A/N: This was originally going to be the sixth chapter in my "A Collection of Short Stories" anthology, but I realized the plot was too extensive for me to leave it as a short story. Thus, I decided to expand it. It is going to have a few chapters, but I don't know how many exactly.
Virtual kudos to those that recognize who the main characters of this story are modeled after, and what country this story takes place in. It is safe to imagine the characters with accents, but you'll have to figure out the name of the country first before you do so. A little Googling would certainly help.
I think that about covers it all, so I'll end this author's note before it gets too long.
I sincerely hope you all enjoy this ancient AU fic, and toss me a review when you're done.
Chapter 1: A Comprehensive History
The kingdom of Cydonia was the most dangerous, magical, and vibrant realm ever known to man or any other creature. The endless menagerie of lifestyles, practices, and societies made it seem like something borne from the dusty pages of some long forgotten fairytale.
Dragons roamed the skies day in and day out, some as pets, and others untamed. Wizards of every sector of magic imaginable honed their expertise in their yards and schools, all under the tutelage of their weathered mentors. Warriors trained with their weapons of choice, battling family members, thrill-seekers, and war veterans alike.
On a grander scale, Cydonia's towering cities of marble and gold dotted the landscape, beacons of exquisite structures that attracted both commoners and royalty to their thriving hubs of commerce and legislation.
On Earth, Cydonia was the single surviving continent in the wake of the War for Dominance. The tension between its four neighboring kingdoms, first set in motion in the year 15 B.C., culminated in a global conflict that ravaged for, oddly, fifteen years.
It ended on year 0, the same year that the first total solar eclipse in history was recorded. Every nation pitted itself against its neighbors and waged endless war, all for the purpose of usurping the planet and becoming the only superpower to exist on Earth.
Cydonia, led by the noble Queen Amalthea, avoided plunder by not subjecting her troops to slaughter on foreign ground. Instead, she played the pacifist, defending her nation's borders with every last willing animal soldier, be they male or female.
For fifteen grueling years the enemies were held back, the other nations crumbling around them as their towns were overrun and their people massacred. When the bloodshed finally concluded, the queen's land still stood through the fire and smoke, while the other continents were nothing but scorched earth buried under the fallen metropolises and drowned in the blood of millions.
Alas, all was not well with the victorious empire.
The queen and her son both perished in the defense of their territory, and with her dying breath, she named her sole surviving daughter the next ruler of Cydonia. And so it was that a grief-laden Princess Ambrosia ascended to the throne, and became the queen of a realm in disarray.
There was far more work to be done than could possibly ever be placed on the shoulders of the twenty year old bird, but she accepted the position without hesitation. She swore to the heavens and beyond that she would honor her family by restoring Cydonia to its former glory, and make it the finest, most prosperous kingdom one could ever inhabit.
As the years ticked by, her physical wounds healed. Her emotional ones scarred over, but never really faded.
Bit by bit, step by step, she inched closer to her goal of a flawless nation. The strains upon her varied from year to year, and were it not for her faithful servants and councils to support her during the tough times, she might just have crumbled and become nothing but a living ghost.
By 20 A.D., her goal was accomplished, and a year of festive celebration resulted. The few survivors from the outlying territories made the journey to Cydonia to rebuild their lives and start anew.
She then spent six more years upgrading the Capitol to suit her own tastes, to make her home and place of rule as peaceful and imposing as possible. By 27 A.D., it was finished.
Its numerous domes, plazas, and neighborhoods reached from one horizon to the other, it seemed. The elevated palace sat in the middle of it all, its groups of spires and buildings scraping the very sky, the tallest structures to ever exist. Hewn from the purest alabaster and inlaid with tantalizing designs of pure gold on every surface, it was eye-meltingly fancy and a true symbol of Ambrosia's majesty and regality.
Once the Capitol was refurbished, she transitioned into a more relaxed lifestyle.
Starting off, she trimmed down the size of her in-house workforce as much as she thought necessary. Servants, guards, advisors, and the like were given the choice to stay or go. Those creatures with families comprised most of the helpers who departed the Capitol, while very few others left. The queen was flattered by her subordinates' loyalty to her, which convinced her once again that she was a queen to be respected, not hated.
She made other changes here and there, some obvious, some hidden, and all important.
She led from then on in luxury and comfort, but another problem cropped up within a few years, one that happened to sneak in and steal one of her staff every so often: death.
She could not bear to disappear from the planet like her brother and mother, to have her cold body buried in the ground and forgotten. That was her reasoning for pursuing a way to defeat death, and her answer to all who questioned her as to why.
Though there was an abundance of mages to be found in Cydonia, very few dared to tinker with the fundamental force of life itself. The few who did unravel its secrets and give themselves immortality never announced it to the world, staying underground to keep their exploits from becoming a mundane transformation for all who craved it.
She was the queen, and she knew that her status would sway some mage in Cydonia to visit her and bestow upon her the gift of life everlasting. She sent her couriers to every major city on the map, each carrying a tempting message. It claimed that whoever was bold enough to provide her with immortality would be provided for indefinitely in the form of currency, gold, and jewels.
Just as she had expected, she did not have to wait idly by on her throne for someone to take her up on her offer.
One week after the news had been spread, a male Barn Owl mage had arrived outside the Capitol, the message in talon. After he showed the proof to the guards, he was escorted all the way to Ambrosia's throne room.
After the proceedings were dealt with, her entire entourage amassed in the spacious cavern to witness the process firsthand.
The mage procured from his bulky satchel a dagger, a small ruby and a medium ruby, a chalice, a wand, a bottle of strange elixir, and a spell book. He warned her that the experience was going to be quite painful, as he had performed it on his mate, who took seven days to recuperate.
She heeded his warnings and instructed him to start, and to continue the procedure to completion, regardless of how much she begged him to cease.
He stepped up to her, took a deep breath, and began.
He carved out a small gash in her forehead and another in her chest, directly above her heart. He collected the blood in the chalice, poured in the elixir, and mixed it thoroughly. The bleeding queen was then ordered to drink the bubbly fluid, and prepare for discomfort of a serious degree.
The Barn Owl flipped open the book to a specific page and brandished his wand while she downed her tainted blood, resisting the urge to vomit the horrid solution back out. Aiming the wand at the pair of rubies, he recited the first half of the incantation, causing them to levitate and settle themselves partway into her wounds. Then, he belted out the remaining half of the charm, while aiming the wand at Ambrosia.
What happened next was as remarkable as it was agonizing.
Two concentrated beams of white light shot from the tip, each aiming for one of the gemstones resting on her body. The queen then dropped to her knees as the light pooled in the rubies and heated them to scalding temperatures. She screamed as her flesh melted and fused to the diamond-shaped stones, welded to them by the power of his magic.
Once the wounds were plugged to perfection, the spell ended in a flash.
The room fell utterly quiet, save for the rapid breathing of the creatures all around. The Barn Owl cleaned and packed his things, informing the half-conscious queen that she would never die unless the gems were removed, shattered, and every ounce of her blood drained.
Anything less than that, and she would not die. She could be dismembered, drowned, skinned, burned alive, or even eaten, and still survive.
From that point on, she need not eat or drink to thrive, those necessities becoming luxuries. Her reproductive capabilities were also untouched, frozen in their healthy state, never to degrade. He declared her a marvelous avian parallel to Talos, the ichor contained inside her by the gems.
Jewel granted him permission to leave through a gritted beak, declaring the mission a success. The last words she uttered to him before she slipped into unconsciousness were: "Thank you."
Due to her participation in the War and her subsequent trials as queen, Ambrosia was tougher than most. Two days hence, she was awake, but was so unbearably sore that she remained bed-ridden, her throne empty. Her elite staff shouldered her duties while she recovered, running the country to her exact specifications.
Two days after that, she was as normal as could be, and re-assumed her role by climbing back upon her throne. She felt as if she had been reborn, her tingly blood coursing through her veins and giving her strength.
For her, at least, a new era had dawned in that year, the year 35 A.D. She could now lead her kingdom onward for eternity, her fear of death perpetually negated.
She had been taught in her youth that kings and queens ruled, and then passed away, that empires flourished, and then disintegrated. That truth no longer applied in her situation. So long as she lived, her nation would live, forever and ever. The very thought of that made the stunning Queen Ambrosia be swamped with joy while perched in her throne, and she found herself smiling more often than ever before.
Life was a roller coaster for the queen, as she had come to realize, and after her alteration, her jovial existence took a second dip into negativity.
Politics was being discussed every waking moment in the Capitol, and as much as Ambrosia enjoyed shaping and influencing it, there were undercurrents of equally fascinating dialogue and gestures to be observed.
The one that captivated her deepest was romance.
There were scores of couples to be seen walking, flying, and running around in her center of power. Thus, her need to find out what made it so special grew on her incrementally with each sunrise and sunset. She asked many of her closest friends who were romantically bound what love was, and they generally replied all in the same manner.
It was a concept that defied reason, a multilevel connection to the one who was your soul-mate, and life's greatest treasure to be had.
Ambrosia had slowly realized just lonely she was, and all throughout 35 A.D., she began the search for the individual she could call her "soul-mate." Her efforts proved fruitless, since not one male macaw of her species felt that it was proper to couple with the highest-ranking being on Earth. They honored tradition and morals, and the queen grew more and more distressed by their choices to reject her.
She was a victim to her desires, and the creatures below her in status noticed a change in her demeanor. They pitied her and hurt when she hurt, and so they prodded and pressed her to allow them to help her come up with a solution. She was initially unwilling to dump her problem onto others, being the independent female she was, but she ultimately relented near the end of 35 A.D.
They formed a collective think-tank within the Capitol, and news of the queen's dismay never escaped from its walls. After a month of their wide-ranging ideas being tossed out by Ambrosia, she finally accepted the solution. Copying off a tradition established by the earlier civilizations of Cydonia, she agreed to set up a system where any zealous macaws could fight to the death gladiator-style.
The ultimate winner would become both her mate and her king, and inherit a position more rewarding than any other.
Ambrosia put the fleshing-out of the system's specifics on hold, thus reducing the burden on her while she drafted the plans for a coliseum as close to her palace gates as possible.
When the so-called blueprints were finalized, the plaza that stood in the way was razed, the marble and gold salvaged, and the groundbreaking ceremony was carried out. Architects and engineers flocked to the Capitol to assist, in the hopes of contributing to the project and earning a massive salary in return. Workers also arrived in droves, for they could see no higher honor than building something conscripted by the queen herself.
The circular arena steadily rose from month to month, the thousands of volunteer and drafted civilians alike toiling away to have it completed on time. Ambrosia was a familiar face at the site, observing the creation of her brainchild with her own sapphire eyes. There were a few dozen casualties during the twelve months it took to finish the arena, and the queen saw to it that the families involved were repaid to the best of her abilities.
At that time, no one had ever documented raising the dead, and so there was nothing that could be done until necromancy was born.
When the extensive concealing tarp was pulled off the structure for drama purposes, the entire Capitol erupted in cheer. The three-tiered marble arena – which came to be formally known as "The Pit" – shone in the midday sun, its columns and facades showing the extreme precision with which they were crafted.
Even though the nation resounded with applause and a unified sense of accomplishment, Ambrosia was the most overwhelmed of them all. It was a testament to the ability of her people to turn a simple idea in her mind into something infinitely more substantial and pleasing.
A Capitol-wide feast ensued to memorialize the unveiling, good food and fine drink laid out for the populace to consume. Needless to say, hordes of drunk creatures all kinds crawled home that night, and for those with partners, many rounds of coitus were performed in the various households.
Now that the physical aspect of Ambrosia's wish was fulfilled, all her and her posses' attention was focused on refining the means with which the winner would be selected. Being the queen, she wasn't looking for any run-of-the-mill combatants to be her husband and her king. No, she was going to make it so that any prospective fighters had to push themselves to the limits to emerge victorious.
The warriors who applied would have to face various opponents one-on-one in an elimination-style system. It was the classic bracket approach, and the weaker of the dueling pairs would be weeded out, guaranteeing that only the most fortuitous beings could make it to the final match.
However, she added a harsh twist to the already challenging proposal: The winner of the final combat match would have to face the queen herself.
Should he defeat her, then the dual titles that awaited would be granted to him without pause. Of course, he would never know until after the battle that even if she was killed, she would never truly die. Once any and all damage she suffered was repaired, she would send for the victor – once his injuries had been mended as well – and crown him at the foot of her palace for all to see.
Her addition, however, puzzled her staff, as she had been through little combat in the War. She had inherited the same power as her father had held, which was the power to move at blinding speeds, and thus strike with sickening force.
She had not used it at all during the War, as her father had been so caught up being king that he never had ample time to train her to harness her innate ability. She was also a fledgling arms master, as the weapons she had used most during the War were short swords, daggers, and a bow and arrow.
The rest of the specifics were shored up within two more weeks, and so Ambrosia hurriedly moved into the next phase of her postponed incentive.
Before she put her couriers to use once more, she hired a select few hand-to-hand combat masters and experts in the art of super speed movement. Being as she wanted to learn all there was to know with regard to her two skills, and acquire the knowledge as fast as possible, she handed over her queenly duties to her staff and began a trying routine.
She worked herself to the bone, practicing on dummies in the beginning, and then sparring with her mentors once her prowess improved.
By the end of her training one month later, she could beat down and immobilize all of her mentors successively with minor exertion.
As for her other ability, she could race around the Capitol's perimeter in less than twenty seconds. That proved her unmatched speed, and as for her endurance, she could orbit the same Capitol for fifteen minutes before exhaustion prevented her from sprinting any longer.
She was poisonously certain that no male macaw but the absolute best could hold out against her, and would be ended by her eventually. If he did survive, well, she already knew the outcome.
In the summer of 37. A.D., the momentous declaration of her master plan – and the sole reason behind The Pit's existence – was ferried to every corner of the continent. Response was null for the first few months, as no macaws felt that their lives were worth risking for the queen, no matter how beautiful or powerful she was.
But eventually, opinions changed, and one or two soldiers would trickle in a month. They were given residence in a special sector of the Capitol, but were isolated from their opponents and anyone unnecessary, to reduce the risk of sabotage and cheating.
She required eight in total to fill the slots in the bracket, and so she endured a decent wait for that quota to be met. In the fall of 37 A.D., she had accumulated enough to begin the first biannual gladiator match, which Ambrosia labeled: "The Games of Destiny."
While The Pit was prepped, the fighters were given a day to train, and the day after to rest.
The night before the monumental debut, Ambrosia slept fitfully in her plush silk bed, distrustful of the possibility that she might end up with a partner so soon. She was equally disturbed by the fact that lives were going to be lost, since few of her opponents would likely turn out to be immortal, and that she may even have to end lives personally.
When she awoke that morning to the picturesque dawn, she steeled her will and told herself that The Games of Destiny were a necessary evil, and that sacrifices had to be made. She ordered her staff to amass in the arena's species-pertinent seats and the guards to alert the fighters while she tidied up.
Standing in front of the silvery deep of her mirror, she preened herself from the crown of her head to the tip of her long, sultry tail. She then cloaked herself in a short silken robe dyed crimson and purple, and applied a delicate headdress made of her own plucked feathers that were stained gold.
She made her way out of her palace and down the maze of steps and corridors to the arena far below, as the robe prevented her from flying.
Upon reaching the exterior wall, she waved the guards aside and traversed a gently angled walkway. When she emerged onto her viewing platform, she saw that the coliseum was filled to the brim with spectators, and that all eight contestants had lined up on the sandy turf of the battle area. A brief cheer exploded from the onlookers, and then she commanded the attention of every soul in the ring with a sweep of her wing.
She addressed the crowd first, welcoming them and announcing the beginning of the very first Games. After a brief spell of more applause, she silenced it and faced the rapt line of macaws, who bowed to her deferentially. She gave them a thorough speech about what the whole point of the brawl was, what would happen to the winner, and a heartfelt apology to those who would not leave the coliseum alive.
There were only two rules they had to obey: There was no forfeit option, and the last macaw standing, won.
She beckoned for them to stand, and then conferred with the team-pickers poised behind her. They studied each macaw – who they had not spoken to or seen until then, to ensure fairness – and split them up into four teams of two. They then voted on which two would battle first, and upon choosing said team, the other three pairs were guided into a hallway across from Ambrosia and kept in separate rooms to await their deadly turns.
With the flick of her wing, a special team of guards emerged and handed each macaw the weapon most suited to their abilities. The Hyacinth Macaw clenched a dagger in each foot and a short spear in his beak, while the Great Green Macaw acquired a heavy-looking two-footed sword. Jewel then checked to make sure that the archers were in place, who were given the job of shooting down any challenger that tried to flee.
When that checked out, she looked at the macaws, blew each of them a motivating kiss, and gave the signal to fight. The macaws screeched and leapt at each other a moment later. Since each was armed with conventional weaponry, the one that landed the most blows would most likely survive.
Ambrosia could not take her eyes off the two sparring birds, due the determination of each and the loudness of the fight. There were countless metal-upon-metal clangs, the sound of bodies sliding in the sand, and the occasional squelch of tissue being lacerated.
The Great Green Macaw was always trying to stun his opponent long enough to obliterate him with the massive sword, while the other was keen on getting in close and landing multiple, cutting blows.
The sword-wielding bird was agile, but the other was faster still.
The Great Green could not block effectively, and was taking hit after hit. Blood dripped from a multitude of scratches and nicks all over his plumage, and he was beginning to tire from the lack of oxygen. He grew more and more desperate, and the Hyacinth merely dodged him repeatedly, looking for the perfect opportunity to finish him.
When the brutish macaw jumped into the air and swung the blade down for a crushing strike, the Hyacinth flopped to the ground and rolled out of the way. His already-failing strength sapped from the effort, he could not react fast enough to counter his foe. He was barreled into by the other macaw, who pinned him to the ground and impaled the spear into his enemy's throat.
What little blood he had left ran thickly from the wound, and his eyes slid shut as his soul abandoned him.
The crowd hooted and hollered as the guards emerged and lifted his wing into the air, the victor smiling and waving to his audience feverishly. After he was escorted to the quarters and given water and treatment, the corpse and weapons were removed, the next team was led out, and round two of the fighting commenced.
That battle and the next went by fairly quickly, while the fourth was rather drawn out.
The Military Macaw from team two and the Blue and Gold Macaw from team three vanquished their foes by fire magic and telekinesis, respectively. The Military Macaw from team four also triumphed with his bow and arrow, but only by a hair. He collapsed after being declared the winner, and was rushed out of the arena to be examined and healed immediately.
It was late afternoon by the time the eight had become four, and so Ambrosia froze the competition until the next day, to give her, the audience, and the warriors alike time to gather their wits and relax for a day.
She removed her robe and balled it up carefully in her talons before flying all the way back to her palace. She handed the dusty, wrinkled robe and crooked headdress to one of her maids, mounted her throne, and whiled away the remainder of the day doing what she did best: rule.
That evening, she shed her queenly duties on her councils, took her leave, and flung herself onto her bed for a grossly-needed nap. She was unsure of who she would have to face in the coming days, but she would give whoever faced her a damn good fight, and an honorable death.
The elimination matches continued for the remainder of the week. The four rested macaws were mixed up into two pairs, and the skirmishes began anew.
The fire-wielding macaw overcame his opponent by heating the air to such an extent that his foe developed an incurable fever. The seizure that resulted as his brain was cooked finished him off. The bow-and-arrow fond macaw beat the dagger-user by piercing his skull with an expertly placed bolt.
Ambrosia had favored the Hyacinth Macaw the most, and had been very distressed upon witnessing his death.
After another day-long adjournment, the final two faced off, and the skirmish that ensued was the most engaging of them all.
Both Military Macaws were using ranged attacks, and they mostly stayed well apart from each other for the duration of the skirmish. Much dodging and counterattacking was performed, but in the end, the Military Macaw's arrows failed to be faster than the other's balls of flame.
Since the former had to stand still to aim and reload, the fire mage had waited until his foe fired, and then retaliated. The sphere of hurtling flame had grazed his opponent's tail, and his fate was sealed.
He struggled to snuff out the blaze, but his desiccated feathers resisted his efforts. And so it was that he had been roasted alive, the fire scurrying from his tail to his head in a matter of seconds. So traumatizing were his screams of agony and the sight of him smoking that Ambrosia could not bear to watch.
She put on a tortured mask of approval as the macaw was congratulated and taken away, grateful that he had interpreted her praise as genuine. She had a nightmare during her sleep in which she was burned alive over and over again, her immortality not a blessing, but a curse.
The next day, when she had him summoned to her throne room prior to the deciding round, it was fair to say that she held a certain hatred for the fire mage, and swore to herself that she wouldn't even give him the chance to touch her.
He asked her a few questions about what he was getting into, and she answered them truthfully. In return, she asked for his name, and he stated it to be Androkles.
Once that was done, her posse vacated the palace and jetted to the coliseum. She walked beside him to the overstuffed structure without any ornamentation.
When they reached the interior, they stopped at a random point in the sand, in full view of the observers. He bowed to her and shook her wing in such a manner as to cause her to blush invisibly. She saluted him for making it as far as he did and wished him the best of luck, even planting on his cheek the briefest of kisses.
Of course, it was all a show.
They then spaced themselves out, and Ambrosia gave the first of two orders. Androkles seized his trusty staff, while she wrapped the toes of her right foot around the hilt of her trusty short sword. The instant the guards retreated, she squawked harshly and tempted her rival.
His fire magic was fast, but even it could not keep up with the pace at which she sprinted. She dodged the jets and balls of flame with minimal exertion, dumfounding Androkles, who believed she was teleporting from one position to the next.
He could not hit her, try as he might.
When he aimed for her, she bounced ahead. When he shot once to get her moving and then shot again where he predicted she would be, she doubled back on herself, appearing as if she had never moved at all.
Androkles eventually did away petty attacks and called upon his true power in a fit of frustration, whipping up tornadoes of flame that made the arena a gauntlet of potentially instant death.
Battered on all sides by the heat that she could not avoid, and worried that the tornadoes would harm the spectators, she planned and executed her final assault. She weaved in and out of the swaying, churning pillars to confuse their creator, and then rushed at Androkles from the front at blistering speed.
Right then and there, she ended the battle.
The sword slicing through his chest and jutting from his back, she carried him all the way to the wall and drove the blade into the brickwork, the tornadoes vanishing into nothingness.
She left him impaled there like a training dummy, watching as the blood streamed from his beak. She turned away as his eyes rolled back, and gave a raucous squawk of penultimate victory.
Dozens of creatures exited the stands and surrounded her like a mob, and then proceeded to ship her all the way to her palace in a march of exultation and reverence. She stayed up late that night feasting and drinking, eternally glad that her brief vindicator was no more.
Before she hauled her drunken, food-laden body to bed, she gave her entire staff the following day off, effective at cuddled into her fluffy blankets and dreamed sugary dreams.
From that day on, her monthly and yearly activities revolved around "The Games of Destiny."
Every six months, another championship was held, followed by a month of slaughter, all in the name of privilege. The death toll of Queen Ambrosia's Games steadily rose as the Earth revolved around the Sun, and every single time, she defeated her rival.
Eight dead souls became sixteen, then twenty-four, then thirty-two, and so on. Seeds of remorse and fear bloomed in her mentality as time flowed on, the notion that no worthy male would ever claim his rightful place at her side becoming gradually more plausible.
She kept asking herself ceaselessly when the bloodshed was going to end, and she knew not the answer.
Ambrosia was incredibly close to cancelling the Games permanently on the eve of the eighth championship in 41 A.D., but her confidants urged her to hold them one more time. By now, she realized she was in too deep to stop, and could only obey their wishes, and hope.
She was in for the surprise of her life when she saw the line-up on the sand one cool fall day. Right in the middle, hunched over in a bow, was a navy blue macaw of her own species!
The graceful curve of his long tail, the shape of his skull, the sleekness of his build. All the indicators were staring her in the face. Other than that, he was as ordinary as the rest.
But when he stood and met her gaze, she swore she saw the faintest glimmer of acknowledgement behind his hazel irises. He was the first male Spix's Macaw to participate, and even though that fact had nothing to do in regards to his odds, she sensed that there was something… different about him.
She would not have the chance to interact with him personally or uncover his name until the very end, and the uncertainty of that knowledge goaded her into praying for his well-being. She was completely at a loss to assist him, and so his survival was riding on the teams he was made a part of, and how cleverly he could use whatever talents he possessed.
He ended up being on the last team to duel that refreshing day, and Ambrosia's nerves were on-edge for the entire show. His nemesis, a Scarlet Macaw, was using a staff of some sort, while his only item was a tight-fitting necklace bearing an opal amulet.
She whispered a succinct prayer to the deities above, and then ordered for the fisticuffs to commence.
She suffered two epiphanies within minutes as she discovered their concealed aptitude. The Scarlet Macaw wielded earth magic, while the Spix's Macaw was fluent in telekinesis.
The showdown was epic, to say the least.
The tricolor bird could conjure up all kinds of stones and boulders from thin air, and he even used the natural sand of the site to attack. The navy bird could match his every move, deflecting needles of rock with a sweep of his wing and shattering the large chunks of stone with un-seeable punches.
In spite of all the debris flying around, neither could seem to gain an upper hand on the other.
The earth mage's offensive tools also doubled as defensive ones, and the same went for the telekinetic male as well. They were both panting from the draining of their energy, and their onslaught dwindled in intensity. They resorted to circling each other and using petty barrages meant to tire, rather than injure.
One of them has to give, and soon, the queen chanted to herself. The spectators were growing antsy, craving the adrenaline rush of watching an insufficiently-talented bird get destroyed.
The macaws stopped circling in the midst of a leaden silence, and then chaos broke loose.
The ground began to quake as the earth mage traced a circle in the sand, and the navy bird shut his eyes in unparalleled concentration. Without warning, a menacing cone of solid rock separated from the turf and floated into the air, sand cascading from its flat upper surface.
The crowd inhaled in a collective gasp.
Ambrosia estimated it at eight feet tall, and perhaps a few tons in weight. The macaw's staff vibrated as he levitated the cone, and then gave a sharp jerk as the cone went zooming for the focusing macaw.
In an instant, his eyes popped open and his wings shot out in front of him. He slid backwards a good five feet as he slowed the cone down to a stop, the momentum exerted on his metal energy fields being responsible. He began to take one tentative step after another towards his foe, his fanned-out wings trembling eerily as he advanced.
The earth mage held his ground and did not skid in reverse, but it looked like his staff was about to be flung from his grasp. Then, the cone began to revolve, its pointed end creeping up to point at the clouds, and then tilting back down in its creator's direction. A wash of dread passed over the Scarlet's face as he tried to shoot the cone off again, but the strain was too much.
He dropped to his knees, and the Spix's Macaw blasted the cone directly at him. He was repulsed in the opposite direction, slamming into the brick boundary with a dull thud.
The jagged point obliterated the Scarlet Macaw and continued on, vaporizing into a shower of rock chips after striking the brick wall. The show-goers yelled and scrambled higher up the rows as that section of the wall collapsed into a pile, taking the first few lanes of seats with it.
When the proverbial dust settled and the queen restored order, she threw her gaze to the downed Spix's Macaw, who lay in a heap. She gulped thickly, fearing the worst, but the clump of navy feathers staggered to its feet. He stripped off the necklace and cast it into the center, and Ambrosia saw that the opal was splintered like glass.
The male stayed conscious long enough to have his wing hoisted into the air, and then he slumped to the ground once the guards released their grip.
He entered the shadowy corridor while being levitated by a pair of kestrels, and the queen breathed out a tremendous sigh of relief. That relief, however, was quickly subdued by an ache of foreboding.
Only time would tell if he would be the one to take her on.
As the adrenaline junkies trekked back to the Capitol, she instructed for the border to be rebuilt without delay. She cast a stern gaze at the corridor, floated another prayer up to the gods, and streaked off in the direction of her abode.
Every time she perched upon that platform, she could hardly sit still when he faced his foe. The birds behind her sensed that something was perturbing their queen, but she would not give a complete reply when asked.
When the four contestants became two, he was still alive. She was more apprehensive then ever when he debuted at the first one-on-match.
It was a tongue-biter of a face-off for her, and she kept her eyes riveted on the macaw. He was pitted against a water mage, who, as his first tactic, summoned a cloud to rain non-stop over the sandy ring only.
The sand turned sticky and slowed the Spix's Macaw down, and flying was also out of the question. The macaw constructed a barrier around himself that deflected the rain, but he was already at a disadvantage.
The water mage, a Hyacinth Macaw, simply stood on a small jet of water that sprung from the ground, firing spheres of dense fluid at his foe. He was not trying to drown him, he was trying to pound him into submission.
Though the orbs and jets of water were hitting the Spix's barrier and being reflected, his mind was once again weakening. He was constantly defending, and he would not last much longer if he didn't land a devastating attack on the other.
A few minutes in, the Hyacinth apparently had had enough, and sent a huge strem of water racing for the navy macaw. It rushed around him and swallowed him up, and the queen believed he would never re-emerge.
However, a sphere seemed to plow up the center of the stream, seemingly unfazed. She could see the silhouette of the macaw just below the bulge in the stream, and her heart fluttered with joy.
When the sphere reached the end of the stream, the Spix's Macaw burst out and tore the mage's staff away with a wing flick. The jet dissolved and the cloud evaporated, and then the Spix's Macaw grabbed his rival with a pair of invisible hands. The latter was then strangled to death, twitching about in the air for half a minute, and then going limp.
The Spix's Macaw let the body drop, bowed once more to the queen, and hobbled unsteadily out of the ring. Overcome by the short-term bliss, she waved goodbye to him, certain that he had seen her.
When she turned in for her nightly slumber, her heart burned with a pain unlike anything she had ever endured.
She could not imagine killing him in cold blood, but then again, there was no way for her to die accidentally. She was now a prisoner of her own design, and the only way she could be placated is if he truthfully ended her life with his mind.
She had to mask her swirling uncertainty when she clambered onto her throne the next morning. Her ruse proved useful, as none of her staff detected anything amiss with their queen. She asked for her two-tone robe and slipped it on, both to block out the dawn chill and to subconsciously attract her soon-to-be enemy.
With a simple command, she sent for him. As the guards exited the room, she wondered if she was ready to die and accept him as her own for eternity.
That fight with that blasted mage yesterday was intense, but by the gods, I won. I might have slept well, but now I am shaking with anxiety and eagerness. To meet the queen personally, the supreme beauty she was, made my heart throb.
Greater still, however, was the thought of what I had to do to gain her love. Could I kill her in order to save my own life? I imagined that I could, but that made no sense, as she was a mere mortal.
How could I be bound to her if she was dead? I supposed I was out of place to question her motives, but I made the choice then and there that I would ask her about the issue.
I had been waiting in my dim quarters for about an hour after rousing, well-rested and alert. I floated an apple over to me from the small table near the door and held it in the air, munching away as I waited.
It was very crunchy and sweet, much tastier than the produce I lived off of in Corinth, my home. I was a peasant ever since my birth, as my latent mental abilities didn't exactly entitle me and my family to any extra food or coin. That didn't matter, because my parents, my two sisters and I ran the farm, and I was proud of the fact that it was one of the largest in Corinth.
We produced more food than we needed on a regular basis, and so we ate well and gained plenty of coin from selling the excess. We were upper-class peasants, but we never seemed to have enough money or incentive to move into the city, as my parents had wanted to do for years.
If I managed to defeat the queen, I would see to it that they would be richly provided for and have all their wishes granted to them. They had been so upset when I had packed up and left for the Capitol, and the sight of my two baby sisters weeping broke my heart.
Everything I had known and loved was riding on the upcoming conflict between me and the queen, and I begged the gods to grant me this one last triumph. I was probably asking too much from them, but it never hurt to petition for their favor.
At least, I sure hoped it didn't, or I was a dead bird walking.
Once I had nibbled the apple down to the core, I replaced it on the table and fervently preened myself. I wasn't vain in the least, but I had to look highly respectable for when I spoke with the queen.
When I had combed through my tail, I let out a sigh and grabbed another apple with my mind. Before it reached my beak, the stone door slid open with an irritating noise.
Two Short-Eared Owls melted from the darkness, each holding an aptly-sized gold trident in one of their wings.
"Come now, esteemed warrior. Queen Ambrosia has requested for your presence," said the owl on the left, his voice gruff.
I nodded and ambled out of my quarters, the door grating shut behind me. I then felt the cold shafts of the tridents on my back, preventing me from turning back. We distanced ourselves from the barracks and exited through a small gate.
As we skirted the perimeter wall, the guards prodded me to walk faster. When we left the holding area behind, the queen's palace loomed ahead, at the top of a small mountain of steps that seemed to frequently disappear into the lower-level buildings.
We crossed the courtyard and came upon the very bottom step, pausing momentarily.
I gulped and asked, "Umm… I have to walk up all those?"
"Yes. It is standard procedure, warrior."
"If you have no further questions, please proceed."
Steeling my will and facing forwards, I mounted the first marble step. Several times during the climb, the guards poked me in the back, and I nearly tripped.
By the time I surmounted the last dozen steps, I emerged onto a large porch-like area, complete with fountains and shrubbery. I hunched over in exhaustion, but the owls lifted me up with their weapons.
"Rest here for a short while," they said in unison, not sounding the least bit tired.
Deeply thankful of their first act of kindness so far, I obliged them. When my pulse returned to normal, they nodded and jabbed me to continue. We plodded down the tree-lined walkway and came to a large pair of white and gray marble doors.
The owls at my sides nodded to the hawks stationed in front of the slabs. The hawks grabbed hold of chains bolted into the slabs and heaved, sliding them open with that familiar grating din.
"Move, warrior," the owls ordered.
I headed for a pair of even larger solid gold doors at the end of a small space, ever conscious of the animals milling about on all sides. Upon reaching the solid, fifteen foot walls, the owls planted themselves inches in front of me and crossed their tridents in an "X" between them.
"Listen, and listen well, warrior. Do not speak unless spoken to, and do not ask questions unless you are given permission to do so. Breaches of conduct are not easily tolerated. Understood?"
"Clearly," I replied.
"Good. Now, you may proceed, and behold the glory of your queen."
The owls parted before me and pulled a lever on each side of the path, causing the doors to swing inwards silently. I treaded into the wide room, so consumed by the splendor and artistry all around that I jumped when I felt something push me from behind. I looked back and saw two peacocks driving me forwards with a pair of spears, their gazes flat.
The throng of animals on either side of the red carpet stopped to watch me, some smiling, and others worried. My eyes suddenly darted to the golden throne nestled against the back wall, occupied by the sitting queen.
As I approached, my eyes told me once again that she was the most gorgeous bird I had ever seen.
The way her robe flowed over her body like gossamer waves, the way her tail draped over the steps leading up to her perch, the way her eyes shimmered with youth. Needless to say, to observe her in such detail took my breath away.
I drew within ten feet of her throne, and the guards called, "Halt, warrior."
I stopped, and as I had been taught to do countless times before, I lowered my head and bowed.
After staring at the carpet fibers for a good ten seconds, I heard the queen say, "Rise, noble male."
I did so slowly, and the peacocks stepped back to give me room.
"What is your name, fair macaw?" her smooth voice asked.
"Nikomedes, my queen."
"Ah, a fitting title for someone as accomplished as you."
"Thank you, my queen."
She shifted in her perch and asked, "Do you need me to clarify the conditions and terms of the match you are about to enter?"
"No, my queen," I replied sternly.
She chuckled lightly, her tail quivering minutely.
"That makes my job much easier. So, is there anything you'd like to ask me?"
I pondered for a moment, remembering my stricken family. "Yes, there is."
"Go ahead, Nikomedes."
"If I do triumph today, is there any way I can have my family financially provided for?"
She gave me a tight glare, as if I had struck a sinful chord with her.
"Feeling a little overconfident, aren't we? We shall discuss the matter later, if you happen to defeat me. The odds aren't in your favor, I must admit. But we shall soon see who is truly the superior fighter."
I gave her a hearty nod, a bit intimidated by the menace in her words.
"My queen, could you explain how I am going to be by your side if I defeat you? You are a mortal, and so your entire scheme is rather... ludicrous."
The queen cut me off and laughed a sonorous warble that was melodious to my ears.
Apparently, the peacocks thought it wasn't funny at all. I was slammed to the ground by the large birds, who smashed their scepters against my back painfully.
"You are out of line, warrior! Such insulting language is forbidden!"
The air was driven from my lungs, and I struggled to breathe.
The queen's harsh voice turned out to be my saving grace: "Release him at once!"
"But… but…" one of the peacocks protested.
"Do you dare defy me? Step away from him, now!"
The peacocks obeyed and crept backwards, their fiery gazes burning my feathers. I rose to my feet and breathed in a bubble of oxygen, shaking my head to clear away the dizziness.
She turned and stood on her feet, her tail still projecting out ahead of her.
"Please forgive their unjust behavior. Your question was valid, and it was they who were out of line."
She cowed them with a piercing stare, and then looked back at me.
"Nikomedes, there are far more urgent issues that I have dealt with, and will continue to deal with, other than death. I take it you understand my point."
I processed her reply and asked, "You are immortal?"
"Why yes, I am."
She motioned to the two rubies embedded in her skin, which gleamed as she moved.
"I will not bore you with the trivial details of my change today. Let it be known that should you kill me, I shall revive in a few hours' time, and thus our bright future shall begin. Is everything clear now?"
"Yes, my queen. Thank you very much."
"You are welcome, Nikomedes."
I inhaled sharply as she vacated her throne and walked down to me, standing a full two inches taller than I.
"If you have no further questions, shall we begin the journey down to The Pit?"
"I do not. Lead the way, my queen."
"Everyone, leave this place and go to the arena! We shall be there shortly," she ordered.
As the gates of gold parted, the creatures, flew, slithered, and walked out of the room.
Once the entire area was devoid of life, she turned me around with her wing and made for the exit. Tickled by her touch, I stalled.
She turned her head and asked slyly, "You coming, warrior?"
"Oh, yes, yes."
I jogged to catch up with her, and we strutted together all the way to the beginning of the maze.
"I do not particularly enjoy the journey, my queen."
She chuckled and replied, "They are easier to descend than ascend, warrior. Come, we must not keep our audience waiting."
Walking with the queen was touching, due to the fact that we were as different as night and day. That was one reason why my terror was incrementally growing as we moved down each step. I found it sickening that she was going to do her best to murder me, as I was a mortal, and she was not.
I only had one try to come out on top. Otherwise, the afterlife would gain another permanent resident.
We left the ending steps a few minutes later and made our way across the courtyard to The Pit. She must have seen me shivering after we exited the central corridor and emerged onto the balcony. She laid a wing on my shoulder for one sweet second.
Was that remorse I saw in her eyes? Hesitation? Sadness? I could not be sure if it was one of those, or a combination. Nonetheless, I did my best to control my muscles as she silenced the crowd with a squawk.
"Here were all are, gathered for another exhibition of The Games of Destiny. Over the few years they have been held, this macaw is the eighth to survive to this prestigious round, out of sixty-four in total. After a battle that I am sure will be visually rewarding, of us will lie dead on the sand. It may be Nikomedes, or it may be me. In the case of the former, I express my strongest condolences to his valiant soul, and those of his family. In the case of the latter, the Games will be shutdown permanently, and both of us will live together forevermore. May the best macaw win!"
She extended her wings and disrobed, her two rubies flashing with an alluring brightness.
She faced me and said, "It's time, Nikomedes. After you."
I glided down to the sand without replying, and she touched down within moments. I retreated a few feet, and so did she.
"Guards, our accessories, please."
Two kestrels materialized from the hall to my left. The queen accepted a short sword from one and clenched it with her wing, and the other slipped a necklace onto my neck.
"Good luck, warrior. You'll need it," the female said.
"Thank you."
The kestrels took their leave, and the crowd hushed.
Please lords, spare me, so that I may lavish endless adulation on myself and my relatives…
"I'll give you the privilege of making the first move, warrior."
That's either her being generous, or a way for her to prove her dominance. She must be exquisite in physical combat. I wonder what other talents she harbors. Here goes the fight for my life…
I squinted my eyes, feeling the currents of energy transitioning between my brain and the pendant.
Alright, let's try out a standard punch.
I opened my eyes and aimed at the queen, firing of a burst of solid mental energy. The air in its path rippled, and the queen must have seen it coming. She instantly vanished, and the wave of energy dissipated upon hitting the far wall.
I spun around and found her standing behind me, a grin on her face.
What the… is she teleporting? Oh no, that is not good at all!
I attacked again, and she disappeared, this time ending up on my right. I tried a double blast on either side of her, with the same results. I then tried a triple blast, and still no dice.
I felt my stamina waver ever so slightly, but I refocused it with a brisk shake of my head.
"Having trouble giving me a piece of your mind, Nikomedes?" she taunted.
"Why won't you sit still?" I retorted.
"Never!"
I grunted and fired a boosted punch right at her, but of course, it missed. It pounded the brick wall and crushed it in, chips and chunks of it tumbling to the sand. I turned slowly around to search for her, and that was when she struck.
A stinging sensation erupted on my cheek, and I could feel a thin trickle of blood running down my face.
Ow! Gah, she got me!
I then glued a thin, strong layer of energy to my skin to serve as my armor. I planned to stay on the defensive until I could devise a strategy.
When I located her, she was grinning even wider. I could see a small smear of my blood on the tip of her sword. My former feelings for her vanished. Now my mind was thrumming with frozen determination.
"Try to wound me again. I dare you."
She tossed the blade to her other wing and vanished. She instantly reappeared in my face, landing a stunning blow to my shield. I flinched and staggered back, only to be hit on both sides in two seconds flat.
My armor was holding, but it was like my mind, not my body, was being hit by Mjolnir.
I could not stay in one place as she slammed over and over, jostling me back and forth like a puppet. I seemed to be frustrating her, since her blows came harder and harder.
How foolish I must have looked, absorbing her attacks while using none of my own. My stamina dropped by a good twenty percent, and I prayed she would break off and let my brain rest.
She appeared on the other side of the ring and yelled, "I am seriously disappointed in you. What a shame you are! Show some backbone!"
With that, she vanished and nailed me with a sinister uppercut. I performed an aerial backflip and landed hard over ten feet away, momentarily dazed.
I'll never beat her at this rate! She's just toying with me! Ugh… she has to have a weakness!
I pushed myself up to a standing position, and promptly received a hilt in my back. I skidded to a stop in the center of the ring, the familiar ache of a bruise issuing from between my wings. I lay there for a few seconds, panting to replenish my mental fortitude.
I pressed my wing against my pendant, and then got back on my feet.
"You're asking for it, warrior! I am this close to unleashing my anger and ending you!" she screamed.
"I may be down, but I am not out! You'll see my capabilities soon enough."
"Hah! Why haven't you shown them already? I believe you are lying."
"Try me!"
Her face twisted into a frown, and then she was gone. I searched desperately around while removing my armor, but I could not see her. That was when I noticed the sand near the edge of the ring being constantly disturbed by an unseen force.
Could that be her? But I thought… she was teleporting! Only one way to find out!
I stared at the crumbled patch of the brickwork and set up a ghostly wall of energy, right in the path of the shifting sand. Eventually, I was swamped by a most pleasing epiphany.
As I stared at that one spot, I saw the queen pop into existence, and then vanish again. She did so about ten times a second, in a perfect rhythm.
She's not teleporting… she's… she's running! She normally moves too fast for me to see, but my energy is slowing her down enough to where I can! If I can trap her with enough energy, she'll get stuck, and then I can grab her in an unbreakable hold!
Enlightened by the flood of knowledge, I removed the wall and prepared to set up an even thicker one. However, the sand began to rise up into the air and spin. It formed a perfect vertical cylinder and reached for the sky, and my gut twisted with dread.
Oh no, she's going to blind me with a tornado of sand! Gah, I won't be able to see her and lash out!
I locked myself down and formed a bubble of energy around me as she continued to orbit around the ring.
That was a bad move, as I had trapped a fair amount of sand inside the barrier with me, and it blew into my eyes. My shield inadvertently dropped as I furiously scrubbed them with my wings, but I could not dislodge the grains fast enough.
"Ahhh! I can't… I can't see! By the gods, I'm blind!"
The sand scoured my plumage and lodged itself in my feathers, and I found myself drowning in dread.
This is it! She's going to strike me full force and cut me into ribbons! Gods, please help me!
How simple it would have been for me to give up and let her have her way with me. The audience was probably pouring an ocean of pity on me, a failure of a male who they couldn't even see. I let my tired wings fall to the ground, letting out a guttural squawk of despair.
And then my body exploded in pain.
I felt her land a calculated strike to my right wing, the edge of the sword cracking the bone with a metallic clang. Before I could even scream, she head-butted me in the chest and drove the hilt of the sword into my gut.
I broke through the raining sand as the tornado dissipated, landing belly up, twitching in agony. The gasp of the crowd was but a muted sigh, and I feebly turned my head to survey my flying appendage.
I could discern a sliver of bone protruding through my skin, a weak spurt of blood shooting out every time my heart beat. My entire abdomen ached from the blow, and I could feel the soreness of a bruise spreading across my gut.
As the last of the grit cascaded to the earth, the queen emerged and strode towards me.
Mother… father… sisters… please forgive me. I tried my best… and I failed. I failed you all. Perhaps I shall be able… to look down on you… from my future home in the clouds…
I coughed and attempted to stand, but every shift of my wing was torture. She laid the sword down at my side and clasped my throat with one of her feet.
"Just… kill me. I have… no more reason… to fight."
She began to squeeze my throat.
"The best macaw has won…"
I reached out with my mind for the sword, and lifted it a few inches into the air. As my oxygen flow decreased, so did my stamina. The sword hit the ground with a plink, and she did not even shift her focus.
"How much longer… will you let this… continue?" I moaned, levitating the sword into the air once more.
Her pupils dilated, and I felt her hold relax noticeably.
"How can you kill… one of your own species? It's like… killing your own brother…"
Her sapphire eyes narrowed in fury, and she constricted my throat like a hungry serpent.
"How dare you say that! You insulting demon!"
Her screech caused me to fling the sword into the air, and I felt it slip from my mental grasp. I tried to dislodge her with my wing, but my muscles were too fatigued to push her off.
My vision lost its color, everything fading to some shade of gray. My wing flopped to the ground, and I could not move it any longer.
That was when I saw a gleam in the sky above, believing it to be the portal to the afterlife. The gleam grew brighter, and I grabbed for it with my mind. My drooping eyelids paused as my mind snagged on something warm and smooth.
The sword… it came back for me…
I steered it with what little resolve I had left, and my eyelids sunk lower.
"This is goodbye, warrior. You did not-acth!"
The queen lurched and jerked her foot from my throat, and I felt the honed tip tap my beak tenderly. I greedily sucked in oxygen, restoring the color to my world.
I lifted my head up enough to peer around, and the shock of what I saw next jolted my system: The queen was swaying in every direction near my tail, her wings wrapped around the junction of her neck and chest.
About half of the blade protruded from that junction, slathered in reddish-black blood. She wheezed and gasped for breath, her pupils dilated as wide as they could go.
"Urgh… nnn… ack… plth…"
I've… I've done it. There's no way… she could survive that. She's dying… the queen is dying…
I stared at her stumbling form, blinking every so often. I attempted once again to stand, but I soon called off my agonizing efforts.
That was when she faced me dead-on, and stood stone-still. There were so many emotions hurtling around in her dimming eyes that I could not name them all. I was remorseful of the pain that I was causing her, but also joyful that my own pain was being avenged.
Her wings drooped at her sides, her primaries stained with the dark fluid leaking from her wound. I could see the shredded skin around the edges of the blade, and see the blood foam as the air she inhaled escaped before reaching her lungs.
She then began to gag in a broken rhythm, blood spewing from her beak and splattering the sand around my tail, and my tail itself.
Under no control of my own, my beak opened, and I said in a whisper: "I'm sorry… my queen. Please forgive me… for all it's worth…"
As my words were soaked up by silence, she dropped to her knees, her eyes fading to black. She vomited one more jet of blood, and then she toppled over onto her left side. She ceased to move from that point on, her right eye staring blankly at the sun.
For some reason, the observers did not applaud the demise of their ruler, nor did they applaud my accomplishment. Some of the spectators began shouting for the guards, while others fainted where they sat.
I rolled my head to the left, and saw the two kestrels from before emerge from the corridor, trailed by a Golden Eagle. The pair of birds immobilized me with their combined telekinesis and hoisted me a few inches off the ground.
As they began carrying me away, the female kestrel said, "You have changed Cydonia's future in more ways than we can imagine, warrior."
"The queen will be glad to have you as her husband. You should be eternally proud," the male added.
"The name Nikomedes will go down in history, a symbol of your achievement in the face of terrible odds. It will be revered as the name of a farmhand who gained an empire, the name of a commoner who became a king," the female concluded.
"Yes… that is true. I am… most proud. And my family… they will come to be more proud than I."
The male faced me and replied, "Wise words, Nikomedes."
"Unh… will you be able to… heal my wing? The pain… I can barely endure it..." I moaned.
"My mate and I lack understanding of the healing arts, Nikomedes. But rest assured, you will be tended to very soon by someone who does. We promise."
I tilted my eyes back to see the eagle a few feet behind us, the queen's still body sprawled out on its back.
"And the queen… what will become of her?"
They noted the anguish in my tone, and the male responded, "She will be examined briefly, and then taken to her palace bedroom. She will be conscious and perfectly healthy in a few hours."
I cracked a fragile smile, and they smiled in return.
I retreated into my own body as we crossed from the sandy floor into the lamp-lit hallway. I felt the kestrels' wings lay peacefully on my chest, and then I lost consciousness. The dreams I explored while I was secluded in my mind were most likely glimpses of the future. They were very disconcerting, but very charming as well.
I saw us formulating policies and issuing warrants to our councilors in the throne room, often side by side.
I saw us perched on the palace balcony on a moonlit night, cooing over the beauty of the stars.
I saw us arguing over what would be served on the holiday feasts throughout the year.
I saw us cuddling in our bed, our bodies touching under the warm, silken sheets.
And last, but certainly not least, I saw us sitting on a bench in the courtyard far below, our children play-fighting with each other and smelling the plots of wildflowers.
I had no idea how many of those fantasies would play out, but I was sincerely hoping they all would.
Just as the kestrels had promised, Nikomedes was handed over to the master healer Kalogeros. The male Cardinal – who had seen many, many seasons – applied powerful sorcery to Nikomedes's body, repairing him to perfection both inside and out.
Once he stowed away his spell books, he administered a drinkable herb concoction to Nikomedes meant to energize him and suppress headaches. Once Kalogeros's work was completed, the kestrels laid him out on a cot to rest.
They – and the Golden Eagle – watched as the Cardinal tended to Queen Ambrosia.
He closed up the grotesque wound in under fifteen minutes, taking care of her throat first, and then magically sealing the hole in her neck last. She was then airlifted to her palace by the eagle and tucked into her bed.
Under the judgment of the kestrels, Nikomedes was taken to the very same place and reclined on the bed as well. The eagle remained on standby in the bedroom, passing the time by watching over the sleeping macaws.
The ruby on Ambrosia's chest and the one on her forehead both shone of their own accord, as the space was only lit by a few artfully-placed lamps. Her burgundy blood was regenerated as the minutes turned into hours.
Her awakening progressed like one cutting up the shadowy veils of sleep, and by early evening, she had opened her eyes. She caught sight of the macaw's head resting on the pillow next to her, and an ample amount of glee bubbled up in her soul. She softly thanked the eagle for his vigilance and granted him permission to leave.
She crawled from her bed, moderately disoriented from her revival, and pulled her favorite robe from its wall mount. She graciously preened herself in front of the mirror, slipped it on, and walked over to one of the windows, retracting the curtains. As the milky peach aura of sunset gently illuminated the room, she began to organize in her head all that she would say to her companion when he roused.
The incredible amount of mirth she radiated while she stared at the horizon must have been what stirred him.
She heard shuffling noises and turned around, watching him rollover to face her, his eyes fluttering. She stifled a giggle as he yawned and rotated away from her, his somnolent gaze plastered on the ceiling. She waited until he fully opened his eyes to make her move.
She crept over to her bedside, inhaled quietly, and greeted her lifelong partner.
Don't forget!
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