“I, horrifyingly, discovered in my research regarding this, rather tumultuous, topic that human understanding of itself is limited. Whether by design, or by mistake, tis is unclear; something, I aim to rectify, through this study.
Understanding of the, albeit alien, happenings of this chapter of history can, and I emphasize this, be achieved only by a deeper understanding of the human brain. Without the aforementioned understanding, comprehension of this period is impossible. Plain and simply, impossible.
Even, with our physical knowledge of the 4th, and limited theoretical knowledge of the 5th dimension. We, are in no position of greater comprehension. Our purpose, our reason, for existence being as unknown and vague as it has been for centuries; if not even vaguer.
Yet, even now, humanity believes itself to lie at a pedestal higher than those, before it-- a grievous mistake, for the civilization that endured before us, was of a stronger fabric. It was, undoubtedly, stitched together from the thread that had crafted Gods.
This thread, I humbly believe, is the same that now brings into being, The Palebloods. Indeed, the existence of Lilac's golden lineage would be impossible without it.
However, it is worthwhile to understand that this thread has been tainted, and its tailoring has weakened. By what? I, unfortunately, have no clue.”
-Leyah Engel, on the period of the Arya/Ancient Ones
WILLOW I
Side-stepping the hammer’s blow, Willow countered with 2 continuous blows of her dual hammers. The first strike missed, by a narrow margin. The second, found its target; Hitting her opponent right on the center of his chest.
Her opponent stumbled back, his breath coming in quick successions; She used the moment to create distance between them.
Each minute stretched into infinity, both impatiently waiting for the other to make a move. A beat, and Willow dashed, hammer in hand, poised to discombobulate him.
The man smirked. She paused, momentarily, taken aback by the sudden smirk. A folly; One, which, her opponent capitalized on.
His leg came, at an incredible pace, sweeping her off her feet. Her head banged against the wooden flooring, disorienting her. Stings of pain, pounded against her skull, like sparks of an infant fire. She winced, attempting to stand, only for a weight to press against her chest.
“Yield, my Lady,” Unwilling, to accept defeat– and, uncaring, of the pounding in her head, she forced herself to stand; Alas, it was for naught, as her body turned traitor and she collapsed on the ground.
She groaned in pain, hand coming up to massage her forehead– which burnt in pain, with a renewed fury.
Warhammer falling limply to his side, Augustus, or as she called him, The Bear, rushed to her side in alarm, “Are you well, my Lady?”
Willow nodded, the action causing tears to pool in her eyes. “I am fine.. quite fine,” She spoke. It was a lie, a flimsy one at that; Thus, it was unsurprising that her Bear saw through it.
Arms reaching around her back, he spoke hastily, “Hang on, my Lady,” He lifted her up in his arms, in a princess carry. She would have blushed, had her head not been burning in pain. “I will, take you to the healer. He shall, fix you up, in no time,” He flashed a smile at her, and she reciprocated it.
Finding warmth in his embrace, Willow's mind lulled itself into sweet sleep. He, truly is a darling, she thought as her eyes fluttered close. The visage of his face, morphing into one of panic, being the last sight that she saw before her world turned black.
“Shall you, shoulder this great honor, daughter?”
The words, snapped her mind out of it's, all-engulfing, reverie.
Where am I? She thought, in a daze; the throbbing in her mind, intensified, she bit back a grimace. Suddenly, the fog over her mind, lifted and she remembered.
Her eyes snapped up to her father's, he quirked his brow at her. Why is he– oh! Yes! Feeling foolish, she spoke up, her voice devoid of her inner turmoil, “I do!”
Her father smiled broadly, “Come here, daughter! Let me greet you, as a warrior!”
She stood up, her knee hurt from kneeling for such an extended period of time, and walked towards her father; Likewise, with his arms spread wide open, her father walked from his throne towards her.
With a shout of, “All Hail, Princess Willow!”, her father caught her in his arms and swept her off the ground, almost crushing her in his bear hug; She laughed, as he twirled her around, the smile on his face growing inexpressibly wide, almost threatening to stretch off his face.
As he twirled her around, cheers and shouts of her name blanketing the room, she spotted her, Queen Lucanya; The smile of joy and happiness, transformed into one of, smugness. The Queen, looked as glamorous as she always did, yet, she could see deeper– she could see, behind her cheery charade, the gloominess and ashes of defeat. She could see this, and more, much more; Laughter bubbled up in her throat, she allowed it to leave her, uproariously. Lucanya’s charade slipped, for but a moment, and it made her laugh louder.
She could, hardly, wait for the moment, when she was crowned Queen– nay, when she was crowned an Empress. Empress Willow von Celeste, sounded much more impressive, afterall. Empress of the North and South. Willow The Great, she could, already, imagining the crowds calling her name. Exquisite, truly.
But most of all– the headache returned– she could hardly wait, for the day when she strung up Lucanya's head to her castle walls.
__________________________________________
Banners and flags, dominated her vision; Banners and flags, of all kind– of all, the colors that one could envision– of all, the Noble Houses that resided within her family’s Empire. She could spot many, even from such a great distance, some recognisable and some, horrifyingly, unknown to her; A mistake, she would, quickly, correct.
However, above the Purple Leviathan of House Krakengard, above the Red and Golden dragon of House Drake, above the White Bear of House Reise– above all, soared the Golden Ayla of House Celeste. A sign of her, and her House's supremacy, over them.
It was surreal, to think that in the matter of a week, such a massive host shall be under her command. It filled her chest with a deep warmth of pride and the biting cold of fear; Fear, of failure– of disappointment.
Yet, above them all, was a most fierce feeling that coiled around her heart and mind, threatening to cover her soul in its foul beauty; Arousal, a deep seated arousal. It wasn't of the sexual kind, no. It was purer than that, free of any taints of the impure world of carnality.
Nay, she believed it, to be born of her new found power.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Power corrupts, her father had narrated, absolute power corrupts absolutely.
She thumbed the reins of her horse, and sighed; unsure, of what to make of her, near constant, state of arousal. It was, surely, unacceptable. She was going to war, for Celeste’s sake!, not to lay with a man!
Perhaps, a part of her mind whispered treacherously, corruption has, already, taken hold. Her hold on the reins tightened. Maybe, just maybe, it was right? Maybe.. power had already begun worming its way through her sensibilities, and mayhaps, so had corruption. Her horse neighed uncomfortably, likely, having sensed her turbulent thoughts.
The throbbing pain in her forehead, returned. Intensified, no doubt, by the sudden chill of foreboding that descended upon her.
Corruptions of power– being unknown to the heart, it was the lofty snow covered peaks of the distant north that towered, greater, over her mind. The North, was barren– or, so it was written. Yet, her grandfather had served witness to the contrary. It was far from barren, teeming with life, so hostile and hateful that one would stray far from the reaches of these peaks. Yet, God and Father, demanded these lands be tamed; and, destiny demanded that it be her, who would do so.
Thus, she gazed upon these lands, of forbidden snowfields and peaks of destined death, as a beast to be tamed. A beast, that would surely retaliate– A beast, that would strike from behind looming peaks and from within carpets of snow.
She took a long glance at the, albeit thinning, greenery that encompassed the camp. A certain fondness bloomed in the heart, for it would be quite a while before she could gaze upon such green pastures.
Her mind worked, she could feel it, to dispel any notions of degradation or corruption taking root within her; these thoughts of forbidden peaks, served as a prime example. Nevertheless, It was the correct move. A stray heart, would do her no good; except, perhaps, burying her and the host under innumerable feets of hellish snow.
She would dwell upon them, once she had returned. Once, she was freed of the stark white land that would be, either, her salvation or her demise. Then, and only then, would she ruminate over these matters. Not, a moment before.
“My Lady?” The voice disrupted her thoughts, snapping her out of the maelstrom that the distant peaks stirred within her.
“Yes?” She responded hastily, startling the man.
“The.. The council is ready, my Lady, they await your orders,”
“Very well,” She turned her horse towards the pavilion, housing the council meeting quarters, and trotted her horse towards it.
Strangely, her mind began realizing with mounting horror, she couldn't, quite clearly, remember what had been plaguing her mind. She remembered, it had something to do with the army? No, it was, about the Noble Houses? No, no, that does not sound correct. No, it was about something else. Something, regarding the mountains? No, or it was something regarding them.
She couldn't, quite, put her finger on it.
The headache returned, and she decided to put the mental interrogation aside for later. She had to be alert, during the meeting, the headache will do naught but prevent that.
She gasped, as she slid off the horse, the sudden chill that engulfed her soles startling her. Oh, the woes of donning metallic armor.
Not to mention, the feeling that this armor incited within her. It felt, strangely, akin to a second skin– a physical and metaphysical extension of herself. Everything it touched, everything it felt– she would feel, in turn. It was, perplexing.
She had, entertained the idea of questioning someone regarding this; That, had been dismissed, almost immediately– her brain, rationalizing it as a foolish concern. What, did someone as green horned as her, know of how armor felt? She had, obviously, read on how it is supposed to feel; But, had never been in one, herself– Oh!, how deeply she regrets that decision. Besides, when had been mere texts, served as anything but means of basic knowledge. One could, never quantify nor word, their true feelings.
It was simply, impossible.
Mayhaps, She thought with a growing sense of agreement, This is, how they're supposed to feel. An extension of oneself.
It would, certainly, explain why knights could tolerate the armor, even in the harshest of summers.
Tying the reins of her horse, around the fencepost, she stepped into the pavilion.
The flap of its entrance, bringing the entirety of the council into silence, their postures straightening and minds sharpening. Each, desperate, to curry favor from the future Queen; And, what a better way to do it, than by leaving a positive impression in the first council meeting!
Thoughts of, future glories and impending rise in stature of their House, the council members welcomed Willow, as she entered, each voice trying ceaselessly to overshadow the other's. Head aching, a flicker of annoyance passed through her and with a shout, “Silence!” The room grew quiet.
Too quiet.
An oppressive silence developed, each member feeling its tyranny. Desperately, and vaingloriously, wishing to break its hold. Yet, none dared to do so; The scowl on Willow's face, dissuading even the boldest.
Blind to the turmoil of her aides, Willow took a seat at the head of the table. The servant, who had taken refuge in the corner, coming forth to fill up her glass.
Taking a sip, Wine, she thought with disgust; Biting it back, she drank the wine. Rejecting the drink would, certainly, alienate her from the council. Besides, wine, inspite of its less than desirable taste and after-effects, had its uses. Uses, that she would exploit.
She cleared her throat, and cut right to the chase, “What is the plan? Have, we decided, on the route?”
The council members, she noted, seemed to have a conversation with their eyes. The silence lasted for but a few moments before a man, with a bushy mustache and the bluest of all eyes, stood up with a low bow; Goliath Arvell, or so he was called– none, truly knew his actual name, neither, did they know the reason for him being called ‘Goliath’.
The scribe, whom she had failed to notice till now, prepared a parchment and dipped his pen into the inkwell; He had, done so, almost silently and she would have, surely, failed to take not of him, had he not been exactly left to the behind of Goliath Arvell.
“My Princess,” Goliath began, his voice warm– tinged with a modicum of respect, “Before, I go in detail regarding the plan,” He motioned the scribe to begin writing, “I, would like to preface this, by stating that the plan was passed, unanimously, by the council,”
A raise of her brow, “Oh? An unconventional route, then?”
Goliath paused, until a cough from the councilman seated beside him, sprang him into action, “Not necessarily, My Princess. It is, merely, that the route is a perilous one; Demanding us to force march our host, through the Catacomb Pass. But it is, necessary, if we wish to take Anchorage before the onset of winter,”
Willow sighed. Of course, it had to be the Catacomb Pass; Almost, like an elaborate jest by Celeste, She thinks derisively to herself.
Regardless, of her feelings on the matter, the council had decided upon it. And seeing her, humiliating, lack of knowledge regarding such matters; She'd rather trust the council, than to oppose them.
“Have you, taken other routes into consideration?” She questions in vain.
“We have, My Princess. But, unfortunately, none guarantee our arrival at Anchorage by winter, let alone take hold of it. Thus, in our humble opinion and as far as our knowledge advises us, Catacomb Pass is the only way,”
She nods with a sigh. It was depressing, yet in a way surreal. She would, and she was certain of it, succeed where her grandfather failed.
She signals the servant to fill her glass; Content, with wine sating the abrupt thirst that grew within her.
It was, as she drank the wine– raking her eyes across the table, that she noticed a face missing amongst them.
With a start, she spoke in alarm, almost choking on the wine, “Where, is Yang?!”
Goliath, who had yet to sit, informed, “She, and a small host, have been sent in advance to scout ahead, My Princes–”
“With whose permission?” She growled. The insolent fools. Had, they forgotten to whom, they owed allegiance?
“Mine, My Princess,” A man, seated at the back of the table, spoke in a tone of utmost reverence.
She wanted to rant and rave at the man, for his insolence and blatant disregard of her authority but bit her scathing remarks back; The man wore a, white and scarlet red, shoulder cape and there was, but one man, who had the honor of donning it.
High General Belisarius.
Thus, instead of the insults that she would have thrown at any other, he was met with a simple and curt, “Explain,”
Belisarius bowed, having forgotten to do so initially, and spoke, “The Princess, Yang, had stormed up to my office– when she heard of the scouting party, and had, practically demanded to lead it,” He sighed, appearing disappointed with himself, “She outranked me, thus, I had no choice but to follow through with her orders,”
Willow hummed, it wasn't unlike Yang to pull such a stunt. But to flout, her authority so openly, it was disappointing. She, definitely, has to have a few words with her sister; Such acts, would inspire naught but mutiny amongst her troops.
“I will, forgive you, this once, Belisarius. However, I shall tolerate no repetitions of such acts, ever again; The same, stands for everyone,” Belisarius, and the rest of the council members, nodded in understanding.
Suddenly, with the swiftness of a lightning bolt, a knight burst into the pavilion, “Unrest! Unrest, amongst the troops, My Princess!”
And it felt, in that moment, as if the very ground, had been swept from below her feet.