Remembrance part 1
A little mini series I’m starting, my first ever fics as a matter of fact for any SJM books.
Warning spoilers and feels ahead, it is not advised to read immeadiately after finishing KoA
Thank you to @ootwwolves and @aly-of-the-wildfire for editing help.
Triumph festival. Some years it snowed just as it did on the day celebrated by the gathering in Ornyth. Other years the kingsflame still bloomed all across the Plain of Theralis. Winter had come early, snow blanketing the Plain from the dense canopy of Oakwald to the Staghorns, broken only by the paths ploughed by delegates and travelers alike. None wanted to miss the festival. After all no one throws a party like the Galythinius’.
The delegates had been streaming in for weeks, the Lords and Ladies of Terrasen the first to arrive, then came King Dorian and his Hand, Lord Chaol Westfall and Lord Westfall’s Wife Yrene Westfall Healer, on High of the Torre Cesme of the north, and their daughter high spirited girl, always kind to those around her. Then the witches follow each year by a day, Crochan and Ironteeth alike on their brooms of redwood and Wyverns, no longer armed for war but festivities. A sight to behold as they crest the horizon, red cloaks flapping in the wind as the greeting of the wyverns rebound across the plain and off the Staghorns. From the Southern continent comes a host of Ruk Riders led by Emperor Sartaq and Empress Nesryn. Six days and nights of festivities, plays and concerts at the recently completed theater are performed at all times of the day, Madam Florine and her company providing the finest entertainment in Erilea. The seventh day, was one of remembrance, offerings brought to the many monuments around Ornyth, for those who fell during the siege and the countless butchered and enslaved by Erawan controlling the King of Ardlan.
Some escape the festivities, the loss they unearth a weight greater than the stone fortifications of Ornyth, others simply do not know the significance, too young to have comprehend or even have lived through the invasion that nearly ended the world. A lone figure, wrapped in a dark cloak against the swirling winds, her only identifier a white braid, a scrap of red cloth intertwined into the end exits the ancient city through its west gate. Passing under the roaring Lion’s Head at the pinnacle of the archway. Each year this same figure had followed this path faithfully, except this year she was not alone. A much smaller figure, wrapped in a bright red cloak, perhaps tall enough to be a child of just 13 or 14 winters. She hurries after the lone figure, trailing behind enough that she thinks she is unnoticed. The figure had scented her from the moment she left her lodging but paid her no heed believing her to have followed her by coincidence.
Upon leaving the west gate the lonely female turns south towards a patch of ground where the snow dare not touch. Farmers had turned up the soil in the summer months all across the plain, yet they too avoided it, diligently leaving this ground bare. From the eyes of a wyvern one could see a perfect circle of scorched earth and at even intervals, statues, twelve in total plus one in the center. The figure enters the circle, pausing the outer rim, as through a great burden suddenly weighed upon her. The small shadow creeps up to the closest statue, hiding behind the masterfully carved wings of a wyvern, it’s rider standing next to it. The female removes her hood as she stands before the Witch carved from stone, quarried from the Staghorns. A crown shimmering atop her head, her braid woven around its crystalline structure. From beneath her cloak she draws a bouquet of kingsflame and lays a single blossom in front of the plaque upon the base of the statue.
The young girl gasps, to her kingsflame was the most sacred of flowers, to be left undisturbed wherever it may bloom. She quickly claps a hand over her mouth, shrinking back as the queen whips around. The little one hunkers down, closing her eyes hoping she would go unnoticed. A warm puff of air wafts across her face and she opens her eyes in confusion. Another scream nearly escapes her, but is swiftly held down by the clutching fear of the scarred muzzle of a wyvern before her. The crunch of boots comes from around the corner. The unearthly beauty of the Witch queen steals the girl’s breath away.
“P-p-please I d-didn’t mean to disturb you! I was getting away from the festivities.” Her voice small, and quiet as a mouse. The queen studies her for a moment, the wyvern shifting to her side. “Do you know where you stand little one?” She inquires her voice commanding and firm, yet not angry but tempered
“No your majesty.” The girl says, “Mother mostly keeps me in the city, I have never ventured out to this place.”
“And you wear the red of a Crochan, yet I do not recognize you, who did you receive this cloak from.” The queen presses, intrigued by this little stalker.
“Mother passed it on to me, saying she had received it while helping during the siege, a good luck charm she called it.” The little one replies.
“Tell me your name fledgeling and we shall walk and I will explain to you what this place is.”
“My name is Nightlark your majesty.” The little girl replies, pulling back her own hood to reveal raven black hair and golden irises. She follows the Matriarch into the circle of stone wyverns and riders, right to the center statue, she reads the plaque, printed in both common and the language of the Fae.
ASTERIN
SECOND TO WING LEADER MANON
Fell honorably in battle with her sisters in the defense of Erelia and her people’s
“This is a monument to the Thirteen.” The Queen begins, as she retrieves the fallen bouquet, to walk the to each of the statues and place a blossom in front of each plaque. The first in the outer ring reads Sorrel. “They were the finest warriors that I had ever trained. Before we knew that I was half Crochan, we were the most lethal of all witch wings. Everyday we would bring back the hearts of Crochans’ to my Grandmother’s pleasure.”
The trio continues on. Vesta then Faline and Fallon. With each statue a new story. Edda, Briar, Thea. The proud queens voice wavers, the girls hand reach out to intertwine with the queen’s. Kaya, Linnea, Ghislaine, and finally Imogen. They now stand once again before Asterin’s statue. “They sacrificed themselves, so that I and the city might survive… no not just survive, she told me to live.”
She trails off, and Abraxos gives a low whine, as if he too now feels the burden of loss, his own gaze fixed upon the wyvern next to the striking witch. Her voice almost broken rises once more “This circle, was what was left of the forces they destroyed in the Yielding, each statue placed where each member fell.”
A faint crunch of snow comes from behind the girl and she turns, the Matriarch now weeping quietly for her lost family. What the little girls sees nearly takes her breath away. Stepping out from behind each statue is a glowing figure. “Your majesty look!” She says tugging at her companions hand and pointing.
“What is it?” Manon turns but sees nothing but swirling eddies of snow outside of the circle.
“I thought I could see them, each going to the blossom you placed upon their statues and smelling them.” She says, beneath her cloak upon her back, a wyrdmark glows.
“There is nothing child,” the queen says softly, “Leave me to grieve in peace.”
The ghosts walk over to their leader and stand before her, Manon now kneeling, lets the tears flow freely. Asterin is the last to join them, she turns to Nightlark. “Dear child would you be able to relay a message for us?”
“What is it you would like me to tell her?” The queen’s head perks up at this. Asterin says “Tell her none of us regret our decision, and that we always will follow her even in death, and most of all we love her and wish her to live not merely exist.”
The girl turns to the kneeling queen. “They do not regret their decision, and they shall follow you always as they did in life and watch over you as you rule and they wish that you will live, and not spend each day mired down thinking about them.” The queen looks to where the thirteen stand almost aware of their presence for the smallest moment of time. “They will love you now and forever.”
The queen‘s hands clench. “How is it that you may communicate with them.”
“A gift, my mother does not know, only that I have a marking upon my back since birth.” She says,And the little girl kneels next to her, arms tentatively wrapping around the witch’s shoulders. They sit for a long while before they notice a difference. “Where has the music gone?” Nightlark asks, “usually it can be heard for miles.”
The duo turn back towards the city, where they see, a crowd, exiting the southern gate, all wrapped in cloaks, some bearing the red of Crochans others merely holding small red banners with a wyvern embossed upon the fabric. The two stand as the crowd approaches and finally they reach the edge of the circle. Then slowly, the Queen of Terrasen herself steps forward, a small polite bow the Manon, She copies Manon’s ritual placing a blossom at each statues base before silently leaving to stand outside the circle. The rest follow her lead, delegates and townsfolk alike, all approach and bow before Manon before proceeding to lay the blossoms at each marker. Hours pass the girl holding onto Manon’s hand, blossoms slowly but surely covering the circle of earth still blackened and scorched more than a decade afterwards.
“I did not deserve their sacrifice.” She says, the little girl looking up to her. “Then become worthy of it, live and rebuild the witch queendom.”
The queen pauses for a long time, gazing into the swirling snow. “Come before you freeze to death little bird.”
The queen deftly swings herself into Abraxos’ saddle, and pulls the little girl up afterwards. The sun sets as the snow calms to a light shower, the silhouette of the wyvern disappearing into the aerie atop the castle.
@ximeaflanet
@iamthebonecarver
@azrielsiphons
@katelyn-whitethorn
@wreckedtodeathandbackbysjm
@dorianthekinkymf
@catastrophicallyinlovewithbooks
I realize now there were a few I forgot to tag @aelingalathynius-fireheart @foxboylucien
Published
foxboylucien 