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Six Realms: Chapter Thirty-Eight

Author: Ashleigh

Format: AU - on-going

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Blair & Klauen

Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure

Description: Set in mock-medieval times. Two different breeds of elves co-exist within the Six Realms – Evanians are the descendants of the Old Ones and the Five Fathers, blessed with magery (the control of magic drawn from specific elements) – Devonians are the physically superior and mentally equal warriors that serve in the private armies and security of Evanian Highlords. Aurel, the heir to copious wealth following his father’s, the Highlord of one of the most prosperous Great Mage families, passing – the only condition is that in order to attain legitimacy and gain control of the family and its wealth, he must abide by his deceased father’s wishes and wed a Highborn lady. His only problem? He’s in love with another girl. Will their forbidden love triumph, or will they been torn apart by the forces at hand?

Blair found the highlord perched on one of the spires rooftops, one leg dangling over the edge into empty air. He was halfway void of his armour, his fingers tugging inattentively on a knot binding his shoulder guard to his limb.

The Stahlborn’s gaze assessed the decline of the roof, the likelihood of his boots sliding on the tiles, and questioned whether he really ought to get that close to a sheer drop. Klauen’s shoulder rolled, his fingers pinching between the metal, and he withdrew them sharply.

The lowlord took pity on him, crossing the slightly slanted rooftop to drop down beside him. Klauen started at his unannounced appearance, leaning into Blair’s touch as he picked at the bindings, threading leather through leather.

The Ether Realm spread below them, the towers of the palace undulating beneath their dangling legs. The streets rolled down in golden tiled waves to the unrelenting wall that enclosed the citadel. Beyond that, Blair could distinguish the fresh green hills of the Wasser Realm, degrading to indiscernible miniscule fields on the horizon. The dirt was torn and shredded to mud in the nearest plain of grass around the road through the Wasser Gate, and Blair pictured thousands of horses draped in Wasserste blue stampeding across it.

“So she killed him?” he asked, breaking the monotonous silence.

“No, I killed him,” Klauen responded quietly. “She just gave the order. Heike’s appointing me as her unofficial executioner. She had me execute the commander of the highguard for desertion.”

His tone was flat, empty. Blair glanced over at him, noting the ashen resigned expression on his features. The highlord’s fingers trembled where they curled in his lap, and Blair recognised it as a need for movement, to have digits laced around a dagger’s handle. He wanted to kill, to feel the warmth of blood running over his fingers and see flesh cleaved apart by a sheer silver blade. His gaze tracked across Klauen’s hips, void of his usual dagger belt.

“Where are your daggers?” Blair asked as he guided the shoulder guard from Klauen’s arm. He had never seen Klauen without his dagger belt; it was his most efficient weapon, his pride and joy, his protection and his instrument.

Klauen’s gaze didn’t waver from the fields. “You’re getting married,” he murmured quietly, and Blair misheard him at first.

“What are you talking about?” His fingers brushed over Klauen’s hip. “Where did you leave them?”

“In the spine of a highguard mage,” he responded, and Blair’s hand came to a halt on his waist. His gaze rose to the unmoving highlord, concern tugging strings behind his navel, bunching them up in an iron fist inside his chest. “You’re getting married to a lowlady,” Klauen continued. “Heike’s decreed that marriages are in order, and she’s arranged state marriages amongst almost all the noble families.”

Blair didn’t move for a few seconds, before a grin tugged at his lips. “Well at least I’ll have you on the side,” he teased. Klauen didn’t smile.

“I’m not letting you get married.”

Blair’s grin trickled away, a frown etching into his features. “Klauen…”

“She can’t fucking have you,” he snarled quietly, glaring at his hands. The heel of his boot struck the wall beneath the eave they lounged on. “She doesn’t get to lay a single hand on you.”

“Are you talking about Heike or my fiancé?”

“Don’t call her that!” Klauen ordered vehemently, finally meeting his gaze. Blair hadn’t seen his emotions this raw and frayed since he had found Gebiss run through on a tree branch halfway into the forests. He had shot down nearly a whole herd of deer, and Blair had watched his fingers tremble on the sharp strings.

“Klauen, you can’t challenge Heike,” Blair reasoned in a rare moment of cold rationale. Klauen was usually the cautious one, the counterweight to Blair’s extraverted passion.

“I’ve become acting Great Mage,” he said flatly, harshly, though his anger was not directed at the lowlord. “Heike can’t hold the position as High Empress, and as the next legitimate heir, I have all the authority of the Realm. And I’m telling you that you’re not getting married to some Feuer woman.”

“Have you even met her?”

“I don’t care,” Klauen muttered, and his nails lacerated the back of his hand as he enclosed it in the other. “I need you more than she does.”

Blair smiled at that, leaning into the highlord. He glanced over the edge of the eave, and shifted back a few inches. “I still don’t understand your fascination with heights,” he muttered, and Klauen almost snickered, but the humour faded quickly in the silence.

“The Wasserste commander fled,” Klauen reported heavily. “Heike has sent out men to find him, and to collect his sister. She thinks Melior sent her to their home. She wants to control everything.”

His tone was bitter. Blair didn’t particularly care for the fate of the Wasserste heirs. Heike always seemed to get her way; it was only a matter of time before they dragged Tylion Wasserste from wherever he was hiding and set him up as her next figurehead. Just as she had done with Klauen.

The thought sent a pang of anger and sadness through the lowlord. “Fuck Heike,” Blair said, and Klauen glanced at him, a smile tugging at his lips. Blair sucked in a lungful of air, wrapping fingers tightly around the edge of the rooftop until they turned white. “FUCK HEIKE!” he screamed to the spires of the Ether palace, and Klauen leapt at him in a panic, tackling him back onto the tiles.

“Blair!” he shouted, one hand flat against the pane of his shoulder beside his neck, the other at Blair’s ear, holding him above the lying lowlord. Blair was grinning wildly, and he reached up, seizing the collar of Klauen’s shirt, tugging him down to kiss.

The muscles of Klauen’s back rolled as he caved down, and Blair ran revelling fingertips over it before the highlord relaxed into the kiss, settling his weight atop the lowlord. He pulled back, his gaze obscured from the other man’s view.

“You can’t do things like that,” he murmured into Blair’s throat, his forehead lightly brushing lips. “We aren’t kids anymore, Blair, we can’t–”

“Who says we’re not?” Blair teased, nipping at Klauen’s earlobe. “If we wanna live like we did when we were kids, we can. If we wanna kiss like we did when we were fourteen, we can. If we wanna fuck like we did when we were sixteen, we can.” At Klauen’s sharp inhale, his grin broadened. “We can do whatever the fuck we want. And fuck Heike. Fuck the consequences.”

Klauen’s fingers were still around his shoulder, the tremors fading from the digits. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“It’s not your fault if I get hurt,” Blair pledged. His fingers laced through Klauen’s hair, raising his gaze to meet the lowlord’s. “It’s not your fault, Klauen. I can take care of myself. I know this is dangerous, and I know I’m fucking done with heights–” Klauen snorted, glancing aside with mirth in his gaze. “–but I can deal with it, alright? I’m not leaving you. And if you don’t want me to marry this Feuer lowlady, then I won’t. You can annul it.”

They lay on the rooftop for almost an hour, until the heat became unbearable, and Blair scrambled away from the ledge with a speed that was dizzying. Klauen followed after him, his fingers clenched in the material of the lowlord’s shirt as if the only thing that could separate them was death itself.

#griffithzombies #six realms #au #klauen #blair #blair & klauen #heike

Six Realms: Chapter Thirty-Seven

Author: Ashleigh

Format: AU - on-going

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Melior & Heike

Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure

The battle was short and brutish, flaring like a candle only to be snuffed to melancholy smoke.

Heike did not dwell on the details. She had ordered Konnen’s legion to surround the Stahl gate on the borders of Ether, to deal the first strike with a slaughter of its sentries. The survivors had run screaming to the highguard, and from there, she had strategically closed the noose around the High Empress’ throat.

She had Melior, her husband, to thank for the strategy. His hard logic and familiarity with tactics had allowed him to provide contingencies for every possibility. She had politically disabled every hope the Empress held, but she had needed Melior to devise the battle plan. She was a woman who could admit her failings, and battle was an art she was familiar with, but lacked the necessary talent for. Her plans were gradual and patient; she was not suited to immediate responses and reactions.

Heike had been moving her pieces into play days before the attack. She had sent Klauen to murder the Feuervierte commander, to cut off the head to the meagre army. It was an unnecessary move, but she was a cautious woman.

The constitution of the Six Realms allowed three circumstances under which the Ether Realm and the High Empress could annex the home armies of its neighbouring Realms; Heike intended to make use of all three before the month was out.

The High Empress could only exercise rights to annex an army during civil war if she attained the permission of that realm’s Great Mage. With his father dead and himself an illegitimate candidate, Aurel Feuervierte had no authority upon which to consent to the annexation of his small army to the national Ether military force. Lacking the one-hundred-and-fifty men displaced by the laws of their realm, the Empress had the 2,750 mages in her highguard at her disposal.

Heike had 10,500 trained soldiers who lived and breathed battle tactics. With six legions of one thousand men each, she stood at the forefront of the Stahl army, granted authority as acting Great Mage of her home realm. Her husband and Great Mage in his own right had donated four-thousand-five-hundred men to her cause, on the understanding that he would share in the control of the Realms once the couple came into power.

His military force comprised of three thousand soldiers commanded by his younger brother Tylion Wasserste, five hundred nachtreiters and a cavalry one thousand houses strong. Together their force outnumbered the highguard almost three-to-one. It was enough to warrant overlooking the fact that the highguard was comprised entirely of mages, while her force was a mixture of Evanians, Devonians and half-bloods.

Heike’s men were armed to the teeth with swords and daggers. Melior’s primary weapon was a bow of his own invention; a composite bow that allowed archers to rain down fire from hundreds of yards. Their force was formidable, unstoppable and unexpected.

The Stahlborn highlady had arranged Konnen’s legion at the entrance where her army would march in to claim the Ether citadel in her name. They pushed through the first few stunned rows of mages with a speed that was both mesmerising and brutally efficient. Konnen’s legion was backed by her Devonian commander Ceannaire Einwanderer’s legion, but it wasn’t until both legions had breached the Stahl gate that the highguard began to spawn its first deserters.

Melior had prepared for this contingency; Heike only had to see it through.

With her two-legion force pressing forward through the enclosed high-walled citadel, their only options had been to flee through the other four gates into the surrounding realms. Their escape was short-lived.

Tasked with barring the Feuer Gate, Korol Stahldritten had slaughtered every armour-clad man through the passageway, sparing only a few who surrendered as his personal pickings. Kolben Eisen had been more merciful, allowing them the option of surrender when they broke through the Luft Gate, headed for the cliffs and temples. Finte Eisen had commanded her legion to hold off any who attempted to rampage through the Erde Gate, forcing them back into the citadel with the aid of her lieutenant and brother Macht Eisen. The final Wasser Gate, the most desirable of the escape routes for the realm’s plentiful resources and far-reaching borders, was held by the impassable Wasser army under the guidance of Tylion Wasserste. Their resilience had ensured the massacre of the remaining highguard who fled into the barrage of arrows.

Heike estimated a total of seven-hundred highguard had been subdued upon their surrender to her forces. Her final legion, under Croga Einwanderer’s directive, had rampaged through the citadel, into the palace and the temple beyond, incarcerating any who yielded and slaughtering all who retaliated.

All that remained was for Heike to gather her commanders in the great hall, the centre of the Ether citadel and the Six Realms. Her six commanders and their lieutenants stood in a loose semicircle below the dais, silent and attentive as she awaited Melior’s arrival. Klauen stood at her right-hand, palm perched on the hilt of his warrior’s sword. The doors had flung wide with Melior’s arrival, and his smile had never been more thrilled, more ecstatic with pride and success.

He climbed the dais to her side, leaving his few guards to stand with her ranked officers. Her gaze had trailed over the handful of men. “Where’s your brother?” Heike asked him, as he had mounted the final stair. “A commander ought to share in his Great Mage’s victory.”

“He is with my men,” Melior responded, brushing her query off. His fingers laced around her elbows, holding her close to him in a loose embrace as he met her gaze, flushed with joy. “I wanted to celebrate our victory together.”

Heike smiled, inhaling the scent of him, the aroma of fresh, clean water and coarse stones. He always smelled like nature, not of the earth or dirt, but of some higher, more intangible scent. Her fingers curled, nails scratching across the soft material of his shirt as she wound limbs around his back. She noted that he had disposed of his armour before coming to greet her, and a hand snuck up to his neck, pulling him down for a deep kiss.

He caved into the touch, his breath harsh with the beginnings of laughter as he stooped to her height, nose brushing her cheek, inhaling her.

Heike pulled back, squeezing the back of his neck a final time before she turned for the single throne at the zenith of the dais. Her boots resounded on the tiled floors when she paused before it, and she squared her shoulders to the symphony of steel.

“Stahldritten,” she murmured, embracing the title as she turned. Melior was on his knees, and she admired how quickly he had come to grasp the situation in his expression. It was drained of life, faced with cold reality and marred by shock as he stared at the blood dripping the length of her commanders’ sword to meet the corpses of his guard.

Klauen’s hand was on his shoulder, but to his credit, Melior didn’t try to shake it off. His expression was one of betrayal, of confusion, begging for reason.

Heike stared down at him, her grey gaze steely and her throat tight. “One Empress for the throne,” she promised him. “One vision for the Realms.”

That was what broke him, in the end. She watched him fold in on himself with the realisation that his ambitions, his aspirations were for naught. For all their betrayals and their manipulations, he had never suspected that he was as much a pawn as their opponents.

When Klauen’s sword pierced through the vibrant blue of his shirt and through the soft flesh of his abdomen, Heike lowered herself into her throne, and watched him splutter too much blood through a constricting throat before he descended the stairs of the dais to fall prone at its base.

#griffithzombies #six realms #au #Heike #Melior & Heike #Melior #Klauen #Kolben #Macht #Tylion #Konnen #Korol #Finte

Six Realms: Chapter Thirty-Six

Author: Ashleigh

Format: AU - on-going

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Fricka & Hansel, Emmerich & Macht, Adelheid & Emil

Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure

Hansel’s gaze traced the curve of his wife’s back, the steady breaths against pale skin. His fingers trailed slowly through her blonde hair, careful not to wake her. She was curled into his side, the contours of her hips jutting against his. She was a sight to see, all splayed hair and sprawled limbs.

He brushed strands off her temple, fingertips dancing along her cheekbones, kissing her eyelashes before he swung out of bed with lithe grace. He paused, staring at her in the dim morning light where she lay in her bed, and he was struck with the realisation that this is what they would have looked like if his father had condoned their marriages.

He wasn’t a man to reminisce on what could have been, and he tugged on a pair of pants and lifted his steel-toed boots from the side of the bed, waiting until he had closed the door behind him to slide them on, lest he wake her.

It was a warm morning, even with the still-rising sun that cast faint light through the windows. The servants had already done their rounds then, hoisting open curtains and throwing open panes of glass to let the humid air in.

Hansel strolled the corridors, scrubbing his eyes with the palm of his right hand. The halls were surprisingly empty, and breakfast was not due for another hour or so. He endeavoured to find his elder brother, ducking into the open gardens to search for him.

The forest that bordered the Totersieg halls encroached on the fields, so that it appeared that the house consumed more of a clearing than a designated field. It rose in stone and brick, garnished with natural wood from the surrounding forests. There was a gazebo opposite the sacred shine, piercing through the monotony of grass and mud and trees.

It was here that he found Emmerich pouring over papers and scrolls. Hansel stepped on silent feet behind him, careful in placing his steel soles on the wavering wood. Peering over his brother’s shoulder, he was greeted with eighteen years of meticulous tutoring in the elegant curves of the twenty-three-year-old’s writing. By comparison, Hansel’s scrawl was narrow and crude, practical and efficient to every extent. Emmerich’s script spoke of true lowborn education, of the social requirements of nobility and of their father’s expectations.

There was only one note on the table that Hansel discerned was not Emmerich’s neat cursive, and it was this he snatched from beneath his brother’s limp hand, to cries of surprise and annoyance.

The lowlord circled the table as Emmerich leapt to his feet, fingers braced on the mountain of papers as Hansel unfurled the letter. “Hansel, give it back.” His tone was stern, a repetition of their father’s steadily authoritative tenor.

The younger brother’s gaze darted across the lines, dashing back out of Emmerich’s reach as his lips crooked in a grin. Emmerich’s cheeks flushed, and his voice wavered with irritation, a hint of anxiety.

“Give it back!”

“Is this from your lovely fiancé?” Hansel purred, teasing. “What did you say he was? Intelligent… perceptive.”

“Hansel, give that back,” he growled, vaulting over the table. The move consumed the meagre metre between them, and Emmerich’s hand was gripping Hansel’s shoulder in the next minute, the other reaching for the letter that the younger yanked away.

Emmerich glared heatedly, and Hansel cast him a sly grin. “That wasn’t very graceful for a lowlord,” he murmured, and Emmerich started for a second, concern blemishing his features before they settled more furious than before. He snatched at the paper, his fingers slicing through air.

“Neither is this,” he muttered, his boot biting into the back of Hansel’s leg, the palm on his shoulder leveraging him back. Hansel’s balance was torn from him, but he managed to fist a flailing hand into the material of Emmerich’s shirt dragging him with him as they toppled down the few steps.

Emmerich hit dirt and mud, pushing to his knees with shock and revulsion.

“Hansel!”

The younger brother rolled gracefully to his feet, still in possession of the latter as he laughed, staggering back a few steps as he doubled over. He peeked through his tears long enough to see the fury settle in Emmerich’s gaze, and then he was turning to bolt.

The elder scrambled to his feet, quick in pursuit as Hansel sprinted the length of the halls, shirtless and breathless. His laughter pealed from burning lungs as he ducked under the archway, cutting through the inner sanctum garden with the letter in his fist. They had run like this as children, playing games which left Hansel ecstatic and dizzy for breath.

Hansel had always been faster. Emmerich had always been the more enduring.

Hansel’s palms grinded against the gravel of the driveway when the elder Totersieg tackled him, shoulder slamming into the earth as the pair rolled. They ended with Emmerich atop Hansel, pinning him with a hand at the base of his throat and his other hand prying the remarkably in-tact letter from the younger.

He reeled backwards, off his brother as he panted, eyes throwing daggers. Hansel came to his feet with a breathless chuckle, bracing his hands on his knees.

“That was a fantastic wake-up exercise,” he commented, and Emmerich made an irritated noise around his gasps for air.

“You had no right,” he hissed, and straightened to tuck the letter into his pocket. “That was private.”

“You were hell-bent on getting it back. What’s so important to have you that worried?”

Emmerich glowered. “It’s none of your business.”

“I read a bit,” Hansel admitted, pointing at it as he rose to his full height, still smiling. “When’s your beloved coming to visit?”

Emmerich’s horror morphed into embarrassment. “You deserve to be cursed by the Mothers,” he muttered spitefully. Hansel faked betrayal.

“Really? That was cruel.” He grinned, stepping across the drive to approach Emmerich. “If you tell me when he’s coming, I’ll make I give him Totersieg hospitality when I meet him.”

“You’re not going to even introduce yourself to him,” Emmerich hissed. He was clearly still offended that Hansel had read his letter.

“He’s really coming all this way just to see you? And so close to the wedding?”

Emmerich glanced away. “How long until you and your wife go back to slave trading?”

“Don’t be rude,” Hansel chastised playfully, hooking an arm around his elder brother. Over the years, the difference in their heights had decreased until they now stood shoulder to shoulder. “You’ve met my partner; it’s only fair I meet yours.”

“I didn’t ask to meet Fricka,” he retorted.

“You called her Fricka,” Hansel noted, and Emmerich rolled his eyes. “See? She’s growing on you.”

“You haven’t even been here a full day,” Emmerich growled.

“All the more reason to stay your grateful guests. You don’t think Father will mind us catching up on old times, do you?”

“I want you gone by this evening,” he threatened, glancing over at his brother, but Hansel’s gaze was fixed on the end of the drive, where a company of eight horses were making their way over at a walk. Emmerich shrugged out of Hansel’s grip, squinting up the length of the gravel strip. “Who–?”

“Fuck.”

Hansel’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. He recognised the blue crest painted on the chests of the approaching soldiers, and knew that it could only be one person: the Wasserste girl’s persistent lady.

“Who are they?” Emmerich demanded, glancing at his brother’s fearful expression.

“Adelheid Regenmeer and her band of misfits,” Hansel growled. “She’s hunting me down for Feuervierte’s sake. She just doesn’t give up.”

“Who’s the man?”

Hansel frowned, narrowing his gaze at the figure who Emmerich had focused his stare on, and was stunned. He stepped forwards a few steps. “That’s Emil.”

“Another one on your list on enemies?”

“It is a long list,” Hansel murmured jokingly, before sobering. “No, he’s a friend – a trader.”

“Oh, excellent. You bring a slaver and company of Wasserste soldiers to our doorstep,” Emmerich muttered, the hints of sarcasm exposing themselves. He only resorted to dry wit when he was on edge, and Hansel caught a flicker of anxiety in his eyes as he stepped forwards to greet them.

The Regenmeer lady brought her horse around, drawing her company to a halt as she glowered down at the Totersieg brothers.

“Lady Adelheid Regenmeer, I presume?” Emmerich welcomed, inclining his head. He was the picture of nobility. “And your companion?”

“Emil Raustein,” the man responded, not budging from his horse, though his troubled gaze met Hansel’s.

“It’s a pleasure to receive you; how may we serve you?”

“I’m collecting something that belongs to the Feuervierte Great Mage,” she said sharply, glaring at the younger Totersieg. Emmerich cast him a disbelieving scowl. Hansel shrugged helplessly. “If you wish to raise a complaint, you can address it to the Feuervierte household.”

“You can’t take him,” Emmerich said politely, and Adelheid tensed for a fight. He spread his hands open to calm her. “He’s no longer a slave; I pardoned him. If I had known who had offended, I may have responded otherwise,” he added pointedly, glancing over at the disgraced lowlord. “I give you my sincerest apologies, Lady Regenmeer. But there are no more claims to him, as he is a free man.”

Emil seemed relieved, the tension easing from his tall shoulders, the reins slackening in his grip. Adelheid looked less pleased.

“I will compensate you for your travels,” Emmerich offered kindly. “And I will ensure your horses are fed and watered, and your bags stocked for the ride home. It is the least I can do considering the efforts you have put into bringing my foolish brother to justice. He will also apologise for his actions–” Hansel made an offended noise of protest. “–and for the role he and his wife played in hindering Lord Feuervierte; or else you can take him with you to apologise in person.”

Hansel’s gaze threw daggers, but Emmerich had just delivered an ultimatum that Adelheid Regenmeer looked fully willing to see through to its end. He swallowed harshly, shoving down irritation, and gave her a stiff bow.

“I’m sorry that I caused Lord Feuervierte such difficulty,” he said with effort, growling the name, before adding for the sake of seeing Emmerich’s incredulous expression, “and that he came to injury.”

Emmerich’s stare was marvellous, but Hansel ignored it, raising a tight-lipped smile to meet Adelheid’s stern expression. “If you ever come near Feuervierte or my Lady ever again, I will personally ensure you’re delivered back to the Stahldrittens,” Adelheid promised. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Hansel muttered, stifling a scowl.

She huffed, bringing her horse around. “I’m sorry we had to bring this altercation to your halls,” she said to Emmerich, and he nodded his appreciation, extending a hand towards the stables.

“Please. The servants will greet you there. You will not be delayed by more than a half hour.”

#griffithzombies #six realms #au #Hansel #fricka & hansel #Emmerich #emmerich & macht #Adelheid #Emil #adelheid & emil #Fricka

Six Realms: Chapter Thirty-Five

Author: Ashleigh

Format: AU - on-going

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Blair & Klauen

Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure

After hunting, the two Stahlborns had not gone to confront Giselle Schmutzleben. Derailed by Klauen’s impromptu hunting trip, they found themselves treading mud on horseback, slumped in their saddles with the night sky yawning above them.

They rode in silence through the Erde Realm, the monotony underscored by their horses’ rhythmic hoof beats. Their steeds had been geldings of nachtreiters, trained to find steady footing in pitch darkness and canter unbroken until they reached their destination, as Klauen had been informed. They had been a wedding gift from Melior Wasserste at his elder sister’s wedding.

So Klauen and Blair pointed their horses due south and lulled themselves to sleep with the smooth, loping gait of their horses.

Klauen woke to the first rays of sunlight warming his exposed neck, his horse halted beneath him, and a hand removing his dagger from his belt. His hand shot out to wrap around a startled wrist as he pushed himself off his horse’s neck.

“If you want to keep your fingers, I’d let go of that,” he warned, glancing down at his pickpocket. A man with terrified brown eyes stared up at him, frozen under his gaze.

“He’s really not kidding,” Blair called from his horse, raising his mutilated hand.

The short man wrenched his hand out of Klauen’s grip, and the highlord’s gaze fell to his sword. “Do you serve Aurel Feuervierte?”

“That’s Lord Feuervierte,” his companion said sharply, faking confidence, and Klauen became aware of the other soldier’s presence as he dismounted, his boots ringing satisfyingly on the dirt.

“It’s really not,” he responded, brushing past them. The Feuervierte palace rose before him, blindingly white. Its gardens sprawled around him as he stepped into the courtyard, the soldier on his heels.

“You can’t keep your weapons,” he said curtly, reaching for his belt. Blair’s arm snapped between them, shoving a holstered sword into the sentry’s chest. He staggered back a few steps, and Klauen took the moment to inhale. His temper was still frayed around the edges, and he forced the muscles that had tensed with the perceived attack to relax. Blair’s intervention was welcome.

He’d told Blair of the plan, why he had been sent by Heike to the Erde Realm, and why they were now standing inside the gates of the Feuervierte household.

His fingers deftly released the buckle of his belt, and he dropped the leather – and the daggers holstered – into the fretful soldier’s palms. “You’ll need to leave your bow with your horse,” he reminded Blair, and the lowlord doubled back to relinquish his weapon.

Klauen crossed the courtyard with a brisk pace, mounting the marble steps into the foyer with ease. It was there that the first soldier – the timid one – caught up with him, and he drew to a halt. He was amazed with how far onto the property he was able to come before being apprehended; in his home, unwelcome guests didn’t pass within ten feet of the front gates unless they were escorted.

The sentry flitted about him, unwilling to step close enough to be harmed, as if fearful that Klauen would lash out and strike him. The highlord found himself disappointed with the standard of soldiery under the Feuervierte employ. But then, he reminded himself, their Realm was wealthy and plentiful. They didn’t need six thousand soldiers at their beck and call. Even one-hundred-and-fifty soldiers seemed unnecessary in that light.

“Sir, you’ll need to wait to be escorted,” the soldier informed him.

“My name is Klauen Stahldritten,” he responded briskly, and the sentry’s eyes went wide. “My companion is Blair Eisen. We’re requesting an audience with Aurel Feuervierte and his commander.”

The soldier didn’t move until Blair jogged up the steps, the irritable sentry hot on his heels. Blair acted as if he weren’t even there, his gaze roaming over the walls and ceiling that arched above them.

“It’s nice,” he commented. Klauen knew he couldn’t care less for the architecture; he could see Blair’s hands shoved in his pockets, and he knew the man was bored. He had a habit of rolling coins between his fingers went he grew restless. Klauen had chastised him so many times that he now did it in the seclusion of his pockets.

“What are you doing?” the irritated soldier demanded, rushing to bar them from stepping further into the house. “Who do you think you are?”

“They’re Klauen Stahldritten,” his companion murmured numbly. “And Blair Eisen.”

“And you’re cute,” Blair quipped, making the man blush spectacularly. Klauen wished he had a dagger, and settled for stabbing the toe of his boot into the marble tile.

“Go tell your Lord that we request an audience,” Klauen ordered the furious soldier, nodding in the direction of the corridor. “Run; this is important.”

“You have no authority–” the soldier began, his tone rising with incredulity, but his companion seized his coat and shoved him in the direction of the corridor.

“Go tell Chesk,” he instructed. “He’ll know what he’s doing.”

The soldier turned without another word, jogging down the hallway. It wasn’t even a full ten minutes before he was returning on the heels of a swaggering red-haired man, an olive-skinned Devonian and the unmistakable Aurel Feuervierte.

“What do you want?” the latter demanded, doing away with greetings.

“And a pleasure to meet you too,” Blair cut in, glancing aside with a scoff. “What a welcoming host you are.”

“It’s not a pleasure, and you’re not welcome,” Aurel snapped, his tone clipped and cold. “I asked you what you wanted.”

“My sister sent me,” Klauen responded evenly. Aurel’s gaze fixed on him, and he could feel the hatred rolling off him in distinct waves, washing through familiarity to loathing to fury. “She sent a gift, to solidify your brother’s armistice marriage to our sister.”

Aurel looked taken off-guard by that, but he recovered quickly. “What is it?”

“A dagger,” Klauen replied. “It’s Stahldritten custom to bestow a weapon to the betrothed’s family.”

“Where is it?”

Klauen’s gaze flickered to the sentry hovering behind the trio of ranked men. “All our weapons were removed when we arrived.”

Aurel half-turned to the Devonian beside him. “Coiriuil, can you get it?”

So this was the Feuervierte commander. He brushed past Klauen calmly, his gait a patient stroll, and the highlord turned to call after him, “Third dagger on the belt; you can’t miss it.”

They stood silently in the foyer, the four lords facing one another, summing each opponent up. After a few minutes of terse silence, Blair muttered, “I’m going to get some air,” and descended the stairs. Klauen followed him quietly, noticing when the Feuerborn reluctantly followed.

Coiriuil was already across the courtyard, a dagger’s hilt clutched in his palm. The hand was familiar with the blade, Klauen noticed, but his grip was too far down the hilt; more suited to swords, perhaps.

He passed the dagger into Aurel’s extended palm, and the highlord surveyed it.

It was beautiful. Sleek silver comprised the hilt, a warped chain-like pattern forming the grip to allow better purchase. Rubies were inlaid in the undulating hilt, gleaming in that brilliant Feuervierte red. The pommel was a twisted lump of metal, the cross-guard arching back over to run parallel to the glimmering blade. It was about as long as Klauen’s forearm, and polished to a shine.

“It’s well-crafted,” Aurel allowed, clearly impressed.

He had no eye for detail, Klauen realized, and he hadn’t expected he would. He had staked his success on it, in fact, when he had lifted that blade from the hoards of confiscated weapons kept in the criminals’ armoury.

“Is that all you came for?” Aurel demanded, gathering himself.

Klauen gave him a half-bow, Blair following suit beside him. “Thank you for your time, sage,” the highlord murmured, and turned without another word. Blair kept curt pace beside him, and when they mounted their horses, Klauen glanced over to where the five men – three ranked men and two sentries – stood watching them in the morning light.

He gathered his reins in his fist as Blair took his bow in hand, settling into his saddle.

“Do it,” he ordered in a murmur. He knew Blair would hear him.

Blair’s horse took the three steps forward it needed to clear the obscuring pillar of the gate, and by then his arrow was notched, the two remaining fingers of his left hand hooked lightly around the string. He levelled his gaze at the three huddled men, and Klauen watched the realization dawn as Coiriuil and the other man dove to shield their Great Mage.

Blair exhaled, and the arrow sheared through the sky with little more than a sigh. Its course remained unaltered, and it found its intended mark, lodging in the back of the Feuervierte commander.

Klauen watched from the distance as it slid past tensed muscle, scraping his spine and nestling in the back of a lung. Blair’s aim was perfect, his delivery unparalleled.

Blair had already notched another, sending it singing into the shin of the stunned sentry – the irritable one – and Klauen watched the man crumple with a scream. They turned then, as a single unit, swords slamming into hips as they raced into the shelter of the Feuervierte palace, injured and unresponsive men in tow.

Blair slung his bow over his back, gathering his reins as Klauen spurred his steed to a gallop. The hooves clattered on the sandstone, and Klauen’s vision was consumed by the dawn of a red sunrise.

#griffithzombies #six realms #au #klauen #blair #blair & klauen #aurel #coiriuil #chesk

Six Realms: Chapter Thirty-Four

Author: Ashleigh

Format: AU - on-going

Rating: Mature

Pairings: -

Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure

“Lady Wasserste?” the voice inquired from afar.

Idalia glanced over her shoulder at the figure framed in the archway to the courtyard. The green foliage overhead was mottled with sunlight, which wove strands of caramel and blonde through his otherwise dark hair.

He approached calmly, giving her a good metre’s leeway as he addressed her. “Sage, we’ve gathered the horses.”

“We?” she queried, her gaze falling over the still pond at her side. Her fingers sent ripples cascading across the surface, muted by the lily pads that floated there.

“The Zehnrudel,” he responded. Idalia understood. The pack of ten men and horses who would escort her to her family’s home.

She rose to her feet, brushing her skirt off her lap, so that it hung to her side. She had changed into riding clothes in the time it had taken Melior to ready his ten soldiers. Her boots brushed the edge of the fountain’s wall, the durable leather of her pants catching on the coarse stone. She’d twisted her hair back into a bun and pierced it through with a terracotta pin – her mother’s.

“How long will we ride?” she asked calmly, keeping her tone even.

“The Great Mage has given us orders to ride through the night,” the man said, and Idalia took the opportunity to appraise him. He wore simple clothes, sensible and practical attire suited to a farmer’s hand. He’d probably forsaken the armour emblazoned with her family’s crest to avoid scrutiny and attention. “I apologize, milady; I can’t afford you any luxuries other than the assurance that the horses are the finest we have to offer as nachtreiters.”

Idalia raised her chin, following him as he set the pace, leading her through the gaping archway of the gardens. The nachtreiters were a company of soldiers in the cavalry; their primary purpose was as messengers and packmen. They specialized in marathons, their horses bred for unbroken riding through the night. Her brother could not have chosen a more skilled company than even his own guard.

The man led her past the stables, to where the riders milled about, their boots scuffing in the dirt. They reminded her of their horses. Despite the fact that all the men had dressed in common attire, she couldn’t help but notice that they stuck out purely on their numbers. Ten horses in such close company would draw attention no matter how casual they appeared.

“When we ride,” the man was explaining, stepping forwards to brush his hand down the flank of a huge bay stallion, stroking his onyx coat with familiar fingers, “we refer to each other by the names of our horses. It avoids us having to reveal our identities, and keeps us anonymous. It’s a custom amongst nachtreiters.”

“So I have to learn your horses’ names,” Idalia concluded, and the man smiled.

“Yes, sage.” He stuck his hand out for her, winding fingers through his stallion’s black mane as the horse snorted at her. “I’m Morgen.”

Idalia ignored his extended palm, reaching forwards to press gentle fingers into the horse’s velvety nose. “Pleased to meet you, Morgen,” she said, and the stallion snorted. He looked enormous compared to her own white mare. This was a battle-horse, built for endurance; not a pretty lady’s horse.

The man exhaled through his nose, suppressing a smile as he moved to the next gelding – a small cream horse that shied as Morgen’s head whipped around. “This is Armer,” he introduced, gesturing to the man who stood attentively at his side, arms locked behind him in perfect soldier posture. “He and I take the lead.”

He looked sweet where Morgen seemed formidable. Idalia brushed her palm across the horse’s coarse hair.

The next was a gelding that rivalled Morgen for size; a great bay with a barreled chest and burgundy flakes of light through his mane. “Drachen is our artillery. Strictly crossbows and fraggers.”

“Fraggers?” Idalia asked with a slight frown.

“They’re packages that explode into fragments when ignited with magery,” Morgen explained, grinning as he nodded to the next chestnut horse. “Milan is his partner.”

Idalia nodded at the grinning man who leaned down on the chestnut’s neck, arms crossed as he picked absently at the short hairs of the gelding’s mane.

“Neşeli is your mare,” he explained, coming to the side of a lighter chestnut. “She’s as placid as anything, but she can gallop at breakneck speed. Parlak is her mate,” he added, inclining his head towards the buckskin that shifted restlessly behind them. “But Sörjande is your partner.”

This was a solemn looking stallion with a pronounced roman nose. His black coat rippled like liquid tar as he bowed his head, milling about the dirt.

“Sörjande will be your personal guard, and you’ll stay in the middle of the Zehnrudel. We’ve agreed it’s the safest position, and you won’t find a smoother ride than Neşeli.”

“Tell me about Parlak,” she instructed, moving on. She wanted to be out of this fortress as soon as possible, left to herself in her private quarters. It would be refreshing to be back home. She hadn’t walked its gardens for nearly six months now – she and her older brothers had been returning to the fortress after their skirmishes and rides – and she longed for the quiet afternoons spent lounging along the shores of the enclosed lake in the palace.

“Parlak and Adeln form your rear-guard,” Morgen continued, running a hand through his dark hair. “In the case of an emergency or attack or ambush, they will form your protection, and the four of you will disband from the Zehnrudel. Needless to say, those circumstances shouldn’t arise.”

“I don’t know why you’re so certain,” Idalia replied bluntly, and watched his smile slip a few inches. “We’re preparing for war. Circumstances cannot be anticipated. Not everyone responds to the news of war as calmly or as gleefully as soldiers.”

“Apologies, milady,” Morgen murmured softly, sincerely. “I did not mean to offend you.”

“Tell me who else forms the Zehnrudel,” she cut across brusquely, moving on to the last two horses in the company of ten.

At least he didn’t pry. “Većer and Malánoha are our archers,” he continued without fault, and Morgen struck her as an unassuming man, quick to forgive. He smiled as he continued. “Malánoha is our dancer; never seen a horse that sharp-footed. They double as scouts to check for any followers.”

Idalia glanced back at the squad, gaze flying over the seven men and two women who comprised the Zehnrudel. The names were sharp in her memory, and she doubted she’d have much trouble remembering them.

She strolled back over to her mare, hand grazing down her amber flank as Morgen came to her side. “Ready to ride, Neşeli?” he asked, offering a knee to her. Idalia planted her boot firmly on his thigh and hoisted herself into the saddle. He passed her the reins as she adjusted her feet in the stirrups, settling into familiarity.

“When your nachtreiters are ready, Morgen,” she retorted, straightening her back as she brought the mare around, falling into an ambling pace at Sörjande’s side. Her mare’s withers barely met the base of his great shoulders.

“Armer, bring him around,” Morgen instructed the man atop the cream gelding. Idalia didn’t doubt that the soldier held a position somewhat akin to lieutenant, with the way he seemed to echo Morgen’s commands and demand quiet respect from the rest of the company. The white horse looked sheepish next to the formidable bay stallion, but Morgen didn’t seem to notice.

“Are we packing daggers or swords?” the woman beside Adeln demanded, adjusting the buckles of her saddle’s girth.

“Daggers on saddles and swords on hips,” Morgen responded clearly, and the woman stooped to lay a set of leather holsters over her shoulder. She stepped around the milling horses, distributing them amongst the Zehnrudel.

The young man atop Milan brought his horse around to line with Neşeli, his hands still absently scratching at the rebellious tuft of mane at the base of the chestnut’s slender neck. “Front of your saddle,” he instructed, and Idalia leaned forwards to lay the expanse of leather across her mare’s neck, finding buckles awaiting clasps. “There’s a set of two short-sword daggers down the sides here,” he continued, sliding each out part-way of their leather holsters. The silver gleamed in the sunlight, before disappearing with a sharp clack.

Neşeli shifted her weight, stepping aside from Milan, but the man simply angled his gelding around slightly to reach back across to the holster, unfazed.

“And a set of three throwing daggers either side under here,” he added, lifting the flap of leather on the saddle beneath her knee. She could just see the small blades latched there before he released it, letting them disappear back into obscurity.

Idalia turned as Parlak offered her a sheathed sword, the reins of his buckskin looped around his fist. She disapproved of the gesture; tying oneself to one’s horse often led to being dragged behind it with a dislocated shoulder, she had been told. But she didn’t contest the fact; it spoke of the deep bond the nachtreiters shared with their steeds.

“Neşeli,” he addressed her, relinquishing the weapon to her unsure hands. “Sword goes on your hip; keep it latched while riding,” he implored, brushing over the small clasp at the head of the hilt with his thumb, showing her how it bound the blade to the scabbard, so it wouldn’t swing wildly when they rode.

“Thank you,” she said, and the men fell back into their positions.

“Zehnrudel!” Morgen’s voice bellowed from the front of the pack. “Heading due north-east. All hands to reins?”

A chorus of assent met the demand, and Morgen turned his stallion towards the gate, kicking him off into a fast walk.

“Fall behind and you might as well fall off,” he shouted with a grin, and it must have been a chant of theirs, because the others’ faces settle into knowing smiles. “Move out!” he bellowed, and Morgen slid into an effortless canter, Armer already keeping pace, as if the horse could read the stallion’s intentions.

Idalia cast one glance back up at the fortress, back at the balcony of her brother’s chambers, before she urged her mare after the thundering pack and towards her home.

#griffithzombies #six realms #au #Idalia

Six Realms: Chapter Thirty-Three

Author: Ashleigh

Format: AU - on-going

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Melior & Heike

Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure

The gasp was desperately short in Idalia’s lungs when she shoved open the door to her older brother’s chambers, breathlessly reassuring the concerned attendants trailing after her that she was fine. Melior was already on his feet, sleeves hitched up to his elbows when she closed the door behind her.

“Idalia? What are you–?”

“I need to talk to you,” she gasped, crossing the room. Her brother’s chambers were quietly extravagant; not noticeable at a first glance, it took a few seconds for the actual enormity of it to settle in. The walls were lined with shelves laden with books and significant memorabilia. At the centre of the room, sprawled before the gaping balcony archways, was his huge polished desk, the one that had been their mother’s before him.

He said her name again, coming around the desk to meet her, pulling her head into his chest. He was a tall man, with soft features hardened by intelligence and the logic he so favoured. His eyes gleamed that depthless brown as she stepped back to meet their gaze.

“There’s a prophecy,” she told him, working to keep the waver from her tone. “About you, and about Heike.”

“A prophecy?” he repeated, his lips beginning to curl in that slightly condescending smile they always did when he found something incredulous or dubious.

“Don’t do that,” she chastised, and his expression fell into concern as he released her hands. “Melior, I’m serious; this is important. The prophecy was to warn you about Heike, that she’s going to take the realms.”

His features closed off them, taking on that aloof, contemplative air as he turned back to his desk. His fingertips danced over the necks of crafted pieces on the Krieg board that perched at the corner of his desk. His movements were mechanical, measured, but he did not speak.

Idalia forged on, watching his expression, trying to discern how deeply her words had disturbed him. He didn’t need this kind of stress; the Realm demanded enough of his attention already. She wouldn’t have troubled him if it hadn’t been so important.

“I know how ridiculous it sounds,” she admitted, her gaze following his index finger as it tilted the Great Mage piece, the pearled crystal glimmering as it wavered. “But I think she was telling the truth. You’re in danger, Melior, and Heike is the cause of it. I don’t want you to get hurt. I want you safe, Melior.”

He didn’t respond, seeming to consider her words. She could almost see him musing over them in his mind. Her brother was a very direct man, sharply intelligent and a natural strategist. His skills were renowned throughout the Six Realms, his knowledge and wit the toast of lords and ladies.

“The turncoat always was your favourite piece, wasn’t it, sister?” Melior murmured, a small contented smile twisting his features. He turned the crystal piece over in his hands, twisting the base to expose the silver core. “Like water washing over steel,” he said kindly, placing the piece back on the board.

Idalia’s breath was too harsh in her ears, and the words were incomprehensible demons on familiar lips. “Brother,” she gasped, and staggered backwards when he took a step forwards, some deep instinct warning her away from him.

He paused, hurt flashing across his features. “Idalia, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Heike…the Stahldrittens,” Idalia murmured, piecing it together. Her gaze narrowed. “You’re joining them? You’re helping them?”

“Yes, for the Realm.”

“They’re murderers!” Idalia shrieked, horrified. “You’re going to join them? Become one of them? Give our Realm, our home to them?”

“No,” he said harshly, confidently, and calmed himself. “I’m doing this for our home, Idalia. I’m doing this for the whole Realm. The Realms need to be united; it is only through unity that we can move forward. Our society, our civilisation has been the same for four-hundred years, Idalia. Don’t you understand?”

“No,” Idalia breathed, shaking her head. She could feel the tears starting, that vice closing around her heart. “No, I don’t understand. How could you do this?”

“For development,” he explained, spreading his arms wide. “For progress! We’ve been stagnant for too long; unchanging, unmoving. Our civilisation is growing stale, sister. We need expansion, need advancement, need improvement. These Realms are too small, too weak. And we have the potential to be so much more. That’s why I’m doing this, Idalia. That’s why I’m allying with the Stahldrittens. This is the next step in our civilisation’s evolution.”

“Your evolution,” Idalia hissed. “The evolution you want.”

“Look around you, Idalia,” he said angrily. “Our forefathers were gods compared to us. The Fathers could move mountains, command rivers and seas. Look at our mages now – look at ourselves. We are weaker than ever, and we’ll continue to grow weaker with every generation until we take our evolution into our own hands. We can be gods, Idalia; we can be powerful!”

“I don’t want to be powerful. I want to be happy. What possessed you to do this? To join the Stahldrittens? To join Heike?”

“Heike is my wife,” he cut across harshly, his volatile gaze flashing dangerously. He pointed a warning finger as Idalia opened her mouth to accuse. “You will not call her a murderer, Idalia. She’s my wife.”

“She is a murderer,” Idalia snapped, and the tears brimmed. “She kills whoever she wants, whoever gets in her way. One day, she’ll turn on you too, just like you turned on this Realm.”

“This Realm will be better–!” Melior roared.

“This Realm will be overtaken by her!” Idalia screeched. “She is power-hungry, Melior, and she will take everything that she can, because she believes she can.”

“We will rule these Realms together,” Melior said confidently. “We will guide it to a new dawn. And then, you will thank me for what I’ve sacrificed for this Realm.”

“What you’ve sacrificed for this Realm? You’ve sacrificed nothing but your own people – the people who trusted you. People like me, Melior. You’ve betrayed us all!”

“I’m doing this FOR THE REALM!” he bellowed, slamming his palm down onto the board. The pieces scattered in its wake, rolling about in helpless circles as he calmed himself. “I will make this Realm – no, all of the Realms – better. I will lead us into a new era.” He straightened his shoulders, breathing deeply. “You’ll thank me,” he said with a nod, as if he were trying to convince her. Or himself.

“I will never thank you,” Idalia gasped, choking back sobs. “I will never forgive you for this.”

Something broke in Melior’s gaze, something akin to guilt. But his lips pressed into a thin line, and he withdrew with a cold, guarded gaze. His brown eyes looked so depthless.

“I’m arranging for you to be escorted home,” he said brusquely, stepping away from the disrupted board. The toes of his boots clipped figures as he passed her. “You’ll be out of harm’s way at the palace. This fortress is too central–”

“Does Tylion know?”

He jerked to a halt, turning back to face her. “What?”

“Tylion, our brother,” she repeated a little harshly, her words biting and fierce. “Does he know?”

“He’s my commander; he doesn’t need to know,” Melior responded quietly. “He just needs to command my army as I order.”

“Does he know he’s going to be responsible for the slaughter of thousands? Are you going to force that guilt on him?”

Melior swallowed harshly and glared. “The sacrifices will be minimal. We have the largest armies; there will be no resistance from the other Realms.”

“Then who are you taking all this power from?” Idalia demanded. “You need the other Realms to– You’re not going after the Empress,” she said in a whisper, stunned.

Melior turned down his sleeves, straightening to his considerable height as Idalia turned to face him fully, her bones suddenly weak.

“You’re going to attack the highguard?” she gasped, horror lacing her tone. “Melior, they will kill you, Great Mage or not. They won’t show you leniency.”

“They won’t have the opportunity,” he cut across bluntly. “When Heike and I ascend to the throne, those who remain will become our highguard.”

“Melior, you can’t beat them,” Idalia pleaded. “They’re all mages; they will destroy you.”

“I’m stronger than you give me credit for,” Melior retorted. “As is Heike. She has five mage commanders; I have Tylion, as well as legions of loyal men. We outnumber their army four to one. This is what I mean, Idalia. We as a nation are weak. You’ll understand when it happens.”

“When what happens?”

Melior’s brow creased into a frown, and he crossed to the door, holding it open. “You’ll be escorted to safe territory, away from the battle. You’ll find the horses waiting outside.”

“I won’t stand by and let you tear an entire nation apart,” Idalia snarled.

“And I won’t put my only sister in harm’s way. Mum would never forgive me.”

Tears sprung to Idalia’s eyes. “How could you do this to her memory, Melior?” she asked softly, and his jaw clenched. “She gave you that throne to rule justly, so you could protect us.”

“I am,” he responded, and his tone didn’t waver. “Please, leave, so I can do what she expected of me.”

Idalia swallowed harshly, maintaining her composure until she ducked out of his chambers. When the door closed behind her brother, she swiped brimming tears from her gaze and turned her back on him.

#griffithzombies #six realms #au #Idalia #Melior #Melior & Heike

Six Realms: Chapter Thirty-Two

Author: Ashleigh

Format: AU - on-going

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Adelheid & Emil

Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure

He didn’t glance up from his book – a leather-bound novel of some sort – but he saw her all the same. “Come for my information again, my lady?” Emil asked loftily, finally raising his gaze to meet hers, blue to blue. She’d forgotten how blue his eyes were. Odd colour for an Erde man.

“You seem like you’ve been waiting,” Adelheid pointed out, coming to the counter. He gently closed his book with long, deft fingers.

“I’m a trader; I can’t trade unless I have customers. You’re the first I’ve seen all day.”

“Has the slave trading business not been treating you well?” she asked, her words lacking sympathy. He half-smiled.

“Not recently, with my two best suppliers truant.”

“I’m sure there are others in the slave trading business who have it much worse,” Adelheid pointed out bluntly.

Emil looked very much like he wanted to roll those blue eyes, but instead he bit the inside of his cheek before summoning a response. “Are you really here to debate philosophy, or do you have need of me?”

Adelheid smirked at the slave trader, whose gaze flickered over her shoulder when her armed men stepped into the room behind her. He straightened, bridging the gap between them, so that she now found her level gaze lingering on his lips. He caught her watching, and she tore her gaze away before he could derive any meaning from it.

“It’s Hansel again, isn’t it?”

She turned to him with a crooked brow. “What makes you think that?”

“This is the second time in two weeks you and your soldiers have threatened me in my shop. Who else could provoke this?” He swallowed, casting his gaze aside, as if he couldn’t meet her stare any longer. “I don’t know where he is anymore.”

“That’s not an issue,” Adelheid responded briskly, her shoulder rising to shrug nonchalantly. “I do.”

He looked surprised, snapping back around to stare her down. She consciously raised her gaze from his lips to his eyes. “How do you know? Where is he?”

“Last I saw him, he was Aurel Feuervierte’s slave.” She was amused by the shock that crossed his face, and wondered absently what mirth would look like on those pale features. Now that she looked at him, properly looked at him, he had an odd collection of features for a citizen of the Erde Realm; blue eyes, light skin untouched by sun, a tall frame that was lanky and yet harmonized with the lean lines of his body, the muscles rolling effortlessly with his movements.

He couldn’t be Erdeborn; his pallor was unsuited to the brutal heat, especially in Sklavestadt, where the sun rained down off the sandstone in palpable waves. He was too unsuited to hard labour, to arduous hours spent in the fields of the Wasser Realm or the strict schedule of the soldiery in the Stahl Realm. He was too tall for the Feuer Realm, which meant…

“Are you Luftborn?” she asked, cutting through whatever question he had been poised to demand.

He blinked at her. “What?”

“Luftborn,” she repeated. “Where you born in the Luft Realm?”

“Do I look like I was born in the Luft Realm?” he retorted.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s answer enough,” he replied sharply. “What happened to Hansel? You wouldn’t be here unless something–”

“Where were you born?”

“Why does it matter?” Emil demanded, exasperation entering his tone as he tried to maintain a calm demeanour.

“Because I want to know why you chose the slave trade,” she responded lightly, and he looked affronted, slightly anxious. “You’re not Erdeborn, which means you moved here to begin a trade. I’m curious why, especially if you’re Luftborn.”

“I was Wasserborn,” he corrected, and she noticed that his hands were curled under themselves, nails biting into his palms as his knuckles bruised the wooden countertop. “Can you answer my question, please? Hansel is a friend.”

“I’ll take you to him, I swear it,” she offered, to his immediate surprise. “But first, I want to know where you were born.”

“I told you,” he ground out. “I was Wasserborn.”

“No you’re not,” Adelheid said with a knowing, smug smile. “That complexion is not Wasserborn; you were not raised in the Wasser Realm.”

“You didn’t say raised, you said born,” he pointed out shortly. His gaze darted aside. “Can we please leave?”

Adelheid straightened, and relief flashed across his features. He hurried around the desk, falling into step behind her as she led her small company outside to the tethered horses. One of her men jogged off in the direction Emil pointed him, searching for the stables.

“If you were Wasserborn, you’d know why slave trade is illegal,” she raised lightly, swinging up onto her horse. Emil shot her a deprecating glare, clearly long past done with the conversation.

“I thought this discussion was concluded.” He was clumsy mounting the horse her man held steady for him, furthering Adelheid’s growing suspicions. Every Wasserborn child was raised to ride horses, and they retained the skill long into old age.

Adelheid turned her fretting horse about, stalling for time as her men mounted their steeds. “Do you know why it’s illegal?”

“No,” he said bluntly, briskly. His horse pawed at the sandstone tiles of the courtyard, looking for grass. “It’s not in the Erde Realm and that’s all that matters. It’s not illegal here, just unethical.”

“An Erde man wouldn’t say that.”

He made an irritated noise in the back of his throat. “Why are you so persistent? Why does this matter so much to you?”

I’m curious about you, she thought, and had to bite off the words before they spilled from her mouth. Adelheid smiled gently, nudging her horse towards the gate. Emil fell into step beside her. With the difference in their horses’ heights, their gazes were now level.

“I like to know who I’m helping.” It was a half-truth.

“My mother was Wasserborn,” he bit out, fixing his gaze unflinchingly ahead. “I was Wasserborn too. She raised me in the Luft Realm.”

Adelheid swallowed shocked laughter. “Luft Realm? And you chose slave trading?”

“I didn’t choose–” He broke off with a snarl of annoyance. “I moved to the Erde Realm and got into slave trading. Before that I was living in the Wasser Realm, and before that, I was raised in the Luft Realm. I was Wasserborn, though,” he added pointedly.

“You keep saying ‘was’,” she mused, and Emil cast her a glare. There was fury there, but more than that, there was unsettled anxiety, something vague and edging into cold emptiness. The lowlady turned to the road ahead, guiding her horse slowly through the throngs of people heading down the street. As they reached the marketplace, she drew to a halt, and Emil glanced at her.

“You swore you’d take me to Hansel,” Emil said, his voice rising defensively.

“I was rather hoping you could aid in direction,” Adelheid said.

“You don’t know where he is?”

“I know where he is,” she corrected. “I don’t know where that is.” The hot air plagued her lungs, and Adelheid could taste grit and dirt on her tongue. She turned to glance at Emil’s incredulous expression. “Where’s Totersieg hall?”

#griffithzombies #six realms #au #Adelheid #Emil #adelheid & emil

A portrait of Aurel, by the talented EJ

#six realms #aurel #fanart

Six Realms: Thirty-One

Author: Ashleigh

Format: AU - on-going

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Blair & Klauen

Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure

“Yes, it’s because of her.”

“Because I killed her?”

Klauen didn’t reply, instead shifting his weight from his numb ankle and flexing his grip on the dagger to keep his fingers responsive. He was about halfway down the deer’s bowed back, and the cut flesh was beginning to sag off the bone. “It wasn’t necessary.”

“It was,” Blair cut him off, and Klauen glanced up to see him surveying the ornate carvings in the in-laid steel of the bow. “She would have gone back to them.”

Klauen said nothing, returning his attention to the carcass as he completed his carving around the vertebrae that comprised its spine, severing arteries and veins with care as he lodged his blade beneath the bones and pried them away from the thick meat. The spine resisted at first, before ligaments and tendons and strings of muscle snapped, relinquishing the chunk of flesh and bone.

Blair had taken the time to reassess his indiscretion. “Is it how I killed her, then? Because I staked her?”

“That was cold,” Klauen murmured, and focused on the base of the deer’s neck, where the cartilage had not surrendered the spine. He set the knife against the thick gristle, working into a rhythm as he began to saw away. “It’s what Heike would have done.”

Blair was watching him; he could feel the man’s eyes on his back, and sighed, taking a reprieve from his work.

“I don’t kill people for political motives, or just because it’s convenient. When I kill someone, it’s going to be by my hand,” he clarified, and gestured to the deer, “and I’m going to do it because I want to kill them myself.”

“You’re on a guilt trip,” Blair scoffed, and Klauen glared at him.

“I needed to kill something,” he explained haughtily, and turned back to his sawing. “I needed to make sure I wasn’t becoming her.”

“You know,” Blair drawled, pushing off the boulder and sauntering towards him. Klauen felt the hairs on his neck rise with the proximity, and wondered whether it was protectiveness for his kill. “If you need to get off every time you do something that makes you like Heike, it would be far better for the ecosystem if you just fucked me instead of dismembering deer.”

Klauen’s hand shook on the dagger, and he felt his cheeks heat with the blush, despite his best efforts. “You don’t understand,” he muttered quickly.

Blair strolled around the kill, stopping at its chest as he surveyed the bloody expanse of its bare throat. “Why the neck?”

“Because I needed to make sure I could still do it,” Klauen replied, twisting the cartilage in an effort to free the section of vertebrae. His fingers slipped on the smooth gristle. “Violence – it’s my trademark. Heike’s murders are cold. I needed… I needed to know I could still be violent.”

“So you’re cutting up a dead deer.”

Klauen rose to his feet, spurred by fury as he faced Blair. “It’s the deer instead of a person, Blair. I can distinguish the two. I don’t enjoy death, even if I enjoy killing. I needed to be violent, so I am. It’s the dead deer instead of a living person.”

Blair was watching him, watching the rise and fall of his agitated chest, the way his fingers clenched white around the knife’s hilt. Klauen retreated a step, calming himself, glancing aside.

“If you’re bored, then go back to town,” he mumbled, and turned the dagger into his other hand, stretching the muscles in his fingers. He surveyed his blood-leeched skin, how the dried crimson cracked where his knuckles protruded.

“The deer isn’t a very good substitute,” Blair drawled, but his gaze was sharp as it watched the emotions on Klauen’s face. “It doesn’t die the same, does it? Doesn’t fight back enough. Just too many bones in its back, isn’t there?”

Klauen sucked in a sharp breath, his gaze involuntarily falling to where the chunk of spine and mangled flesh lay on the dirt, half his height.

“Human spines have less vertebrae, don’t they?” Blair murmured, but it was too gently spoken for a taunt, though retaining the malice. “They feel different. Fuller. So why not head back into town. Take down the first person you see, take your knife, and carve out the bones of their backs like–”

Klauen spun faster than Blair could anticipate, his free left hand coming up to seize Blair’s coat front, shoving him backwards until he hit the nearest tree. The other hand clenched on the dagger as he raised it, aligning it with the pane of his friend’s jaw. He leaned into Blair’s face, teeth bared and eyes flashing with rage.

Blair raised his hands to shoulder height, but held his head level, unfazed by the knife’s sharp edge. He held Klauen’s harsh gaze evenly, radiating calm. Klauen couldn’t meet the concern there, and his gaze traced the tendons of Blair’s neck that twitched beneath the blade with every breath and swallow, lowering to the sharp contour of his collarbone.

“I get it.”

Klauen glanced up, surprised.

“I get it – I do. You need to feel something. But killing deer isn’t a sensation you should be craving.”

“Killing deer isn’t the sensation I’m craving,” Klauen retorted, his finger tracing the groove of the hilt. He exhaled between clenched teeth, trying to calm his adrenalin-fuelled body. “But it’s the only substitute right now.”

Blair glowered. “Why hold back then? Why not indulge the violence?”

Klauen laughed breathlessly, bitterly, and some of the rage eased, though the tension remained. “I’m holding a knife to your neck, Blair. You shouldn’t be taunting–”

“So why not do it?” Blair hissed, his gaze glowing with something Klauen couldn’t place. “Go on; gut me like the deer. I dare you.”

Klauen couldn’t blink. “I’ve been taught to handle knives since I was six, how to kill a man with a single cut. I’m the son of Lord Konig Stahldritten, and his blood–”

“Do it, Klauen!” Blair shouted, baring his teeth in a harsh smile. “Show me how you kill a man.”

“–courses through my veins,” Klauen continued, his volume rising with agitation. “The blood of generations of killers, with you at my mercy–”

“Then show me the merciless killer you are,” Blair taunted, his tone lined with laughter. “Do it, you selfless little–”

“BLAIR!” Klauen bellowed, for once the absolute embodiment of his Lord father, his mind so past fury that his hand was steady on the knife where it drank the beads of blood from his friend’s throat. Silence met his ears as Blair stared him down, before leaning forwards almost enough to press his forehead to Klauen’s.

“…selfless,” he repeated softly, enunciating each word carefully, “violent, little fuck.”

Klauen chuckled, to Blair’s surprise. “You’re going to have to try harder than that if you want to piss me off, mi’les.”

“Heike’s little prodigy,” Blair said, and grinned that ruthless grin that fit so well on his face. The dagger sheared through the tree’s bark, driving it into the weaker timber beneath, and leaving it lodged there. Blair slowly closed his hand into a fist, releasing the remaining fingers of his maimed hand. They shook slightly, brushing the blade that would have severed bone and muscle – if there had been any digits to remove.

Klauen inhaled through his nose, his jaw set as he swallowed down anger, his hand trembling again where it tightened around the hilt that fit his palm so perfectly.

“You’re not going to be like Heike,” Blair murmured softly, all prior bravado gone from his solemn words. “You’re going to be like your father, Klauen.”

He pulled away silently, leaving Klauen to lean his forehead against the tree, his heritage of fury and violence coursing through his veins.

#griffithzombies #six realms #au #klauen #blair #blair & klauen

Six Realms: Chapter Thirty

Author: Ashleigh

Format: AU - on-going

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Blair & Klauen

Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure

“Tell us what you saw,” Blair instructed around a coy smile, holding the girl’s terrified gaze. The slave shook her head the barest of inches, visibly trembling in her seat. Blair chuckled, resting his chin in the palm of his right hand. “Then tell us what you told her.”

“I promise I won’t kill you,” Klauen said gently from his post against the doorframe, and the girl’s green gaze wavered on him for a brief second, before she declined.

Blair sighed heavily. “Listen, sweetheart. I’m a slave trader with a less than reputable character for those not under my employ. He is the former chief interrogator of the Stahl Realm. And you have two seconds to start talking.”

Her lips moved silently, and she stumbled over her words, as if it took effort to speak. “He’s Lord K-Konig’s s-son.”

“Yes he is,” Blair agreed with a knowing nod. “What else did you tell her?”

“He’s here to k-kill Sklavesman.”

Blair’s gaze rose to Klauen, but he smiled encouragingly at the girl. “And you told her where we were?”

The girl’s head shook violently. “No, no, no, no.”

“But the woman you talked to – she will tell Sklavesman’s Great Mage, won’t she?”

A nod, and Blair tsked.

“Is there anything else you told her?”

“That other one, the one with the cold, cold gaze,” she murmured, and leaned forwards to whisper, so quiet that Klauen had to strain to hear. “She’s going to kill the others, isn’t she?”

“Which other one?” Blair prompted, but the girl’s gaze flickered to Klauen, petrified. Blair rolled his eyes. “What’s her name? Which others is she going to kill?”

“Why would you do that?” the girl whispered, ignoring Blair’s questions as she focused on Klauen, her voice catching as tears prickled in her gaze. “Why do that to him?”

“Hey, front and centre,” Blair ordered, and the girl’s mouth snapped shut, her back going straight as a rod. Her gaze didn’t waver from his. “I want a name.”

The girl shook her head furiously.

“Sweetheart, I want that name.”

The girl’s hands flew up, clamping tight over her mouth in a caricature of a child. Blair glared, but Klauen just sighed, rising off the wall. He took a few steps towards her unflinching figure, seizing her wrist and jerking the hand away from her mouth, to a startled shriek.

Blair pushed to his feet, stepping back as Klauen twisted her limb around, slamming the back of her hand hard against the table top. His foot kicked out, dragging the chair close enough for him to sit adjacent to her. He sat down, snaring her gaze as he took out his dagger.

“Name,” he ordered calmly, despite the girl’s increasingly shallow breaths. She screamed when he gently pressed the tip of the knife into the calloused skin of her palm. Were it not for his firm hold on her wrist, she would have wrenched her palm straight through the sharp blade.

Klauen exhaled, lifting the dagger to hover over her fingertip, pressing lightly.

“Tell me that name, please.” The girl shook her head vehemently, and Klauen cast her a concerned look. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, and he sliced the length of her finger; not deeply, only enough to send blood bubbling up, not enough for it to bleed profusely. She screamed all the same, sobbing hysterically, and Klauen nearly lost his grip on her shaking wrist.

“Listen – listen to me,” he said calmly, cutting through her terrified screeches as he tried to regain her attention. “Listen to me, alright. It’s fine. Your finger’s fine. Just start talking.” She was nowhere near the realm of calm, but she had at least reduced her screaming to a high-pitched whine. “You’re a very talented mage, so I’m not going to kill you. But I can still hurt you very much, without coming even close to mortally wounding you. Tell me the name, please.”

Her lips wavered on the words, and she swallowed a few times, before she finally struggled past them. “I promised Lady Giselle I wouldn’t tell,” she explained, and Klauen held her gaze for a second more before he pierced the flesh at the middle of her hand and sliced through the skin, between the bones of her fingers until her hand was split nearly in two uneven halves.

She screamed bloody murder, but Klauen didn’t waver, setting the dagger aside while maintaining a firm grip on her jolting wrist. When she finally calmed down enough to drag in horrified breaths, Klauen spoke up.

“I know you promised her, but this is very important, and I need you to tell me.”

She stilled then, snaring his gaze and holding it with those glowing green orbs. She leaned forwards on shaky, uncontrollable limbs, drawing him into her confidence. . “I won’t tell,” she promised earnestly, and met Klauen’s gaze, conveying the sincerity of her words, her undying loyalty. “I promised I wouldn’t.”

Klauen noted that, admired it, and sighed. “And I promised that I wouldn’t kill you,” he murmured, releasing her reddening wrist. She lurched to her feet, cradling the injured limb to her bosom.

“She’ll tell the Lady that we interrogated her,” Blair reminded him, but Klauen waved him off.

“I don’t care.”

She backed up, turning for the door, but Blair seized her upper arm. The touch seemed to ignite something in her, because she drew a short dagger from her belt, brandishing it in her grip as she turned to stab him. Blair responded instantly, shoving her away, his other hand falling to his belt.

She leapt back into the fray, a scream tearing from her trembling lips as she drove the dagger towards his chest. Blair merely raised his drawn sword, impaling her on the steel blade. She didn’t move but to blink in stunned amazement as her knees buckled, and she slipped a few millimetres on the weapon, her uninjured hand coming up to gingerly touch the end of the blade that jutted from her shoulder. Then she collapsed her weight onto Blair’s hands where they were clenched around the now blood-stained hilt.

He shifted, letting her slide from her stake onto the floor, before swiping the sheer metal across his pants leg to clean it.

Klauen was already on his feet, furious. “I promised her I wouldn’t kill her!”

“And you didn’t,” Blair retorted calmly. “I did, saving our asses in the process.”

“Is this how you treat all slaves?” Klauen snarled, unable to come to grips with how exactly he wanted to exact retribution on the man before him.

“No,” Blair said sharply. “I treat my slaves as if they were under my protection. She was not my slave; she was a liability.”

“So you killed her because it was convenient?” Klauen hissed as Blair sheathed his sword. “That’s exactly what Heike would have–”

He stilled, robbed of speech by his irritation and fury. He spun around on his heel, snatching his discarded dagger up from the table, before turning back to Blair, hand outstretched.

“Give me my bow, now.”

“What are you doing?” Blair inquired, ignoring his request, but Klauen merely shook his hand, silently demanding. Blair relented, passing the bow into his hand, and watching as Klauen swung it over his shoulder.

“We’re going hunting,” Klauen snarled with bared teeth. “I need to kill something. Right now.”

#griffithzombies #six realms #au #klauen #blair #eiche #blair & klauen

Six Realms: Chapter Twenty-Nine

Author: Ashleigh

Format: AU - on-going

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Blair & Klauen

Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure

“Hold my bow,” Klauen instructed, and passed the weapon into the jaded hands of Blair, stepping around the cluster of boulders to approach his wounded victim. He skirted around the creature, sure not to startle it; he advanced towards it withers, beyond the scope of its unsettled vision. He crouched low, walking on silent steps until he was close enough to touch its coarse hide. His fingers carded lightly through its fur, and it wailed, panicking.

Klauen cursed himself. He was getting impatient.

He gritted his teeth, kneeling on its neck, his flat palm pinning the deer’s bucking head to the ground. His free left hand went to his belt, and his fingers were already sliding the knife from his sheath before he had made the conscious decision to do so.

His grip shifted on its head, taking it beneath its jaw, where its neck began, and extending it, flattening its head back as far as it would comfortably allow to best expose its neck. This close, he could discern the pulsating veins pumping the last rivers of blood to its pained brain.

The blood poured over his hand with the knife’s well-versed arc, and the warmth was welcome on his rough skin. The deer stopped bucking, its movements fading to a shudder, and finally it came to a rest. Klauen wasn’t breathing heavily; the chase and the descent hadn’t taken much out of him. He’d purposely picked the oldest and sickest deer of the herd when he’d notched his arrow against the string and let it sing.

He didn’t pull back, didn’t rise from his kill. Instead, he manoeuvred himself into a sit on its still withers, straddling its midsection with his boots firmly planted in the dirt as he leaned over the dead deer.

His hand relinquished its hold on the bunched fur at the base of its jaws, brushing down its neck in an almost fond, soothing motion. But the fingers of his left hand reaffirmed their hold on the dagger and began their long descent to the creature’s sternum, kissing the fur with iron teeth. The blade snagged in the flesh, and at parts he was forced to saw through muscle and the twisted remnants of its windpipe, but he finally hit the bone.

Klauen exhaled, swiping the underside of his cleaner arm across his forehead as he sat back to survey his work. His gaze traced the contours of the deer’s body, its wide and glassy eyes, and then he pressed his lips together, leaned forward and cut two clean incisions along the underside of its jawline.

He embedded his knife in the dirt – it wasn’t clean enough to be returned to the scabbard just yet – and peeled back the flesh with his adept fingers. The muscles of its neck were bared beneath his eyes, still intact from its fall.

Klauen took the time to trace each vein with the blunt edge of his knife, pressed his blood-slicked fingers against the tendons to feel the pressure and the contour, their rise and fall like rolling red and deep purple hills. When his mind was calm and focused, he dismounted from the deer’s withers, and crouched at the back of its neck, dropping to his knees so that he could continue the incisions all the way back to its ears and along the curve of its chest until he could peel the flesh almost completely from its neck. He left it to rest in the dirt behind its neck like some vein-lined mane.

Then he rose to survey his work, stepping over the carcass as he did so. He could see the muscles where they stretched taunt and lay slack with the extension of its sprawled legs. It made him feel closer to the deer, somehow; if he knew the intricacies of its form, perhaps he could justify its death at his hands.

Klauen didn’t realise he’d been staring for quite a while until he noticed Blair leaning against the flat plane of the nearest boulder. His expression was aloof, his arms crossed over his chest in the epitome of boredom.

“Yes?” Klauen asked, a prompt to the unspoken question, and dropped to his haunches at the creature’s back. He pressed his forefinger and thumb into the ridges of its spine, feeling the progress of the bone beneath cooling skin and fur.

“I don’t understand how – but is this because of her?” The tone was a sigh, lacking empathy or sympathy, spoken more because it was necessary than out of concern.

Klauen glowered at the deer’s back, bringing his knife up and pressing the tapered point into a mark between the carcass’ shoulders. He paused, deciding on a better incision point, and repositioned his knife to a spot just beneath where the neck was peeled back. He drove his knife into the thick flesh of bunched muscle, his elbow rattling with the effort it took to sever tendon, and began a slow procession down the creature’s back.

#griffithzombies #six realms #au #klauen #blair #blair & klauen

Six Realms: Chapter Twenty-Eight

Author: Ashleigh

Format: AU - on-going

Rating: Mature

Pairings: -

Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure

Idalia beamed down at Giselle Schmutzleben, descending from her mare with grace and elegance. She brushed down her sapphire skirts, approaching the waiting lowborn Lady. “Lady Schmutzleben,” she entreated, taking her hands. “It’s an honour to meet you.”

“The honour is mine, sage,” Giselle responded with a bright smile. “It’s a pleasure to host a dignitary of such stature as Lady Idalia Wasserste.”

Idalia chuckled, blushing at the compliment. “You’re Adelheid’s cousin?”

“Yes,” she replied with a gracious smile. “Through the Klinge line. My mother’s father, and her grandmother were siblings.”

“She’s in Sklavestadt as we speak,” Idalia explained, and Giselle nodded, leading her into the cool shade of the foyer. They wandered through the hallways leisurely, admiring the artwork and architecture of the sandstone manor. “She’ll join us in a few days, if all goes well.”

“What has her attention? Perhaps I can help in some way.”

“She’s hunting down a rogue slave; the disgraced Totersieg son. She’s very determined to serve him justice.”

“I haven’t seen her since we were very young,” Giselle said with a grin. “But she has always been very driven. How long will you be staying with me here?”

“Hopefully–”

“Lady Schmutzleben!” one of the attending guards barked in warning, and then a mess of vibrant red hair was cascading around Giselle. A woman had seized her arms in vice-like persistent holds, her gleaming eyes demanding her attention. She was crying, and she implored the startled Lady with her gaze.

Giselle pulled the young woman into an embrace, soothing her before stepping back to meet her gaze. “Come sit with me,” she said kindly, leading her to a sprawling lounge, settling them both down on the plush cushions. “When you’re ready, talk to me, Eiche.”

The girl blushed, wringing her hands. Her bright emerald eyes darted about, but instead of fear swimming in their depths, they were unnervingly confident. “I saw,” she said finally, and Giselle squeezed her hand comfortingly, but the young woman did not proceed.

“You had a vision?” Giselle inquired, and the girl nodded, running shaking hands through her vibrant red locks. “What did you see?”

The girl glanced over at Idalia, fretting. Giselle followed her gaze.

“Would you like her to leave?” she asked gently, but the girl shook her head vehemently.

“She should hear,” she said firmly. “She needs to hear.”

Idalia approached as Giselle took the girl’s hands into her own. “What did you see, Eiche?”

“The cold woman,” she said hesitantly, concern in her deep green eyes. “She’s going to kill the others.”

“The cold woman,” Giselle repeated, a little confused, but she nodded nonetheless, allowing Eiche to continue with confidence.

“The other Realms,” Eiche said, a lock of hair coming lose with her vehement head-nodding. She brush a strand behind her ear with brutal efficiency, never pausing as she held Giselle’s compassionate gaze. “She’s going to take them all.”

“Take them? How is she going to take them?” Giselle asked as Idalia interjected, “Who’s the cold woman?”

Eiche looked between them in stunned silence, marking their expressions before drawing in a sharp breath. Her gaze snapped back to Giselle’s, worrisome and sorrowful as she seized her hand with persistent fingers. “The fire Sklave is going to die.”

“The fire Sklave?” Idalia repeated. “Aurel’s fire slave? Retter died.”

Eiche’s ginger locks bounced on her head as she shook it, taking Idalia’s wrist. The Highborn Lady jumped with the contact, but met her ferociously determined gaze. “Not that slave; the other one.”

“The other one…?” Idalia repeated. Aurel didn’t keep slaves; all of his men were freemen. The only slaves he’d known were Retter and Hansel, and Hansel wasn’t even a fire mage. “He doesn’t have another…”

Eiche made an irritated noise in her throat, turning back to Giselle. “There’s a slaver and a lord in the city. They’re looking for the fire Sklave. You can’t let them find him. They’re going to kill him.”

“There is no other fire slave,” Idalia said in frustration.

“Sklave,” Eiche corrected with emphasis. “Sklave.”

“Fire Sklave,” Idalia said, to appease the fretting girl. What difference did it make, anyway? Sklavesman was the surname that all slaves carried; it was synonymous. Retter had held it, and Coiriuil had held it, and every other slave in the Six Realms–

Idalia seized her arm, snaring the redhead’s attention.

“Fire Sklave,” she reiterated, watching as the girl nodded, a smile starting on her features as Idalia’s filled with dread. “A fire Sklavesman? But not a mage?”

Eiche shook her head, her eyes closing briefly to confirm her resolve. Idalia turned to Giselle.

“It’s Coiriuil. Coiriuil is going to die,” Idalia said, leaping to her feet frantically. “I have to warn him.”

“Who’s going to kill him, Eiche?” Giselle asked earnestly. “Do you know? Can you tell us?”

“The men with the swords,” she responded.

“Steel mages?”

Eiche nodded, raising two fingers on her right hand. “Two of them.”

“Steel mages would be highborn or lowborn,” Giselle explained, glancing up at Idalia. “Do you know which they are?”

“Both.”

“Both?” Giselle repeated.

“One highborn, one lowborn,” Idalia clarified. “A Stahldritten, and one other.”

“A Stahldritten?” Giselle murmured with a frown.

“It’s not Heike,” Idalia reasoned. “So it’s one of her brothers.”

“Why would a Stahldritten kill the commander of the Feuer army?”

“Maybe their armistice didn’t mean as much as we thought it did,” Idalia muttered, gathering her skirts up. “I’m going to find them.”

“They’re in the city.” Idalia turned in surprise, meeting the innocent green gaze. “They know about me.”

“I have to warn Coiriuil,” Idalia murmured, nodding to assure herself.

“No!” Eiche said sharply, drawing her to a halt. There was trepidation in her gaze. “You have to go to your brother.”

“Melior?” Idalia said, and concern struck her. “What’s going to happen to Melior?”

“You need to warn him about the cold woman.”

“The cold woman?” she repeated. “Heike? What’s Heike going to do? What am I warning him about?”

But Eiche’s attention was already on Giselle as she seized the lowborn Lady’s wrists. “They’re going to come for me. They’ll want to know what I said–”

Giselle pressed a small dagger into her palm, curling her fingers around it. “If they try to hurt you,” she said, meeting her gaze earnestly, “then I want you to protect yourself. Hide it in your skirts, Eiche. I want you to be safe.”

The young red-haired woman nodded, taking the dagger from her insistent hands.

“I’m going to warn my brother,” Idalia said firmly.

“What of the Feuervierte commander?” Giselle inquired.

Idalia hesitated, but shook her head. “I can’t help him. I have to take care of my brother. He can defend himself; he’ll have to.”

“Perhaps I should send men to find them?” Giselle prompted uncertainly.

“No,” Idalia cut her off. “No, they’ll be half-way to the Feuer Realm by now; you’ll never meet them without knowing where to find them. Send out men to find my lady-in-waiting, Adelheid. She’ll know where to find them. She’s one of the fastest riders in the Realm.”

“One of the fastest?” Giselle repeated as she followed Idalia into the courtyards. “Who’s the fastest? The Great Mage?”

Idalia took the reins her waiting attendant handed her, swinging gracefully onto her pale mare’s saddle, turning down her heels as she brought the horse around. “I am.”

#griffithzombies #six realms #au #idalia #giselle #eiche

Six Realms: Chapter Twenty-Seven

Author: Ashleigh

Format: AU - on-going

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Blair & Klauen

Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure

Klauen woke to someone in his room.

They were a mere shadow against the darkened walls of the inn, but he could see their slow progress as they sauntered about the room, more or less circling the bed. Klauen’s hand moved for his dagger, kept beneath the pillow, but his wrist caught before his fingers even brushed the steel.

“It’s not there, so you wouldn’t have had much chance anyway,” the figure drawled, “even if your hands weren’t bound.”

Klauen turned his wrists over in the dim light, inspecting the metal. He’d seen bonds like these, designed to contain a person’s magery. Which meant his captor was either very precautious, or familiar.

He cursed himself, though. His ride through the Ether Realm had taken more out of him than he’d realised when he’d collapsed right off his horse in the first inn he’d arrived at in the Erde Realm. To have slept through an intrusion was rare for him, but then, his beleaguered mind probably hadn’t had the strength or heart to wake him.

“Your boots too,” the figure continued – definitely masculine – and held up a set of daggers in the light. “You’re carrying more than I remember. Almost missed a few, but then, I never could keep my hands off you. I found them in the end.”

Klauen glared, doing a quick sweep of himself to check for any undiscovered weapons. “You obviously have some idea who I am, then.” No weapons. Not that he could reach them anyway. Damn him. That son of a bitch, always getting the upper hand.

The figure chuckled, leaning into the pool of light. “How’s your darling sister?”

“Bitva’s doing well,” Klauen responded in an equally teasing tone as his gaze drank in the tall figure before him, a hint of delight warming his tired chest.

A roll of two silvery eyes, and the man circled around to the side of the bed. “I meant Heike.”

“She’s as cold as our realm,” Klauen said briskly, and raised his bound wrists. “Care to explain, Blair?”

The man grinned, and it was tinged with his trademark mischief. “I had questions,” he said with a shrug, dropping down onto the opposite side of the bed. He looked calm as ever, hooking his hands behind his head as he propped himself up on the pillows. “You Stahldrittens aren’t morning people.”

“I forgot you were a night person,” Klauen retorted. “How’s business on that end?”

“I’m offended,” he said mockingly, and grinned again. “You accuse me of upholding such a questionable reputation! And you’re one to talk. Remember that night?”

“This reminds me more of that other night,” Klauen admitted, raising his bound wrists.

Blair laughed, his eyes glazing with fond memories. “That was a very good night, even if it did get me dumped in a cell for the whole of the next day.”

“Speak for yourself,” Klauen scoffed, “I had to confront Heike.”

Blair winced, but chuckled all the same. “I’ll bet she was pleased.”

“She went straight to our mother,” Klauen reminded him with chagrin. “I’m just glad it wasn’t Father.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure I’d be out if your father had heard that you were fucking me.”

Klauen frowned. “Don’t call it that; it’s such a vulgar word.”

Blair snickered. “You never liked cursing, do you? You cursed plenty of times that night, though.”

“You’re a jackass.” Klauen shifted, sinking into the hard mattress. “What’s the purpose of all this?”

“Intimidation,” Blair responded with a knowing nod, and Klauen snorted.

“You’ll have to try harder than that, Eisen.”

Blair rolled onto his side with a low hum, tracing the trench between Klauen’s stretched ribs with the razor edge of his own dagger. “Do you know how easy it is to kill Highborn Lords? They always get themselves into so much trouble,” Blair said with a wicked grin. “Didn’t think I’d have the pleasure of having you at my mercy again,” he added with a wink.

“Purpose,” Klauen reminded him, bringing him back on track. Blair’s teasing smile dropped as he rolled his eyes.

“First,” he stalled, rolling off the bed to his feet in a lithe movement. “What brings a Highborn all the way into the Erde Realm?”

“I’m hunting a slave,” Klauen answered, and fixed him with an impatient look. “Either tell me what this is about, or let me go.”

“You’re on my territory,” Blair responded, sheathing his dagger.

“You’re a Lowborn Lord of the Stahl Realm. This isn’t your territory.”

“I’m a slave trader. And you’re hunting on my grounds.”

“My authority supersedes yours.”

“Klauen,” Blair purred, leaning down over him. “I can have you begging in minutes. We’ve already established that power play isn’t your strong suit with me.”

Klauen glared, blushing. “We’ve also established that consorting with me usually doesn’t end well for you.”

“Maybe I like the danger,” Blair retorted with a grin that would put the Stahl Father to shame. It was the expression a victorious man would wear, concocted of self-confidence and mischief. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember our first soiree.”

Klauen’s eyes flitted over Blair’s left hand, where the last two digits had been reduced to now-healed stumps. “And you consider that an achievement?”

“I consider it a warning,” Blair responded. “I rode out of there alive, didn’t I? Your father could have done much worse.”

Klauen scoffed, but there was a bitter element to it, marring the indifference. “The blood loss must have affected your memory. You don’t remember how I couldn’t get you to hold your reins while you slumped over that mare’s neck.”

“The cold helped with most of the blood,” Blair responded nonchalantly.

“You still don’t give a damn, do you?” Klauen asked with a hopeless shake of his head.

“Life’s too short,” he replied with a shrug and a smile. “And there are too many good fucks to waste memory on assholes. So, little Highborn, what are we going to do next?”

“We’re going to find a slave,” Klauen answered, meeting his careless silver gaze. “And we’re going to pay Lady Schmutzleben a visit.”

#griffithzombies #six realms #au #klauen #blair #blair & klauen

Six Realms: Chapter Twenty-Six

Author: Ashleigh

Format: AU - on-going

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Fricka & Hansel

Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure

Hansel’s gaze swept over the weathered stone and the silvered beams that protruded like exoskeletons from the blackened, concrete flesh. Totersieg hall was the only lordly household that was not constructed of trademark sandstone and timber, instead favouring the steadfast fortitude typical of the Stahl realm. Despite its harsh, foreboding exterior, and despite having forsaken it in the name of his love, Hansel still called it home.

The sound of his elder brother’s approach resonated before he appeared, rebounding across the carved stone walls and echoing into the rising ceilings as he descended with all the refinement of a lowborn Lord awaiting the mantle.

“The prodigal son returns,” he said sarcastically, sauntering down the steps, surveying Hansel with a sweeping gaze. “Bow, brother.”

Hansel sighed, lowering to his knees and bowing his head as his elder brother approached. His hand carded through his hair, nails slicing lightly through his scalp as he lifted the leather necklace on one finger, a disapproving noise in his throat. Fricka’s glare could have burnt through metal, but she held her ground at Hansel’s side as Emmerich released the token, pushing his hair back to survey the brand at the base of his neck. The noise was distinctly more amused this time.

“A slave’s brand, brother?” he taunted, withdrawing, and Hansel raised his head. “I suppose it was only a matter of time.”

“I need your order to remove it, Emmerich,” Hansel reminded him, coming to his feet. “I won’t be hunted in my own house. Even disgraced, you can’t wish that upon me.”

“What would Father say?” Emmerich tutted, summoning an attending servant.

“What does it matter?” Hansel ground out. “Make your own decision.”

The elder brother sighed with eternal patience. “Send for a healer,” he instructed the servant, heading into Totersieg hall. Hansel followed at a steady pace behind, sure to give him room as they stepped across the flagstones in muted awe.

The arching beams of the ancient hall floated overhead, borne on stale air and the whispers of long-dead men. Ahead of them rose the dais, and upon it, the Totersieg shrine – a monument to the sacrifice given by their forefathers in the second crusade. The steels of their boots rang on the hollow floors underfoot as Emmerich drew to a halt, admiring the green and black hues of their family banner.

“In passing the time, would you care to remember the story of Sehen and Versteck?” he murmured pleasantly.

“The Tale of Two Brothers?” Hansel reiterated, mildly surprised. It was the most famous story of these halls – at least amongst its occupants.

“What story?” Fricka demanded, unsure.

“Versteck Frischweise was the elder of three years to Sehen Frischweise, of sixteen years,” Emmerich introduced without turning around.

“They’re our ancestors,” Hansel muttered. “Both lowborn lords with considerable shows of magery. The younger, Sehen, more so; he was a skilled telepath.”

“What do they have to do with anything?” Fricka inquired.

“The two brothers often played in the grounds around what is now Totersieg hall,” Hansel continued, meeting her silver gaze. “Sehen loved to play hide and see. Versteck would hide in the timber forests that bordered the halls, and Sehen would hunt for him. Only, one day, Sehen didn’t find him. When the sun began to set, Versteck came out from his hiding and returned to the halls. The servants informed him that they hadn’t seen Sehen since he’d left with Versteck.”

“He’d been sold,” Emmerich supplied, in answer to Fricka’s unspoken query. “Slave traders had come through the forests that morning and taken him. Versteck grew very worried in his absence, and before long, their parents died of broken-heartedness.”

“The story doesn’t say that,” Hansel contradicted scornfully.

“What else could it have been?” Emmerich countered lightly, and Hansel scoffed, but did not further the issue. “Regardless, Versteck came into command of the household, but there had been no sight or sound of Sehen in nearly a full year.”

“Sehen, on the other hand,” Hansel provided confidently, “had come to be hated by his new masters. He proved difficult to contain, with such talented magery. Not only that, but he had a sharp wit and a sharper tongue, and refused to comply with their simplest orders. In a fit of rage, the masters had his tongue cut from his mouth, as punishment for his disobedience. When he still refused them, they sold him into the hands of Kriede.”

“Kriede was a cruel man, and his family still bears his temperament in their reputation, to this day,” Emmerich said. “Sehen was beaten into submission, and when his stubbornness prevailed past broken bones and bloody bruises, Kriede dragged him to the lowborn Lord’s halls, to request his execution.”

“The lowborn Lord…” Fricka murmured.

“It was Versteck, yes,” Hansel said with a small smile. “Kriede brought the slave on his knees to the foot of Versteck Frischweise’s dais and entreated that the slave be hung for his crimes. Versteck considered; it was law at the time–”

“Versteck didn’t recognise his brother?” Fricka demanded incredulously. “He intended to kill him?”

“He had been beaten,” Emmerich explained quietly. “His face was unrecognisable, and without his tongue, he could not call out to his brother for mercy.”

“But Sehen wasn’t one to beg mercy,” Hansel said confidently. “He still had his magery, and he recognised his brother immediately. As his brother paced and considered his fate, Sehen drew on his talents, drawing into his brother’s thoughts, and said, ‘I have found you, brother.’”

Emmerich exhaled with a pleased smile, meeting Hansel’s gaze. “After all those long months, he had never stopped searching for his brother, nor his brother for him.”

Hansel rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so sentimental, brother. You always call the moral before the story ends.”

“Then, please,” Emmerich said, his tone laced with derision, “tell us the fantastic ending.”

“Versteck ran to his brother, drew him into his embrace,” Hansel continued, and Emmerich nodded slowly. “He ordered for his brother to be healed and cared for, and when he was well again, he ruled at Versteck’s side, the two brothers as equals.”

Emmerich snorted. “Are you really going to withhold your favourite detail?”

“Versteck had Kriede flogged,” Hansel added with a grin, “and sold him into slavery, to live out the life he had forced upon others.” At his brother’s disapproving tut, Hansel continued, “So I like a bit of revenge. It’s a balance, is it not?”

“You are always more interested in the revenge than the moral, Hansel,” Emmerich said, surveying him with a steady hazel gaze. “But at least you can recognise parallels.”

“You think me the embodiment of our ancestor?” Hansel snorted cynically, his brows rising.

“You do bear striking similarities,” Emmerich murmured lightly, not bothering to hold his gaze. “The stubbornness and the disobedience of Sehen… with a proclivity for running off into slavery.”

“I must have misheard,” Fricka said sweetly, and Emmerich’s gaze flashed with muted fear. “Would you care to repeat that last piece for me, sage?”

“And I suppose you see yourself as Versteck?” Hansel cut in mockingly. “Though I suppose you certainly have a common tendency to neglect your siblings when you come into power.”

“On second thoughts, you stray far from Sehen in areas,” Emmerich said thinly. “Nowhere near as clever or talented. You didn’t even manage to get yourself home on your own merit.”

“If you disapprove of my wife,” Hansel warned him, “then by all means let her prove herself. I’m sure she’d love to drop you on your pompous ass.”

Emmerich chuckled. “You never did respond well to hospitality, did you, brother?”

“Hospitality is never freely given,” Hansel muttered. “It’s always an unspoken request for goodwill. Affluence will only be used to constrain you, coerce you, compel you. Sehen refuted that authority, and he overcame it.”

“Minus a few teeth and straight bones,” Emmerich reminded him. “He suffered for his disobedience.” Emmerich hesitated, as if unsure whether he wanted to utter his next words. But he glowered, pursing his lips before he half-snarled, “And he left his brother to go through hell in his absence.”

Hansel’s brow rose in surprise. “Left his…?”

“Hopefully,” Emmerich said pointedly, trying not to blush with anger and embarrassment, “Sehen learnt that responsibility suited him best, and learnt that family is strongest when forces are joined.”

“Hmm,” Hansel murmured, appraising him. “It’s fortunate that we do not bear the traits of our ancestors, isn’t it, brother?”

Emmerich glared. “He would have accepted you back, if you had come remorsefully–”

“A good father would have accepted me back without condition,” Hansel snapped. “He used his affluence to bribe me, and I had no remorse to give him.”

“And now?” Emmerich inquired. “You’re married; he cannot abolish your union. You’ve travelled the Realms, as you wished. You have accomplished all you set out to when you disobeyed him. Now you come to his doorstep with a slave’s brand on your neck,” Emmerich said with disgust, not directed towards him, but to his predicament, “weaponless and poor, and you all but beg my kindness. Hansel,” he breathed, and there was concern in his tone when he spoke. “I am your family. This is your home. Your place is here, by your brothers’ sides.”

“And Fricka? What place does my wife have?” Hansel reminded him.

Emmerich made an impatient noise in the back of his throat, throwing his hands into the air. “I’m not going to convince you to stay, Hansel,” he said, with a hint of irritation. “I’ve given you more compassion than is due on my part, and received none on yours. Find your own wife a place; I will not sacrifice my position defending you. If you want to return – with your wife – then I advise you to beg Father’s forgiveness, or failing that, plead sanctuary.”

“You think Father will grant me that?” Hansel said dubiously.

“I have already put far too much effort into correcting your mistakes,” Emmerich snapped. “I shouldn’t be wasting my time on someone so clearly ungrateful.”

Hansel narrowed his eyes, suddenly curious. “Are you married?”

Emmerich looked taken aback. “What?”

“Are you married,” Hansel repeated clearly, watching his expressions closely. “Father wanted me to wed a Lowborn Lady; I refused him. You said you were correcting my mistakes. Did you marry?”

Emmerich blushed, and Hansel’s smile grew. “It’s not–”

“Who was it?” he demanded playfully. “I can’t imagine the Schmutzleben girl would be your type. Someone from the Wasser Realm, then? Or the Blesse girl – she’s your age, isn’t she?”

“It was an Eisen,” Emmerich stammered, his ears beginning to turn pink. He straightened his coat, shuffling his feet to avoid having to meet Hansel’s gaze.

“Finte Eisen?” Hansel said, surprised. “I didn’t think she was your type. Moreover, I didn’t think you were her type–”

“Not Finte,” he said sharply, glancing down at his wrung hands.

“Then who…?”

“Macht,” he said, almost too quietly for Hansel to hear.

Hansel blinked, spectacularly taken aback. “M-Macht Eisen?” he confirmed, finding his voice. “But… oh my god.” Laughter built in his throat until he couldn’t contain it.

Emmerich glowered. “Really?”

“I’m sorry,” Hansel said between chuckles. “I’m just trying to imagine you and him.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Emmerich snapped defensively. “He’s intelligent, perceptive – has more manners than you’ll ever have.”

“I just didn’t pick you as…” Hansel said, and snorted. “Are you betrothed?”

“Engaged,” Emmerich muttered.

“How did father take it?”

“Surprisingly well.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am not.”

“Fine,” Hansel said, unconvinced. “Whatever you say. When’s the ceremony?”

Emmerich eyed him doubtfully. “Two weeks’ time. Why?”

“Good to know,” Hansel said, and turned on his heel, Fricka following calmly. A small, understanding smile tugged at her lips.

Emmerich’s tone was tinged with concern as it followed him down the echoing expanse of the hall. “Where are you going?”

“To apologise to Father,” he called back with a grin. “I want to see this.”

#griffithzombies #six realms #au #forgia #fricka #hansel #emmerich #fricka & hansel

Six Realms: Chapter Twenty-Five

Author: Ashleigh

Format: AU - on-going

Rating: Mature (violence)

Pairings: -

Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure

Klauen Stahldritten was a man of simple, refined tastes. He sought things that amused him, and extinguished those that did not. Learning to distinguish between the two was the art of experience, of trial and error. It was not perfect, but he did not often make mistakes twice. Klauen remembered almost every lesson he’d been taught, whether by schooled men or patient time.

He remembered that one had to keep one’s knives off the table, and especially away from siblings’ limbs. He’d sliced open Heike’s hand once, back when she was of age but he was not, and it had been an honest accident. He’d been flogged for that, and sent to his room without his meal. Heike had retained the scar, a tiny white line across the flat pane on the side of her hand, but she had gotten her own. She’d come to his room afterwards and sliced his ear open, down the ridge so that it bled, but not deeply, and no one would see it after it had stopped bleeding. She was clever like that. He’d learnt far better from sitting in the early dawn with his hand clasped over his ear than he had from an empty stomach.

He remembered how to hold a sword, and how to wear it on his belt. Konnen and Korol had taught him those skills when he had first been able to hold the weapon. Those had been the days when his brothers weren’t duty-bound to the realm and to their Lordly father. His mother had taught him daggerwork, and his father had overseen his final swordsmanship, though Klauen had never fought the man himself. He, and everyone else, was forbidden to fight the Stahl’s Great Mage. His warrior’s sword had shattered; a sign from the Stahl Father that his battle days had passed.

Klauen remembered his first kill. It had been an old man convicted of murder. He had terrorised a local village for nearly two weeks before his father’s men had stepped in. Being of age, and prepared for rite, Klauen had been given the honour of beheading him. He’d watched the old man’s greying eyes when he’d done it. There hadn’t been remorse there; and he’d found none in Klauen’s eyes either.

He remembered dancing with Bitva, on the eve of their mother’s fiftieth birthday. That had been a year ago, and the great hall had been decked with feasts aplenty. They had danced until they had descended into laughter. There had been three executions in the Great Lady’s honour on the next morn; two men and a woman who had ransacked a town. Klauen’s boots had stained red, he had stood so close when their heads had rolled.

He remembered the executions at Heike’s wedding, not three months before. Her ascension to Great Lady of the Wasser Realm, wed to Melior Wasserste, had not gone unmarked by any degree. They had hosted both Highborn families, as was tradition with the wife’s duties. Even the Stahl Lord Konig had deemed the event worthy of his limited time. He stayed for nearly the entire function, and drank almost three pints in passing. Klauen remembered the faces of the men who had been sacrificed on Heike’s wedding day, one by each legitimate family member. He remembered which had fallen by his sword, remembered the silence.

Klauen remembered not to drink until one was blind-drunk. He had, only once, and had suffered for his lapse in judgement. His father had seen to it that his drinking friends would be responsible enough not to desecrate priceless family heirlooms under Klauen’s impaired encouragement. When he’d been sober enough to stand, Klauen had been responsible for ensuring his friends’ horses were saddled and able to take them to their homes. He’d fumbled in the snow for a good ten minutes when his friends’ butchered hands hadn’t been able to close around the reins for their lack of fingers.

He’d been beaten for that indiscretion as well. He’d fallen when a particularly vicious blow had sent his calf collapsing on itself. His leg had been twisted for perhaps two weeks before he could use it properly again, and his father had given away his prized horse as a result. Klauen had ensured that the soldiers who had conducted his punishment under his father’s orders had their hamstrings cut.

He remembered being the sibling who came under scrutiny most often. He had been the quintessential middle child of his family, ignored and yet responsible for the goings-on of his younger siblings. By the time Heike had established herself as the upcoming member of their brood, and his two older brothers had snared the favour of their father, Klauen had been left to his own devices. His sister Bitva was of age, as he was, and their younger siblings were engaged in preparations for their own rites. Klauen had sought to amuse himself amongst the sentries, and in doing so, had attracted the unappeased attention of his mother. She had seen to it that a guard was posted to monitoring his every waking moment, and that his time was absorbed by useful endeavours. When he had joined the ranks of the soldiery, his father forged him a warrior’s sword, and his mother became a fainter character in his now solitary life. He’d grown with knives in his belt and a sword in his palm. When his parents withdrew to their personal lives, out of the circle of politics, Klauen had free roam of the fortress. Within two weeks, he knew every serving soldier’s name. Within five, he was gifted his first legion of hand-picked men. Less than a month later, at nineteen, he forfeited his legion is favour of command of slavery and prisoners. His father had begrudgingly agreed, and afforded him the authority.

He remembered when Heike had ordered the interrogation of a prisoner. It had been a year ago, sometime in the lapse in his father’s rule, when Heike had been gifted authority as the political face of the Realm. Despite his hatred of cowards and tormentors, there was something thrilling about watching someone having their teeth kicked in. It wasn’t sadism; that he could attest to. He had seen murders and torture and death aplenty in his relatively short life, and he’d killed for duty, not pleasure or amusement. But adrenalin surged in his veins on that day. His majestic sister had thought it improper for her to get her gloved hands filthy with the interrogation – despite her ability to do so. As keeper of slaves and prisoners, the duty had fallen to Klauen, and he couldn’t deny the buzz that sang through him when his boot connected with the teenager’s face. He’d spluttered crimson onto the dais at Heike’s crossed ankles, his cries catching in his blood-logged throat. Klauen had watched carefully, as he had been taught to in interrogations, watching the expressions, the tells in a target’s movements. The man’s hands had curled on the stone as he had pushed to all fours, coughing past his tears as he had stubbornly refused to give up his accomplices. That was brave, and noble, Klauen had to award him. But it hadn’t lasted even a minute more when the lordson had taken a step forwards and crushed his fingers under his boot (probably snapping a few bones, by the scream it produced) and landed a solid blow to the man’s jaw with the heel of his steel-soled shoe. The blood had been cast from his lips like grains of sand onto the stone, and Klauen’s gaze had caught the shimmer of each drop as it had streaked down the teenager’s chin. When the man had collapsed with a mewling whimper, Klauen had frozen at Heike’s command. His boot was half-raised to strike again, and it took more effort than he dared admit to lower it back to the floor and retreat from the shuddering figure. He’d been rewarded for his successful interrogation, and from that day Klauen swore to himself that he would indulge the violence he admired, lest he become cold and relentless as his sister. So when the Totersieg slave came into his keeping, he spared the lying coward nothing.

Klauen remembered spring, in its frosted glory, when the snow broke with the faintest hint of vegetation, and the ice washed to allow grass. For perhaps three months, he could stroll the courtyard without need of a furred cloak, and it was his favourite season.

He remembered his dog, Gebiss, when it was a pup. He had named it for its wicked teeth that had hung slick with saliva every time it had prowled at his side. It had been one of a litter of five pups. Bitva had named her Messer after the blade, and Latya had named hers Blatt. The other two had gone to the kitchenmaster Speise, despite Klauen’s assurances that he could raise the pups. They had grown to hounds, and Klauen had seen the bitemarks on the legs of the staff when they served the food in the mornings. Klauen cut the dogs loose one night, and in the morning, the bitemarks had been replaced with welts.

He remembered when Gebiss had taken down a deer in the woods just outside the fortress. The dog had sat on that deer for nearly an hour before she caved to the cold and let Klauen drag the carcass back to the courtyard. Klauen had sat in the stables with Gebiss’ pleased, but weary head in his lap as he’d watched the servants come to collect the venison. He remembered each of their faces in passing, though he could never recall their eyes afterwards; they never looked up the whole while.

He remembered when he had set Gebiss on Speise, purely to see the kitchenmaster suffer. The bastard had been causing a commotion in the kitchens, and when Klauen had in passing noticed, he was confronted with the sight of three servants bailed up in the corner while Speise bellowed and threw implements at them. He’d leapt onto the man’s back and taken him down in a smooth roll, had watched as his spine had convulsed when it made contact with the stone floors. He’d watched his arms flail uselessly, batting at Gebiss as the hound had seized his shoulder and locked her jaws. But he’d watched Speise’s eyes when he’d laid his dagger against the bastard’s throat, watched the anger war with the duty and the fear before he had begun rattling off an explanation for his actions. Klauen had never been so disgusted, and doubted he ever would be again. He’d given the man an ultimatum; to resign and face Lord Konig Stahldritten’s wrath, or to die here beneath Klauen’s blade. He had left him alive, and he had returned in the morning to find the man had hung himself. He ensured the bastard had a short ceremony befitting of his cowardice.

Klauen remembered Retter, even if Heike did not. He remembered the child who had come into their household under the direction of Lowlord Haren Klinge, the keeper of slaves and prisoners at the time. Klauen had been no older than fifteen, but he remembered the child all the same. He’d watched him the first day, had sat on the wooden table that ran the length of the kitchens and kept a close eye on the boy.

He’d had calloused hands, and Klauen had found that odd. Most slaves developed their callouses here, beneath the ever-watchful stare of their new but only slightly improved kitchenmaster Chefkoch. Klauen had been surprised by the child’s maturity, his experience and his knowledge. He had wondered how old the child had been when he was sold into slavery. When the first week passed, and Chefkoch called on the household slave tradition, Klauen had protested. It had earned him a sharp reminder to shut his mouth and a reproachful look from Heike.

Retter had still gotten the brand. He’d still screamed, despite his best efforts. And when he’d passed out and had to be dragged back inside, it had taken all of Klauen’s sense not to offer to help. His knees had been grazed for weeks, but worse were the shivers that wracked his body.

Klauen had thought it a cold at first – it seemed fitting; he was a fire mage in a hostile environment. It was to be expected. But when the fevers had cleared and he was just left with the tremors that came and went with the kitchenmaster, Klauen had resigned himself to himself. His efforts to help the boy either went unmarked or resulted in punishment; often for them both.

In time, Klauen learnt to ignore the boy, and the boy became a man, by Stahl rites. As a slave, he would never reach legitimacy, but he was almost as old as Klauen when the new mage joined him in slavery. That drew Klauen’s attention, even though he had resigned from his position as keeper of slaves. Retter liked the company, even though the new, inexperienced mage worried him. Klauen remembered the slave’s years alone as the staff had dwindled down to him, and he was forlornly glad for Retter.

Klauen remembered discovering the nearly unattended fire. The sentry who had been left in charge of stoking it had let it die to nearly embers, and had nearly fallen asleep when Klauen had seized his shirtfront and stabbed him in the arm.

It had been a shallow cut, missing any arteries, but hitting plenty of nerves. Enough to make the shocked soldier’s arm twitch with his screams. Klauen had tossed him back onto the snow and ordered him to pay closer attention to the fire. Then he’d turned on his heel and stalked away before he could discern the features of the body lying on its coals.

He remembered hunting down the Feuervierte slave, chasing him across borders and into the sanctuaries of the Luft Temples. He remembered confronting him, mocking him, this bastard who had cost Retter his life. If he hadn’t been under explicit orders to leave the slave unharmed, Klauen would have shoved his sword down the Feuervierte’s throat just to watch him choke on his own blood. But Heike had forbidden him, in the stead of their father, and so he had resigned himself to mockery, obedient under the captain’s orders.

It had been low, and it had pained him to refer to Retter so casually, with so little care. But his words had been true, and honest. Retter shouldn’t have been the one to die for this careless Lord; the least the Feuervierte could do was give him company in death.

Klauen remembered sitting in the dark, on the cold floors of the stone kitchen in front of the fireplace. There were objects scattered at his feet, but he knew not what to do with them, knew not which words to say to honour them, so in the end he passed them gently into the hands of the flames. He was watching them burn when Heike found him, startling him out of his reverie.

He could tell from her expression that she knew what he had been doing. Nothing escaped her notice, or her disapproval, but here she held her tongue. Klauen always wondered why.

“I need you to take a horse,” she instructed, employing the tone she used for commands, to voice her utmost authority. He had risen to his feet, and now he half-bowed, nodding once. “Ride through Ether, and follow the border along the wall from the Erde Gate.”

“For what purpose, may I ask?” he inquired, and added, “Milady.”

“I have another slave for you to kill,” she said, somewhat coldly. Perhaps it was just the ice that flashed across Klauen’s eyes that made it seem so. “And this time, he won’t need a ceremony delivered from a kitchen floor.”

Klauen did not glare. He did not curse her or yell or reprimand her. She was a Great Lady, and he was the ignored son of a Great Mage. But he could not let his sister’s sharp taunts go unpunished, not when they were so bitterly true.

So Klauen smirked, and gave a sarcastically short, yet polite bow to her. “As you request, milady.”

Her gaze flashed as she registered the epithet, noting the sarcasm. She stepped forwards, bathing him in her eminent shadow, showing him the difference between her power and his, between her cunning and his, between her cold resolve and his, with something as simple as a step. Her gaze flickered to his ear, and his to the faint scar on her left hand. “Do you understand?”

Klauen was a man of simple, refined tastes. And he could not afford to make mistakes twice.

He bowed, low this time, and held it. When he spoke, he spoke softly and sincerely. “Yes, milady.”

#griffithzombies #six realms #AU #klauen #heike #retter

Six Realms: Chapter Twenty-Four

Author: Ashleigh

Format: AU - on-going

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Coiriuil & Idalia

Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure

“This slavery business is ridiculous,” Idalia murmured, “and inhumane. That’s why it was made a capital crime in the Wasser Realm. My father was the man who implemented it. With the Erde Realm on our doorstep, there were slaves pouring over the border in the hundreds. My father didn’t believe in it, so we became the first realm to make it illegal.”

“The Feuer Realm is far more lenient,” Coiriuil responded lightly, dropping to his haunches as he twirled a stick between his fingers. It traced invisible lines through the air, sketching an intricate design. “The wealthiest realm of the Six…Well, the Feuer Realm tends to be more in favour of the businessman than the slave.”

“Were you…a slave?” Idalia asked hesitantly, watching his expression.

“Yes, before Lord Feuervierte took me in and raised me.” The stick tilted, tracking slowly through the dirt, its lines more legible now. “But not a slave like the slaves you’re familiar with. I wasn’t born in the Realms.”

Idalia gasped before she could help herself, her eyes widening in intrigue and shock. “You’re an einwanderer!”

“I immigrated here with a tribe of Devonians, a small band of twelve warriors,” he explained, lacing his fingers together as his hands hung in his lap. “I was the Devonian equivalent of a slave. In my religion – the War Mother’s religion – whenever we win a victory, we celebrate with a sacrifice. My village was ransacked, and I was taken as their hostage. I knew I was going to die – my people were dead; it was only a matter of time for me.

“They made their encampment by the delta of the Erde River, on the shores of the Feuer Realm. Lord Feuervierte was riding by with his young son, and the warriors attacked them. His army subdued them and arrested me. He took me back to the safety of the city, left me with enough food to last a week and sent me on my way. It was more privilege than I’d ever had in my life. I grew up on the streets, stealing to survive until I was apprehended by his passing guard.”

Coiriuil chuckled softly, the golden light playing on his eyelids and cheekbones as he looked down, reminiscing. “He saw it as a sign from the Mothers. He brought me back to his home, introduced me to his son–”

“Aurel,” Idalia interjected, and Coiriuil nodded.

“We were both ten then. He was the son of the Great Mage, a Highborn Lordson. I had nothing but my life; I didn’t even have a name. I’d been given one, of course, after my first few offences,” he supplied, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt almost to the shoulder, to reveal six small lines stamped vertically onto his upper arm with a branding iron. “’Coiriuil’- it means ‘criminal’. They needed a name to attribute my offences to. I just kept it all these years.”

“You have no surname?” Idalia inquired softly, remorsefully.

“Lord Feuervierte instructed me not to take his surname,” Coiriuil responded, unfazed. “It would be improper anyway – a Devonian with a Highborn title. So I was given the name all slaves are given; Sklavesman.”

Silence passed between them, broken only by the whispered rustling of the trees above.

“I owe my life to him,” Coiriuil said softly, solemnly. His gaze was on his curled fingers, sorrowful and regretful. “And Aurel is the closest I have not only to a friend, but to family.” He glanced up with a heavy exhalation. “Idalia… I can’t…”

Idalia nodded, silencing him. “You can’t divide your loyalties between us.”

“I froze,” he murmured. “When we were attacked earlier, when Aurel was under siege, I froze. Because I couldn’t decide whether to protect you or save him. And that should have been clear to me. And then Adelheid’s loyalty… it’s inspiring. I know what I should have done now. I have a duty to him, as his commander, as his friend and as his brother. I…I’m sorry, Idalia.”

Idalia shook her head, smiling softly. “No, I understand. And you should be loyal to him. It’s in your nature. I understand that us being together would ruin that, and I don’t want that for you.” She hugged her arms to her chest, her hair floating in the gentle breeze as it caught the dying rays of the sun. She glanced up, her eyes sparkling like the surface of a lake. “I’m going to follow Adelheid. I’ve never been to the Erde Realm, after all. It’ll take my mind off… the past few weeks.” She smiled, chuckling briefly. “A vacation is called for, don’t you think?”

Coiriuil smiled, rising to his full height. “Thank you, for everything. You’ve helped us so much. I can’t thank you enough.”

Idalia pushed to her toes to hug him. “You’re good friends. Stay that way.” She smiled, meeting his warm gaze, before she turned and headed for her horse.

“Safe travel,” Coiriuil called after her, and sighed.

#griffithzombies #six realms #AU #coiriuil #idalia #coiriuil & idalia

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