#threads: assire

[takivvatanga]

@worncrown cont. from here

Assire looks up at her friend, her best friend, her only friend in the whole entire miserable world. As different as they are, they understand each other. Assire doesn’t know how or why, only that they do, and that is enough. That is all that matters.

Merlin squirms on her lap, gives a little chirp to remind her of his presence. Assire lifts an eyebrow, mutters an endearment under her breath, continues to run her hand through his midnight black, glossy fur. The cat stretches, arching his back to meet her touch, purring loudly, turning his head to face Fringilla. His eyes are bright and watchful.

“If I…”, Assire begins, her voice trailing off into the night. She’s desperate to tell her, desperate to share the news of a most curious invitation, extended to her in utmost secrecy. To her, of all people. Assire doesn’t understand how or why, after all she has taken such great care to remain obscure, unseen, unnoticed.

Time will tell, I suppose.

Oh, how she wishes she could tell. But it’s impossible. Her instructions were clear in this regard, and even if they hadn’t been – it would only serve to put both of them at risk. How does the saying go? Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.

Assire bites her lip, looks away.

“If I ever should… you know, disappear. Promise me you’ll take care of Merlin. He has no one else.”

And neither do I.

[takivvatanga]

@martyrsaiint cont. from here

“But why does it have to be that way?”

Assire’s cheeks are flushed, her eyelids heavy. She hardly ever drinks, she doesn’t see the point in it. All it does is make her tired. Tired, and jaded. So incredibly jaded. But tonight is what it is, and she ought to at least pretend that she is enjoying herself, despite the fact that she is desperately uncomfortable. 

Uncomfortable, in her brand new dress (a last minute, panicked purchase made this afternoon, she’s still reeling from the experience). 

Uncomfortable, in this fancy place (she can’t shake the feeling that people are staring at her, do they know she doesn’t belong here?).  

Uncomfortable, around Philippa and her friends (she’s nothing like them, with their fancy clothes and their perfect makeup and their handbags worth a small fortune). 

Assire wishes Fringilla was here, but her friend (her best friend, her only friend) is out of town, engaged in something that Assire would rather not know the details of. She worries about her. Lately, Fringilla has changed, and Assire cannot for the life of her understand why. All she knows is that she doesn’t like it.

She sips from her glass. It tastes awful, but she swallows it down regardless. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Triss whispering to Keira. They keep looking at her, and Assire wishes they would stop. She casts a furtive glance at Philippa, sitting straight across from her. Philippa, who was the one who invited her in the first place, for reason that Assire for the life of her cannot understand.

“I’m not asking for life to be easy, I mean… if it was easy we would never learn anything, and nothing would ever change. We wouldn’t change. And change… it’s what people are supposed to do. I just wish that it didn’t have to be so damn difficult all the time.”

She turns her head, looking straight at Triss and Keira, feeling incredibly, overwhelmingly, astonishingly brave. Maybe it’s the wine, or the influence of Philippa’s words that still echo inside her mind, or maybe she’s being courageous for the hell of it, just because she can. When she speaks, her voice rings louder than it ever has before. Let them hear it.

“And I wish people didn’t feel the need to go around being so mean.”

[takivvatanga]

@cealach i see your wishlist and i raise you a starter because i too think about this a lot ok

“Don’t go.”

She would not usually intrude upon his mind like this. It is distasteful to her, this whole business of rummaging through the thoughts of others. Her own mind, for this very reason, is kept under lock and key, her defenses unyielding.

But Cahir’s thoughts are so loud, so constant, his mind wide open – she can’t not take notice. It scares her. Assire var Anahid is once again terrified, although this time it’s not for her own life that she fears.

She shakes her head, her expression reflecting her disapproval, her eyes full of terror. She cannot lose him. She will not lose him. She won’t let him down a second time.

“If you go to Nilfgaard… you won’t return. I know you want vengeance. I want vengeance, too. For everything that’s happened. For everything that’s been done to us, to our family. For all those years we’ve lived in fear. But the reality is-”

Her hands tug nervously at the fabric of her dress, move up to toy with the small silver charm she wears around her neck.

“Cahir, if you go, it will be the last thing you ever do. Is getting vengeance worth throwing away your life? Everything you’ve survived, everything we have survived, and you would just… discard it?” 

Assire rises to her feet, begins to pace, visibly unsettled, feeling herself unravel as her mind assaults her with images of death, of loss, of suffering. There are worse fates than death, fates that she is now imagining in every single gruesome, harrowing detail, she can’t, she won’t, she mustn’t allow this.

“Don’t go.”

[takivvatanga]

@throatkissed  gets a late night text cont. from here

Left on read. Of course. 

What else did she expect? 

“Left on Read. Story of my life.” Assire flips up the collar of her coat,brushes a wet strand of hair off her face, shoves her phone back in her pocket. She keeps walking, bracing herself against the driving rain, the icy wind that chills her to the bone. Her coat’s soaked through, and one of her shoes must have a split seam somewhere because the water is almost up to her ankle. Screw this. I’ll try Fringilla one more time and-

That was her phone. 

[sms: jonathan]

[txt] omg hi!

[txt] thank you!!!

[txt] seriously thank you

[txt] i’m in morningside

[txt] sainsbury road

[txt] i’ll just wait at the bus stop opposite the shops i’ll be fine :)

[txt] i’m so sorry about this

[takivvatanga]

@rectoress​ cont. from here

Assire var Anahid lowers her gaze, bows deeply. Not because this is what she wants to do, no – she wants to look the Northern sorceress in the eye, to search her face for any hint of intention – but simply out of habit. Defer to your superiors, remind them that you are bound to servitude. That you are not worthy, because you – you’re not a person at all. 

She hates it. 

She hates that this is her intrinsic reaction, and what she hates even more is that there is not a trace of the same in the woman who has stepped out of the shadows. Assire has heard much of the legendary Archmage Tissaia de Vries, but all she can see as they stand face to face is her privilege. A privilege that Assire will never call her own, unless-

Unless…

Assire raises her hand, places her index finger across her lips. Caution first. Caution above everything else. Her hands begin to move as she chants under her breath, almost inaudible, her gestures graceful and economical, placing the wards with utmost care and precision. The air begins to hum and shiver, surrounding them in a sphere of halflight.

“I believe that it is safe to speak now. I don’t think that anyone is trying to scry us, but one can never be too careful, correct? An act of good faith on my part, as well.”

A thin-lipped smile, hesitant, her gaze turned firmly to her hands which she holds in front of her, nervously picking at the dry skin that’s peeling away from the edges of her fingernails. 

“You are welcome to examine my wards, if you wish. If you require reassurance that the Empire”, the word is spoken with contempt, almost spat out, and for the briefest moment Assire feels endlessly brave, empowered by her own defiance. “That the Empire and its relations with the Northern Kingdoms have no bearing on my presence here. I am risking my life, Archmistress De Vries, to stand before you, and I trust that you will respect this fact, no matter whether or not you choose to grant my request. I will await your permission to speak further.”

[takivvatanga]

@throatkissed gets a novel sorry not sorry

snip snip snip

The sound of the scissors is the only thing she hears, the chill touch of the scissors against her skin the only thing she feels.

snip snip snip

Somewhere along the line, during the last three days, the waiting got too much. She could feel her anxiety rising like a king tide, washing over her, tugging at her, chilling her to the bone. Every attempt to distract herself futile. A million thoughts going through her mind at lightning speed, the fear turning over like a wheel, threatening to crush her beneath it.

What if we’re caught.

What if it all goes wrong.

What if this is the last thing we ever do.

snip snip snip

Cut the train of thought. Trim away the fear.

We can do this.

She is going to be brave.

Strands of hair fall to the ground around her. Assire does not own a mirror, she does not need to. She knows what she is doing.

snip snip snip

Bells strike the hour in the distance, the moon is a thin sliver in the inky black of the Imperial skies. The doors to her balcony are wide open, she can hear the song of the cicadas, almost deafening this time of years. A moth flutters around the single candle that burns on the table, mesmerised by the flame.

Cicadas sing before they die. Moths fly too close to the fire.

Stop.

She needs to stop.

The scissors snap shut one last time.

snip!

___ 

She can feel the energy tugging at her, the charm on its silver chain around her neck seeming to come alive with the magic imbued in it, beating against her skin like a tiny living heart. Blackbird, fluttering its wings.

Bright green eyes open across the room. Merlin chirps softly, staring right at her. Precious stirs in her resting place.

It’s time. 

Not a sound as she descends the stairs, a shadow within a shadow, black robes, black hood, black gloves, black shoes. It’s past curfew, and Assire does not know where the charm will lead her, but she will follow it’s call anywhere.

To the edge of the world, if need be.

___ 

The Academy. Brilliant.

She knows this path through the city streets, she has walked it every day for over half a century. What better place to practice sanctioned magic than in a place that teems with arcane energy? If you need to hide, hide in plain sight. She’s done this all her life. 

The heavy footfalls of the patrol stop her dead in her tracks. The fear is back again, more visceral than before. A mage, breaking curfew?

I wonder what it feels like to be hanged to death.

Assire slinks away into the shadow of an alleyway, her heart pounding, her whole body trembling, an icy hand closing around her heart.

Walk past walk past walk past by the Great Sun please walk past

Her prayers, even though they are offered out of habit rather than out of faith, are answered. The soldiers are black and gold and terrifying, encased in their armour. Walking weapons. They are just like her, they are not people.

But they are. They are just people.

We’re all just people, and none of us ever asked for any of this.

She pushes on, looking behind her a little too often, her face tense within the shadows of her hood.

They say that there are a thousand ways in and out of the Academy. It is the truth, and Assire knows every single one of them like the back of her hand.

The charm tugs her onward, she is dwarved by the domed ceilings, by the bookshelves whose upper levels are so far from the ground that the light does not reach them.

The Emperor’s portrait watches from the wall as she turns into a corridor just as a door opens across the hallway. A fellow scholar, working through the night on some matter related to the war. It’s always about the war. Is that all they’re good for? Being weaponised? Being forced to develop ever more terrible ways of wreaking destruction, of predicting and creating the perfect circumstance for complete and utter devastation?

No time to waste.

Down the stairs, down, down, down, deep into the Academy’s cellars. No natural light has ever touched this place, only the faintest magical glow illuminates the endless corridors. Around a corner. Left, right, left again. She speeds up her steps, it’s not so much fear now but anticipation that she feels.

Another corridor. A door, at last.

Behind the door, the faint glow of a portal, otherworldly light seeping through the cracks in reality. She can feel the warmth of the magical winds against her skin.

The light flickers, dies for a moment. Her heart skips a beat.

This portal is wrong.

Assire knows how to make it right.

She opens.

She is a tool, a mortal instrument of a force that transcends reality. She is a door, light floods through her, sparks from her fingertips, leaks out of her eyes, cold, white, liminal light.

The portal blinks back into existence, solidifying as she adds her strength to his.

Him. Only him. Until the end of the world, until the bitter end. Only him.  

It is done.

“I am here!”

She shouldn’t raise her voice like this, for fear of being caught. Her life is on the line. Their lives.

But in this moment, Assire has transcended all fear, has dissolved it in the arcane currents that still course through her, surging with every beat of her heart.

“I am here!”  

[takivvatanga]

@rectoress liked for a modern verse starter from Assire and gets something a lot more painful than I had originally planned 

There’s a loose thread hanging off the seam of the cuff of her left sleeve. Assire tugs at it. The cuff, tightens around her wrist. She releases the thread, pulls at the cuff, watching the thread disappear again before repeating the process. She’s stuck in some kind of loop with it, it’s commanding too much of her attention, she needs to leave it alone, but comfort is comfort and it is exactly what she needs right now. “I saw one of my sisters yesterday.” The words come out haltingly, hesitantly. “My little sister. Eviva. I went to the store and she –“

Her attention is diverted, drawn by a single white cat hair that clings to the black fabric of her jersey. Assire bites her lip, catching the hair between her thumb and index finger, marvelling at the texture of it, rolling it back and forth between her fingertips. The ghost of a smile flits across her face, but in an instant she is serious again, her brow furrowed, her eyes, downcast as they are, darkening with grief. “She doesn’t even go to that store! And never on a Wednesday. I thought, maybe she’s looking for me, you know?” Assire, endlessly brave in this moment, looks up, meets Tissaia’s gaze for the fraction of a second before looking away again, now intensely focussed on the little blackbird that has settled on the windowsill outside. She likes blackbirds. She has always liked them, despite or maybe because of the fact that they are, first and foremost, ordinary.

“I thought maybe she wants to leave too. I got excited I thought…we’ll be together again. I’ll get my little sister back, after all this time. So I called out to her, right? And everybody looked at me. Every single person in that whole damn store. She did, too. She looked at me and just…” The words are catching in her throat, her voice is choked up with emotions that she can’t name, only feel. 

Assire shakes her head.

“Like this. And just…you know, the usual. Paid for her things, walked out of the store. As if nothing had happened. As if I didn’t exist. Because I don’t. Not to her. Not to them. Not anymore.”

Assire seems to fold in on herself at the conclusion of her speech, sliding down further into her chair, visibly exhausted from the effort of recounting the event.

For a moment, the ticking of the clock on the wall is the only sound. The blackbird flutters its wings, calling out briefly as it takes flight. Assire forces herself to sit upright. She needs to keep it together. That’s what she’s always done, after all. She’s had no choice not to.

“All I want to know is how long it will take. When will I stop feeling like this? When will I stop missing them?”

[takivvatanga]

@crowntipped feat. Rita

“You have to promise me. Promise you won’t say a word. Not to anyone. Promise me, Margarita!”

There’s an undertone of panic in Assire’s voice, and she knows it. She knows it, and she doesn’t care, momentarily lost against the onslaught of the emotion. Her hands are clutching Rita’s wrists, her eyes bright, full of fear, but there’s something else there, too. Defiance. 

“As far as anyone knows, I’m dead. And I need it to stay that way. If word of my survival spreads to Nilfgaardian ears... “

She collects herself, releases Rita’s hands, crosses her arms over her chest. Assire’s gaze wanders, affixes to something far away, her face once more inscrutable.

“When I die, when I really die... I want to go peacefully. I want my death to be my own, not just another thing that’s taken away from me. And I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. I’ve never asked a single thing of you, Margarita. I will likely never ask you for anything again. Just grant me this. Keep my secret safe.”