“I, fear that something, sinister, lurks amidst us; whether, corporeal or not, I am unsure. There is, much fear in me, Sister. Our father, might argue to the contrary, but, he sees only that, which he wishes to see.
There is, much wrong in this world, sister. It is foul, abhorrently so; at times, which is more often than not, I feel like a cornered animal– trying to bite off, more than I can chew.
Or, maybe, those are not my feelings. I don't know These mountains, these peaks of delusion, reek of an all encompassing madness; they inspire much, mutiny, amongst the host.
Perhaps, it is the ancient nature of these mountaintops that my troops, find hard to stomach. Or, mayhaps, it is the judging gaze with which, the shadows of these great snowy mountains tower against us. Or, maybe, it is none of them, maybe, it is the winds, which are our true foe.
The winds, and I bear testimony to it, are odd. Often, too often, we would hear shrieks, howls, and calls for aid, but, when we would venture forth to investigate, we would find no trace– neither of the sound, nor, of its source. Sometimes, many amongst the host would complain of hearing whispers, beckoning them to return home; a home which the whispers say, lies amidst the great peaks of North.
This is, a queer place, Dear Sister. A far too, queer place…..”
-An Excerpt from, Willow's letter to Ishtar, circa: 15 years before The War of the 4 Queens
WILLOW II
The snow crunched beneath the horse's hoofs. It neighed unhappily, she steered it away from the burning pyres, patting it comfortingly. The horse remained uneasy, perhaps, it sensed its mistress’s foul mood, or mayhaps, it was just as repulsed by her own actions as she was.
She had, at many points, restrained herself from lashing out at her men. They behaved like brutes and low lives; Not at all, as to how, her father had narrated. There was no honor amongst them, she had realized, as she had, for the first time, witnessed a woman be dragged out of her home. She had urged her horse away, far away from the sight. What, she wouldn't witness, wouldn't haunt her.
It was her mantra.
She had wanted, so badly– so desperately, to stop them– prohibit them. But, she could not. Not without, risking insubordination.
The naive part of her, the sweet girl that, what felt like an eternity ago, had embarked upon her father's order to seek glory, was no longer. She had perished, when a hand had caught hold of her braided ponytail and yanked her off the horse; It was, then, that she acquired a taste for it all– It was then, under the influence of pure beastly adrenaline– under the constant deafening pounding of her fragile heart, that she had an epiphany.
Willow loved it– loved the bloodshed– loved the thrill, the fear, the horror– loved death. And, as she had side-stepped– ducked– parried, Celeste knows, how many mortal blows, she realized father's fascination with the unruly and unrefined dance of battle. No Ball, no country dance, could ever come close to this. This primal dance of brutality– of rage– of fear– of adrenaline, could never be dethroned.
Lady Willow, was dead. In her place, was her. Crown Princess Willow of House Celeste. Mmm~, Empress Willow; Now, that sounds delicious, A shudder of wild pleasure danced down her spine, at the thought of a crown adorning her brow.
Thus, silence would be, her answer. She had endeared these men to herself; She could not risk losing their loyalty, no matter the cost. Her teacher, and Honor guard, had taught her this much. The loyalty of her men, came paramount.
Yet, the young girl buried, so deep, within her, whispered incessantly. Sometimes, which more often than she would ever admit, she could see her. The girl standing, horrified with tears dripping down her face, across her vision. The girl would beg, the girl would plead. And, sometimes, she would sway Willow. Sometimes. However, those times, had long since passed. No longer, would she be swayed by the pleading of a ghost within her head. No, the girl would remain, nothing, but an ache in her mind.
The girl appeared, even now, begging her to save the family, she had seen being taken to be hanged. She bit down on the side of her cheek, hard enough that her vision became watery, and the girl disappeared.
Soon, her horse had her rejoining the central column, passing through the main street in the city. The pace of the horse, gradually slowed into a relaxed trot; Relaxing for the horse, certainly, but not her.
The march was something, she hated with a passion.
The unending grating– rhythmic pounding of the feet of her men. Each step, taken so viciously and with such hostility, that, it would seem as if they wish to spite the very ground that they march on.
The howls and shrieking, of the innocents within the walls, would penetrate through all the noise, oh so often, that it unsettled her. She could imagine it, the unspeakable horrors that the savage men under her command would inflict upon these lands. She could imagine this, and more. Some, so horrifying, that she would lose her appetite for war.
The chants– praising Celeste– praising her House– praising her Father– praising her. They would cause, a certain uneasiness within her; An uneasiness of the pleasurable kind– an uneasiness that would be, for some, arousal. But for her, it was naught but another high. Only, a savage and a villain, would feel aroused by the scent of death and suffering. And, she was none of them. No, what she felt was naught but another dose of adrenaline. Absolutely. Most Definitely.
It would all, unsettle her. For, the passion with which she hated this march, was so immense, that the idea of the existence of even the barest flicker of adoration for this practice, would be inconceivable. However, in the most monstrous turn of events, it did exist; Not as a flicker, no, the adoration burnt brighter and higher than the pyres which encircled the city.
It would seem, that her soul, itself, was in a quandary. Torn at the seams, unsure, whether to be repulsed by this spectacle, or to be enamored at the very idea of it; Dubious, whether, it was a soft ballad in her honor, or whether, it was a monstrous cacophony of her mind.
A horse, trotted to her side and slowed, matching her pace, step for step. She paid it, no mind; Lost, far too deep in her thoughts, to care any longer.
The man on the horse, was alarmed by his mistress's behavior. She had been uncharacteristically withdrawn, retreating deeper and deeper into her shell. So much, unlike, what he had borne witness to.
Indeed, she had been, initially, withdrawn and deeply unsettled by the ravenous nature of war. But, that had been, so so long ago. The past few months, ever since his lapse in duty– ever since that fateful afternoon when she had fallen off her steed, she had changed.
The Emperor, had chalked up his concerns to foolhardy behavior, had threatened him with expulsion. Thus, he had remained silent.
Like, a phoenix, his Lady had arisen. And it seemed, so much like a phoenix, she would fade into ashes of devastation. Encumbered by her own actions, as she was, it would be unsurprising.
Seeing her, withdrawing once more, his heart clenched in agony. He could, never forgive himself, if he allowed her to cause irreparable damage to herself. Steeling himself, horse coming to her side, he spoke.
“My Lady?” The soft voice snapped her out of the maelstrom, that were her thoughts. From, merely, a peek, she could see the sheer concern that radiated in his eyes. The eyes are said, to be the window to one's soul, and if that were to be true, then the profound concern and affection in his, would surely drown out the specks of affection that she, oh so rarely, spotted in her father's gaze.
In the silence that followed, between them, his hand reached out, hesitant yet confidently, and softly shook her; Admiration and equal parts, amusement took hold of her. Her lips, curved up in a hearty grin– a grin that went unseen to his gaze, hidden as it was, behind her helmet.
Not wishing, to trouble him any further, she spoke; Rather, she tried to, but failed to utter a single word. Her throat, as parched as a man’s who was lost to the dunes in the south. Regardless, clearing her throat, she spoke, “Ye.. Yes?”
The man, her honor guard, her Bear, held out a waterskin, “Water, my Lady?” Was it, an attempt at small talk, or, was it, an innate ability of mind reading? She didn't know, nonetheless, she was grateful. Immensely so.
She would request Yang to reward him; for, nothing that she could give him, would come as close as the intimacy of Yang’s passion.
With a smile, taking the waterskin from his hand, she lifted up her helmet past her nose, and drank heartily. The rush of water, rejuvenated her, her throat accepting the water's refreshing, warm embrace. Ohh~, he, so deserves a boon! She reiterated within the confines of her mind.
Even in such a state, etiquette prevailed, and, inspite of wishing to drain it till the last drop, she returned the waterskin to him.
He accepted it, back, with a grace and strapped it, to his side.
A moment of comfortable silence, and he spoke, “Are, you well, my Lady?”
She nodded– the braided ponytails of her red hair swishing, mirroring her movement, “I- I am, quite well, my good sir,” At his amused huff, she smiled fondly, “Perhaps, you can regale me, with tales of your adventures, oh shining knight of mine?”
“Certainly, my Lady. Any particular tale, that you, yearn to hear?”
She hummed, “Mhm, I would certainly, love to hear of your service alongside my father,”
“Certainly, my Lady. Well, you see, my Lady, I first acquaintanced, myself, with your father, during the first war of….”
As her Bear, continued to regale her with a tale, a serene smile blossomed on her face. Tis, was a pity, that it went unseen by his gaze; Sometimes, she truly hated this helmet.
Over the burning city, as flames danced along its length– as ash wrapped the city in its insidious embrace, the banners of House Celeste towered above all of its pandemonium…
Ducking at the exact moment, as the sword cut through the air, she retaliated with a stab of her crossguard. Her opponent jumped back, barely dodging the stab; She mirrored his movement, creating much needed distance between them.
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Her opponent circled her, much like a desperate predator. Her eye's followed his, every, step.
A moment of tense silence, anticipation thick in the air. A twitch in her sword arm and, she moved. With the swiftness of a dragon, she rushed at him, her sword poised upwards begging to strike.
As the man's arm moved to block her swing, she shifted her sword; a feint. And one, that he unfortunately had predicted, she realized; As, his gauntlet blocked her stab towards his neck. In a counter move, she made, to kick him back; Only, for him to catch hold of it.
With a click of her tongue, she jumped, turning and dancing through the air with the elegance of a ballerina. As a finishing act to her elegant display, with her free leg, she kicked him, hard, on his helmet.
The man went sprawling onto the ground. Taking advantage, sword poised to strike, she rushed at him.
Suddenly, she found herself being swept onto the ground. Fuck, she grimaced, as her opponent placed his sword on her neck, the only vulnerable portion of her otherwise impregnable armor. He spoke, with smugness dripping out of his every word, “Yield, my Lady. I must say, I am thoroughly impressed by your improvements. Albeit, they can still use, further refinement, lacking as they are; A good swordswoman, would have foreseen my retaliation, as if—”
His yapping, cut short, as she mimicked his own trickery; sweeping his legs from beneath him. “Fuck,” He groaned in pain. She grimaced, he'd be having a concussion with that fall. Regardless, she pounced upon him, like a panther.
“Yield?” She spoke sweetly. He attempted to free his swordarm, and she responded by digging her boot into it. He groaned in pain, her blade pressing harder against his neck.
By Celeste, she absolutely adored these hidden blades. Such a quaint little tool.
“Yield,” The blade pressed down, harder, and he nodded hastily.
Smirking, she helped him off the ground, “That, wasn't so hard, was it?” He huffed, “Don't go around, inflating your ego, my Lady. Must I remind you, of the countless times, you've lost?”
“Ah, Fuck off!” With a amused grin, he bowed before excusing himself; Almost, bumping into the maid, entering into her tent. With a quick, yet graceful, apology, her Bear was on his way.
She smiled softly. Their sparring sessions, were her favorite part of the day; they were, refreshing, in an otherwise, dull schedule.
The maid, came to halt, with a deep bow– one full of, oh so glorious, reverence; An emotion, which bled into her tone, “My Lady Princess, the council requests your presence amongst them,”
Willow stretched, “Very well,” The maid, with a bow, made to leave but she halted her, “Oh, there's no need. I shall be, leaving immediately,” Barely had the maid nodded in affirmation, that Willow made to leave. Suddenly, she paused in the midst of leaving, turning her head towards the maid, she ordered, “You, stay here and clean up the place,”
With orders issued and the sparring session bearing fruit, Willow left the tent, uncaring of the maid's response; It would be an affirmative one, afterall, there was no option of her denying it.
The snow crunched beneath her feet, the sound echoed behind her– ah, the ever loyal Bear, whatever would I do, without him?, as she stepped out into the malicious embrace of the cold air outside her tent. A shiver wracked her body, tightening her hold upon the cloak, she walked towards the command tent.
Each step, in the snow-laden street was agony, her armor greedily soaking up the coldness of the fresh snow. She grimaced, perhaps, taking an armor of pure silver, had been the wrong choice.
Her father had warned her against it, initially; The gleaming charm of her armor, had soon, swept him away as well. Regardless, His words had been lost to the wind, he might as well have attempted at convincing a wall to change its place of rest. She cringed at her younger behavior, it was full of foolishness. Although, there was folly on the part of her father as well.
‘What was the point of a fur-padding?’, She had retaliated, ‘I hardly think, that I shall ever be going to war. Much less in the north, father,’
Her father had merely smiled at her, ruefully and sheepishly. Had, he known?, a part of her questions. Had he, always planned for this war? Had he, always wished for her to lead this war? It was likely, she imagined, highly likely. The initial plans, the routes, so much of it all was predefined. Much too much, for a war plan that he claimed, to have been ‘thought’ of in a year.
Or, mayhaps, it had been the council. It had the best strategists and warriors in it, afterall. That, certainly, amounted to something.
She sighed, it was pointless; Not like, she could ever figure him out. Her father was enigmatic, like that. He would speak of something, and do it's exact opposite; Not to say, that he hadn't tried tutoring her in his ways, it was just, that she could never take to them as well as Ishtar did.
‘Be contradictory’, they would, oh so often, chorus. And, she agreed; She truly did.
However, how could one be contradictory, while being at the head of an army? Not to mention, a host as massive as this? It was simply, impossible.
“My Lady?”
Her Bear’s words broke her out of her thoughts, “Yes?” She questioned.
“Are you alright, My Lady?”
“Oh.. ohh, yes, I am. Why, the sudden concern?”
“You had standing stationary, for quite a while, my Lady, that's all. Forgive me, if it seemed improper for me to behave in such a manner–”
Forcing a cheery facade, she interjected quickly, “No! No! Not at all! I appreciate your concern, my good Sir. I was, a bit lost in my thoughts, tis all. Nothing, to worry over,”
The Bear nodded in acceptance, although he looked unsure. Likely, seeing through her facade. However, he did not push for an explanation, and, for that, she was grateful. She would, confide in him, sooner than later; She would, just prefer a bit more time to mull over her thoughts.
She took a deep breath, and threw open the tent’s flap; only, to be greeted by a cacophony of sounds. An unholy chorus, tis what it was. The advisors, the generals, the priests and Yang– screaming at one another, was a sight to behold. Belisarius and Yang, in particular, seemed to be, just a moment away from clawing at each other's throats.
Buried so deep into their infighting, they failed to notice her. Clowns, the lot of them, she thought disdainfully. Belisarius and Yang, she had expected. Either one, couldn't breathe one moment's peace without being at the other’s throat. But the rest? It was unexpected. The disappointment, in her council, coiled around her heart; She shivered, the cold biting away at her, like a ravageous beast.
She cleared her throat loudly. The consul nearest to her, noticed her, and with a loudly muttered and a deep bow, “My Princess.”, He had effectively silenced the council's bickering.
An oppressive silence took hold of the tent, each individual unsure, on how to break it. The Crown Princess must be, certainly, deeply furious, they reasoned, and thus, elected to remain silent.
The silence stretched. With a quiet sigh, and a murmured prayer to Celeste, Yang decided to shatter the silence, thoroughly annoyed at the awkwardness, “Sister!” She cheerily chorused, “How, delightful to have you join us!” With a broad smile, she sashayed towards Willow, and embraced her tightly. An embrace, that was promptly reciprocated by her.
Yang pressed an affectionate kiss on her cheek. She mirrored the action, albeit a bit hesitantly. Yang, likely having noticed her hesitation, smiled ruefully, before, sweetly, whispering into her ear, “I hope, your Bear thanked you, for such a generous gift,”
Willow laughed, “Oh sweet sister, if anything, it should be you, he should be thanking. Not me,”
Yang shook her head, pressing a kiss to her other cheek, she spoke, “Oh, not at all, without your suggestion, I would have, never considered it,”
Willow smiled softly, “Then, I guess, as a compromise, he shall be thanking us both,” Yang laughed, and as the laughter faded, she parted from the embrace, a grin on her face.
As Yang sauntered back to her seat, Willow rubbed her fingers over the bridge of her nose, and sighed; For, now she could see, clearly, the state or rather, the position of the other individuals in the tent. “Must I, repeat this, each time? Or, have you all, simply developed a habit of disobeying me?”
The consul’s shook their head, High General Belisarius– their figurative head, spoke, “Not at all, my Princess,”
“Then? Is, it something else, Belisarius?”
“No, my Princess, we merely, wish to treat you, according to the respect owed to your station. To do anything contrary to such, would be highly heretical of us,”
She sighed, but did not press the issue any longer. If Belisarius and the rest, were hellbent on groveling before her, who was she, to stop them? If they wished to do so, let them– let them do their bows, their homages, their tributes. She would, make no further attempts to the contrary.
With her resolution, she walked towards the head of the table, having a clear view of the map spread across it and questioned, “Now, what exactly, had all of you, up in arms?”
The unholy cacophony began once more, louder and much more spirited than the last. She waited a moment, hoping for one of them to see reason and speak coherently. None did, and thus, she slammed her fist on the table, “Silence!”
The room drowned, once more, in a tense silence. None dared to speak– remaining content in waiting for the Princess' permission to do so.
Pointing her finger at Belisarius, she spoke, “Belisarius, you will tell me, exactly, what the issue is. No sugar coating, no omissions. Now, begin,”
With the snap of her fingers, Belisarius began to speak, “My Princess, the matter is of, whether or not to pass through the Catacomb Pass. Lady Yang, suggests, that we opt, not for the Catacomb Pass, but take the, Pale road to Anchorage, instead. The other consuls, and I, feel this, to be foolishness. Not to mention, that we had a meeting, prior, which had already decided on the course of action,” Yang sneered and moved to speak, Willow held up her hand, halting her. She glared at her, before clicking her tongue in annoyance, allowing Belisarius to continue, “It would have been, a most perfect alternative, however, we can seldom risk the chance, of allowing these Northern Warlords to retaliate. Taking, the longer route, would allow them to do exactly that,”
“And, the Catacomb Pass?” She questioned; Mimicry, is what tis was, a pointless question– meant to do, nothing but somehow make Yang understand the vitality of this route.
“While certainly, slightly dangerous,” Yang scoffed loudly, “It is a much quicker way to Anchorage. We would, catch them off guard,”
Yang's face turned red with rage; Willow cringed, realizing the impending beginning of her tantrum. Kicking her chair back, her sister stood up and slammed her fists into the map, “We would, only catch them off guard, if we are even, fucking alive! Taking the Catacomb Pass will, do naught but put us, and I say this with a high certainty, 6 feet into the bloody ground!”
“The certainty of that, is very low–”
“It is not! Our grandfather perished there, and so did, each and every army since! Expecting the outcome to be any different, is fucking moronic!”
One the priest's sputtered, surprisingly, coming to the aid of Belisarius, “It is summer, my Lady! Need, I remind you–”
“Remind what? That an avalanche is improbable during these months? That, the summer's would mean, us not being buried in the snow?!”
“Yes, of course! These savages will be unable to bury us in these sunny months!”
Yang laughed, derisively, and spoke bitterly, “Oh, I am sure, that is exactly what, the consul's advised my Grandfather. And, look where that got them!”
Another priest chorused Yang's words, “The young princess is correct, while a bit harsh, she lays the truth, quite well,”
One of Belisarius' allies, Maxime– if she remembered correctly, shook her head and spoke, “The situation is quite different. While, on the surface, it appears we have 2 choices. We, ultimately, have one. Everything, seems to lead to death,”
Before pandemonium could break out, Yang loudly interjected, “Precisely, Maxime is right,” Belisarius smirked before it was wiped from his face, as Yang continued, “That is, exactly why, I say we die on our terms. I say, we die, fighting! I say, we die, not like dogs clawing away at snow, but like warriors fighting these infidels!”
Yang's compatriots, the priest's and some of the general's, banged their fists on the table in support of her words.
A foul sneer twisted Belisarius' face, likely forming and planning biting statements to yell. His allies, looked similarly, if not, much more charged than him.
Sensing the inevitable clash breaking out, Willow snapped, “That's enough, Yang and Belisarius! Same, goes for the rest of you.”
Peeking a glance at the map, she could understand Belisarius’ belief. The Pale road would ensure, that they reached Anchorage, by the time, it was the onset of winter.
Catacomb Pass, on the other hand…
There, truly was ever, only one option– one route that led to Anchorage.
To her, the choice was obvious; Not to mention, pre-planned. “Yang is right,” Her sister flashed a smug grin at Belisarius, who merely shook his head, “However, we cannot risk a war in the winter,” The smug grin, was all too swiftly, wiped from the face of her sister. An irate look, taking its place.
She winced internally, making a mental note to apologize to her sister, and continued, “Thus, we shall brave, the Catacomb Pass. On either path, we risk death. I say, we take the path with the highest and most handsome reward– A path, that prevents a war in the biting blizzards of winter.”
Her words ended their dilemma, and by extension, the meeting itself. Highly offended, and undoubtedly, deeply hurt, Yang stormed out of the tent; A scowl adorning her face, with, as well as she could glance, tears pooling in her eyes.
Willow sighed in resignation. I feel that every choice I make, alienates someone or the other, without fail…