Back With Chapter Two!! Again, This Has Been Read Through Once Or Twice For Editing But Isn't Perfect
Back with chapter two!! Again, this has been read through once or twice for editing but isn't perfect so please feel free to point out any more gramatical/spelling errors!
In this chapter, we get to look at little more at May and Oryn's past.
tw: mentions of death, grief, loss, slight bodily horror
Ch. 2
There was a glare in May’s eyes that no one had seen before. A look that made her seem more like her father with every passing second. As the beads of sweat slowly started to drip from one man’s head to the oak table they all sat, May sat straighter in her chair.
“He stays,” The solidarity in her voice for something that wasn’t human sent a shiver down the spines of her men. “And if any of you disagree, let it be known now. Otherwise, you’re all dismissed.”
The men started to stand from their seats, the drag of wood across the stone floor ringing in their ears. It was silent but for the noise of their movements; no one dared disagree.
“Alec,” May snapped, seeing the young soldier starting towards the door. “Not you. You stay.”
The rest of them filed one by one out the door, Alec’s hands shaking as he looked down at his feet. He’d never spoken directly to the Dutchess before. He didn’t even think she knew his name. He knew the meeting would be about everything that happened last night, so it wasn’t a surprise when he got the summons. She must know he was the one to start the whole thing…
The slow tick, tick, tick, of the ancient clock droned on as May sat behind her desk, eyeing the child in front of her. He couldn’t be more than twelve, maybe thirteen—nowhere near old enough to experience the horrors of war. Why the recruits kept getting younger and younger with each passing month, May couldn’t tell, but she couldn’t argue with the strength of numbers.
“You’re not in trouble,” she started. She could see him shaking, the red hue of his cheeks as he stared at the floor slowly fading the more she spoke. “But there’s something important we need to discuss.”
There was a slow and painful droning starting to cradle the base of Alec’s neck.
“Please, sit.” May said, extending her arm to the chair in front of her. Alec looked up at her with tears brimming in his eyes, his hands slowly reaching for the arm of the chair before his heavy feet began to move across the floor.
“There was a sacrifice made by a man last night that I’ll never be able to repay,” she said, taking her time to make sure Alec heard the severity in her words. “I need you to know that your lieutenant’s family is going to be taken care of by me, personally.”
Alec’s shoulders slowly started to unfurl themselves, a small wave of tension slowly washing away from him.
“What happened here last night can never happen again.”
Alec’s brows furrowed as he wrinkled his nose, sniffing a bit to keep his tears at bay. “How can you say that and let him stay?” He said, his eyes pleading with May.
There was a part of May’s heart that, in that moment, slowly started breaking for the small boy. “He didn’t know,” she started, giving way to Alec shaking his head.
“No animal ever does,” he choked, a tear starting to fall.
May stood from her desk, her cloak shrouding her massive form as she walked around it to kneel beside Alec. She took his hands in hers, looking up at his eyes, past the tears staining his cheeks. “He’s not an animal. He’s lost. And I think bringing him here…” she sighed, dropping his hands but keeping her eyes locked on his own. “I think it changed something inside of him.”
As she stood and walked back to her desk, Alec wiped his tears with the back of his hand. They weren’t shaking anymore. The low hum slowly crept up his skull. “Where did he come from?” he asked, “What is he?”
“I don’t know what he is. I don’t think anyone knows what he is. But there’s human in him. Because of that, I’m not going to subject him to whatever torture some High Councilor or Mage might have in mind for him.” She locked eyes once again with Alec, her own brow furrowing to match his. “I need your help, son.”
Less than twelve hours ago there was a pain and a guilt racking Alec’s chest, swallowing him whole as he prayed for the life of a superior whose death he felt responsible for. And yet here he sat now, being praised for his duty and taken aside by the Dutchess herself to ask a favor. His sense of duty was whole and always would be; his grandfather’s grandfather plowed the fields his grandchildren one day would, and through all those generations they’ve diligently served May’s family. He didn’t question May, but in that moment, he questioned her motivation. In no scroll or parchment anywhere in Aphoreum did it say to praise a man for causing death—rather, the Gods call it a Natural Sin unless to protect one’s self—and yet here he sat.
“I need to know if I have your full loyalty, Alec.”
He swallowed a lump in his throat and sat higher in his chair. “You do, my Lady.” The words fell off the boy’s tongue before he could have a moment to think of them.
May nodded. “I’m sure you can tell that we’ve been slowly building ourselves up since the last set of port raids, but in a way much different than in the past. Steering away from Crown Union Mercenaries, the King’s trade policies… Do you think of me as less of a leader for that?”
“No, my Lady.”
“And how do you think of the church?”
It was a loaded question, of course. There was a million and one things Alec could’ve said in that moment, knowing the God’s wrath and understanding the world’s Natural Chaos. There were those who were so afraid of the God’s that they’d cower in the daylight for fear of being stuck by a stray bolt of lightning.
He huffed out a solid breath. “Are you asking me what I think of the Gods, my Lady? Or the church itself?”
The smirk that spread on May’s lips told Alec that he’d answered correctly.
“There’s something coming, son,” May said, “and it won’t be for those who can’t stomach it. That… thing you saw last night, that beast—there’s a man in there who can learn how to control that. Do you understand what that means?”
Alec thought he did, and slowly nodded.
“Good. It’s settled, then.” May stood from her desk, prompting Alec to do the same. “I’m promoting you. Congratulations, . You and I will see a lot of each other. I’m going to provide you with a copy of the keys for the manor’s archive. You can read, yes?”
Alec was shocked, his jaw all but sitting on the floor. He nodded vigorously.
“We need to figure out what he is. And I don’t want them to know.”
-
Oryn and May sat in silence in May’s study, the cracking of the fire behind them burning strong, the spring wind softly blowing through the open window.
May looked at Oryn and saw someone she thought she recognized. There were the bags drooping under their eyes and ashen skin, showing a lack of sleep. But that wasn’t what was different. The way they sat in the chair said something was amiss; the muscle under their shirt seemingly misplaced, the crook of their jaw not matching the glide of their neck. This was someone May knew, but not someone she could truly recognize.
After moments of May’s puzzling stare, she spoke, her words soft and clipped.
“What are you?”
May’s presence in that mighty carved chair positioned behind the sturdy oak desk was something Oryn wanted to keep fresh in their mind. They’d never seen May as anything other than an afraid child, much like the way May must have viewed Oryn. Until now, of course. As a sigh escaped their lips, Oryn let themselves fall deeper into the cushioned chair they sat upon. There was no use in fighting it now; not here, not with her.
Their eyes traced the grains of the wood in the desk. “I don’t know.”
Oryn understood rules: there were things you couldn’t do, or bad things would happen as a result. There were small rules, like being gentle with glass potion bottles. And there were big ones, too, like the rules made by a king. Seeing May sitting behind the desk reminded them of all the rules they had to follow, the order they had to keep; there are consequences to actions, punishments when rules are broken. Oryn knew they were wrong, knew if anyone else had done what they had, they’d be strung up and left for dead—that’s how May ran her duchy. And yet, here they both sat, in comfortable chairs beside a blazing fire, the sweet scent of blooming flowers in the chilled air settling over the room.
“Who are you?”
Oryn’s eyes met May’s. “I’m me. I’m not—”
“But you look different. You’re not… you’re different, somehow.” She leaned forward, resting her arms on the desk, peering at Oryn like there was something missing.
“I don’t know how to—”
That puzzled expression vanished from May’s features as she slammed a hand on the desk, Oryn jumping in shock. “What do you fucking know?!”
~
There was a rush of something hot sucking May down to the floor, the heat scorching her skin and burning away any thoughts she had outside the pain. The blinding light of something better unknown sent her eyes rolling back in her skull.
When they told her there would be a price to pay, she didn’t expect something like this.
Her screams of pain soon mixed with Oryn’s screaming pleas, falling upon the desperate yet stern ears of the three women.
“You’re killing her!” Oryn shouted, their own skin started to vibrate with what they thought was fear, or maybe anger.
Starla wrapped her long, bony arms around Oryn’s waist, restraining her with more strength than many thought the old hag capable of.
Elisa’s eyes darkened, her brow furrowing as she took a long look at May writhing in pain on the floor. “Maureen…”
“She begged me!” Maureen started, her stable hands—one touching May, the other, her brother’s corpse—starting to shake. “She begged me…” she trailed off, sweat running down her neck as she sucked in a deep breath.
“If she could pay—” Elisa started.
“She can! She can pay! She’s—”
There was a reverberation felt throughout the cabin, the wooden floor cracking and splitting, the mud walls crumbling in places and every small animal and bug scattering out from the structure and into the forest beyond. Then all was silent, but for the settling of the cabin back onto its own weight.
May was left on the floor—unharmed, unconscious, and unable to pay.
Maureen lifted her hands from both bodies, stepping away from them as if she’d just seen something unholy.
Starla released her grip on Oryn, who fell to the floor and scrambled to May, cradling her head on their lap. “What were you doing to her?” They spat at their guardians.
Starla joined Maureen and Elisa, the three of them staring at the two on the floor.
“Why didn’t—”
“She asked for…”-
“What is she going to do?”
-
When May finally found herself waking, it was in a soft bed of furs in front of a roaring fire. She felt as though she had just fought a war; she felt as though she lost.
Maureen was at her bedside, softly cooing a lullaby under her breath and wiping at the sweat staining May’s brows. As May looked up at her, her eyes practically dripping with hope, she was met with Maureen’s look of unrelenting grief.
Through violent, choking sobs, May asked her, “Why?”
Maureen shook her head, Oryn bolting through the doorway of the small room, their breath heavy and eyes wide. “She’s awake?”
May grabbed Maureen’s arm, raking her fingers down her skin. “WHY?” she screamed, hot tears falling to the blankets surrounding her, breath hitching in her throat.
Oryn ran to her bedside, a look of astonishment upon their face. Here, for the first time, Oryn was meeting Grief; something primal and carnal and deeply engrained in what it means to be alive. Oryn beheld the only friend they had known in her throws of pain and wails of loss, clawing for something that didn’t exist and gasping for air that seemed so easy to breathe.
Maureen turned to Oryn, who was tempted to place a hand upon May’s back and comfort her the way they thought they should. But the look on Maureen’s face—the daggers in her eyes—screamed not to get involved. This is a human thing, her eyes said, something you can’t understand.
Maureen held May as she screamed her throat raw and bloody; she held her through her convulsions and the begging and the desperate feeling that comes from being and feeling utterly and completely alone in the world.
Oryn felt like it was something she could understand if Maureen would ever let her get close enough to someone to know.
That distance, though, that forced space Maureen created between Oryn and anything else living, was a punishment she greatly deserved.
~
“I know I’m not all human,” Oryn said, their low voice droning out the sound of the fire and the wind, “But I don’t know anything more than that.”
May sat back, folding her arms in front of her. “What happened?”
As Oryn gazed at May, they started to cry. First it was just a small tear trailing down their cheek, gently dripping into their lap. “I… I killed someone,” they whispered, trying to blink away the salty tears but only making it worse. “I killed someone,” they repeated, their eyes boring into May’s soul as she sat in front of them, pleading for something they didn’t quite understand yet; mercy.
She wept in front of May, tears pouring seemingly with no end, as they felt the guttural urge of knowing they’d done something wrong and needed to pay for it.
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LOSING MY MIND !!!!!!! @skidotto just keeps making absolutley INSANE character art for my lovely oc's. This is May!! EVERYONE TELL HIM HOW COOL HIS ART IS R A H
"it's been a year, why are you still posting about him" because larian put the line "one night he tells you that these six months of happy memories are the counterweight to 200 years of misery" in their fucking game
extraordinary ✨
Chapter 4!! Although I've gone through more than once for some brief editing/re-reading of what I've already got written, I didn't realize how much of a set-up there was. This chapter is the final chapter of "set-up": after this, a bit more action comes into play.
Also, please keep in mind that although this has already been edited, it's nowhere near how I'd like the end product to appear. I've got lots of ideas for additions and changes and would greatly appreciate any and all feedback!!
tw: mentions of death and war
Ch. 4
“War?”
May sighed, standing and brushed herself clean of the bit of dirt. “It’s hard to explain,” she started, holding out to hand to prompt Oryn to do the same.
He took it, standing and joining her. They started their walk back towards the cabin—towards the witches and a warm lunch, a soft rug, and a place to forget all these things for a little while.
“What is it?”
She shook her head, not wanting to meet their eyes. Years ago, when May had first laid eyes on the place she now visited so often, she saw the woods as nothing but hostile; both in nature, and in who it inhabited. There was an aura of fear permeating around the tree line, warning all who crossed the threshold that something unwanted and probably painful was awaiting them on the other side. And yet, tucked inside of all that, was someone so innocent as not to know of war; of death and blood and battle and victory. She didn’t know when it happened, she didn’t know the cause, but the fear was replaced with a warmth that had been missing from the manor for quite some time. That aura became a beckoning call when it was once the Witches’ defenses.
“It’s nothing good, Oryn.” May said, stopping in her tracks and looking to them. “I don’t want to think about those things. War is… it’s something men don’t always come back from. I don’t want to think of my brother like that.” She took a moment before continuing to walk, their paces now slowed, lethargic.
“Alright,” Oryn said, a look of clouded questions hiding in their gaze. “Would the Witches tell me?”
May smiled, shaking her head. “Probably not, but I don’t see how it’s something they could avoid. It’s everywhere, all the time.”
Oryn sat up a bit straighter. “Is it here now?”
May laughed, bumping into them as they continued. “No, no. Not like that. Think of it as an argument between big groups of people. As long as people live, they’ll have things to argue about, right? Differing opinions and such.”
Oryn nodded.
“War is like when you and I disagree on something, but instead of just you and me, it’s one kingdom versus another. If there are people, we will fight. If there are kingdoms, they will go to war.” She kicked a small stone along their path, her words falling from her tongue before she could stop herself thinking of them.
“Oh,” Oryn mumbled under their breath, slowly nodding as their brows furrowed with more questions than understanding. As May realized the plethora of things she had just unearthed for them, she looked at them with a worried glance. They chewed their lip, staring at the ground ahead with each step they took. “I argue with the Witches all the time. They say it’s normal; that a person is supposed to question things and feel strong emotions. But, in the end, we are still the same. We don’t go anywhere. Why wouldn’t your brother come back?”
She saw it coming. “People fight with more than words, Oryn. Weapons. Spears, axes, swords and bows. They…” she followed suit to them, looking down at the path ahead of them. “They die.” Please, for the love of the Waters and Winds, tell me they’ve explained death to them.
Oryn stopped in their tracks, eyes wide as they met May’s. “People just go and— they just run off to fight so hard they die? Why would someone…” they shook their head, continuing down the path.
-
“You have no idea what you’ve just done,” Maureen seethes, pacing the creaking wooden floor of the deck. “The things you put in his head!”
May sat straight-backed, a stern look of her own displayed on her face. “If you’d just told him—”
Maureen stopped in her tracks, her cold gaze settling on May’s, as if sizing her up.
“You still don’t understand, do you?” She said under her breath, her thin tendrils of what was once beautiful hair flinging itself into the breeze behind her.
“Understand what, exactly?” May huffed in exasperation. “The three of you do nothing but talk in circles!” Her throat started to constrict as she went to ask about the vile, viscous brown liquid she drank those many nights ago. “And you—”
She choked on her words, gasping for breath, hacking up phlegm and bile. There was a taste permeating her tongue, enveloping her entire mouth as she struggled to catch a breath. With each arduous inhale there was more gagging, more pain. She could taste it, feel it lethargically slugging its way down her throat again, coating her insides with something rancid. It didn’t matter how much time passed, how hard she tried. This is what happened every time; what held her back from speaking her truth.
That’s what this must be, she thought, retching yet again, this is lies. This is what lies taste like.
One of Maureen’s thin arms snapped towards May, her hand grabbing the girl by the neck as her steel grip tightened, piercing gaze causing a shiver to ravage her body. “Stop struggling,” she said, voice thick with authority, “and stop trying to speak of it. You can’t. That’s what makes it so effective. Don’t you get it?”
May took another moment to gasp and struggle, digging her nails into the bony hand wrapped around her neck. When there was no flinch—not even a modicum of pain splaying on the witch’s face—she decided to do something different for once and listen.
Breath slowly steadying as Maureen released her grip, May raised a hand up to her own throat and rubbed the sore skin. It’s their fault, she thought, locking eyes once again with the witch. She wouldn’t back down; she would be told the truth tonight.
“What did you do to me?” she muttered.
Maureen scoffed, brushing her skirts with the backs of her hands. “We saved you, child. I saved you. This life you live? The freedom and luxury of not having to do anything to cover it up?”
They knew.
“Because of what we did for you, no one will ever know what you did, May. No one will ever have the privilege of locking a spoilt girl such as yourself down in a dank cell. No, not you, May. You’re—”
Elisa rushed into the room with a gust of wind behind her, the door whipping open and slamming itself shut after she entered. “I swear, if you’ve laid a harmful hand on her—”
“I couldn’t if I wanted to!” Maureen shrieked, knowing full well her intention behind her brief stunt a moment ago, even if it was out of her command to execute it.
As they looked at each other with disdain, May found herself starting to tremble in her seat.
They knew.
~
“My Lady, we have to advise against—”
“I’d have asked if I wanted your advice,” she said, secure in her judgement as she swiftly made her way down the hall. To think, just days before, blood and gore painted the walls. You wouldn’t know if you hadn’t seen it. “I’d have already asked for it.”
The shuffling of leather and clinking of mail grew louder behind her, too afraid to stop her but holding too much respect for her to listen. “But he—”
She stopped short, turning to face the gaggle forming behind her. They stumbled over one another at such a short stop, most looking towards her with wide eyes full of something she hadn’t seen in any of her men for a very long time: fear.
“I took him here,” she started, making eye contact with each soldier, one by one, “therefore I am responsible for him. I’ll be the one to decide what comes next. If you cannot trust that your lives are of the utmost importance to me, then why have you ever taken my orders in the first place?” She paused, allowing the men to think on her words. “I know more now than I did a week ago, as do you. Trust that I am doing what’s right.”
One of the spearmen—a guard—from the back row of soldiers shuffled where he stood, eyes darting between May and the men standing beside him. With what must have been an enormous amount of courage, he spoke.
“Our lieutenant trusted you,” he mumbled.
May’s ears perked, eyeing the man. He couldn’t have been much older than herself. “What was that?”
The guard blushed, his cheeks matching the deep crimson of the uniform he wore beneath his leather vest. Yet, still, he spoke again. “Lieutenant Riker, my Lady. He, uh… he trusted you and, well, he died.” He seemed to sink into the small group even more, if possible.
May shook her head, her piercing gaze not letting up on the poor spearman. “Did you forget that Lieutenant Riker expressly denied orders to leave our guest in peace? Do you think the proper warnings and precautions were not taken? Do you think,” she said, her voice raising, gesturing towards the door at the end of the hall; her ultimate destination. “I would risk the lives of my men—our men—by inviting something hostile into our home with no reason?”
She had their attention now.
Looking once again from one man to the next, she sighed. She owed them more than she could ever tell, and yet they’d all have her head if they knew the truth. It may be time.
“Tell your officers there’s an impromptu meeting this evening,” she said, gazing towards the shadow through the ornate window adorning the plain stone wall. “Give it four hours' time. I’ll tell you. I swear it.”
As she started striding once again down the hall, Oryn’s door coming ever closer, the men behind her merely watched. The door hadn’t been open since the attack, locked from the inside by a man who thinks he’s a monster. May approached, taking a deep breath, her hand reaching for the handle as she heard a soft click, the door opening but a sliver to reveal the dark recess of the room beyond.
“Just you,” Oryn said, voice but a whisper, pulling the door back slightly more, allowing May in.
They sat in silence, looking at one another. May’s ambitious attitude melted away at the sight of them, all shriveled up upon themselves, draped in two or three robes hiding their visage from being seen. There was nothing in the room but a shredded mattress upon a stone dais, raising it slightly in the center of the room. All other furniture—most likely broken beyond repair—had been removed. Long scratches lined the walls, trailing from one end of the room to the other, their twins cascading over the floor. The smell permeating the air was rancid, of rotting meat and decay. The closer May got to Oryn, the worse it became. As Oryn sat upon the remnants of mattress, May adopted the soldier's stance—hands clasped behind your back, feet apart, chin down—giving them ample time to prepare for her onslaught of questions.
Suddenly, the thoughts were flying away, leaving nothing but an empty void in their wake.
“I’m sorry,” Orryn said, breath hushed and full of something heavy and painful.
May shook her head with disbelief, pinching her nose between her fingers and sighing. “I didn’t invite you here to watch you rot in this room. I didn’t come here today to chastise you for what happened.” She made her way closer to them, standing over them near the mattress and offering them a hand to stand next to her.
Oryn, between the hoods of the robes they wore, looked at May’s outstretched hand. “You aren’t afraid?”
She leaned closer, peering between the sheets of fabric with might. “I don’t think you could hurt me. Now get up.” She reached down and took their hand in her own. It took everything in her not to recoil with shock as she felt the cold, dead weight laying limp in her palm, sweat starting to bead on her brow.
Oryn felt something when May grabbed their hand, warmth flowing freely from her body into their own. They looked upon the two hands sitting together, held there by the sheer will of two people.
“I said,” May barked, tightening her grip on Oryn’s hand, “Get. Up.”
She pulled on their hand, yanking him off the tattered mattress and out into the cold center of the empty room. Limp and cold, Oryn stumbled behind, finding themselves standing next to May, her conviction visible and flaring from her ears.
“You can’t do this anymore. Sit here, brooding. Wallowing.” May sighed, eyes narrowing as they continued to stare.
“But I... You—”
“You’ve never killed anyone before? Not once? Not for any reason?”
Oryn shuffled where they stood, refusing to meet May’s eyes, wishing they could curl into the mattress behind them. “Why would I have...”
As they lifted their chin into the light, meeting May’s gaze but for a moment, she saw something there that she’d never seen before. She shook her head, dropping Oryn’s hand and letting it fall beside her as she started pacing the room.
She sighed, the sound of her boots hitting the stone matching the drone of the soft pounding playing in the back of her head. “What did the Witches tell you about death?” she said, her breathing even.
“Everything dies,” Oryn mumbled, “it’s a part of being alive. It might be the end part, but it’s a part we all come to.” They hugged their arms to their chest, pulling the robes tighter around them. From the corner of her eye, May could see the shape of the body underneath; one she wasn’t familiar with. She kept pacing.
“Do you remember when I told you about war?” She kept her eyes straight ahead.
“Yes.”
May nodded. “I’m fighting in a war,” she said, pausing her pacing to meet Oryn’s eye.
As expected, the shock on Oryn’s face was magnifying. She could see the layers to the fear crossing her mind, the horror of murder and untoward death upon the innocent. May knew that—in Oryn’s mind—there was no real understanding of the world as it is. If she was going to stay here, she needed to understand. And, despite the pounding ringing through May’s skull, she couldn’t think of any outcome to the events leading here in which she didn’t take Oryn home.
They shuddered. “I don’t understand. Why would—”
“I’m going to explain everything to you. I promise. But it’s going to take a lot of time: there’s a lot I need to teach you. But,” May said, stepping closer to Oryn, keeping her eyes locked on theirs, no matter how wrong they looked. “I need you to know that those men—my men—they all choose to be here. They all choose to fight. And they’re not fighting in search of death, but in spite of it. Do you understand?” The hardness in her eyes melted away as she leaned forward, taking her hand to pull back the hood concealing Oryn’s face.
She tried her best to hide her shock, but Oryn read her like a book. They knew something was different; whenever something like this happened, they always were. First it was subtle, but as the days passed, the differences became more obvious. They didn’t dare to look at themselves since the attack, but they knew. The soreness brooding in their ribs when they took a breath, the aching in their joints, the tight feeling of their jaw... it always happened.
Oryn nodded, shallow and slowly. “I understand choice,” they started, hands trembling, “and I trust you, May. But I can’t just… I can’t just kill.”
“I never asked you to.” May took in whoever it was in front of them; the new shape, the new structure. “But I’ll need your support. Your undoubted, unequivocal support. No questions asked. Can you do that?”
“I’m not going to be another one of your men—”
“I never asked you to, Oryn. I’m asking you to be my friend. To trust me. And you just said you could, didn’t you?”
Another nod was exchanged between them.
“Good,” May sighed. “There’s a meeting a few hours’ time. Come to the Hall, okay?”
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