there ain't no sword in your lake

just a funeral wake.  Dark Elf/ Werewolf | 29 years | Guild Member

[lifeinpoetry]

You haven’t kissed anyone for a while now. To you, everything tastes like blood.

Warsan Shire, from “Souvenir,” Our Men Do Not Belong to Us (via astveria)

[matthon-sumpter]

we liked it before we started seeing | flashback |karliah & matthon

[matthon-sumpter]

crownoffireandgold:

Karly-mae. Well played, Matthon, well played. Though if she were honest she found it amusing as hell to be called such.

Hazel eyes narrowed slightly with a raised russet brow above them, his minor stumbling over his words bringing her curiosity to the forefront– which was quickly dropped into a pit of shock and surprise at just what he was asking. She could only blink, caught between giving him hell for asking something that wasn’t any business of his, sending him to Gallus for advice on how to ‘do it’, or laugh into oblivion at the poor boy’s cluelessness…

Now just what to choose–

“Ohhhhhh…” She uttered the moment he corrected himself, laughing and cleary relieved. “Oh it’s a good thing you clarified, I was about to deck you– though awwww…Matt! That’s adorable! You’ve got a girl! Awww you have my congratulations.” If only she could squeeze him in that moment, he was rather cute.

“Alright, well tell me about this girl. What does she like, what does she dislike. Information is critical to know just how much princess treatment to give.”

His body tensed at Karliah’s excited squeals and coos. So what he had a girl - was it that shocking. He couldn’t stop from groaning and rolling his eyes. 

“If you’re going to help me, please treat me my age.” Matthon thought about Mithian, about what to tell Karliah. He couldn’t very well disclose her actual status as a princess of Archenland. But then again, she didn’t seem to like being a princess in the first place. 

“Well, she...she doesn’t actually like special treatment. I don’t think. She likes archery and riding. She doesn’t like dresses or fancy things.” He recalled snippets of conversations, off-hand comments about Court and a dislike for dancing lessons. “And she’s clever. Very clever. Cares about her family, but doesn’t seem to like them...or feel like she belongs.” He trailed off. Mith once told him she felt like an outsider. He knew exactly how she felt. “She’s complicated. But she deserves the world.” 

[matthon-sumpter]

we liked it before we started seeing | flashback |karliah & matthon

[matthon-sumpter]

crownoffireandgold:

Karliah was snuggled up to Gallus’ side, the two of them quietly musing about how the newest round of recruits were doing. “I think they need improvement…” Gallus was saying,  giving an outline of the positive and negative aspects of their students. Karliah only chuckled, shrugging her shoulders with a smirk. “c’mon, love, they’re kids…” she replied. 

Bantering for a few moments, they were soon interrupted by the sound of a newcomer, Matthon’s interruption bringing a mildly annoyed look to her face before she sighed. A nudge from Gallus forced her out of the warm embrace and standing, a quiet promise he’d still be there when she got back the only thing which kept a pout off her face.

“Alright, Mattykins, How may I be of assistance? And I swear it better be good to disrupt my snuggles.”

He probably deserved the Mattykins. But he still didn’t like it one bit.

“Don’t you worry, Karly-mae.” He said. And then he stopped for a moment because he actually found the idea of asking Karliah - who he admired but would never admit to - for relationship advice more daunting than his first ever mission at the Guild. He was good at stealing pocket-change. Not so good at stealing hearts. 

“Uh,” he cleared his throat. And then it itched and he had a coughing fit. “Sorry. Um. Look I need your advice on...you know,” he made a great many gestures that in no way conveyed the subject he was referring to. He felt exasperated and Karliah was looking at him expectantly. “Right - you and Gallus. How do you do it?” 

She said nothing. “Aslan! No, sorry, not do it, like that. Like,” he made quotations with his hands. “Be together.” 

“There’s this girl,” he said, a little defeated. “And she likes me. But so out of my league. And I don’t know how to...I don’t know. Make her feel special. Like a princess.”

[matthon-sumpter]

we liked it before we started seeing | flashback |karliah & matthon

He had just come from up there, above, where the victims liked to roam - victims to thievery, that is - and from with her. Princess Mithian. Though only Matthon knew it was so. They walked along the sea, skipping up sands and he watched Mith’s lacy hood flipper in the breeze and wished she could take it down. It was a pleasant day, and so very crowded, so they left. He bought her chilled ale and then they walked the cobbled streets and he asked about what it was like, living in the castle, but she didn’t want to talk about it. Then they walked in the alleyways and they were very alone and Mithian grabbed Matthon’s hand and traced his fingers with her thumb. He hesitated, so she kissed him first.

Matthon slumped on his bed, lying on his back and thinking about her more, about how next time he’d kiss her first. He turned to his side. Old Fred snored on the cot beside his. Matthon scoffed and stood. 

If only he could give Mithian something special. But what would a lowly thief offer the Princess of Archenland? They were worlds apart - how could he prove that he belonged to hers? 

He walked to the cistern, thinking about all this very seriously. He spotted Karliah and Gallus sitting at the edge of the sewer water. How romantic. Really, though, he thought it was.  

Matt cleared his throat. “Karliah, Gallus.” He sat on the other side of Karliah. “Sorry could I talk to Karliah? Alone.”

[cumberbatchlives]

[leoreginae-deactivated20171211]

Damnata, invisus, ubiqueab omnibus, ad infinitum | Brynjolf & Matthon

[matthon-sumpter]

exeunt-pursuedbysweetrolls:

Brynjolf was silent as Matthon gave his dramatic little monologue, completely unimpressed by his words. Who exactly did Matthon think he was tricking other than himself? It was a foolish thing to attempt, the Pevensies having backing that superseded everything and everyone. Who was stupid enough to try and go against people put in by Aslan himself? It was strange enough to consider, since Brynjolf had never seen Aslan himself, but he could believe that the Lion was a powerful being, more powerful than any who walked this earth. 

And yet… what the hell did Matthon think he was doing playing with that?

Stunned was the best word to describe how the Guildmaster felt, shock evident on his face as Matthon explained that he was seeking war. A single thought reverberated in Brynjolf’s mind:

…What?

Suddenly, Matthon began to change before his eyes, his own eyes widening as he took the sight of his friend in. A werewolf? He thought those creatures only existed in imaginations, stories meant to scare children from going out into the dark. There was only a spike of primate fear which spiked at his heart before he switched his mind to a more suitable topic. Namely, his muscles tensing should Matthon decide to strike. And so for the first time in what seemed like minutes, he spoke.

“You have truly lost your mind if you think you’ll succeed in this. Though frankly I know I probably can’t stop you just keep the Guild out of it. I only wish to know where you’ve put Sapphire… since it sounds like you’ve split ways.”

He enjoyed the widening look of shock on Brynjolf’s face - to surprise the man who had taken Matthon under his guide at such a young age. But even at that age Matthon had the change, he had always had it. Brynjolf never knew, though there were days he longed to divulge his secret, the secret of his bloodlines. Even before the blood in his veins had turned black with the hag’s wickedness he wondered what the Guild would have done.

Now, of course, he wanted the world to know the truth, and the world to crush beneath it. Brynjolf tensed but remained cool. He did not yell or run or gasp. Matthon was disappointed but then, he knew Brynjolf and really he could hardly expect anything less than the reaction he was given. 

Matthon’s eyes flicked to his left where, well through the trees - half a day walk away - was the hilltop he’d abandoned Sapphire on. He looked back at Brynjolf and smirked. “Leave the Guild out of it? There won’t be much Guild left to involve, will there? Karliah’s banished and taking on motherhood, Sapphire is...a little tied up with dying at the moment. Mercer’s with me. You’re getting old, human. I don’t need the Guild.” As he spoke Matthon regressed into his elf form save for his hands, leaving the claws as his primary weapon. “If anything the Guild needs me, my side of the war that, yes, I ensure is just over the next hill.” 

Matthon edged back. “Do what you like Brynjolf.” There was some part of him that could not bring a clawed hand against the man who may as well have raised him - a lingering respect of camaraderie. But another part still wanted to squeeze his heart, make his blood tremble. Matthon huffed a laugh. “It’s funny. Sometimes when Sapphire slept beside me she said your name, dreaming. I think she’s dead now.” He threw up a clawed hand, gesturing to the left. It would be tomorrow’s first light before Brynjolf could make it back to that hill. He didn’t have a wolf’s speed. 

“If she’s awake she’ll see the cold, lonely land staring back. An unforgiving expanse with nobody in it.” He started to turn around. “The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle. She won’t too long be living.” Matthon changed fully and galloped into the trees, leaving Bryn to work out the dying friend between them. 

[matthon-sumpter]

used to be a king alone, like solomon or rehoboam | drabble

“And with our blood we are bound, from womb to tomb, in joy and in sorrow, in birth and in death. To thee I pledge my body and my soul, and do so swear to love you long after my final breath.“

Sometimes, in the early morning when it was still dark, when the nightingales died away, Matthon whispered his vow, rolling the words over his tongue like lozenges. A vow like that he had to remember, especially when its receiver was coming after him with an army, when he was meeting her with his own. I’ll have to kill her, he reminded himself. He wasn’t especially disturbed by such a thought - he had reconciled it with his emotions since that first time with her under the apple tree. Her death at his hands was never a surprise. All part of the plan. It had to be so. Matthon traced the soft line of scarred skin across his palm. He did that often too. To remind himself of the stakes, of what he’d given up. Of what he wouldn’t.  

He was crouched on the balcony outside the nursery. He had stayed away for more than a year - a year since the Heist, freezing Isla, seeing his wife’s face. A year since she was born, and it’d been too dangerous to come before. Susan had expected it - he wanted to, he wanted to go immediately to see the baby, his baby. 

It was an ordinary night. No festivals, no full moon. Just a breeze. The war was coming - before the next year’s end he would strike. He had gained so many on his side, more than he’d expected, and from sons and daughters of honorable families. And the magic had improved eminently. It was only a matter of time until the sun would set over a blood-soaked field.

But he had to do this first. 

Drapes lifted from the edge of the windows into the air, fluttering in the breeze. It had been the hottest week he could remember, and this realization held the key to getting inside. He only had to wait for an opened window and a breeze. This was his fourth night of coming to the edge of the castle and gazing up for a clue. This night, the curtains beckoned him from below like a flag of surrender. Matthon lifted the drapes around him and stepped up and over the window frame, into the room. His eyes, ears, and nose searched for guards in the room but he sensed only ones outside the room. His gazed landed upon the bassinet. He wiped his hands on his trousers. He took a step towards it and stopped. He heard another’s breath and smelled a familiar scent. There was someone in the room. There, on the chaise a few feet away, he saw the bottoms of Susan’s bare feet hanging off the side, the curve of her calf. He put a hand to his heart so he might steady it. Fuck. 

Another step towards the crip, and another, and then it opened up before him and he was suddenly looking down at a small body with impossibly smooth skin, a body with a softness he could see in the way the nightclothes rested over her. Her face was pale, like bone, and revealed wispy, delicate veins underneath the skin. Her eyelashes were black crescent moons. The hair wasn’t nearly as dark. But it’d be long enough to run his fingers partially through. 

He didn’t have time to let his feelings overwhelm him. He could have stood there for hours, stood long after Susan woke and tried to run him off. And that was the danger in coming. Because now that he’d seen their child, he couldn’t part from it. He couldn’t let Susan keep him from her. Let the child grow up despising him. Grow up with the wrong name, on the wrong side. He had to take the child. He had to, he had to, he had to. He would. He reached down and lifted his sleeping daughter against his chest, he snatched the blanket from the crib, and turned away. He looked once at Susan on the chaise, considered how much this would break her. Then reminded himself she’d be dead. All of them. Best not let attachments fester between mother and daughter. The next time he spoke to his wife might be the utterance of her last words. 

He didn’t care that he was a bad person. 

He’d call her Aoife. He disregarded the name he’d heard Susan had called her. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered to him was that he was a father to a daughter and that he’d never held anything so delicate and valuable in his entire life. 

[matthon-sumpter]

dusty black coats and red right hands | matthon & ronan

[ronanelymusdoyle-blog]

Ronan excelled at silence. He’d spent his childhood in the kind that suffocated families, had revelled in the kind that saturated minds and libraries. This one was new to him though, he found, circling their safe house in his wolf form. It was not simply the sound of safety, a lack of pursuit by the Pretender’s guards, but rather of a nation holding its breath. He shivered, in love with the knowledge of his part in making this moment in history happen. 

His ears pricked up. Master was calling. Ronan changed and gathered his discarded clothing as he approached the safe house. He followed Mercer in, buttoning his waistcoat as he went, to find Matthon ready with orders at a mangled desk. There had been a miscalculation. Sapphire and the associate Brynjolf were not the neatly tied ends Ronan had thought they were. The silence was not safe for them after all. 

‘—she’s not dead then?’

Ronan set his jaw, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It was perfectly obvious in his mind - Mercer would be sent to kill the girl and the beau, and their little band would be on their way to grander endeavours. Except…oh. Shit.

“I am your assassin now?”  

[matthon-sumpter]

Matthon knew the sort of person Ronan was. He knew Ronan’s aversion to killing with his own two hands, or claws. That’s work for a lowlife, a skilled butcher, an underling, Matthon imagined him saying. And a job for a hitman it was, not a ‘loyal associate’ which he sometimes considered Ronan - or rather, what Ronan probably thought of himself. Matthon respected Ronan. More than anyone. That was the point. And he wanted to push him, see how much this ‘associate’ would do for him. If this war was imminent, then the disposal of two guild members might be the most insignificant of future deeds. 

Matthon folded his hands and placed them on the desk. He looked sharply at Ronan, but not angrily. “You are the most capable.” He let out a small breath. “And I trust you the most.” 

Until they won the coming war, theirs would be a business of death. Only fools would expect honorable or respectable means to win it. Matthon stood, walking along the length of the room. “You don’t like the assassin’s job. It’s below you.” He paused to ruff his hair. This was a delicate situation. “This...office, these walls,” he gestured around, “that desk...all of these are below me. That chair should be a throne! There should be a crown atop my head.” 

He returned to his desk and sat down quietly. “Ronan, we are far beneath what we deserve. This will not be the last time I ask you to kill. We kill so we may be better off than those we set in their graves. Our enemies would not hesitate in putting a sword through our chests.” He put his fingers to his lips and shrugged finally. “I don’t care how you kill her. Do whatever you like to make it more...dignified. Make a game out of it. But the end to those means is her death.”     

[deepinthesewoods-deactivated201]

There there, little friend

[matthon-sumpter]

dusty black coats and red right hands | matthon & ronan

The air had finally stopped buzzing outside and a calm settled over the room. Even the insects slept this early in the morning. There hadn’t been time to breathe since the heist and the lovely, terrible thing he’d done. And now Matthon sat in a very large wooden chair in the room he’d designated as his bureau until he’d eventually take Cair Paravel and have a room of his own – throne, too. He watched his dagger’s point waver ever so slightly from where he had punctured the desk’s surface. He sighed, stood from his chair and walked to the door, stuck his head around the corner and called, “Ronan! Mercer!” He returned to his desk chair and waited. 

It was two days hence the heist, and only one since his encounter with Brynjolf in the woods. For the time being all had remained fairly quiet. They dared not venture from the safe house lest some traveller or guard or Pevensie catch their sight or scent. But now he was worried, and regret nagged at the back of his mind. He’d made a mistake with Sapphire and Brynjolf. He’d let his theatrics overpower his logic. Leaving her on that hill to die was cruel. His body went warm when he thought of it, that betrayal. But he’d teased her location to Brynjolf, to injure him as well. And now he feared the worst – he had found her. Should have just ripped her throat, or his. He did not care for them. That wasn’t it. But more so, they had been a part of his story for so long, to cut them out seemed like cutting a part of himself. And he wanted them to see the end, to witness his greatness and power, to lose the war. It would be taking out half the fun to kill them off so early. And he loved the fun of it all.

There was a knock on the half open door. “Come in,” he said, waving his hand passively. He looked up into Mercer’s rodent eyes and Ronan’s clear ones. “Sit,” he instructed. They sat. “There is an issue to attend to. An issue with our good friends,” he gestured to Mercer, “Sapphire and Brynjolf.”

“—she’s not dead then?” Mercer interrupted. Matthon shut his eyes for a moment.

“There is a possibility she is alive. A possibility she is with Brynjolf.”

Mercer scoffed and cursed under his breath. “Fucking hero, thinks he is.”

Ronan was quiet, observant, listening. Matthon cleared his throat. “Sapphire might remember our location. And if so, she will no doubt share it.”

“So you want her dead, then? Definitively?”

“We need to relocate. Quickly. I need you to start searching now, Mercer. Not too far from here, but far enough that should Sapphire remember, her information would be fruitless. Go now. Please.” 

Mercer blinked then nodded assuredly. “As you wish, Matthon.”

He waited until Mercer’s footsteps dwindled from earshot and turned to Ronan. “You’ll need to find her, understand?”

[leoreginae-deactivated20171211]

Damnata, invisus, ubiqueab omnibus, ad infinitum | Brynjolf & Matthon

[matthon-sumpter]

exeunt-pursuedbysweetrolls:

–

Brynjolf groaned lowly at how flippant his friend seemed. “Well that’s how Karliah explained it.” he replied, knowing fully well that the elf and those in power had two very different ways of explaining things. Though Matthons following statement turned his mind as far away from the she-elf as it could go, and he blinked in surprise.

Matthon did not consider himself one of them? It felt like a slap in the face, though instead of giving Brynjolf any kind of thoughts of resolve as to the fact that he’d noticed something amiss in his friend, it gave him more questions than he had answers to.  When did this happen? How? Why? His eyes darted around him as Matthon walked, feeling somewhat lost. This Matthon didn’t seem like the one he’d known for years… and it struck him hard.

‘There’ll be war… I intend it… all… except for Sapphire.’

His eyes snapped up, then twitched, the way Matthon had said it unsettling within Brynjolf. Granted, a part of him wanted not to care, to bury the emotion of pain which he still felt at his last conversation with her – but instead he stayed silent, making sure he calmly thought out his next course of action. Matthon had declared that intended to start a war, a fact which in and of itself raised alarms in the Guildmasters head.

“Have you gone mad?” he asked finally. “You intend to start a war? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“O, full of scorpions is my mind,” he replied to Brynjolf, quoting a drama Susan once read him about a mad king. The story had resonated with his schemes, save that it wasn’t his wife spurring him into action. In that regard, he played both parts. 

By the pricking of my thumbs,  Something wicked this way comes.

“Perhaps I am mad, but a madman jokes far less than a sane one. They are much more likely to follow through with their intentions. And yes, that intention is war.” He took another step towards Brynjolf. “If I’m not mistaken with the night’s events, I’d say it’s already begun. The Queen Consort is as good as dead. Well - worse, actually. Since there’s no saving her. If you believe in that sort of thing.” He swallowed a foul taste in his mouth. 

“I’m quite pleased you’ve run into me actually. This way you can hear from my own lips,” he walked closer, “and see with your own eyes,” and closer, “and hear with your own ears what it is that I am.” As he spoke the teeth sprouted, his nails began to elongate. “Karliah knows quite a lot, but that arrogant bitch doesn’t know everything. There are things she doesn’t know; things that go bump in the night.” 

He changed his hands first, in the likely event Brynjolf withdrew a weapon. Then the legs. They cracked and bent but Matthon had been through the transformation so many times he pushed away even a grimace. His voice crackled now. “This is who I have always been - I’ve never been one of you.” His arms next, and with an arch of the back his spine. “This is power unlearned; this is power at birth.” He cocked his head in her direction. “I’ve bit Queen Susan with these teeth in the night. Sapphire too.” He furled his snout as if laughing. “Run and cry wolf, Brynjolf. And tell them about what’s coming. Tell them about the war, and what I’ll do to those on opposing sides.”

[leoreginae-deactivated20171211]

Damnata, invisus, ubiqueab omnibus, ad infinitum | Brynjolf & Matthon

[leoreginae-deactivated20171211]

There was no amusement in Brynjolf’s face as he listened to Matthon speak, worry filling him in one moment and fleeing the next. There was too much gaity in his friend, and when he said ‘you have some idea where we’ve been’ Brynjolf’s look morphed into passivity to hide the growing anger.

He had hoped that his suspicions were unfounded…

“Karliah said there was an altercation at the Cair in the middle of an event. I returned to the Guild to find you, Sapphire, and Mercer gone.” He started, taking a step forward. “I would have thought you would have had nothing to do with this, as you know the rules by which we work.”

He paused and gave a sigh as he took one more step forward, his eyes boring into the elf. “What have you done, Matthon? And where are the others?”

[matthon-sumpter]

Matthon clenched his teeth the closer Brynjolf stepped towards him. “An altercation?” he cocked his brow. “Is that what they’re calling it?” Brynjolf’s icy blue eyes bore into his own. “Yes, well I supposed I’ve always thought the rules were more like guidelines. Besides, I don’t much consider myself included in that ‘we.’ Haven’t for a long time.” 

He turned away from Bryn and walked along the spray of trees. He bent down and picked up a branch like a wishbone. It was one thing to betray a king you hated, and another to betray a friend you once loved. Matthon didn’t really remember the loving part, but nevertheless, to reveal what he’d done and what he’d become, finally, to Brynjolf was like a final stepping away from who he once was. It would all be out in the open now. The man who trained him as a boy would finally see what sort of man that boy had become.

“What have I done?” he said under his breath, not caring if Brynjolf’s inferior human ears couldn’t pick up the syllables. “I’ve done something terrible - terrible to you - but magnificent to others. Magnificent to me. And cruel.” He stopped and turned back to Bryn. 

“There’ll be a war now, I intend it. And the others are on my side. Except for one. Except for Sapphire.” He snapped the stick and it cracked, then tossed the bits aside. “It’s too late though. She already played a part.”

[leoreginae-deactivated20171211]

Damnata, invisus, ubiqueab omnibus, ad infinitum | Brynjolf & Matthon

Who knew what was going on… Brynjolf certainly didn’t – but he needed to find Matthon, Mercer and Sapphire. Too much was hingeing on why they were missing, He wanted to think the best of them, wanted to say ‘well maybe they’re just out longer than they should have been”

But his time he wasn’t sure he could. No one knew where they were,  no leads which could send him one direction or the other, and Sapphire’s cottage having been vacated. So he was left with wandering, going in a direction he wasn’t even sure would work, but he had no other choice when he’d overheard someone say they’d seen a group of four go in the general direction that he was heading. “Damn…” he muttered to himself, looking across the forest he was considering entering. He was wasting time, he was sure of it–

A familiar voice spoke from behind him, and he turned around to see the person of his seeking. Matthon. Mildly annoyed, despite his sigh of relief, Brynjolf walked over thoroughly ready to hear just what the fuck was going on. “Where the hell have you been, Matthon? I’ve been looking all night for you.”

[matthon-sumpter]

He had only just left her, pathetically bound to the hillside in chains. His veins were still thrumming with the satisfaction of such poetic justice, such an end so very like their beginning. Matthon’s blood felt hot thinking about the moment Sapphire would wake up, would try to move, would understand what he had done. It was a shame; she was talented at what she did. But what a weak temper, a propensity for harrowing guilt... she should have been glad to see Isla in stone. 

Or if not glad, then at least a little appreciative. He may have lied about the end - there would be no endless piles of gold in a faraway land, but she could have been powerful. So long as he needed her, so long as she was loyal. Matthon mused - though disappointed her fate had come so soon, he may as well have her gone now than later. She was weak - Ronan was far more useful. Ronan understood. 

Matthon’s ears pricked as he walked through the forest. He turned behind tall shrubbery in time to see Brynjolf pacing along the edge of the trees. Ah. He watched the man search warily, wandering without success. Matthon couldn’t resist. 

“Come to look for little lost lambs?” 

They might have been eaten by a big bad wolf.

“Brynjolf,” he smirked when the two were face to face. “I likewise have been in search of you. What an awful night it has been. The truth is, I came out here with our little friends when,” he dropped his voice and looked around for listeners in the trees, “a terrifying beast overtook us. I’m the only one left.” He stared at Brynjolf hard, then chuckled and stepped back. “I suppose you have some idea where we’ve been, or else you wouldn’t be here.” 

[thegoldenagegraphics]

No sir, by the way what the hell are morals? - Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing by Set it Off.

[matthon-sumpter]

wow

[confessionsofnarniasgoldena-blog]

Matthon is one of the best written characters in this rp. He terrifies me, yet makes me curious as to what happens next. Still a lot scarier than he is intriguing though. Kayla rps him amazingly!

submitted by lucy

[matthon-sumpter]

*cries* ty xx

[matthon-sumpter]

and it ends how you'd expect | sapphire, matthon | drabble

She was inconsolable from the moment they reached the hideout. Upon their arrival she said not a word to any of them. She leaned against the wall and eventually sunk down into a chair. But only that lasted a few minutes before she went outside to stand in the darkness and breathe cold air. The others washed the blood off their faces and hands, tended cuts and bruises, drank ale. There would be discussion in the morning. For now, exhaustion and the end of desperation ruled all. They needed sleep - Mercer was already outstretched on a cot, snoring quietly. Ronan had washed up but afterwards, remained in the shadows of the main room. He had a room of his own, but he watched Matthon, his Master, who stood with his hands on the table. The shards rested in the sac, untouched for now. He was contemplating on what came next, if Sapphire proved disloyal, if she couldn’t be reconciled. 

It was still hours until dawn, until a new red blossomed on the horizon with all of the possibilities of the future - a new age, with him at the front. He heard the door budge open and thud shut. Her footsteps. He looked up from the sac and found her face. It was set in hard lines, still dappled with blood.

“You should wash up. You’ll think clearer.” Matthon spoke with concern, all the while calculating. 

“I’m thinking damn clearly,” Sapphire seethed.

“You’re in shock.” Matthon leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I’ll explain everything in the morning - I know it didn’t all go as planned -” 

“- not go as planned?” Sapphire laughed drily. “It went exactly as planned. You didn’t get that wand by accident. You didn’t change into a beast by chance.”

“Freya, I promise all will be made clear to you in the morning, if you just -”

“No! No...I won’t have a part in this.” She walked towards the window, stopped and looked out at the moon. His moon. If she walked into the self-fabricated trap she was weaving, he wouldn’t flinch at reverting to the spider.    

“In this? Sapphire, oh, at what moment do you consider your participation invalid? You’ve had every part in this. Did you not come with me? Plan with me? Unlock doors?” On one hand, he needed her loyalty. On the other, she would henceforth be susceptible to pose problems. 

“You said this was a heist. You said it would turn anything to gold.”

“And yet you knew it was against our rules. You chose to be a part in this.”

“You said you needed me. You said you wouldn’t use me.” 

“I lied.” Sapphire looked scathingly at him. “And you, Freya. You are not naive as you pretend. Tell me, you really never thought this was going to be anything more? You knew me best of all.”

“I... I didn’t know.”

“Come, now.” 

“I suspected. But I thought...I thought we had to be there for each other....But I didn’t want a part in this. Isla?” Her features contorted into unadorned pain. “You tricked me.” 

“You suspected, yet you chose to help. You’re just as guilty as I am. You’re just as responsible for your pretty friend turned stone.”

“No. No, that was you. Don’t you dare suggest otherwise.”

“I think the Pevensies will feel the same. You’re right.”

“Damn you, Matthon.”

“They’ll damn you too. They all will.” Matthon moved away from the table and stood between her and the door. It was his last attempt - show her she had no other options. Which she didn’t. She either helped him, or the alternative. “You have been an active participant through it all. You’ve made certain actions, certain loyalties. There are consequences. The world’s not going to take you back.”

“I’m not staying. I’m not doing this.”

“You’ll stay.”

“Don’t threaten me.”

“You’ll stay,” he said more firmly. He was aware briefly of the Ronan, still watching in the shadows. He wondered what he was thinking. If he thought this show was a warning - but Ronan, Ronan, he was stronger in spirit than Sapphire. That was always her fault. Her fragility. Too damaged; it was a shame.

“No. I’m going.” She looked towards the door. “I’m getting out.”

“And where will you go? No one’s taking back.”

“It doesn’t concern you.”

He laughed. “What a pretty lie.” He stepped towards Sapphire. Her hand gripped the dagger at her side. Matthon grinned, he looked at the smallness of her weapon. He whispered, “Nice blade.” 

Sapphire lunged and he caught her wrist, the dagger’s point edged towards the large vein in his neck. His other hand twisted Sapphire’s arm behind her back. Their torsos pressed into each other, their breath close. His grip tightened and Sapphire gasped. He nudged the bottom of her ear with his nose. “Are you sorry you ever let me kiss your neck?” 

“Matthon, what’s happened to you?” Sapphire whispered. In a flash he remembered an earlier time, right after he killed the hag. The scene recurred; her sad eyes questioning him. But he was stronger now - he didn’t embrace her as before. 

Matthon growled, he began to change his face. “I made a choice.” Teeth sharpened, incisors extended. His jaw lengthened. He sniffed her neck. He could smell the hot blood just under the surface of her pale skin. He could smell equally the guard’s blood, dried thickly on her cheeks. He pulled back and looked at Sapphire. Her eyes were wide. “You’re scared.” The words came through gargled.

“Heartbroken.”

Matthon changed his face back, slowly. “Not quite.” 

He slammed her backwards into the wall. Her skull rattled and she went limp. Matthon picked up his friend. He went out into the night. The cold air whipped his cheeks. Sapphire’s body was warm against his own. She wasn’t dead. But she would be. 

[freya-halwyn]

voleurs, tu sais | the Heist | m.m.s.

[freya-halwyn]

Sapphire turned slowly around from hiding in the shadows between two shelves of china. Hair rose up on the back of her neck, her stomach turned cold. Had she heard correctly? 

Isla. 

Her cheeks burned with shame as she stood in the darkness, fighting the urge to run towards her, holding onto Matthon’s notion that Isla had abandoned her, that she’d never understand.

Isla’s face drew together as she turned around. “What are you doing?” she spoke into the closed door. From where she stood, Sapphire noticed the quick flash of fear before Isla assumed a countenance of pure assurance and ease. She couldn’t tell whether Matthon or Mercer caught it too, or if what lay behind Isla’s brave face was disclosed to Sapphire’s eyes only. She was always quick-witted. Isla’s brilliance lay in her ability to access each situation at the tip of a moment and react accordingly. But what would they do? And why was she here? And who was that man? It was nightmarish and she was frozen. She looked towards the shadow Matthon remained hidden in. Instruction from him was unattainable. Sure, they’d discussed necessary actions should anyone interrupt them in the middle of the heist, but they hadn’t discussed if that anyone was Isla Pevensie. And Sapphire could never bear facing her, not like this. No, she’d die before giving Isla the satisfaction of knowing what she really was. As she watched Isla survey the vault, Sapphire tried to be angry towards her, channel the emotions and attitude Matthon imposed on her… but in truth, she was strangely quite glad to see her old friend. 

It was very quiet. Sapphire breathed slowly and inconspicuously. Then there was the sound of a footstep. She looked, as did Isla, at the figure emerging from the dark. 

“Who’s th-” Isla stopped. She turned her head to the side. “Peridan?” She stepped forward. “I don’t understand - when did you return?”

Matthon took a step forward into clearer view, though his hood was still drawn. 

“Are you what all the fuss is about?” Isla spoke warily. 

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Matthon didn’t conceal his voice. It was obvious. Isla flared her nostrils. Matthon reached up to the corner of his face and peeled the extra layer of dark skin from his face. His pale features beneath were startling, as if uncovering bone. He dropped the mark lazily on the ground and it folded into a red and brown heap on the stone floor. 

“Matthon. My, my, you are creating quite the fuss.” 

“How’s my cousin?” 

“Doing far better than you from the looks of it.” 

Sapphire found Mercer’s gaze. He was crouched behind a centaurs’ set of armor. She searched his eyes for some explanation but Mercer merely shrugged. Isla and Matt knew each other? With Belle as a mutual connection, she supposed it wasn’t entirely out of the question - but why had Matthon never told her so. His judgements cast on Isla suddenly carried more weight. 

Sapphire and Mercer both returned their gaze to Isla and Matthon. 

“And your sister? How’s Mith? I do miss her so.” 

“Last I saw she was reading near the refreshments. She’s not one for parties, but you already know that. Unfortunately.” 

Sapphire watched as though she were cast in iron or stone, unable to move. Watching the scene before her unfold was the only option. How could she intervene? And should she?       

[matthon-sumpter]

Isla wasn’t Peter. It was an awful, terrible disappointment. But as he stood in front of her, as they spoke, he still grew sick with hatred. And then a thought occurred to him quite suddenly. He made a snap decision - and he really hadn’t much choice anyway. Besides, he was acutely aware of how true pain manifested in the heart. Despair was helplessness in a storm, helplessness in a savage winter, helplessness in a burning home. Pain like that bruised deeper than tears in the flesh. It might prove better this way.

“You know, I’ve always found it stupid when the villain reveals his plans to his captives. They always escape, and they always take the plans with them.”

He stepped forward.

“Though it’s so trying, you know,” Matthon continued. “Keeping everything bottled up...not healthy. And telling it to the trees only brings so much relief.”

Isla raised an eyebrow. “You really do enjoy listening to yourself speak. I suddenly understand quite well why it never worked out between you and my sister.”

“Oh, but you’re dying to hear what i have to say.”

“Yes, please. Do, go on,” Isla smirked.

Matthon stepped forward again, Isla stepped back. He began to circle her. She faced him, spiraling in the counter direction. (Only sapphire could see Isla reaching for something underneath her sleeve.)

“I’m glad you brought up Mith and I. See, the real reason we didn’t work out is she didn’t like what I was becoming. It’s hardly my fault I outgrew her. Though, she gave me a taste for royalty. Which I haven’t outgrown.” 

“Oh?” Isla said, as if mildly intrigued. 

A twisted grin slid across Matthon’s face like a serpent. “In two ways really. I am quite sure you’re familiar with all those limbs? Perridan didn’t scream too much at their removal.” He spoke casually because it was fun, because it didn’t matter, because saying it out loud, finally, felt good. “However I fully anticipate Peter’s scream when I remove his crown by dismantling his head from his shoulders. And you’re well acquainted with your other sister, I presume. Gentle Su. But…” he grinned. “Not so gentle in the bedroom.” He chuckled, then feigned assurance. “No, no, no - Susan didn’t know.” He whispered next. “That’s been the best part.”

Isla said nothing but he saw ice behind her eyes, ice so deadly it burned.

“What? No congratulations for the father and King-to-be?” He shook his head, he felt like bearing his teeth. “How sad your nephew will grow up to abhor you. I’ll make sure he takes good care of Tommen’s crown.” He narrowed his eyes. “Can’t promise I’ll take good care of Tommen.”

“I thought you hated it when villains divulged all their plans.” She spoke without emotion, much to Matthon’s dismay. Though the lack of sentiment was telling in itself. An edge laced her words. 

“I do. Unless they’re certain their prey isn’t going to escape.” Isla didn’t ask what made him so certain. She only locked eyes with him, faced him square on, still circling each other. He heard a distinctive thump thump thump. “I can hear your heart racing,” he smiled triumphantly. 

It happened very quickly then. A breath of hesitation, seen in both of their eyes. Matthon withdrew the long shard from his sleeve at the same moment Isla drew a hidden dagger up her own. He relied fully on the broken wand’s magic, on his own. The edge touched Isla’s waist and a soft crackling started swiftly at her feet. In the same moment, Matthon experienced a great pain below his ribs. Half of Isla’s dagger had made its way through his skin. He gritted his teeth and stared at Isla, utterly surprised she was staring right back - and breathing. But it was haggard and thick, her lungs carried the weight of minerals. Matthon stared in wonder at her. He looked down at the hand and dagger. Both were blackened stone. He looked at her legs - those too. Stone crept slowly, lazily up her arms. How much does it hurt, he wanted to ask. He wanted to know.

Suddenly he heard a stifled gasp from behind. He turned and saw Sapphire. She stepped out from between shelves; a hand covered her mouth. “Matt, don’t - Isla.. I’m so - Matthon?” Isla let out a small, pained sound. Her fleshy face turned towards Sapphire. The stone was creeping up her shoulders. Matthon thought it was strange that a knowing smile crossed Isla’s face. 

He ignored Sapphire. He stared at Isla, at it happening, the slow change. It wasn’t supposed to last this long.  There was a tear forming in each eye but she looked determined. 

In a thinned voice she wrestled out, “My flesh fails, but not my heart,” she paused, the effort draining. “You’re already stone.” 

She flicked her eyes to Sapphire. Suddenly the Vault door opened in panic. In a final rasp she said, “Give them my love.” 

Her mouth closed, the corner of her lips ever so slightly upturned. Matthon pointedly touched the wand shard to Isla’s heart. She was swallowed up by cold rock, to speak nevermore.

[END]