A general yes. A lord of war? Of course. A woman in dire need of a break…
An understatement.
In times like these when the sky was adorned in darkness and stars the only thing that kept her company at such an hour being the crickets that frolicked across the gardens, the occasional owl screech every so often, and the rustling of paper. The abusive shuffling of pages with an absolute lack of regard for organization or care. The rustling was frantic. Panicked. Chaos then nothing.
From hundred and ten percent to nothing. Frivolity. Her body had shut down. Completely motionless.
「• • • ••」
Now, with an unusually empty head, traveling on autopilot the Medarda found herself storming toward the sleeping chambers. Passing through hallways, smashing through doors till an immovable obstacle greeted her path. A ceiling-high door to sleeping chambers though these were far from her own.
Wordless and emotionless, the Medarda rests her already-pounding head on the door.
A bang. Then silence.
From the opposite end of the door, you rise from your bed where you'd found yourself restless and had resulted to reading yourself to sleep prior to being interrupted by the bang that resounded.
Only one individual would even dare to be “knocking” or otherwise head-banging on your door at this hour though oftentimes the general opted for her standard ‘open first knock never’ policy. You'd decided to give the Medarda her moment to ‘collect herself’ as you leisurely made your way towards the double doors that separated your space from the rest of the world.
‘Step. Step. Step. Step.’
Step.
Step.
Silence.
The steady creaking of one-half of the doors opening brings the Medarda to her senses. Her eyes dull as they meet the younger woman who greets her with an almost pitiful but welcoming smile before sidestepping the door. Disappearing into the room. Letting her in.
From then onward their interaction proceeded in utter speechlessness.
The Medarda quietly made her way to the floor-length mirror that stood in the corner of the room with you simultaneously following close behind like her shadow, till you met her in the mirror’s reflection. The outwardly confident woman was edgy. It was in moments like these that the Medarda’s body betrayed her.
You were unassuming with a presence that exuded comfort- peace. You were one with your surroundings. Constantly tranquil. Always.
In distinction the Medarda was different. Her presence was loud. One that demanded attention and commanded respect. With the physique of a god, she couldn't disappear into anything. She would be the center of attention. All eyes were on her, she often relished in that. Till she didn't. Until she didn't want to. Every once in a blue moon when the stress levels would hit just right she'd wish to be able to slip into the shadows as effortlessly as you would. In the twitch of an eye, you'd be gone as if you were never truly there at all. A figment of one’s imagination. You were good at that. Disappearing.
She knew she'd never be able to truly disappear, not in the way you could, not in the presence of others… but in the presence of you. Things were different. They were exchanged. In moments like these, you would be more than willing to be of assistance by any means necessary to alleviate the stress the overworked older woman exhibited. As your fingers laced around her garments and pulled them from her body. Wordlessly. Gently. First, it was the armor. Then the fabrics, followed shortly by the golds. Every little accessory, from the largest of breastplates to the smallest of chains.
Removed. Until the Medarda stood bare in front of you.
Only then do you attempt to meet her eyes which remained stuck to the floor. Staring at the base of the gold-rimmed mirror in front of her.
Ever so softly with the utmost caution you raise your fingers to where her chin meets her chest and begin to lift. Ever so cautiously as if she'd bite your head off had you moved any faster. Her eyes shoot to you in an instant. Her body tenses under your fingers. One would think she'd be used to the contrast by now, your cold fingers against her warm skin, seeing as how often she finds herself here. With you. Everyone else seemed to be used to it though initially the rumors did spread- like wildfire. A complete accident - a mindless contact had every last one of the servants in the Medarda edifice under the impression that you were some cold-blooded monster. A snake. However, that was far from true and Ambessa knew that better than anyone else. You never made an effort to correct them, despite that they very quickly learned the error of their ways proceeding to apologize for the spreading of misinformation though you were less than bothered. Thus they had grown accustomed to “The Medarda’s favorite councilwoman” being a cold-blooded angel.
They were all used to it. So why the hell wasn't she?
Goosebumps littered her flesh under your fingers as her eyes met yours in the mirror. Your hands lay to rest on her beautifully scarred shoulders. Again you smile at her. With that look of sorrow- of pity that filled your eyes. Bloody hell she hated it when you did that. When you pitied her- felt sorry for her…she hated it. It made her feel vulnerable. Ambessa Medarda was never vulnerable, vulnerability was a weakness to easily be exploited. So why did she yearn for your comfort? She found herself wanting to be seen by you. You were good at it. Skilled at making her feel seen, and understood. You saw straight through her. Always. As if it were the easiest thing in the world. She hated you. How well you knew her…
Hated how well you could read her…
Like a book.
“Breathe Lady Medarda… breathe,” you whisper into her ear.
Ambessa freezes. Head empty eyes wide.
Still, you continued to smile at her…patiently. Your chest rose and fell in a rhythmic constant.
“Ambessa.” -her breath hitched as she released a restrained breath.
“Breathe for me. Come on. In” You inhale with her “and out” you continued as you let out a breath.
“In and out” Slowly the Medarda starts to mimic your breathing though a lot more rugged.
“In.” your fingers mindlessly begin to caress at her shoulders.
“Out.” The Medarda’s breathing begins to slow.
Your eyes meet as you continue to breathe together…silently.
Eventually, once you are certain the Medarda isn't going to restrict herself of air you take a few steps back making your way toward your wardrobe where you reappear with a red silk robe accented in gold, far too large to be your own. Your fingers graze at the general’s muscular shoulders, the ridges of her flesh as your fingers meet at her collar adjusting it at the hems. Tieing at the waist, your arms just barely fitting around her.
「• • • ••」
This was routine for the general’s lover. A fighter in her own right made soft by the years of pampering the warlord had offered. The Medarda mansion at her feet. Answering to your beck and call.
It was never her intention to soften you- to weaken you. She admired you as a soldier with what you could do. But she had wanted you, desperately so.
The woman in the veil.
And oh what the anomaly you were.
「• • • ••」
You were agile. Sharp. Quick on your feet with a killer physique… until you got remiss. You got weak. A single lapse of justice. The killing of a child no older than ten in the middle of a battlefield. Your hesitation to rid of the small being left you trapped, alone and unrecognizable, gutted like a fish amongst the rubble and ash.
More than a dozen stab wounds, partially blind in the left eye, a solid 6 broken ribs damn-near puncturing something vital. Inflicted by the same little dirt-blonde bastard you dared show leniency to. How you were still breathing -though rugged and short- was truly a mystery. You had become an outlet of anger release for the gremlin entirely against your will.
Despite your situation, you weren't upset- no.
You were livid, at his accuracy no less. His precision. Ensuring that he inflicted pain, suffering, and torture but never death.
He would kick and punch and stab, take a step back or two to grant you a look at that sadistic little smile of his as if taunting you. He enjoyed testing how far he could push your limits before Kindred would choose to pay you a visit. He balanced you on that thin line between life and death as you slipped in and out of consciousness.
You wanted so badly to die, wished so badly that he would make a mistake that may grant you some peace…but the mistake never came.
He was calculated and it angered you. You were calculated, meant to be ruthless and the one time you weren't, you paid heavily for it.
Slipping out of consciousness once again. Slow and steady your eyes begin to flutter.
A wild screech sliced through the air though you were too far gone to react.
The smurf’s assault on your body is put to an end. The plunging of an arrow into the back of his skull stopping him dead in his tracks as his small lanky frame begins to slump over your own.
You were unconscious but he was dead.
「• • • ••」
This had once been routine for the councilwoman’s lover. The lying in silence, not uttering a word though the councilor’s nights had incorporated a slew of nightmares and cold sweats. Despite that, it was the very same routine: enter, silence, cuddle. A routine that had become as easy as breathing for the pair. Everything that‘s broken needs fixing eventually I guess…
And that included people.
The general and her favorite councilor…