#aridain

[tonightwepartyinhell]

I owned the world With these hands I shook the heavens to the ground I laid the gods to rest I held the key to the kingdom Lions guarding castle walls Hail the king of death

And then I lost it all

((Hi, have a song for Aridain in Reeta’s Bad Future AU. I might draw art to accompany this...))

[tonightwepartyinhell]

our lady of the upside-down

Brother, what’s my name? Our lady of ways Our lady of means

It’s so easy. Even in the darkness, lit only by a streetlamp and their eyes, she fears nothing. “Do you have it?”

“Yeah—hey, look, lady, you’re not getting your hands on this stuff unless you show me the money.”

She smiles, so sweetly, and hands over the gold. She’ll need the arcane dust for her job, but the finer stuff, the glittery powder that’s just cost her far too much money, that’s for fun.

(And, okay, for annoying her boss. But it’s not her fault if glitter bombs are so popular.)

She buys other things, too. Paint and polish, lace and dye and thread. None of it is strictly approved, but none of it is forbidden either—not that she would care if it was. The Pride are her friends, and her friends deserve good things.

And she has the means to get them very good things.

Brother what’s my name? Our lady of the underground

“Seriously, a dozen crates? What’re you buying for, an army?”

Her smile slips, just for a moment. “Something like that.”

There are some things Aridain definitely wouldn’t approve of. She doesn’t care.

Bethe and the cooks like the wine she brings, but it’s usually just enough to cook with, a bit left over to slake everyone’s thirst. The alcohol Liuza brews gets them drunk, but it tastes horrible to anyone with functioning tastebuds and she’s pretty sure it’s actually poisonous. The hangovers definitely are. So she buys the good stuff, and shares it out in moderation.

(Moderation is the key. Moderation and a stern look.)

Aridain wouldn’t approve of the alcohol. He might, barely, approve of the soft drinks—fizzy, brightly colored, enough sugar to send the more susceptible members of the Pride (Leo, a few of the others, herself) bouncing off the walls—but she doesn’t ask. It’s more important to have options. More important to bring back something that reminds her friends of home.

Her smile is bright and sunny as she strides into the backroom she’s unofficially dubbed ‘the speakeasy.’ “Hey, guys. Who’s missing Silvermoon?”

What the boss don’t know, the boss don’t mind

[tonightwepartyinhell]

so i stayed in the darkness with you

She knows she could be queen.

It would be a smooth and easy transition, barely a ripple in the Den’s social structure. The Lion of Summer is strong and ruthless, yes, but he is an old lion and his fangs have been blunted by stagnation. He knows battle, he knows quick turns of phrase and how to lead his opponents into their own traps, but he is rigid. Inflexible. Gullible. So secure is he in his hold that he would never believe anyone could betray him.

He trusts his troops. But she is not a soldier.

“You and Leolo will try to give the Den children.”

(an order, not a request. this is meant as a punishment, to bring her and her lover further under his control. he does not know them.)

(He trusts her—the hidebound old idiot actually trusts her to keep her word, actually thinks he has any sort of hold over her, that she wouldn’t just as easily turn her back on him. Stupid.)

“Yes, sir.”

(her face is a mask.)

(He expects his opponents to be lions like himself. He does not, she thinks, expect serpents.)

She’s thought about it idly, how she could take over. Some of the Pride follows him blindly, but she is loved. She has brought peace, color, life back to this barren patch of rock. By her hands the lame walk, and if the blind don’t see at least they have people to help them over unfamiliar terrain. (Leolo thinks he can train the dwarf variety of nether rays to serve as companions. She thinks he will.) More than that, and even more vital, is her ability to go to and from the cities—Shattrath, Orgrimmar, Silvermoon. She is the reason they have new clothing, milk, fresh seafood, medicine. The Den needs her.

They do not need Aridain.

Leolo would stand at her side, if she didn’t dispose of the Lion too obviously. (Poison would do it, felweed in his tea or a knife in the darkness of his bedchamber. Even the dragons couldn’t save him.) The Den might grumble, but she knows how to handle them. She is smarter than the Lion ever was. It would be easy, and she would walk in silks and steel and grant justice from a twisted throne. (Aridain actually doesn’t have a throne—with his wings and tail he can only sit on benches—but she needs the back support and everything is twisted here.) Perhaps her signet would be a dragonhawk, the fiercest and most cunning predator and the most beautiful.

Yes, she could be queen. She doesn’t want to.

Her lover—her fiancé—smiles at her, twines their fingers together, and she has everything she wants. They fall into bed together, and all she needs is already in her arms. He wakes up next to her (hanging half off the bed, hair looking like an exploded haystack, false arm somewhere on the floor and covers kicked Light-only-knows-where) and her thoughts turn from sleep to a steady, comforting thrum of this wonderful person is mine.

As long as she has him and he is happy and safe, she wants nothing else.

(She wonders if Aridain realizes what she would have done to him if he hurt her beloved. She wonders if Leolo does.)

(She doubts it. Leolo isn’t as cold as she is. Not anymore.)

[tonightwepartyinhell]

rage and reflection

When some people needed to think, they paced the floor or smoked one cigarette after another or sat quietly in a small room. Reeta worked. She'd long ago perfected the enchantments she used on artificial limbs; applying them kept her hands busy and left her mind free to wander.

  I'm going to be married. Me. I'm engaged. She looked down at her hands, bare of rings. It still doesn't feel real. Leo's my fiancé, the future father of my...my children...

  Her mind skittered away from the thought, only to return to it from a different angle. She took a breath, forcing the angry surge of arcane energy within her into the arm she was working on. My womb for a testing ground! Her ears pinned back as she remembered her confrontation with the Lion.

  "Human and elf unions seem to produce children at a greater rate than usual.  How should an elf/felblood union go? In exchange for keeping the Orb of the Sin'dorei, you and Leolo find out."

  "...As you wish, sir."

  A faint hiss forced itself out between her teeth. That--fucking vile bastard. If Leolo and I hadn't already been talking about trying for kids--I'd've set him on fire and left, I swear to the Light. I should've been more specific when I got him to swear he wouldn't harm me or Leo.

  The wooden arm under her palms glowed faintly as she manipulated the energy. That's far in the future, though. With any luck. It's not like even regular sin'dorei get pregnant easily, and it's not like he can check to make sure we aren't taking precautions. A smirk curled her lip. I think he actually trusts me. Or thinks I'm an obedient little soldier. Hah! He should know better.

  Arcane swirled over her hands, coalescing into lines and runes. This for mobility, this for grip... Anyway. First is the wedding! I need... Her eyes slid shut. I need to talk to Rythien. He's the only priest I want, defrocked or not. And I need to figure out who to invite, and what I'm gonna wear...

  ...I wish I could invite Saria or Yvelian. She sighed; even as the thought occurred to her, her mind had begun filling in the likely outcome of inviting an ambitious probably-not-actually-a-mage and a paladin that nearly bled Light to a den of felbloods. I'll write them about it. Reeta Yewbreeze...

  Well. She'd think about that part some more. Leolo Sunflare sounded better.

(( gilded-knight))

[tonightwepartyinhell]

decisions

The mission--well, outing, really--was a success. We got to Shattrath and back without getting caught there...or by the Lion when we got back. We did miss dinner, but...eh, details. We ate there, and we've missed dinner before.

I should tell the Lion.

I don't want to tell the Lion.

If he finds out Leo's got an orb that makes him look like an elf again, there's just no way he'd let him keep it, it'd be too useful for him. And I...I don't want to keep leaving Leo behind, tormenting him with knowing that I'm in Silvermoon or Shattrath, somewhere with civilization, while he's stuck here in the Den for probably forever.

But if I don't tell the Lion he'll probably kill me if he finds out--no, no, he won't kill me, I'm too valuable.

...Leo isn't as valuable. But he wouldn't, would he? Not one of his own men...

I'm going to keep it secret for now. I'm good at secrets. It's what I do, after all.