoking nest around you you didn't bother looking up to see what had made the sound.

Moreau, on the other hand, released a frustrated bellow and shambled off faster.

You finally managed to roll away from the majority of the embers, the torch dying a slow death smothered by soggy, green wood. Sticks stabbed and poked into your stomach and back but you continued, doggedly kicking free of the limbs after several fitful moments.

Karl was abruptly over you, his hunched form blocking whatever meager light the torches provided. “Still.” He breathed, his voice barely a whisper. “Be still.”

You obeyed, halting on your side. The former lord bent even further, supporting his weight by planting his fists on the floor. Something whipped past your ear and then there was a bright, vibrant pain in your right upper arm. Heisenberg cursed under his breath when you gasped out, the man’s eyes darting to your own.

Your hands were suddenly loosed of their bonds, and you did your best to refrain from groaning as pins and needles surged down from your shoulders to your fingertips. Curling into yourself, you took note of the fact that a small cut now graced your upper arm.

Karl grimaced. “I missed.” After flexing your fingers experimentally, you reached forward and dug your nails into the thick, rust-stained rope that was wrapped around his wrists. Heisenberg jerked back, obviously spooked by your speed. “Won't matter.” He muttered, but he also didn't try to pull away again.

You struggled with the knots, wiping rusty-maroon flakes off your sweaty palms over and over again in an effort to secure a better grip. Finally, you managed to weasel your index into a tight loop, coaxing it into loosening.

You felt Karl exhale hard, his breath ghosting over the top of your head. However, with your bare knees pressed to the cold marble floor, you sensed her approach before you truly heard it. “The Lady.” You whispered, horror seizing your body in that familiar vise grip.

Heisenberg fell over himself in his effort to retreat, the man again indulging in a prolonged exhale of expletives. Lady Dimitrescu's voice echoed down the hall, “--you know I don't have much time Salvatore, and you promised me you could manage this…”

“I can! I can, o-of course I can.” Moreau sounded nauseatingly frantic, wet footsteps following in the wake of Lady Dimitrescu's stately heels. “I just needed a bit more…a little b-bit more time, that's all. They are not cooperating.”

“Dear, sweet Moreau, why would they? Humans are terrified of getting their heads cut off.” Alcina's words were said kindly, but you felt like you'd been punched in the stomach.

Karl hung his head from his spot on his knees, continuing to pepper the tepid air with his whispered bouts of inventive profanity.

You turned your gaze to the hallway, a shudder running down your spine as the Lady Dimitrescu and Lord Moreau entered the chamber. Dimitrescu began clicking her tongue, seeming disappointed. “Salvatore, what is all this debris?”

“A pyre!” You couldn't believe it when the lord pulled himself up and puffed his chest out proudly. “To burn the sacrifice.”

Alcina rubbed her temples.

There was a flash of movement and Moreau sailed through the air, crashing headfirst into the floor with a dull crunch. “Well, now that that's managed.” The giant woman remarked cheerily, stalking towards you. “Afraid I don't have the luxury of time on my side, so you'll be going to your grave with questions unanswered.”

You were wrenched upright, feet momentarily leaving the floor with the force of the motion. While you were grateful to be wholly free of the prickly limbs, you knew you were now even further from safety than you had been with Lord Moreau.

“Greet my dear brother, won't you?” Lady Dimitrescu cooed in your ear, her nails digging into your shoulders like talons.

You winced, trying to muster up the ability to speak. Your mouth was so dry. “Lord Heisenberg-” You managed to say, but you were cuffed across the head by Alcina without warning, the blow crumpling you to your knees once more.

While you attempted to stand again Lady Dimitrescu chided you, her tone that of a fondly exasperated parent. “Little one, you know my dear brother was stripped of his title. He is just Heisenberg, just my silly brother.”

“I apologize, my Lady.” You breathed, bracing your aching forehead momentarily on the freezing marble flooring. “Please forgive my mistake, I had no intention of offending. I simply did not know how to address the L–how to address him.”

“You should not be addressing him at all!” Alcina snapped, her wrathful eruption making you cringe. “You were to bring him his sustenance and leave. You were not supposed to make idle conversation and dawdle with this pathetic–miserable–!”

“Shut your fucking hole!” Heisenberg shouted abruptly. You dared to sneak a glance in his direction and he was glaring at Lady Dimitrescu, his expression so decidedly full of hatred that for a moment, you were unsure which of them scared you more. “Every damn year we go through this. Just get on with it already, you colossal-”

Alcina's pointed shoe buried itself in your ribs, the towering woman kicking you aside as if you weighed nothing at all. Your stomach ended up crashing into the top of the altar and you fought for breath, vision graying at the edges while your fingers clawed for a grip on the smooth stone. Through the remaining tangle of branches you felt an ornate handle, and you clutched down on instinct as you slid back off the altar to the floor. A blade met your eyes when you furtively glanced down, the sharp edge blackened with some sort of strange patina, but you didn't exactly have time to ponder the object for the Lady was speaking once more.

“I've heard tell, Heisenberg. The kitchen maids have mentioned spotting your little lamb sneaking food.” The Lady hissed. “Sneaking it to you, to poor, poor Heisenberg.”

“No.” The former lord retorted flatly. “Whatever they did with it, it wasn't for me. Maybe they were feeding a wild animal or-”

Lady Dimitrescu's fingers wound into your hair and she pulled you up onto your knees, the agony leaving you trembling. “Not a sound from your little pet, not a sound! So brave for you.” The woman crooned, tightening her grip until your scalp began to pound. “So brave and so, so foolish. Donna told me everything, little pet.”

“You titanic cunt, I already told you they didn't do anything for me!” Karl barked.

“You're so lively, Heisenberg! Normally you can barely even open your eyes. I wonder why that is.” The Lady hummed, almost to herself.

Heisenberg replied curtly, “because your moron wound me a little tight. Honestly I can't believe you trusted that idiot with something so important. You're clearly slipping.” He leaned back, shooting Alcina a look that somehow managed to be condescending. “Gettin’ fat and lazy, are we?”

Your only warning was feeling the Lady's fingers twitch. Driven by pure survival and an overwhelming desire to live, you stabbed the blade of whatever weapon you had grabbed backwards under your arm into Alcina's leg. She screamed, her hold on you slacking for a single moment, and you seized that moment to lunge for Karl.

A terrifying lord, a ferocious fighter, The Iron Horse.

“Please-!” You begged Heisenberg, frantically ripping at the knots still securing his hands. “Please, please please–” your mouth couldn't seem to utter any other words while the former lord stared dumbly down at you, then up at the Lady. You dissolved into panicked tears, hiccuping and dropping your forehead to rest on his chest in defeat.

The ancient, blood-drenched flax abruptly parted beneath your fingers like water. Karl's chest expanded as the former lord took a deep breath.

Alcina's talons drove through your shoulder and you were flung back into the side of the altar. The last thing you could recall was your temple splitting on the sharp marble corner. You could have sworn you heard Karl yell something hoarsely, and then…nothing.

…

Eternity.

Eternity spent under someone else's thumb, eternity serving another's ambitions, eternity waiting for his promised reward.

Brave, strong, loyal Heisenberg. Even the memory of their faux mother's words made him feel ill. It had always been some sort of test, a trial to overcome, just a bit further, until the resentment and Alcina's clever little jabs had burrowed deep enough for him to do something…regrettable.

Though, only regrettable in the sense that it allowed Dimitrescu to have her way. Karl would never regret what he did to Miranda. The old witch had used him long enough, and he made her end swift. The fight with Alcina was…much less simple. Frankly, he had underestimated her and as such, Heisenberg lost spectacularly.

Thus began the second eternity in his life, one where he faded dreamily in and out of consciousness for year after year. Eat the scraps, take his licks, go back to sleep. An interminable slog of time while he did his best to maintain the barest hold on his extremely-limited sanity, the yearly sacrifice-that-did-not-know pitching his food at him in disdain and laughing as the thin gruel dripped down his chin…

Worse were the lash days, where Dimitrescu took fiendish delight in wringing him dry for her decadent (in every sense of the word) vino. There, his consciousness had no recourse but to flare awake every time the whip snapped into his flesh, an ever-constant reminder of his pride, his failure. Not so much the physical pain, that he was no stranger to, but Alcina laughing uproariously at him made him want to rip himself apart from the inside out.

Silly little brother, did you really believe me?

It was always one thing or another in this damned place. Heisenberg existed in what felt like a tight, seamless loop of time. Over and over, over and over, insanity defined.

But then the most recent failure from Alcina's cadre of housekeepers began to bring him his meals. Another year had come and gone, another sacrifice-that-did-not-know, and Karl was exhausted to his very marrow. Maybe that was why he had spoken to you.

Or maybe he was just bored, and he had to admit your timid behavior was a little funny, especially after enduring the disrespect of countless others before you. You spoke to him like he was still a title-holding lord, like he still had his ill-fated army at his disposal and was still a tangible threat. It was entertaining, if nothing else.

You have not been cruel to me. I see no reason to be cruel to you.

He hadn't exactly meant to smile, but it had happened regardless. To think, after all the terrible things he had done, after all the blood he had spilled…that there would be anyone left who could claim he hadn't been cruel to them-! It was so unbelievable that he couldn't help his sardonic grin.

If only it had ended there. If he'd had any damn brains in his head, Karl knew he would have ended it there. That he hadn't spoke volumes to his mental state. Lowering himself to this level…there had been a time in his life where he would have taken as much notice of a human in his presence as he would have the wallpaper. Now, he found himself craving the albeit limited socialization and, while his pride wanted to mourn the loss of his beloved ‘superiority’, his flickering sanity simply appreciated the reliable interaction.

And you snuck him food. Real food, real food, iron-rich venison and herbed breads, real. The green herbs of the valley in particular had always been touted as a cure-all and Heisenberg had to concede that there may have been something to that claim. He could feel the old strength returning to his body with every meal, despite the blood wards knotted yearly into the ropes of his prison.

With that strength came the boundless possibility, the ludicrous hope for freedom that he had nearly given up on. He did his best not to alert his jailers, the former lord's bent pride still stinging every time he was put through his proverbial paces by Dimitrescu. Karl soothed himself with the reminder that if this worked, if this worked, it would all be worth it. The indignity…he was no stranger to it and it would not serve him to continue to be offended by it until he was able to decisively strike back at the bitch. Then, then, she would pay–

“Please!”

Begging, pleading, screaming–why were you looking at him like that?

Karl's head was spinning, he couldn't think straight, you were tearing at the eternal ropes around his wrists and then, Dimitrescu lashed out.

Victory for my master.

It had always been someone else in charge, someone else urging him on to bloodshed and war and trial. What could be the harm, then, in serving a master who had shown him kindness, true kindness? For their terrible sin they laid bleeding beside the altar before him, Alcina's cackling laughter echoing off the high ceiling of the chamber as the weak solstice sunbeam drew closer and closer. The enormous woman tore free the knife that they had shoved gracelessly into her leg, her eyes burning with rage. It was the knife she always used for the solstice, the knife that she would…

With a start that tore through the mental haze like lightning, Karl realized he knew that blade, knew that curved edge. It was a dagger that an ill-fated assassin had attempted to end Alcina with, once upon a time. What ego, for the towering Lady to continue to use such a weapon for the binding ritual!

Through his entire imprisonment Karl had felt as though he was pulling air through wet fabric. Suddenly his chest could expand fully once more, and the lord drank greedily of the essence he had been denied for so long.

His shoulders creaked like rusty gears, joints singing in reply, blessed pain bathing him with the joyous agony of life. It lives! Victor Frankenstein cried, it breathes! And as one monster to another, Karl lurched upright and took an unsteady step towards Alcina.

“Bitch.” One word, a full sentence, cutting his faux-sibling’s chortling short. “Let's see whether you can weasel your way outta’ this one, you albino sequoia.” Heisenberg slurred, relishing the way Dimitrescu sputtered in rage while he cracked his knuckles. The ropes continued to slough off his wrists, layer after layer peeling back. He was alive again, awake again.

He was still alive.

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