I'll be your sword and shield

*set after the final battle, before the funeral*

She wasn’t sure what made her look up and scan the battlefield. Wolves clashed everywhere, blood stained the grass and the coppery scent filled the air. Mud and blood caked her legs and belly, smeared across her sides. Sybil’s heart thundered against her chest, her sides heaving with effort. There was a steadiness in her, despite the chaos that surrounded the pale woman. Blood dripped from the sword she held. The cries of the wounded echoed in her ears but they were met with no sympathy. Life was so often the cost of war, whether it ended in seconds or was drawn out over the years. Adrenaline fed her body the much needed energy she needed to continue. The metallic tang of some Jacobites blood was on her tongue, a reminder for what she stood for. Born a Highlander and raised a mainlander. She didn’t stand here fighting for her life at the whims of a man she had never met. Sybil stood here to protect her way of life, to protect those she had come to love.

A single quiet moment washed over her. Baby blues scanned the carnage. She found Ahkoris first, he was still standing. But in the distance, someone else would catch her attention. Nassar. A warm smile would normally lift dark lips at the sight of her closest friend. Today was not one of those times. It took a second, for what she was seeing to truly process. Like a waterfall, blood cascaded from the matriarchs throat, it matted the fur down her chest and forelegs, soaking her like she had just stepped from a bath. Sybil’s eyes widened first. Bloodied jaws parted next, trying to force a sound from her throat. At first nothing came out. “Nassar!” Her cry finally came, her voice ringing out over the clang of swords and whines of death. Instinct had her lunging forward, but she was too far and the very next moment, her friend would collapse. Sybil didn’t have to approach to know the truth. Nassar was dead.

Devastation washed over her all over again, dragging her beneath the surface of its dark water. She just stood there, the sword she once held with certainly slipped from her grasp with a dull thud. Suddenly the war that raged around her didn’t matter. All she could stare at was her friends crumbled body. Frozen in place, she stood there, a vulnerable target for any Jacobite that dared to take advantage. Crystalline eyes were trained on Nassar. A part of her hoped that she would get up, that it wasn’t her blood staining her fur. But Sybil knew better. Nassar wouldn’t get up. Never again would she see the warmth in her friends gaze or the knowing smile that toyed with the corners of her mouth. They wouldn’t enjoy late night talks over a glass of wine, or whiskey, depending on the days events. She could no longer come to her friend for advice or to vent anymore. Never again would she feel the warmth of a strong shoulder to lean on when the world got just a little two heavy for the pale warrior.

Her thoughts swam and she drowned in them. Only a minute or two had passed before the world came rushing back in. How cruel it was, to reach down into the blood and muck to wrap her fingers around the handle of her weapon. It was impossibly heavy now. Tears blurred her vision that she frantically blinked back. Grasping at her once ironclad self control, she turned away. What an impossible feat it seemed to shove it down, to hold up crumbling walls and lift her sword in the name of a King who wouldn’t miss Nassar or even care that she perished. Her thoughts went to Ahkoris then, her husband, Nassars son. He would give her purpose. He would get her paws moving. He was the one that she would stand guard over when his world came tumbling down.

—

Ahkoris was asleep, for now. She would take the time to sit on the balcony, alone. Her snowy coat was still covered in mud and blood. The worst of it had dried and fallen off, but the stains were still there, ever present reminders of what had happened. A glass filled with whiskery sat beside her. The alcohol warmed her stomach but did little to soothe her soul. If anything, it helped numb her, it made it easier to shove her emotions down as pretend it had never happened. But the images of Nassar crumbling before her very eyes. It was branded into her psyche.

She let out a shuttering breath before taking a gulp from her glass.

Jaws parted in a pant. The summer air was suffocatingly hot. Her and Nassar rested beneath a tree in the training yard. Colonel Verlice was off in the distance, stomping his feet and hollering about some insignificant transgression. The poor soldier would have to face the mans wrath alone this time. Better him then them. Nassar stifled a laugh when a snide comment slide off Sybils tongue, her voice full of disdain for the man.

She realized then it was the little things that she would miss the most.

Ahkoris' memories had returned. The manse was alive with chatter as the Tiamat son finally returned home whole. Her weight shifted impatiently, her body alive with the need to plaster herself to his side and remain there until the end of time. But he was catching with his siblings, his family, as he should. Baby blues barely turned towards Nassar when she approached, staying fixated on Ahkoris. An ear would tip towards her friend though. A knowing look gleamed in Nassars amber eyes and her voice was lightly teasing. Inky lips twitched with her own amusement when the Tiamat matriarch gave her all the permission she needed that it was in fact okay for her to stay at his side.

And now it was all gone. All she had left were her memories. Any children she bore would never meet her dearest friend, their grandmother. They would only know stories. Against her wishes, tears finally spilled, leaving streaks down her cheeks.

It was different this time. When Ahkoris had gone missing, Nassar had refused to hold a funeral, she clung to the hope that her son would return home. None of them had closure. There had been no finality of burning a body, of seeing him dead. She too had clung to the hope that he might return home one day. There was no such hope now. Nassar lay dead somewhere in the manse, being prepared for her funeral. She would not rise again, she wouldn't walk the halls with that smile as she watched her grandchildren play. She would never again stand at the head of the family, that place now belonged to Cairo.

What were they to do now?

"Speech."

Image by Ashon

Ahkoris Tiamat

Ahkoris hadn't seen his mother's death. And that, perhaps, the greatest mercy of all. But he'd seen the aftermath, because he'd been there. He'd heard the screams that were distinct to him because they were made by his loved ones. He'd seen the blood, a startling crimson he felt he'd never truly seen before. And his eyes had landed upon Nassar's body, lying in the muck. He'd run near, but it was chaos reigning around him. There had been hardly time to process before he'd been thrown into another conflict. Teeth flashing, snarls echoing in the air, he'd not felt much pain after that. He'd not felt much of anything at all.

After the smoke cleared had been worse. He'd gotten a better look at her then. He'd gone to Cairo, to Xandria, to Sybil, asking what happened, asking why, but nobody had had good answers, and it was done, and there was nothing else to do but carry her home. And that was where he was now, curled in the darkness of the room he shared with his wife, trying in vain to sleep. He had noted Sybil on the balcony hours ago. She had not woken him, and he had not stirred. It was purposeful. They both needed their space tonight, and even though he ached for her touch, he took those hours in the dark and he just...stared.

He was still covered in mud and blood, like her. His bones ached, his lacerations stung. How long had he been lying here, motionless? He heard the distant rustlings of Sybil every once in a while. But he did not go out to her for a long, long time, until he began to see shadows in the dark, figures that threatened to bring up memories he already wanted to extinguish. With a small sigh, he unfolded his stiff body, and wordlessly he dragged himself out onto the balcony.

He saw that his wife was crying, but instead of murmuring words of comfort, he merely came up behind her and gently pressed his nose into her neck. They stood like that for a long time, and he absorbed her small shudders like they were his own, even though he had yet to cry himself. After many long moments, he pulled away and sat down beside her, staring into the ether. Then: "I do not envy my uncle." Khepri would be making the arrangements, organizing the funeral, preparing the body. For some reason, that stuck with him. The thought of doing it himself was...unthinkable.

"We are all young and naive still."

code & art by claerie

She paid no mind to how long she sat there. The hour grew even later and the sky grew no darker. There was something oddly comforting to her about the quiet, about the darkness. Exhaustion pressed heavily against her shoulders, but her didn't flutter with the desire to sleep. In honesty, she wasn't sure she wanted to close her eyes, she didn't want to see what she knew would be waiting for her in her dreams.

Sybil was no stranger to death. She had seen soldiers succumb to their injuries before. She had stood by as they took their last breath. She had seen their fear, their peace, their regrets, their acceptance. And all they had seen was her quiet indifference, the distance in her cool stare. They never saw the way she moved on, stepping up to meet the next enemy or to give the command for the next move. Nassar was different. She meant something to Sybil. Nassar had been the first to truly garner her friendship, to genuinely brighten her life during its otherwise dreary existence. A matter of seconds was all it took to take that. One decision, one well timed attack, one second of hesitation.

A cool nose pressed to the sensitive skin of her neck. She stiffened, startled by his sudden presence. It wasn't often her husband managed to sneak up on her, intentional or not. She was still quick to lean into him as he sat down, letting her weight fall against his side. It wasn't until then that she realized she had craved his touch, that she was desperate for the comfort she found here, leaning against him.

When he spoke, she didn't look up at him. Sybil only hummed lowly, agreeing. There would be no rest of Khepri. His suffering would have to wait until he had a moment to breath. She took a drink from her cup on his behalf, before sliding the cup towards Ahkoris in offering.

"Are you okay?" She had avoided asking him until now. He seemed to be keeping it together, for now, but now that they were alone, tucked into the privacy of their own room, she offered him a place to fall apart. Maybe it was her inherently private nature that kept her from looking up at him, kept her from peeking at the emotions that darkened his eyes so that he might hang onto the privacy for just a bit longer. Ahkoris had always kept a tight leash on his emotions, she didn't want to drown him in hers as he just began to let himself feel it all. She had lost a dear friend, but he had lost his mother. Even though she had never knew hers and had never been raised by one, she knew it to be a profound loss and Nassar was the backbone of the Tiamat family.

"Speech."

Image by Ashon