Story Arc || Favor
There is a rustling sound, coming from outside the door of her room.
She knows that sound, has listened to it for just over a decade now. Has been soothed by it in knowing it exists. The clacking ruffle of leaves, the rubbing of serrated edges against themselves. The creak of the vines as the flowers turn so the little skull-faces in the centers face upright. The corpse-eater is moving, as it is wont to do. But it is so very loud, louder than it should be.
She should not be able to hear it here, in her innermost sanctum. Yet, it echoes off the marble of her room and her apartment and drowns out even the ambiance of trickling waters in the fountains of the hub. She is not panicked by this revelation, slipping out of bed in curiosity instead to check on it, the cool of the marble floors against her footpads. The lack of decoration in the room as she moves from one chamber to another, and another, and another.
And another, and another, until she finally reaches the door and hears the encompassing boom and trickle of shattered glass cascading to the floor on the other side of it. Now, she is afraid. Such a sound is so close, but even in this newfound panic, she cannot seem to move fast enough.
The door is open.
The hall beyond is swimming in tiny cubed shards of glass, ebbing and roiling until it comes up to her knees. She wades into it, the blue sky around her in the expanse beginning to turn red at the edges, black seeping into that slowly like ink spilled on paper.
It takes her a moment to realize those inky tendrils are vines. The leaves are coming into view at her sides. There is a single blossom in front of her face, opening those vibrant red petals so the eerie center can face her. It's not the usual skull. It's his face. Staring at her with those hollow angry eyes, talons of his fingers raking up her arms. She cannot panic, even though she feels her heart in her throat. Even though she know's what's coming and feels her skin crawl in anticipation. She can only stare ahead until those needly fingers drive deep into the flesh of her shoulders.
It's only now she can scream...
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The door to her wagon was flung open, the rays off a burning sun cresting the horizon still bright enough to draw Markesh's shadow long along the floor. It was bright enough that as soon as the light touched Fariah's face, she was instantly awake enough to shy from it as though it burned her with a small cry. She turned her back to the door, hid her face deep behind the curve of her body within her own shadow, and tried to remember why it was her nerves were on fire, her chest heaving and her heart thudding in attempted escape through her ribcage.
Or even why her head hurt so badly. Nightmares never brought on migraines, not before. She was more than certain she had been having a nightmare, although she couldn't remember what it was or what was happening in it.
Something triggered it. Something that gave her a seering headache that fogged her head something horribly as though she were swimming through cotton, and made the muscles in her arms and back ache. Was she bruised as well? Shallow splotches of discoloration had begun appearing across one palm and in the space between her thumbs, the skin as tender as the mending wound over a few of her fingerpads.
She had never thought she would wake up battered and bruised and still with the haze of being completely exhausted ever again, and yet here she was. Waking up feeling like she'd been run over by the armada. She was going to need a very stiff drink.
All of this happened over such a quick course of time, Markesh had barely even begun. A flourish of his hand was given as he strode into the cabin, to her bunk.
">>Good morning, Your Eminence!<<" he began, sounding far too chipper for her liking this early in the morning. He continued insufferably on as she made a particularly discontented noise. ">>I am so sorry to wake you at this horrific hour of dawn, but if you recall, we have an appointment to keep. Although I have no idea how well you remember anything right now...<<"
Fariah took a moment to fight back as her Regent grabbed the blanket she had so ungracefully tangled herself into and tried to whisk it away. She failed, miserably trying so very hard to clutch at the retreating bed linen, resulting in the offensive covering revealing that she had been placed in her bunk still clothed in the heavy court silks, although her mane had been let down in a nebulous cloud of ink once disentangled from its ornamentation otherwise. It was any wonder she had trouble moving in her dreams, the layers of her skirts and the corsetry in her bodice bogging her want to move.
">>Let me sleep.<<" she protested fitfully, her voice coarse and rough from exertion followed by disuse. ">>Just for another year...<<"
She remembered the appointment vaguely. She was supposed to meet with someone. Or a ... someones? A grumbled acceptance of the later itinerary was given, although Markesh was not one to simply give up.
">>Oh come now, I need to get you up and bathed and dressed and fed! Are we going to war!<<"
It crossed her mind that one of the transcribed agenda was not quite like the others. The revelation was offset by the flood of remembering. Oh yes, the Gorons. The fight. The boiled blood trying to bubble once more, although she was certain that was simply Markesh itching for a fight rippling the hivemind. Instead, she focused her energy on addressing the deviously charismatic elephant in the room, staring in anticipation at her answer to the most pressing question.
">>No. We are not going to war.<<"
If Markesh could deflate any more obviously at this news, he would have made a sound. Instead, he sighed at her decision. She had made her choice, and while she knew he knew why, he could only follow it. Starting a war here and now with so little military power against something like the new King of Hyrule was worse than suicide. If the dining room table had been any indication, their small task force would be crushed in an instant, no matter how well-trained or how bloodthirsty they were.
Having to think on the decision gave her the push she needed to start pulling herself up, and instantly she regretted it. The added weight of the gown and the jewelry was only reminding her of how much she had actually exerted. The migraine was beginning to ebb, but the fog remained. It was enough to process the pinging ache of her everything and hardly much else. Except...
">>But. In lieu of war. We are getting a mine.<<"
It sounded so strange to say the result in positive for once. One hundred and fifty or so years. Four and a quarter generations of Imperial blood prostrating on their own terms to vie for a stable mining operation and refinery in front of old men and women too stubborn and paranoid for their own good for nothing of that nature in return. Of course, it would take a vicious boar of a man to finally say 'yes', although he had an ulterior motive. Not a secret one, at least...
She was grateful for her Regent as she finally stumbled to her feet. A bit prematurely, as the weight of her wardrobe caused a knee to buckle. He was there to still catch her and pull her upright, supporting her with ginger touches.
">>I suppose that's better, a mine. Now. I have you up, but I think a bath will do you good first, getting you out of yesterday's clothing.<<" he told her, gently pathfinding out into the blinding morning light and toward the wagon in question with nods of assurance to any delegation members who were also early-risers, watching the small procession with questioning wariness. ">>Once you're soaking, I'll make sure breakfast comes your way.<<"
She sighed in defeated acceptance to the new itinerary, already too tired to quip a quarrel with the young man. But at least it wasn't fraught with the stormclouds of war, any longer.
@uramii
