Work Text:
“Majesty.”
The sound of steel to wood;
Crack:
Belligerent; splintering —
A decapitated head, rolls, listless, along the ground. What remains of the practice dummy, trembles, in the wake of savage force….
(Armored shoulders, heave;
—quake)
Elenor smiles(A storm, chokes, her heart…)
The Amazon does not turn.
(Won’t…)
“Have I reduced, royalty, to pouting?” (Knows: she’s being avoided.)
Steps—forward,
to catch; the quiver of hands, clenched, around etched hilts(—neither, the Ember Blade);
The smile fades. The elf straightens. “Will you not face me?”
Clang;
Another.
A sad, low thump; as the wooden head - spins - past her foot.
(And, she knows)The other is unused to articulating: ‘Feeling’; beyond the length of her swords
— But, the challenge is There.
A breath; a breath. To - halt. The falter, of her tongue, as she faces a taut back. “Loren.”
“No.”
Elenor flinches(After the torturous ‘nothing’, her voice—is its own blade). Regains herself: “Avoiding me solves nothing. We have to talk about what Apolimesho accounted—”
“There is nothing to discuss.” Steel. She flinches; beyond herself(Is she so fragile? When, was the last she bore so frigid a tone?) “I did not save my mother to have her made a sacrifice, later.” Those hands, grip, even tighter. “You will not die.”
She… waits—for, more — for something: Else, to follow. Blinks, when she thinks the other’s whole body is shaking;
(…No—No.)
“It has to be me.”
Unwavering.
Blue eyes- whip -to her own(She sees her…), narrowed—glaring—at her insolence; swords, raised, as if she would strike her down
(…Would she Stop her?)
Elenor shivers.
“It has to be me.” Loren flinches; the elf nods in her place. “You will be Queen — your mother, is, Queen; but, I’m a slave—”
“You are my second-in-command.”
“Who is a slave.”
“Silence.” Snapped. A squared jaw — Pain. “Not even from you.”
…Elenor swallows: the word—the truth; down. Exhales, thickly
(—Gives her that).
Breathes. “I don’t have a future — beyond this; beyond duty. I owe the Amazons everything. Queen Karen; you.” The other - blinks rapidly; looks away. “I’ll never shape the world. Not like you will. The Ember Blade—”
“Will be the end to this.” Another cut; the Amazon doesn’t back down—stalks closer. “The gods saw fit to bestow the sword—it chose me. That makes it my obligation—my fate.”
A smirk. “If the Loren from the beginning could hear the Loren, right now…” A hard glare — and the woman is no better, at taking her jokes. Her hands rise—wrap, white-knuckled fists;
A sharp, draw of air:
—Contact.
Squeezes. “Live.” (Her solemn prayer.)The other’s mouth falls wordlessly. “Live to be the ruler; the savior, I know you’ll be.”
Blue; trembles, “Elenor…”
(Her heart races; reacts—and, there is nothing she wishes, more, than to appease her….
But.)
A dark expression; she disengages(and, the flickering - ‘hurt’, is almost too much to bear…) “I want to be clear.” Releases: Hands. “You won’t be able to stop me.” (Her own, blade.) “Your dying breath will not be a second before my own.”
Twin swords, clatter—hit the ground.
(No thought—)
Force — Impact:
Her body collides—With wood; a stoic dummy behind her. Stays: bound. By leather and heat…
“Mis—” a strangled gasp, as she recovers. Lost breaths; tries…
Loren slams her back. Pins; with a vulnerability(…Hunger…)that devastates her senses… “Why won’t you obey?” Seethed; into her ear — and those lips, barely brush—so close… Elenor - jolts - helplessly;
(Frustration. Yielding…)
— flips; their positions—the Amazon, stronger. Yet, possessing more dexterity:
Presses; to the crudely sculpted figure—
Furious:
"Why won't you let me save you?”
Hissed.
The dummy, creaks, beneath the strain of her driving form; Loren's.
—A broken breath;
A shudder, bone-deep…
Those eyes, flutter; close;
Elenor gapes(stupefied)—doesn't know, cause or reason
—Shifts;
Sweeter…. A ragged hitch
(Soft…)Finds a knee—tucked—between a naked thigh…
(Cannot… comprehend…)
The Amazon, pants… Stares. Dark, blue; stained:
(Carnal…)
Elenor, jolts — backs away(realizes: she’s panting, too). Calms(—does not mention it);
Meets - eyes, despite the burn of her cheeks: “Would you expect, anything less?” When her words are stable. (It is, an answer.) “From a servant of the Amazons.”
Loren curbs a trembling lip—tries(fails), to abate the heave of her breast.
“My life, for yours.” Grounds herself; in immovable fact. “You accepted that oath—demanded it. Said: It, to be ‘expected’.” Pinched brows(it should not be debate). “Why falter now?”
…cannot: decipher the first part, “…sickness…”
“I.” Confusion. “Didn’t—”
“Leave me.” The other’s, chin, dips — and, those eyes are, unknowable. Veiled, by tossed ebony.
“…Loren—”
“Leave!”
Bit; through teeth;
(Screamed);
And, she feels; the irrepressible tremors; swell…
Gouges, nails, to the heel of her palm;
(‘I’m sorry.’)
Disregards. The lapse—the abject slump, in the Amazon’s shoulders—
(How they quake;)
Walks—away.