My Last Amen

[Meraki]

Fira had sat there for what felt like years. It was only about two hours before she heard an impossibly soft knock and Fira pushed herself from the floor slowly. Her bed was untouched, the room was untouched really, except for the wash basin with bloodied cloths. Fira had managed to clean, wrap and bandage her leg, but it still ached a great deal and she was not about to ask anyone else for help. She just felt lost, between moving forward and being knocked back — between making her own decisions and being at the mercy of everyone else.

She was just too tired to process any of this.

When she finally made her way to the door, Fira stood with her black curls cascading over her shoulders and her tired emerald eyes glancing up at the door opened. When she saw Amadeus there, she had hardly anticipated it, as she knew how tired he was as well. After all, he had walked the whole distance and more than anything he needed his rest. He deserved a good night's sleep, some good conversation and good food. She had tried to distance herself because she thought she would only harm his happiness — but seeing him there eased a tension she did not know she had in his chest.

Fira did not say anything, instead she reached out and slipped her fingers through his and tugged him slowly into the room. Once the door was shut, Fira moved slowly as not to jostle her leg too much, and very intimately and slowly stepped towards him until she could raise her arm up and slip it around him, then the other, before burying herself in his arms as gently as she could manage. It was not a desperate hold, but a deeply intimate one, and she could feel his heart beat against her ear.

She didn't know until she experienced it just how much she needed to hear that sound.

"The Duke's men were the ones found him," Fira admitted, her voice a gentle whisper and her head laid against his chest, "Peter sent royal soldiers, they beheaded him."

"I wish I could be angry," she admitted, barely audible, "I am just so tired."

 

[Nav]

There wasn't really anything for him to say, honestly, and she clearly didn't need him to say anything, thankfully.

Instead, when she answered the door, both kind of staring at each other in their respective silences, she tugged him into the room and let the door fall closed behind them with a click. Her arms moved around him, wrapping him up in a hug that was slow and tender, continuing the silent theme. One of his hands rested against the side of her hair, his fingers tangled up in her dark hair, as he tenderly kept her head against his chest for just a moment longer. It was her admission though that he wasn't quite sure what to do with.

He would have liked to be able to say that the news surprised him, but it didn't. Once the initial shock of it had worn off, he realized just how much sense it made. He doubted Peter was going to sit around and wait for the thing he wanted most, so of course it made sense that he vehemently pursued it… at the cost of a man's, a king's, life. Amadeus deeply considered the implications of the news, the truth, of what had happened to Fira's father. Many back in his home village would have called it justice for everything the King had done (or not done, really) for them. Amadeus couldn't say he grieved over the King's death, but he also understood no man deserved to die like that, no matter how mentally dead to the world he had already been.

Nothing that came into his mind felt suitable. Amadeus understood loss intimately, having lost a great number of people because of his impoverished childhood living conditions; he had even loved people who had been murdered, but there wasn't anything that could be said to make it better. Nothing he could say would make it any less painful for her.

"Then let's get you in bed," he replied finally, tugging his hand through her hair and tucking some stray strands behind her ear, "We can talk about it in the morning, if you want. It won't fix it, but I think sleep will do us both some good." It was hard to miss Amadeus' somber expression—it hadn't really left since they departed Calliope's estate save for the few fleeting moments when they had been discussing her plans to catch lightning and harness it.

He was just too tired to be happy.

 

[Meraki]

"It's okay," Fira breathed out into his chest, "I don't think it is the sort of thing that is meant to be fixed."

Just like she would never be able to mend the break in his heart from the loss of Rosalie and the others he had loved so intimately, the loss of her father was something she was just going to have to live with. She could either drown int he grief or find a way through it and it was so hard to consider any other option than moving forward when Amadeus' arms were around her. He helped her to bed, the Queen who had been so powerful just hours before was pathetically crawling under the duvet and she refused to let go of Amadeus.

If they were going to get real, honest sleep — she needed him here. Sleep was always better when he was close. And she had hardly argued with him earlier, so she prayed he would not argue now.

She knew the trouble she had with processing her father's death came from her overtired nature, but then all she wanted was to be there with him. Fira had been so scared when he first passed because it meant she was alone, but she was not. She had not been alone for a long long time. She had Amadeus and to be honest, that was enough. Maybe the people would never love her, maybe no one would ever follow her, but she knew that if she looked for him — Amadeus would be there.

And she hope that he knew she would do the same.

"Stay with me, please," she whispered, glancing up at him as she sat on the edge of the bed and he stood in front of her, "Just tonight."

 

[Nav]

"It's not," he replied with a shrug, "You can't fix it, really."

Nothing would ever make Rosalie's death right in his mind. She shouldn't have died—and had she the nutrition she needed, she likely wouldn't have. It was unfair and it made it difficult for him to try and keep being thankful for what he had. Often, he'd wake up in the morning and feel an anvil of guilt pressing into his chest because he was alive while so many were not—what made him good enough to survive? What made him worthy of living? They were questions that couldn't be answered, but it made him struggle to be thankful.

Growing up, he had always felt close to God. As a kid, he prayed and attended church. He volunteered his time, between training and excursions with his father, and was always thankful for everything he had been given—even if it had never been much. That blind hope and faith had oozed out of him over the years until he had reached the point he was at now: he'd whisper a thank you when he opened his eyes in the morning, but could not continue to believe in a God… any God. It was radical thinking, but Rosalie's death had killed God in his own head and heart.

Helping her to the bed and easing her down on the edge, Amadeus stood in front of her, trying to coax her under the duvet for much needed rest. Her fingers failed to untangle from around him and those whispered words caused him to just ever-so-gently nod. "Sure," he answered, clearly finding no fight left in his bones either, "I can stay. Get in bed, I'll be right there."

Stepping away from her just far enough that he could pull off his boots (and grunt when his feet hit the floor and pain zapped up his legs) and shirt, he came around to the opposite side of the bed and sat down on the edge. His head fell into his hands as he rubbed his fingers across his eyes before pushing his fingers through his hair. For a second, he looked like he was about to say something, but ultimately remained quiet as he laid back and pulled the sheets over himself.

"Come here, Fi," his arm stretched out towards here, "Come rest with me."

In a few short hours, it would be morning again and they'd be back on her pursuit of the crown, but for at least the night, they could relax.

 

[Meraki]

Fira had always been a wild thinker. Her mind constantly raced through thought after thought and while many say that as an undesirable trait in a woman, her brother had once said it was both a gift and a curse. It was nearly impossible for her to ever turn her brain off, but Fira was constantly learning. Everywhere she went, everything she experienced, it processed wildly fast in her mind and she was better, stronger for it. If it hadn't been for her ability to adapt, Fira would have died long ago — even with the protection of Amadeus. He was her guardian angel, surely, but there had been plenty of times where they were apart and she had to fend for herself.

There were moments where he had to trust her to protect herself with the knowledge he imparted on her— and she would not let him down.

When he beckoned her forward, she did not hesitate to curl into his arms and press a kiss against his chest before nuzzling her head under his chin. Amadeus, in so many ways, was just what she needed. He could not wiggle his way into her thoughts and yank apart the tangled mess, but his warmth was enough to soothe her frayed edges just long enough to figure out how to slow her mind down.

It wasn't the deepest sleep she had ever gotten, but she needed it so badly that her limbs screamed out for it. All she needed was a few hours to close her eyes and calm herself down. Nothing would change that her father was dead, nothing would change the fact that he had been disrespected and betrayed, and nothing would change the fact that in only a day or two's time, word would get out about the slain soldiers and Peter would know. He was too cunning and quick not to know.

And once it was known that Fira was alive, all hell would break loose.

It was a decent sleep, one that woke her with the morning sun without any jostling. Instead, she just nuzzled herself a bit deeper into Amadeus' chest. She inhaled deeply, basking in his scent and his presence, before speaking softly. No tears had fallen, but she was sure they would some day. Once this was all said and done — once she was home.

Home.

Was that really what the palace was to her?

"Ama," she breathed out barely above a whisper, her eyes still closed, "You awake?"

 

[Nav]

He felt like sleep should have been easier to get, considering just how tired he was. He'd doze off for a while—maybe fifteen minutes to a half hour—only to quietly wake up again. It was never the result of dreams, for he didn't shake away so much as his eyes just fluttered open and his brain realized he was awake. It went on all night. Despite the fact that he had spent most of the night not sleeping, time went by quickly. From where he laid, he could see the window and he watched as the stars shifted and moved throughout the night.

The moon, too, had come and gone through the narrow field of vision he had through the window. It had passed by a number of hours prior, only a small sliver of a thing. It was almost calming and while he probably could have used genuine sleep, resting was enough to get him through. The blackness blanketed his still form. He lied as if asleep until his side or back was painful and he had to shift below Fira, jostling her gently into a more comfortable position. He spent his entire night as such and when the first light began to ebb into the room, his heart sinks. Another night claimed by insomnia and another long, long day ahead with no chance to rest.

He had been blissfully ignorant to Fira for some time and the sound of her voice almost startled him, as he hadn't realized she was awake yet. He stirred a little, just enough so he could lift his head and glance down at her, though he could only catch her body as he head was still nuzzled below his chin.

"Hm? Yea, I'm awake," he answered as there was no point pretending otherwise. "Did you sleep well?"

She hadn't slept much, he noted, but at least she had managed to get some; he knew how important every hour was. "How is your leg feeling?" he tacked on to his first question. If she hadn't already had it taken care of, he would encourage her to do so that day. Furthermore, he made the decision that he'd spend the day at the stables. Fira's mare had gotten an injury on the neck from an arrow that clipped her and Bo had looked a little stiff when he had arrived the previous evening. He figured he might as well try and find a way to be helpful, as he knew Fira was probably going to be busy with the Duke for the better part of the day.

 

[Meraki]

"Well enough, better than expected, really," Fira breathed out as she peeked out from her cocoon under his chin. There were marks of exhaustion in him and she wished that he could get some, any, rest at all. He was important, too. Maybe she was Queen, but he did far more than she would ever do. He was anything and everything she needed him to be and it was an incredible thing. Not a day went by where she was not entirely grateful and thanked whatever God or being brought him to her. Fate, destiny, divine intervention — whatever it was — she thanked it. He had come into her life when she was alone and he had given her purpose. Not only that, but he had never left her side.

Even when she knew in her heart it would be better for him to. He deserved to have someone who could love him openly and who would ever scare him the way she did. He did not deserve to have to wield a sword by her side for the rest of his life — he deserved horses and happiness, a family and all of his dreams to come true. Fira was an all-powerful Queen in the making, but she did not have the power to give him what she wanted to.

He deserved restful nights and long, purposeful days.

"I took care of it last night," Fira admitted softly, shifting her leg at the thought to feel the uncomfortable pull of the wound on her thigh. It would heal, they always did. "It is a bit tender, but I cannot complain. It could have been worse."

She could have died, like all of those men. Like her father.

Stop it, Fira.

She blinked er eyes once to pull herself from the spiraling quick thoughts and she glanced back up at Amadeus. his hair had gotten long in their time together, as had hers, considering she had chopped it off in her escape. Now it fell against and over her shoulders slightly, wild as always though the color was dark instead of its usual fiery hue. "The conversation with the Duke just took a lot out of me. I am sure I will sleep better soon."

She hoped.

"How was your sleep? You do not look like you got much at all," she said reaching up to gently trail her fingers over the apple of his cheek, just below where there was a shadow of exhaustion on his handsome features. "I hope I did not sleep too restlessly and keep you up."

 

[Nav]

Fira finally emerged and Amadeus chuckled softly—a warm, soft sound like a distant bird singing. Her hair was an absolute disaster, with thick curls spiking up in all sorts of directions as a result of being burrowed against his chest all night. A sleepiness was on her expression, but fervent determination could still be seen deep below that mask of exhaustion. She was articulating through her morning, answering her questions though her words were spoken tenderly, still thick with sleep. Of course, he noted the look she kept giving him. He couldn't quite tell if it was guilt or something similar, but he saw it all the same.

A few times in the recent past she had told him that she wished she could give him more, to give him everything, but the truth of the matter was that he was doing what he was doing because he wanted to. By helping the future monarch in both life and possible death, he was helping secure a better future for those who were still young. Perhaps he would never achieve his dreams and greatest life desires, but he was going to fight to give children like Rosalie theirs. He didn't even see it as a sacrifice, really. It was a duty, a moral duty, for the older to give to the younger… to make the world a slightly better place when they left than when they arrived, in any way they could.

And Amadeus? Amadeus had access to something that could change the face of the world forever.

"Yes, I bet. He looked to be about as warm and appealing as day old oatmeal, honestly," Amadeus commented idly, wondering then how he and Calliope had ended up together. There was no denying Calliope's goddess-like beauty, but she was a little wild and crazy in every way a woman of her standing ought not to be. It was likely her beauty then, and her family's money, that paired her with the Duke. Amadeus wasn't quite sure.

Clearing his throat, Amadeus swiped a hand down his face. "No, it was nothing to do with you, I assure you," he answered when she commented on his appearance. He would have slept just as poorly if he had slept in his own chambers than in hers; it was his brain that kept him awake, not her. Funny, he never remembered ever having trouble sleeping while living in Inverness. "I got some rest. Probably not nearly enough, but enough sleep is probably a luxury neither of us will be allowed. I'm sure I'll be fine once I get a little tea and breakfast in me." Though he doubted it.

"After breakfast, I'll probably go tend to our horses for a while. I'm assuming you'll be busy with the Duke?"

 

[Meraki]

Fira could not help but laugh gently at his comment, a bit of brightness returning to her lovely green eyes. "And then some," she shook her head slightly, just enough to tussle her curls a bit, "He reminds me a bit of my father. Certainly a man who enjoys the sound of his own voice, even if he has repeated the same information four times. I have not met with him for much time at all, but he seems like a decent man. As decent as any man can be under Peter's laws."

The Duke had mentioned wanting to sit down after breakfast to discuss their plan more in depth. He was to take her out into the grounds to speak with a few of the higher ranking soldiers who had returned. There was much to do — plans, strategy, conversation — and Fira felt overwhelmed with it all. Once upon a time she had wondered if she could ever be Queen, but Fira was beginning to understand that there was no time to think. She either was or she wasn't and she would never dare let it be the latter.

Not when there was so much on the line.

"I hope it does," she admitted when he mentioned tea and breakfast helping, "I fear we were spoiled at Calliope's estate." Her stomach grumbled as if on cue and she could not help but let a bit of an embarrassed smile touch her lips. "I skip supper one night and I feel terrible."

She did not feel sick or in agonizing pain, just a general kind of discomfort that radiated down into her core. The only consolation was the warmth of Amadeus' arms around her and the strength of his chest beneath her. She hardly wanted to move, but as it sounded — they both had rather important things to do that day. "The Duke insists I accompany him for more discussion and he feels the need to walk me through the intimate breakdown of his army. It will certainly be a long morning, but he has other need to attend this afternoon, so I am all yours — if you would like."

She knew he had to be tired and she certainly would not argue if he wanted to do nothing but sleep, should he be given the chance at free time.

 

[Nav]

"That what happens when you skip dinner," he replied with a shrug, though he was feeling a bit hungry himself even though he had eaten the night before. It wasn't much though, and they hadn't had much to eat since leaving Calliope's estate. Between not eating enough and not sleeping at all, it wasn't a surprise he felt so much hungrier than normal, though he really had been spoiled. Back home, he often went days at a time with minimal food, but now he went only a few hours before his stomach began to cramp up uncomfortably. That wasn't a good sign, necessarily, as it just meant he was falling into routines he really shouldn't have been.

She discussed the plans of her morning and Amadeus only nodded in response. Long, perhaps, but important. These were all things she'd need to learn and know if she was ever going to hope to run an army of her own someday. "As for this afternoon, we'll just see how the day goes." Who knows what the day had in store for both of them, and he didn't want to make plans only to have them smudged later. It was bound to be a busy day for them both, and he knew it was unlikely he'd catch a moment of breathing room from Calliope.

She had already admitted to him the night before that her husband's estate bore her something dreadful and that she was glad to have Amadeus there to keep her occupied. Even at the stables, he supposed she'd probably follow him around without a single moment of silence passing her lips. Normally, he enjoyed the woman's kinship, but all he really wanted to do was be in his own peace and quiet and care for the horses, as it was really the only thing he felt like he could do. The important people would be discussing battle strategies and military breakdowns, leaving Amadeus to do nothing short of babysit.

Truthfully, by the end of the morning, he wasn't confident he wouldn't be entirely at his wits end with all living things.

"Let's go get ready for breakfast, shall we? No point in alienating the Duke by having him find out we spent the night together and we're not wed." The more Queen-like Fira became, the more cautious they too would have to become. If people were to find out she was not only romantically involved, but spending evenings with a pauper, they were bound to be unimpressed… and by unimpressed, Amadeus really meant they were bound to be repulsed. Repulsed enough to remove their allegiance to her? That he didn't know, but he didn't care to risk it.

 

[Meraki]

"Of course," Fira nodded, "Who knows what today has in store for us?"

It was certainly a long day. Breakfast as a quick affair for Fira as the Duke swept her away for every little thing he could think about. First to the fields to see the men, then to his boardroom to discuss strategies and plan their fight against Peter, and all the while Fira kept herself alert and absorbed everything she could. It was not easy to process but she understood more about strategy than she first believed. It seemed her chess knowledge had some real life application and by the time the two of them brought their conversations to a close, it was nearly time for supper. They had worked through lunch entirely, though had plenty of wine to compensate.

"Go, bathe and ready for supper," the Duke smiled, "We will meet in the dining hall. Relax, you look like you could use it. Calliope's ladies will see to it that you are taken care of, Your Majesty."

"Please, just Fira."

"No," he shook his head, "Never just Fira."

Fira followed Calliope's maids up to her chambers where they had a bath drawn for her. She had her hair tied up so that the dye would remain and slipped beneath the fragrant waters, letting the warmth work out all the kinks in her muscles. Only one handmaiden remained, readying Fira's clothes for her when she was finished. In a moment of pure vulnerability, Fira closed her eyes and let her head rest back against the tub. It had seemed like ages since she last relaxed and she needed time to process everything she had learned that day. Amadeus was right when he told her it would not be easy and that there was much she still needed to learn — but she would learn it. Not just for herself or the people of Inverness, but for everyone in the kingdom who relied on her.

She was beginning to understand just how much weight her existence held.

In the few moments her eyes were closed, Fira heard a splash that caused her eyes to open just as a dagger came to her throat. "Don't move," the voice came, soft and sweet, from Annemarie, Calliope's handmaiden. Fira did not understand for a moment until the steam from the bath began to restrict her breathing, drawing out coughs from her lungs. "W-What are you doing?" Fira managed to get out with the blade dangerously close to her throat.

"I am so sorry, Your Majesty," Annemarie said, her voice shaking, "but he burned down my parents' home looking for you. He is killing everyone while looking for you. And you're here, I—I had to—"

Poison. Fira's lungs began to constrict from the fumes. "Why not just kill me now? S—" she coughed, "slit my throat?"

There was a beat of silence. This girl did not intend to live either. The fumes would fill the room soon enough and they would both suffocate before anyone would find them. "It is a slow poison from Calliope's garden, but it creates toxic fumes when in water. Soon you won't be able to breathe and it will be just like falling asleep, Your Majesty. I promise. No one else will have to die when you are gone."

"Anne—" she coughed, "p—please, I—"

God, she could not breathe. Her hands gripped uselessly for the edge of the tub, but the blade kept her in place. She could not cry out, not call for the guard stationed outside of her door. She thought of Amadeus, of him sitting with Calliope and the Duke, waiting for her. Always waiting for her, always by her side, always, always, always. The fumes gripped her throat so tightly, she began to gasp for air, the dagger the only thing keeping her from sinking beneath the surface of the water. In a single moment it happened. She felt Annemarie cough behind her, her hand coming just far enough away from her throat that Fira could grab her wrist and send the dagger flying from her hand and clattering against the floor across the room. Annemarie collapsed almost immediately.

"HELP!" Fira screamed as loud as she could, but the sound was rasped and weak. Luckily, the guards outside of her door heard it and burst their way in, immediately shielding their eyes at the sight of the young Queen's bare back as she clung to the far edge of the tub for dear life, trying to claw her way out but she was so weak. She could not breathe at all, the lightheadedness setting in so deeply she was afraid she would fall beneath the water and drown.

"Stop!" one of the guards called out as one of the men moved forward to help her, "It is poison. Cover your nose! Fetch the Duke immediately! Go!"

Fira was already late for supper as it were, but the guard assigned to informing the Duke and company burst through the doors breathlessly. "My Lord! Quickly — there has been an attempt on the Queen's life. We must hurry!"

 

[Nav]

"You're leaving?" Calliope asked and arched a brow over the rim of her wine, which had been served while the pair waited, "To join my husband's military?"

She looked as though she wasn't sure she wanted to believe him, but was quickly convinced by the sternness in his expression from across the table. The table was lavishly decorated with handsome stretches of food that had long since gone cold, though still looked divine. The table was set for four, though only Calliope and Amadeus had arrived anywhere near on time. It was evening and Amadeus was tired; his patience was short. It had been a long day of manual labor. Calliope had ended up staying the morning with him as he worked the stable and the horses, but he had lost her when he had been introduced to one of the militia's tactical leaders. An interesting man—older, but wizened still beyond his years. He had only really come in for dinner because he had to, not because he really wanted to.

"I see," Calliope finalized and set her wine glass down with an annoyed sighed, "And have you talked to your Queen about this yet?"

"I haven't," Amadeus admitted, glancing at his wine glass that had remained as full as when the servant had filled it, "I was going to do so tonight, after dinner. The truth of the matter is that I am no good to her here…"

"Of course you're not," Calliope responded with a laugh, "You're not a king, not a prince. Amadeus," she clicked her tongue at him as if she was scolding a child, "You will always be your Sir Lancelot, but you must know by now that she will end up with King Arthur when all of this is said and done. You are a soldier, through and through. You'd be foolish to think there is anything at all here for you."

Amadeus glanced aside, noting again the empty seats left by Fira and the Duke. The Duke always liked to be the last to arrive, he knew. He was probably off waiting on some servant to tell him Fira had taken her place so he could come, settle in, and commence the meal—which would probably need to be re-prepared at this rate. "I will always love her."

"I know."

"But I can serve her better in her army than two strides behind her all the time."

"Mm," Calliope shrugged, sipping her wine to the bottom, "Yes, I suppose. She has gentry and guards. Now she has an entire military to help protect her. A small military, but a military all the same—god damnit, where are they?" Her eyes snapped aggressively to the door, and as if on cue, a guard slipped through the door.

"Your lady Calliope!" he reached for her, taking her gently by the hand, "There has been an attempt on the Queen's life in the palace. We are securing you, your husband, and the Queen at once."

Amadeus was quick to his feet, nearly tipping over his glass of wine in the process, "There has been a what?"

"An attempt, master Osmont. Are you coming with or?"

Calliope shot him a look and briskly shook her head, "No, he's not. He's off to see Commander Roth, isn't that right? To help organize the men to best secure the estate?"

"I—" he paused a moment, "Yes, that's for the best."

"I will see to it that your Queen is fine, Amadeus," Calliope collected herself but had already begun briskly out, guided by the guards, "For she is your Queen, but certainly not mine. That said, I seem to care for you a great deal, so if she is important to you, I will make her important to me."

 

[Meraki]

The last thing she remembered was the feeling of a towel over her shoulders. Her mind was running rampant, not in sleep, but in an overwhelming darkness. She could make out words — her name, Queen, but none of the sounds were familiar. It was almost like she could not control herself, lost in her mind as she felt her body wretch out the toxins and someone's hand on her back, another in her hair, strong arms supporting her. She remembered not being able to breathe, sucking in breath greedily but it never hit her lungs — like trying to breathe underwater, just nothing.

She thought of her father, of Amadeus, and of what Annemarie said. No one else will have to die when you are gone. It was perhaps a bit morbid to admit she understood, that she knew what Peter was willing to do to other people to gain a response from her, but she was stuck. Perhaps their lives would be easier if she were dead, but was it really the long term solution they needed? Would her death bring about peace? If she knew anything about Peter it was that he never stopped. Always plotting. Always planning.

Always.

God, it felt like there was fire in her chest, burning her from the inside out. She could make out a bed beneath her, blankets tucked up and voices. She could hear the voices but none of them were what she wanted to hear. Was he here? Was she still here? Had she inhaled so much of the toxin that she would not recover? No, she had to be alive. There were no other options.

"It must run its course," she heard someone say. The toxin? Her life? Where was she? Annemarie, what of her? How much time had passed? Fira tried to come to, but the moment consciousness hit her, it was too painful to breathe, like a thousand knives had ribboned her throat and lungs. She felt a hand in her hair, but she could not bring herself to open her eyes. Her mind needed time to process, the darkness bringing a bit of clarity. It was never safe, was it? Safety was this illusion that she had lived in for so long, thinking that her title made her untouchable, but it did not. Anyone could make a move, those closest too her especially — after all, who spent more time with a Queen than her handmaiden?

Was this to be the rest of her life? Would she never feel safe again? She supposed she never really was, but this was a reality check. Another few moments in that bath and she would have been dead — no miracle or stroke of luck saving her, no Amadeus saving the day — Amadeus. Where was he? Was he alright? God, everything hurt and she could not remember.

 

[Nav]

The little room was always dull. They had had incidents like this before—men and women angry enough to try on her husband's life… sometimes her own, too, so she was quite accustomed to being shuffled into a small, secure room that was heavily guarded to wait. Wait, wait, wait, it was all they could do as her husband's forces assembled into tasks just outside the estate house. She couldn't see outside—it was too dark, but she could still hear the rain battering the stone and brick. When had the weather gotten so bad? Had it been raining when they were sitting and waiting at dinner? She couldn't recall… all she could think about was the conversation she had with Amadeus.

A sigh escaped her and her eyes closed. Her husband was pacing briskly by the wall on the farside, his arms folded sternly over his chest. He hadn't spoken a word, though Calliope had tried to ask him if he was faring well. He brushed her off with a sort of casual indifference and a snort. Of course. So, instead, she sat on the ottoman at the end of the bed that Fira had been rested in. The woman she despised so entirely and greatly was just a few feet for her, fighting for her life, and Calliope couldn't help but feel more guilt over the fact that she didn't care.

She didn't care if Fira died as the woman had no impact on her life except negative ones. She hated that she had won Amadeus' heart, but Calliope knew Amadeus better. She knew about every insecurity and self-conscious thought that man possessed, and it was so painfully easy to make him feel worthless. She hadn't done much—a comment here, a comment there—things she knew would shake his confidence, make him doubt himself, make him feel like his only choice would be to return to the only thing he knew he was any good at. He'd die there, too. He was too good of a soldier not to, he'd probably die a hero: saving someone else's life, Calliope thought idly and contentedly. Better die a hero, she decided, than to let him keep living with Fira.

All he needed was that one last push—No, he's not. He's off to see Commander Roth, isn't that right? His happiness was irrelevant. The corners of her lips twitched as she ghosted her fingers across her bare shoulders, humming softly to herself.

"You're awake," she commented when movement caught the corner of her eyes, raising a brow at Fira as she wrestled around feverishly under the sheets. "Are you awake, even? I can't tell. You look absolutely ghastly," she continued, her voice not particularly warm, but not cold… bland would have been an adequate way to describe it.

 

[Meraki]

Are you awake even?

Fira shifted.

You look absolutely ghastly.

All at once Fira's consciousness hit her and she felt a wave of nausea overcome her. Everything hurt, her throat and lungs burned, her body wracked with chills. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, so much more painful than the arrow to the side, at least Amadeus had given her something for the pain when her wound was cauterized. Instead, now she just laid in the bed, her body fighting desperately through the poison and he wasn't there. She couldn't feel him there. Was he okay? Where was Amadeus?

"A-ama," Fira managed, her voice sounding like rocks rubbed together, a terrible grinding hoarse noise that sounded about as painful as it felt. Her eyes fluttered open just enough to make out the room she was in. It was dark, darker than she expected and cold. She was freezing. She was alone in that bed, her hands gripped into the duvet, and she could make out Calliope's form through her feverish haze. Everything was spinning, everything hurt.

"I—" she started but it burned so intensely in her throat that she had to swallow the words back, tears prickling in her eyes. Coughs rippled through her body, kicking up blood from her dry and tired throat. It was still red, fresh, and she wondered if this was it. Had she survived or was there more to come? Her mind wasn't there entirely, drifting in and out, but she could not find Amadeus. She had to find Amadeus. He had to be alright.

Her hands clawed at the blanket, trying to move it so she could make her way from the bed but she was too weak. Everything in her felt like lead but she had to keep trying. She had to find him. "I—" she breathed out, "Ama." No one seemed to move to help her, until she inhaled and a terrible series of coughs rippled through her body, crippling her back into the bed.

"He—is he…o-okay?" Fira managed out in between coughs, the pain in her lugs causing her to curl up in the bed and clutch onto the pillow. There wasn't much lucid about her mind, but she tried to hang on as well as she could while her body fought through it. She needed rest, but he had to be okay. She could not stop herself from worrying so deeply it upset her. Suddenly, she couldn't breathe again for a moment. Gasps brought no relief, but it passed, leaving her more exhausted than before.

 

[Nav]

"Oh dear lord, pull yourself together. You are a lady, not a toad," a hand came up and pushed through her hair, tossing back the curls that had fallen loose from their knot during the scuffle at dinner. She felt a bit ghastly herself, truly, but she had no patience for the whimpering and whining ongoing in the bed next to her. Not when her husband was pacing and there was an air of general distrust and unease in the room around them. Her husband had already assured her that the guards in the room were good men—long standing members of his personal troops who would bring them absolutely no harm.

That didn't stop her from declining the water and wine they offered to serve her, but the Duke happily took the chalice—perhaps if only to prove that these men were good men. He had consumed it dry and hadn't fallen entirely to the floor, but Calliope didn't feel particularly thirsty, anyways.

"Amadeus is fine, last I saw him," she concluded. After all, she had promised him to ensure Fira was fine. She was fine. "He's exactly where he needs to be, doing exactly what a pauper is meant to do." She'd rather see her Amadeus dead in a battlefield than with a woman like Fira. The intensity of her dislike for Fira must have reached a head in the Duke's estate, because she hadn't felt such a fire burning in her chest before they she had arrived here. She was no fool, she could tell when her husband was impressed—floored, even, by the woman. Nothing had been more terrible for Calliope than the minute conversation of Fira came up in her marital bed with her husband.

Her eyes closed and her head tilted away. She had never cared particularly for her husband until he was discussing all the strengths and positives of another woman in their shared bed. An eye for an eye, Calliope thought quietly to herself, Amadeus for her husband. "It's high time you stop pretending like you can make all this better with your batting eyelashes and start acting like the Queen."

"Calliope!" the Duke's voice sliced through hers, "That is enough, let the Queen rest."

A silence settled over the woman, inhaling sharply and resting her hands in her lap for a beat. "Yes, of course," she agreed, "Apologies, m'lady. I am sure Master Osmont is faring well in his new position."

 

[Meraki]

"B-bitter is not a good l-look on you, Calliope," Fira managed to string together a single sentence beyond the Duke's outburst. She did not know what Calliope meant by doing exactly what a pauper is meant to do but Fira would find a way from this bed if Amadeus was even in the slightest bit of danger. She was beginning to realize that Calliope was not a bad person, just a lonely, jealous woman who had all the beauty and riches in the world but nothing in her heart. There was no love returned, no companion for her — her husband was cold to her and Fira was Amadeus' choice. She was — wasn't she?

He would always be there, but he wasn't. She was alone and Fira felt as though Calliope had a hand in that. How quickly she was capable of cutting down Amadeus back into the shadow of the man he was. Amadeus was strong, steadfast, reliable and fiercely intelligent — she could only hope that some of what Fira had said to him would and could resonate louder than Calliope's insistence that he was nothing and would remain nothing.

Fira had heard his hopes and dreams — his desire to train royal horses like his father before him. They were not silly dreams, but instead a dream he needed to let drive him. Fira had some of her own she held onto. It was a powerful tool if used correctly.

Fira breathed out to speak again, but her lungs caught and refused to intake air. She gave it a moment or two for it to pass, but when it didn't, she felt the chills and fever take over. Her eyes fluttered closed as she tried to stave off the fever but it was too hot, consuming her and the clarity of her thoughts. One moment she was there, the next she was floating in a feverish haze, but she felt the Duke come close to her and his hand touch her forehead. "Tommen, see to it that the Commander Roth and Osmont aware of the Queen's condition."

"And that is, m'lord?"

"Fading fast," he said hardly above a whisper, not meant for Fira to hear, "We need whatever medical provisions we can manage."

Fira's head lulled to the side as she shifted beneath the blanket. She could see Amadeus when she closed her eyes — an image of him and Rosalie, playing by Bo. Never was there a more beautiful Princess than Rosalie, a stronger knight than Amadeus and no finer steed than Bo. She remembered feeling so lucky to be apart of it, to just be a blip in their universe. She was fighting through the pain, through the poison in her lungs, but her mind slipped in and out. She wondered if there was anything on the other side of this — if her father would be there with open arms, Morgan and Henry — all the people she lost — Rosalie running about in a field with Amadeus' father. It sounded like a paradise, like somewhere too good to be true.

It was easier — easier than living in this cruel, unforgiving world that wanted her dead at every turn.

But still Fira fought. It might have been easier and made more sense for her to give up, but there was still so much to do. Peter always told her to quit while she was ahead, but she never really did listen too well and she was stubborn as a mule. Maybe she could not breathe, but soon enough she would. She would breathe again, stand again. The fever put up a fight, but she would fight harder. She had to.

 

[Nav]

It felt good to be doing something, mostly because he knew that if he was back in the palace, he could do nothing. Nothing but sit and wait and worry, and that wouldn't do anyone any good. Out in the field, he could move, he could think, and plan, and be effective. He quickly adapted to Roth's side as he organized his command in to blocks and systematized patrols made up of exactly six men. Their marching pattern was unlike anything Amadeus had ever seen before—they moved as if they all shared one brain, one man leading the troop, two sets of two following him, and a single man following up behind in something close to a diamond shape.

They moved with machine-like precision. They were trained, immensely well trained soldiers, that didn't so much as scuff or blink at the pelting rain that coated them like a second skin. The Bloody Baron's men had been difficult to defeat, but had they faced Roth's men, Amadeus knew they would have lost. These men were true soldiers: smart, driven, brave, and fearful of nothing… not man or beast. Meanwhile, ground troops swept the perimeter close to the estate while mounted soldiers, the cavalry, fanned out further away. In only a few short hours, Amadeus quickly found his stride with them—planning, organizing, standing back and discussing thoughts and concerns with Roth who seemed eager to have a bright-minded, strategy-oriented brain of a young man standing next to him.

The icy grey sky restlessly grumbled. The thick blackened clouds were dragged down by the heavy rain which it held in its delicate frame. The clouds appeared to be struggling to hold up the weight and quickly gave in in droves. The rain poured over them with a roar and the emptiness was disrupted by the gregarious booms of thunder. The world was a wall of water with droplets the size of almonds smashing and soaking his skin all the way through.

"I like your mind, Osmont," Roth had to shout over the rain, watching the next patrol pass by them, "Did I hear correct you're considering stepping on full time?"

"It's a possibility," Amadeus replied, squinting as water collected in his eyelashes.

"I need someone to help me run the cavalry. It's getting too much on my own—too big. The Duke has spoken with me at length regarding his plans. We are nearly war ready, but I'm but one man."

Amadeus paused before responding, but never got the chance. The sounds of boots splashing through the puddles caused both men to turn and glance back. "Commander Roth!" he was a young guard, already soaked through and shivering from but moments in the rain, "I come bearing news of the Queen—she has taken quite ill."

"I'm sorry, I should go," Amadeus interrupted.

"Yes," Commander Roth smiled, his eyes turning back out into the darkened field that stretched out in front of the estate, his hands clutched behind his firm back, "I feel you better should. My ol' gut tells me this is a long way from over. Do you smell it, Osmont? Do you smell the enemy on the horizon? I do."

But Amadeus didn't wait for Roth's approval. He was a step behind Tommen, who was leading the way and trying to stop his shivering as they went. Inside the estate house, they dripped water like a faucet, leaving a long trail of water behind them.

"This way, Master Osmont. Right through here," he nodded to the two guards posted out front of the door as they went to swing the doors open into the stone room. It was cold and hostile, but designed with that exact purpose in mind: protect. Calliope was quick to her feet.

"Amadeus?" as if she struggled to understand his presence there, but with about as much concern as he had given Commander Roth when telling him he was going to leave, Amadeus stepped past Calliope and didn't look her way. Instead, he came up to Fira's bedside and squatted down, his arms folded on the bed frame and his chin resting in them. There wasn't so much a look of panic on his face, knowing quite well, probably better than anyone else that she wouldn't be dying in that bed. He knew Fira better than that; she was too brutishly stubborn for that.

"Hi."

 

[Meraki]

Fira had no working idea of time. Everything felt sluggish and slow, her mind swimming in the dark chasm of her skull. It felt like years passed and no time at all, though she was surprised not to feel Calliope's long, delicate fingers wrapped around her throat to finish the job. Fira never once let herself believe that her life meant anything to Calliope, but she had always given the woman the benefit of the doubt because she loved Amadeus. It was obvious from the very moment they met, but her voice did not echo in her mind, instead it was eerily quiet for some time. her ears felt plugged up, her lungs laboring through breaths that burned with every hiccup of a cough.

Her heart was beating painfully slow, as if it were bashing against her chest cavity in a last ditch effort to keep beating. She would have taken a blade any day, an arrow to the heart, before she ever wanted to experience the slow, torturous pain of poison. It was like she was on the brink of death, but instead of pushing her over, it just intensified until she felt like she was crumbling under the pressure and pain. Nothing eased, nothing relaxed, and despite her slipping consciousness — everything was just tense in her body.

When sh finally managed to flutter her eyes back open to little slits of emerald green, she saw the shape of someone beside her. She could not make him out at first, but she managed to piece it together. She reached out slowly with her hands and the very tips of her fingers brushed his cheekbone, running down his jawline and as she did, she could see the image of him appear. She did not speak, for fear of the terrible sound of her voice, but she tried to decide if she was — in fact — dreaming.

Why was his hair so wet?

Her hand fell to his arm, holding onto the fabric of his tunic as not to reveal to the Duke that they — was the Duke here? Where was she? Still with Calliope? Why could she not hear Calliope speak — surely her and Amadeus…

A desperate and painful cough rippled through her and she turned her head from his, her fingers tightening on his shirt. She could make out some of the shapes in the room, Calliope was still there, the Duke too, but what of the estate? Of the army? What happened to Annemarie? Had she told anyone of her presence here?

She brought her hand up to uselessly palm at the feverish sweat that collected on her hairline. Her head fell to the side, this time more lucid, and her lips upturned slightly, almost like a ghosting, but it was a bit of a smile. He was here.

Amadeus was okay.

 

[Nav]

Amadeus closed his eyes as Fira's hand lifted and ghosted across the figure of his face—touching his cheeks and jaw, as if to investigate and to confirm who he was. As if she had become satisfied with the image of him she had painted, her hand slipped away and fell instead to his shoulder, sliding down a few inches until it slid again to a stop right on his forearm. Meanwhile, Calliope held her distance. Her face looked as if she had something desperate she wished to say, but her lips twisted as if she was physically biting down on her tongue to prevent the words from slipping loose.

"Master Osmont," the Duke's voice caught his attention and he hastily glanced up to meet the man's steady, stern gaze. "What news from Commander Roth?"

"We discussed the events at length," Amadeus replied, remaining squatting at Fira's bedside as she gripped his shirt, "We ultimately came to the conclusion that the news of the Queen's presence here has been compromised. The attempt on her life was only one attempt of many. We believe explicetely forces are assembling at the news of the failed attempt. How long it takes them to get here, we do not know. The estate has been fortified but—"

"What is your opinion, Master Osmont? Explicitly?"

"My opinion, sir?" Amadeus paused a moment and tilted his head, unsure why the Duke would weigh his opinion so heavily, "My opinion is that you, Calliope, and Fira leave this estate at once."

The duke fell silent, digesting his words with a careful frown but offering nothing in the way of a response—good or bad. Instead of concerning himself with it, Amadeus just glanced back to Fira, bringing his hand across her hairline to help her dab away the sweat that she had meekly tried to get herself. "As soon as Fira is well enough to travel, I suggest you all do in haste. Engaging the entirety of the royal army without more thorough planning and thought is simply… unwise. Your men, while good soldiers, are not prepared for this fight. They know what they're doing, without a doubt, but have yet to see any combat. The battle-hardened soldiers of the royal army will trounce them in moments, I'm sure."

Never mind that the Duke's soldiers were only looking for a few hostiles—perhaps a small, rogue group. They hadn't at all been prepared for what it meant to be an army, and to fight like one against one. Good soldiers they made, but they needed experience and additional training in large-scale tactical operations. They seemed more apt to moving in small groups, in six to twelve men, not as an entire unit and small groups could be easily conquered.

His hand still hadn't pulled away from Fira's cheek, gently brushing his thumb across the warm skin, though the gesture was almost entirely subconscious.