Work Text:
After they protected the Rosellan village, everyone there saw them as heroes. When Roland stepped outside their lodgings in the morning, he found himself ambushed by half a dozen laughing children. They clung onto him like kittens to their mother, one of them even grabbing his braid, and when he clutched his chest and pretended to fall under their assault the slightly older child who led the ambush stepped out from her cover and shouted, through the biggest grin, “No mercy on the battlefield!”
“A perfectly-executed ambush,” Serenoa had said in between laughter. “I dare say you’ll be a tactician to rival Benedict when you grow up!”
The village couldn’t afford horses, and no riding hawks nested this far south, so he and Hughette took the Rosellan children on their mounts and rode laps through the forest. The hunting trails were incredibly well-kept, the sky clear and cool. By the time they were finished, enough children said they wanted to be hawknights that Hughette could have fielded her own battalion, and more than a few others said they wanted to ride around on horseback and become knights and look as dashing as Roland did.
And he’d looked Frederica in the eye and said that their lives meant nothing.
Roland certainly didn’t feel very dashing right now.
What had he been doing? What had he been thinking? He’d seen the horrors of the Source with his own eyes, had heard a child the same age as the ones he took on a horseback ride through the forest hope to be given water today. He’d heard Serenoa read out the roster of the Rosellan slaves, ask in an angrier voice than he’d ever heard from his friend what number Frederica would be. He’d voted to defend the Rosellan village no matter the cost, had impaled the cowardly opportunistic Lord Silvio on his own spear. He’d seen the way Medina insisted on treating everyone with a vehemence that only came from guilt and shame, the way Corentin’s face lit up like an excited schoolboy when they reminded him that he didn’t need anybody's permission to work on his research, on his terms. He remembered the way salt was literally built on centuries of suffering and death. How the vein of crystals in the mines offered a different path forward.
And then he’d turned around and suggested to turn them all over to Hyzante anyway, condemn tens of thousands—millions, perhaps, over the generations—to slavery and torture and death.
Because he was a fucking coward.
That’s all there was to it, if Roland was being honest with himself. Everything in Whiteholm showed just how incapable he was at ruling, and the very thought of working with Aesfrost was unthinkable. So he suggested delivering his own people to Hyzante instead.
Oh sure, he’d discarded that idea and jumped on Frederica’s plan when the Scales spoke, because it wasn’t every day he got to run away and play hero simultaneously, but as much as he pretended, it didn’t change the fact that he had proposed that plan. Those words had fallen from his lips. He could never take back the look of shock on Serenoa’s face, or betrayal beyond words on Frederica’s.
Which was why he had spent what felt like most of the evening but was more likely half a mark pacing back and forth before the door to Frederica’s quarters. More than once he had held up his fist just inches from the wood, only to drop it again. If he didn’t do this now, he never would.
Roland gave a quick rap on the door, then yanked his hand back as if burned. After minutes that stretched out forever, the door creaked open.
Serenoa didn’t slam it in Roland’s face, so things were already going better than he had feared they would.
Wait. Serenoa was in Frederica’s room. He—he should go. Leave them to their privacy. Once Roland would have teased his best friend relentlessly, would have given them both a hearty congratulations. But those days were gone.
“What do you want,” Serenoa asked, and for half a heartbeat Roland was about to ask who Serenoa needed removed from his sight before remembering that line was directed at him.
Roland swallowed down his fluttering heart, stiffened his body so he wouldn’t visibly cringe. “I just wanted to say that I am so sorry. What I suggested was a terrible idea. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid, and cruel, and…I want you to know that I’m sorry.” And that wasn’t nearly enough, but how could he ever find the words?
Silence. Serenoa didn’t yell at him, or tell him to fuck off, or punch him in the face. Frederica, now standing beside him, looked like she wanted to do all of them at once and then set him on fire, but she didn’t either. And for some reason, Roland wished that they had.
Instead Serenoa took Frederica’s hand, rubbed his thumb along her knuckles, said, “I’m sure you are,” and closed the door.
The quiet click of the door echoed louder than any metal or stone, and as Roland stared at the dark wood he could deny it no longer.
Serenoa had been his best friend, and Frederica not only wouldn’t have changed that, but would have fit seamlessly in. They’d saved him from his own stupidity over and over and over; without them he’d have died in this war nearly a dozen times over. Serenoa was the brother Frani had never been, their friendship built over a lifetime. They trusted him. They loved him.
And he’d taken everything they had, and he’d stuck a knife in it, and now neither he nor Frederica would ever look at him the same way again.
If he was being honest with himself, what he really wanted was to just…not have to deal with it anymore. To run away from all the burden, the responsibility, the pain, that they had shoved onto him and then condemned him for failing to manage because what did they expect, and not have to deal with it anymore. To stop having people suddenly demand everything from him after a lifetime of expecting nothing from him.
Roland had, in the end, gotten what he wanted.
Lyla’s body made a wet sound as Hughette kicked it over. Something squished as she rummaged through her pockets; the hawk archer scowled, wiped her hands on a clean part of Lyla’s clothes, and kept going.
“What are you looking for?” Erador asked, apparently eager to look anywhere but the book that Geela was translating with increasing horror.
“Research notes. Journals.” Hughette pocketed a jeweled dagger and a bracelet with a scowl. “Wouldn’t be surprised to see some finger bones or a skull, given everything we’ve seen.”
Medina forced herself to walk away. She knew what condition the Rosellans would be in; they needed to get as many medical supplies as possible before making their escape, and she and Corentin knew the layout of the Ministry of Medicine best. She started racking up a mental tally in her head, focused on cold inventory to ground and center her. They’d need healing pellets, of all kinds. Oil. She’d need to raid the apothecary stockroom and get the mortar and pestle and binding agents to turn ground powders into pills. The guidebooks. Bandages. Splints. Needles and sutures. Scalpels, scissors, forceps.
Salt.
She’d grown up learning the Goddess’s teachings, had knelt to pray each and every day, thanking her for the blessing of salt for medicine with all her heart and soul. She’d still believed, in some fashion, even as she saw that dying man with a lifetime of abuse written on his body that was all too easy for her to read.
And Lyla had said that his life was worth nothing, and she had been too much of a pathetic coward to protest. She could have saved him, but instead she treated the Hyzantian, and left the Rosellan man to lie in that bed moaning in pain until he finally died. They’d taken his body somewhere classified, wouldn’t even let her clean it before whisking it away.
Medina had seen his ragged clothes rotting in the dump as she made her way out of the city, and now she knew just where his body had gone.
Was there any part of their lives that wasn’t reduced to a resource?! The Ministry of Medicine was supposed to protect and preserve life, not profit off of death! And apparently only Hyzantian lives counted?!
…Of course they did. It was right there in the scripture. The only hope the Roselle had was to die and be reborn in a body that was worthy of life. And she’d never, ever questioned the Order of Things until…until…
“Medina?”
The hands on her shoulders were cool, and a little damp, and smelled a bit of ink and mint. Medina looked up and craned her neck around to find herself looking Corentin in the eye. His were also red, his face also blotchy from tears.
“We knew,” Medina moaned as she uncurled herself—at some point in all this she’d curled up next to the fountains and canals that ran water through the ministry. She wanted to throw an icestone into the gutters and let the waters flood this entire rotten place. She wanted to scream her horror and anguish and let it shatter the Goddess’s Shield. She wanted to tear her heart from her chest, offer it up to Frederica and the man she killed through inaction, and beg for forgiveness she didn’t deserve. “We knew! If only we’d bothered to look, or think, or do anything other than mindlessly obey…”
“And then we’d have been denounced as traitors and heretics, and been executed ourselves,” Corentin replied, his voice controlled ice. “What good would that have done anyone?”
Yes, okay, objectively he was right but still! “Then we would have made a stand. But we didn’t, because we were cowards, all of us.” She found herself laughing, and tugging at her hat until the stitches threatened to pop, because if she started screaming she’d never be able to stop. “Lyla knew! She knew what she was doing was wrong, and she went along with it anyway because she was a coward, and now she’s dead. But she was one of the Saintly Seven! She could have done something! Anything!” Medina found herself sliding to the floor again, the Rosellan man’s agonal breaths rattling around in her mind. “...I could have done something. I could have done something.”
Corentin sat down beside her; there was a soft thud as he tilted his head back against the blue tiled wall. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “I knew what Plinius was doing. No, more than that—Plinius asked me if I wanted to join his rebellion, and be free. I was too sympathetic to report him, too cowardly to join him, and so I did nothing. And because of that I found myself pressed into service to apprehend him. Now here I am, free anyway because of conviction found too late, while he’s dead. We were just lucky enough to live long enough to change. Plinius didn’t even bother cursing my name on the way to the gallows.” He opened his eyes again, staring into nothing. “I think about him every day.”
“...We owe it to the people who are left to do better, don’t we?” Medina eventually said. “Even though I, it’s never going to be enough, is it? We can’t bring back the dead…”
“No, we can’t.” Corentin let out another long sigh. “As for what’s enough…We’re not the ones who suffered, we’re the ones who stood by and wrung our hands and ultimately did too little too late. What’s enough forgiveness isn’t up for us to decide.” He stood, and offered a hand. “But at least we can start here.”
After a moment, Medina took it, and got to her feet. They needed to be better. They needed to do better. If the Goddess of Salt was real, then…then she was a cruel and vicious Goddess, and she made her country to be just like her. There was nothing left in Hyzante but destruction. This was a place that turned good men into cowards, and cowards into monsters.
And one of the first things Medina had learned as an apothecary was that some diseases were beyond fixing.
There were over twenty thousand Rosellans at the Source, and a few hundred more Hyzantian rebels and apostates had taken this opportunity for freedom and fled alongside them. Even packed in like sardines in a way that couldn’t be sustained for long they’d commandeered over half the ships in the harbor to fit everyone, then blown up the rest. Even as a fire mage, Frederica could feel the stolen life squirming around inside Aelfric as she detonated all the crystals. She hoped that, if there was any consciousness of her kin left in there, that the action would bring them some measure of satisfaction or peace.
Above them the wind roared; sails snapped and the ships tossed back and forth in the waves. Ever since the first moment of their desperate flight Ezana had been calling to the heavens nonstop. Even now she stood at the helm of the lead ship with her lover, pushing herself to the brink of utter exhaustion to ensure the winds remained in their favor. At this rate, they’d get to the falls within a week or two, and then they’d be out of reach of Hyzante, and truly free.
Freedom! Just the word made Frederica surge with joy too much for her body to contain, want to scramble up the crow’s nest and shout for all to hear. But instead she’d spent the past several days hunched over the side of the ship, violently seasick.
She hadn’t been this seasick, or seasick at all, during the trip to Wolffort. Then again, she hadn’t spent that trip on a fleet of ships packed full of former slaves, sailing downriver at top speed, still riding the adrenaline high of killing two of the so-called Saintly Seven, blowing up the Goddess statue, and freeing all her people in one stroke.
Warm callused hands ran through her hair and gently held it out of her face as she vomited into the river. Despite her nausea Frederica leaned into the contact; she’d recognize her husband’s soothing touch anywhere.
Her husband! The words were new and strange and wonderful on her tongue. Serenoa was her husband, and she was his wife! Yes, they technically hadn’t exchanged rings, or said their words before a cleric, but the words they’d shared before the walls of the city were vows enough for her.
“Are you feeling better, my love?” Serenoa asked as he stroked the side of her face and gently tied her hair back into a braid. It still marveled her how soft and gentle his hands could be. “You’ve been awfully seasick this entire time; I really think we should have Geela check on you.”
Frederica shook her head. “I’ll be fine, it’s just a bad bout of seasickness. Geela and the other healers have more than enough to worry about already.” Many of the Rosellans were in horrifyingly poor condition from a lifetime of slavery and abuse. Five had already died days into freedom, their bodies unable to endure any longer. They’d been buried on the shore of the river, their feet pointed south towards Centralia. Heading home.
“If you’re certain,” Serenoa said. He tied off the end of her braid, smoothed it down once, then kissed her just below the ear. “Have I mentioned just how incredible you are?”
“Once or twice,” Frederica laughed in return. Or rather more than that.
“Well, then I’ll happily say it again—” a kiss below her other ear, “—and again—” another kiss, “—and again. I’ll shout it to the world until my voice gives out, because you are incredible. Frederica, my love, look.” He turned her attention to the line of ships stretching out behind them, all the way to the horizon. Every single one of those ships filled with Rosellan men, women and children, tasting freedom for the first time in their lives. “There’s an entire nation aboard our fleet! Less than a month ago they were enslaved at the Source, and now they’re free. And it’s all because of you.”
“It’s because of you as well,” she replied. “You managed to convince everyone to walk this path with us.” Everyone except Benedict, in the end. He may have been as callous as her half-brother, but she hoped he was doing well regardless.
“Perhaps. But I placed my faith in your vision, my love. We’re here because of you.” She could feel Serenoa’s smile as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, so she was cradled safe in the warmth of his chest. He slid his arms under hers, laced his fingers together before her waist, draped himself over Frederica and guarded her against the world. No matter where they were, if she was in her love’s arms, she was home. Frederica leaned back and settled in against the rise and fall of his breath, closed her eyes, and felt calm and peace wash over her.
At least until another wave rocked the ship and roiled Frederica’s stomach, sending her scrambling out of Serenoa’s embrace to retch and vomit over the railing once more.
“Okay,” she groaned, wiping the sour taste from her mouth as her husband held her up and held her close and rubbed her back in soothing circles, “maybe I should speak to Geela.”
“I’m what.”
Another flash of healing magic over her abdomen. “You’re with child, Frederica. About six weeks. Congratulations.”
Objectively, yes, Frederica knew what Geela was saying. She knew what the words “you” and “are” and “pregnant” meant. She knew how babies were made. But when those three words were used in a sentence directed at her, were about her, all powers of comprehension vanished from her brain and left her staring mutely at her former tutor and old friend. Serenoa was similarly gobsmacked. When Frederica looked over at her beloved, he looked dazed, as if he had taken a warhammer blow between the eyes.
And then, all of a sudden, Frederica’s husband swept her up in his arms as his stunned laughter split the room.
“I can’t believe it!” Serenoa laughed and laughed as he lifted her up and spun them around the cabin. “You’re going to be a mother! I’m going to be a father! We’re going to be parents!”
That last word was what did it, what made it all real. She was going to have a baby! She and Serenoa were going to be parents! Shock and joy and disbelief burst out of Frederica all at once, and she joined him in ringing peals of joy as he carried her back to their room. He was still grinning ear to ear as they lay tangled up together in their cot hours later, and though her answering smile was broad enough to make her cheeks hurt Frederica had no intention of stopping. Frederica reached up to brush the hair from Serenoa’s eyes as he kept snaking his hand down to pet her belly.
“You know I won’t show for a few months,” Frederica said, catching his hand so she could bring it to her lips and kiss each knuckle.
“I know. I’m just so excited.” He started laughing again, and it echoed from his throat to her chest. “We’re going to be parents!”
It was still so surreal; even now Frederica half-expected to wake up and find that this was all a wonderful dream. “You’re going to be an incredible father,” Frederica said and oh she could see it now, Serenoa teaching their child how to read, how to fight, how to stand tall and take responsibility for their actions. Being there for them, kind and strong. Building a home filled with warmth and light and love. He truly would be a wonderful father.
Somehow, Serenoa grinned even wider. “I’m going to teach them everything!” He paused, and the grin softened into a smile meant just for her. “Well, not everything. You’d teach them what it means to be Roselle.”
The words pierced her heart and twisted deep inside her, and she did not know why until she said back, “What does it mean, to be Roselle?”
Serenoa shifted on the cot; Frederica was vaguely aware that the smile had fallen from her face. He stroked her cheek. “My love?”
“My people have been slaves in Hyzante for centuries,” she said, slowly, trying to weave the stray threads and sparking fragments of thought into a coherent tapestry. Other than the one Rosellan researcher in the Archives, and a few bandits, nearly every Rosellan in Norzelia was in the Wolffort demesne or, until a few weeks ago, enslaved at the Source. Most people had never met a person with Rosellan blood in their life before her! “Jerrom’s generation is the first in centuries to grow up free. Our child’s—” they were going to have a baby! They were going to be parents! “—generation will be the first in centuries to grow up in our ancestral homeland.”
“That’s…” Serenoa pulled her close, let out a shuddering stifled sob into her bare chest. She pulled her love in close, shelter him as he did her, and when he looked up at her, his eyes were wet. “They never would have stopped. House Wolffort was already being used as a pawn by all three nations nonstop; getting appointed as one of the Saintly Seven was nothing more than a golden collar and leash. I saw the way they looked at you. They wanted nothing more than to throw you into the Source. They wouldn’t even let you speak. We nearly died defending our people. You and our children would be hunted forever. I couldn’t have kept you safe if we stayed.”
And so Serenoa walked away from his name, his status, his everything, all for the sake of Frederica and her people. That—how could she ever fully show it, the love that blazed through her for him, as vast and infinite as the sky? It was impossible, so all she could do was kiss the crown of his head and vow to love him as much as she could, every day for as long as they lived.
“I told you,” he murmured, his breath warm against her neck as they curled against each other. “Where you go, I go. Your people are my people, and I will protect them.”
And she believed it, now. Here she was safe, and home. “We need to rebuild not just a home, but everything. Jerrom’s village has a couple thousand people in it, and there were over twenty thousand at the Source. Twenty thousand people who need to learn how to be free, who have generations of scars and shame carved into our body and spirits alike. We…” Frederica took a deep breath and tried to pull her thoughts together again. “Hyzante didn’t just take our dignity, our freedom, our right to exist. They stole everything from us. My love, what was on the altar in Jerrom’s home?”
Serenoa closed his eyes in thought. “Effigies to the stars, to our gods of the river and weather, and—” his eyes flew open. “Oh.”
“Exactly. What happened to whatever gods the Rosellans in Centralia worshiped? They’re gone! The Hyzantians forced us to beg the Goddess of Salt for forgiveness, and—who were our gods? How did we celebrate the birth of our children, or care for our dead, before? I don’t know!” She was shaking from the enormity of it, trembling in Serenoa’s embrace, and she forced herself to take a deep breath and not shout. “What did it mean, to be Roselle, before we were forced into slavery and had all else taken from us?”
“Well, what about your wedding dress?” her husband asked. “That was made in the Rosellan style, right?”
“It was.” It was, and she was infinitely grateful for it, for having her Rosellan half welcomed into her new home, even at the beginning when everything was strange and new, when her feelings towards House Wolffort were those of cautious apprehension instead of the warmth and love that bloomed over time. “We didn’t lose all of it. But…They stamped as much as they could out of us, for centuries, and we’re only left with pieces. My wedding dress. The pink pelts and clothes, our tradition of hunting. My mother’s diary—she was the one who kept most of our knowledge alive, what she remembered. The story of Centralia. The lullaby my mother sang to me every night, until she was taken away.” And she broke off with a soft gasp as the memory struck her like lightning, blazed through her like fire—her mother singing that lullaby to her, as sunset filtered soft and pink through the window off the outside snow. Even now, years later, she remembered every note of that melody, and in just a few months, she would sing their child to sleep with that exact same song.
There was something else, something she was terrified to even think much about, never mind even name or voice out loud. Her mother’s rebellion was thirty years ago, and she was already revered to a point that made Frederica uncomfortable to think about. How would the descendants of this fleet see her, her love, and House Wolffort, centuries after they were gone?
“That’s…that’s not everything,” Serenoa said, and even though she couldn’t see his face for it was still nestled in the crook of her neck she could hear the haunted yet thoughtful note in his voice, “You didn’t lose everything. Your people survived. Your mother survived, and kept what she could, and she had you! And now you’re here, and you’ve finished what she started.” He drew himself up to meet her in the eyes once more, and pulled her in for another kiss.
The world went soft, for a little while. When her husband pulled back he said, “We’ll make our way to Centralia, and we’ll take what we have, and we’ll rebuild. I promise, my love, I’ll be with you every step of the way, with everything I am. The Roselle shouldn’t have lost their heritage in the first place. But it matters, getting it back.”
Serenoa thought he knew hatred, but no, he didn’t. Not until he looked Idore in his cold dead eyes. They were like a shark’s, flat and predatory with no emotion, or empathy, or anything of kindness and love.
Aelfric pulsed around them; Serenoa could already feel his skin blistering from the proximity of it. They were out of time.
“Fool,” Idore laughed, and behind them, far away and safe, Serenoa could hear Frederica screaming his name. “What did you think you would gain, martyring yourself? See how quickly your friends abandon you!”
How dare he? How dare he?! “You think they’ve abandoned me? Where they go, they take with them my heart, my love, and everything I am! But I wouldn’t expect a monster like you to ever understand anything of love!”
And with that, before he could hesitate, he plunged his sword into Aelfric and cracked the crystal of stolen life in two.
I’m sorry, my love, he thought in those moments before the wave of raw magic consumed them. I won’t be with you in body, but my heart will be with you, always. I love you, and I always will. My child, I wish I could have met you. Grow up kind and strong, and know just how much your father loves you.
Those were his only regrets, nothing else. A lord watched over his people. A husband cared for his wife. And a father protected his children.
DHP386 (Guest) Sun 10 Apr 2022 01:32AM UTC
Comment Actions
coffeeincluded Sun 10 Apr 2022 07:02AM UTC
Comment Actions
AliceAudrey (Guest) Sun 10 Apr 2022 09:42AM UTC
Comment Actions
coffeeincluded Sun 10 Apr 2022 12:30PM UTC
Last Edited Sun 10 Apr 2022 12:50PM UTC
Comment Actions
Caellach Tiger Eye (Guest) Sun 10 Apr 2022 01:47PM UTC
Comment Actions
AliceAudrey (Guest) Mon 11 Apr 2022 08:15AM UTC
Comment Actions
coffeeincluded Wed 13 Apr 2022 09:12PM UTC
Comment Actions
Caellach Tiger Eye (Guest) Sun 10 Apr 2022 01:23PM UTC
Comment Actions
coffeeincluded Fri 15 Apr 2022 02:07PM UTC
Comment Actions
CopperDragon8 Sun 10 Apr 2022 03:39PM UTC
Comment Actions
coffeeincluded Wed 13 Apr 2022 09:21PM UTC
Comment Actions
Guest (Guest) Sun 10 Apr 2022 07:13PM UTC
Comment Actions
coffeeincluded Thu 14 Apr 2022 04:32AM UTC
Comment Actions
jtav Sun 10 Apr 2022 07:45PM UTC
Comment Actions
coffeeincluded Thu 14 Apr 2022 04:38AM UTC
Comment Actions
GoldenThreads Tue 12 Apr 2022 02:23AM UTC
Comment Actions
coffeeincluded Fri 15 Apr 2022 01:44PM UTC
Comment Actions
Merc Thu 19 May 2022 05:49AM UTC
Comment Actions
andreabandrea Fri 09 Sep 2022 03:02AM UTC
Comment Actions
AjanisApprentice Thu 02 Nov 2023 06:38AM UTC
Last Edited Thu 02 Nov 2023 06:53AM UTC
Comment Actions
coffeeincluded Mon 22 Jan 2024 07:01PM UTC
Comment Actions
Eroraf (Guest) Thu 11 Jan 2024 08:24PM UTC
Comment Actions
The_Merger_Magikoopa Fri 13 Dec 2024 12:29PM UTC
Last Edited Fri 13 Dec 2024 12:29PM UTC
Comment Actions
Mailrebel Thu 11 Sep 2025 07:32PM UTC
Comment Actions