A/N: Realised how rushed the original was and decided to rewrite it. Hope this one is better. Please read and review! :)
Heroes + Beasts
If Lucia believes in one thing, it is not dwelling on the past. Yet it is all she does now.
As a child she was never nostalgic. It was always tomorrow; tomorrow I'll sneak outside the castle with Elliot and swim in the lake, tomorrow I'll make a sword out of wood to practice with, tomorrow I'll climb the tallest tree, spread my arms out wide and pretend I'm a Sparrow like father. To her, the past was nothing more than a memory, but there always more to experience with each coming day –and she would experience it regardless of how many times her brother rebuked her for it.
Logan always was too protective. As children, he would often lecture her about smallest of things, such as reading stories about Balverines before bedtime or kicking a young noble boy for abusing a Border Collie. Usually she would listen to her elder brother. But on the occasion she didn't, he would tattle on her to their parents, greatly exaggerating her misdeeds. When their father was murdered and her mother, a Hero herself, went to seek revenge, his worrisome nature became that much worse. She was forbidden to leave the castle without either him or Walter and he had the nanny dress her in frocks to keep her from climbing.
Looking back now, Lucia realises her brother wasn't being entirely unreasonable. He was fifteen at the time, a man and a King who had already seen too much, while she was still but a child of seven. She couldn't see the dangers the way he could.
Innocence. What a beautiful thing it is.
How nice it must be to not know the cruelty of the cards of Fate. She misses it. Almost as much as she misses him. For all the horrible things he's done –things she can never forgive- she would give anything to have him back nonetheless. He has always shared her burdens, and without him she fears there may be too many for her to carry.
The queen sighs and shifts uncomfortably in her throne. Her body aches, though whether from the heavy golden crown on her head or from the weight of Albion's lifeblood resting on her shoulders, she doesn't know.
Winter has given way to spring. The soft rays of sun wash the walls with light coloured green, gold and blue from the stained glass windows through which it shines, so blindingly bright she can scarcely see the faces of those in front of her. The faces of the court are cast in shadow, with eyes shining from beneath the darkness, reminding her of those beings she fought long ago. Lucia turns her gaze to the intricate embroidery of her pastel blue gown, trying once again to forget the past.
She listens half-heartedly as Sir Thomas Kroll announces to the court that today she will be deciding the fate of the pirate slavers in the Northern Wastes. He is older than her and younger than her previous advisor, with long, mousy brown hair, scars raking down the left side of his face and eyes the murky grey of rain on a cobblestone street. And while every bit the solider Walter was, he is too disciplined. To withdrawn from the world. She imagines he could kill without even a trace of remorse. The longer she stares at him the more she wishes she could have Walter back, even if it would mean trading this man's life for his.
"Page will speak to free the slaves. Reaver will stand against her." Kroll declares, snapping the queen from her reverie.
The dark-skinned woman steps forward, her hair still wrapped in the ivory cloth Lucia remembers with the braids tied in a bun high on her head. With the exception of iron gauntlets and a lightweight steel vest, her attire hasn't changed much. The queen smiles. Page always was stuck in her ways.
"Years ago you promised to put an end to Albion's misery and I admire what you have already done, but Albion is still suffering. Children as young as ten are dying from exhaustion! These people need our help. To deny them it would be to break your vows to this kingdom, your majesty."
Lucia knows she is right. This cannot go on. She has worked too hard to turn this kingdom around, sacrificed too much already, she will not see it fall apart for the sake of some slavers. She will not have all she has done wasted. They may find other people to scrub the blood from their boots, because so long as she breathes neither man nor beast will overcome her Albion. She has made her decision before Reaver opens his mouth, but permits him to speak all the same if only to her his ridiculous drivel.
"If I may, your majesty, these slaves are and always will be a valued part of our society. How else would we distinguish between the lord and the peasant?"
The queen does all she can to not roll her eyes. Be it a result of his time as a pirate himself or his deal for eternal youth, she has no doubt his moral compass is as black as the heart on his cheek. To think both her father and her brother could have befriended such a man!
"These slaves are simply the lesser being! Oh, my dear, think of the coin sav-"
"Er…er, pardon me, your majesty." The guard stutters from where he stands in the doorway, face pale as if he's seen a ghost.
"What is it, Brom?" Lucia asks, kindly.
"You…um…you have a guest."
With a bow, he gestures towards the doorway where a tall figure leans with his hands behind his back in a manner than is causal and regal all at once. She cannot see his face, only the dark outline of his frame. He has the body of a fighter; lean and muscular, with broad shoulders and strong arms. She can tell he is good with a sword and quick on his feet and, for the briefest of moments, she thinks it is her husband, the King, back from his travels to Aurora.
"Hello, sister."
His voice is like velvet.
Lucia is on her feet in an instant. She wants nothing more than to throw her arms around him and demand to know where he's been the last five years. It takes all her strength to restrain herself. She is queen now and queens do not behave that way. Besides the people of Albion protested enough when she pardoned him all those years ago, she doesn't think they will care much to see her display such affection to him. For now, she will reign in the urge to hold him, but the moment they are alone is a different story.
He has not changed much in the time since he exiled himself from her presence. His dark brown hair is still smoothed back from his face, his expression still brooding and he still wears only the finest clothes available to him. Time has weathered him some if the creases around his eyes are anything to go by, and there is a new scar on his temple that says he's run into trouble on at least one occasion. In all other ways, however, he is exactly as she remembers.
She cannot help but think of the last time they stood in this room together. The day she was to decide whether or not to have him killed. His words still ring in her head after all this time. You have the power over life and death, sister. Now choose. He said it so calmly, as if he had already anticipated she would execute him. She won't say she didn't think about it. She thought about it every day after Elliot's death, but somewhere deep down she always knew she couldn't go through with it.
Whatever his crimes, he will always be her brother.
"Logan." She breathes, the air catching in her lungs.
"Forgive the intrusion, your majesty." He says as he greets his old friend Reaver with a nod, "But I have learnt some things on my travels…things I think you ought to know."
Her heart sinks. He is here for Albion. Not her.
"And there have been things happening here, brother, that you should know."
Logan frowns. He has no idea what she means, does he? It breaks her heart to know how much distance has come between them. They used to inseparable. Now look at them; they might as well be strangers.
"Surely this news can wait, your majesty."
"It may surprise you, Page," Logan says, slowly, carefully, "but there are more pressing matters at hand."
"To you!" she snaps.
The slaves, the pirates, their iron grip on the Northern Wastes…This is what she should be focusing on, not her brother's return. She tells herself it is the last time she will steal a glance at him until the hearing is over. As Lucia turns to look at her brother one last time, she sees a flicker of fear in his eyes. He masks it well, though that doesn't mean it isn't there. Lucia sucks in a shallow breath. She has seen that expression mar his handsome features once before and she doesn't want to think what it could mean this time.
"You never cared for the people of this kingdom." Page says, gesturing around the room.
"Everything I have done has been for the good of Albion. Every lie, every kill, every betrayal-" she can feel his eyes on her now even as she looks away "-all of it has been for this land."
There is silence. No one dares to speak. Lucia wonders if it is because of her brother's ability to command a room or if they are merely picking apart his words. She does not doubt his honesty or his loyalty to their country. He does not enjoy killing the way everyone thinks he does. If he did, he would have run her through with his sword the day she stormed the castle and kept the crown for himself, but he didn't.
Because they both know, she is the one Albion needs.
"So don't say I do not care."
"If you cared you wouldn't have let this place fall to ruin!"
"Enough! I will see to it the slaves are freed and the pirates punished. Now, please," Lucia sighs "leave us."
Their anger permeates the air, a bitter perfume that grows heavier and heavier the longer they stand there. Then finally Page bows and takes her leave. Soon the others start to follow. Reaver winks at Lucia and tips his hat to Logan before he vanishes into the small crowd. One by one, the people of Albion filter out of the throne room, whispering to one another as they go.
Only when the guards close the doors behind them and the whispers fade into silences does Lucia race to close the distance between her and Logan. She throws her arms around him, afraid if she does not hug him now she may not get the chance again. He tenses, shocked by the sudden pressure of her body against his, and it takes a few moments for him to relax into the embrace. When he does, he holds her even tighter. They have not hugged each other for so long and it surprises her how much she misses it.
He smooths down her hair while she closes her eyes and inhales the scent of him. At first all she smells is an expensive fragrance, then something sweet and faintly metallic. Something like lavender…and blood. The queen pulls away immediately to gaze down at his waist where, sure enough, there is a bundle of gauze under his vest. Without thinking, she reaches down to touch it, but Logan pulls her hand away.
"Don't worry. It's an old wound and it's healing fast."
There is something in his face as he says it, though she can't quite put her finger on what.
He winds a wayward curl of her strawberry blonde hair around his finger and somehow this small, insignificant action is all it takes to lift the weight from her shoulders. He makes her feel safe, she realises, as his dark brown gaze meets hers. It's a welcome feeling, what with all she's done and seen.
"Five years, Logan, and not a word."
"I had my reasons."
Shaking her head, she turns away from him. Reasons, reasons, reasons. Is that all he cares about?
"You always do, don't you brother? Avo forbid, you be held accountable for anything."
It's a low blow, but the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. She watches the pain cross his face, proud to know she has wounded him and hating herself for it just as much.
Logan lets out a breath of exasperation. Index finger and thumb pressed to the bridge of his nose, he closes his eyes. No doubt counting to ten just as he had all those years ago when they were children and she would irritate him with her rebellious ways.
"What have I done now, Lucia?"
"Nothing." she says, tired, "It doesn't matter."
It's a lie, of course. It does matter. To her, at least. He should have been there to help her to run the kingdom, he should have been there walk her down the aisle since their father could not, he should have been there to hold her hand and tell her everything would be alright as she lay screaming and writhing in agony in her bedchamber. He had told her once he would never leave her side. That her troubles were his troubles, her happiness his happiness, yet he was there for neither. He had left her to face her fears alone and to share her joys with everyone but him. And the worst of it is he doesn't realise what he's done. Or hasn't, in this case.
Mouth pressed into a hard line, Logan pulls a scroll from out of his belt and hands it to her.
"What's this?" she asks, tearing off the aubergine silk.
"Allegiances I made to other kingdoms in your name."
Allegiances? She thinks, bewildered.
Unrolling the sheet of parchment, Lucia studies the list of countries she is now tied to courtesy of her brother's dealings. Gaul, Runne, Samarkand, Narcissus, Preiga, and the Further Lands are the first in a long list of names. These are the ones she recognises at least, the ones she had previously tried to make ties with and failed.
Many declared they would only stand with her if there were a marriage involved. She might have even considered it if it meant gaining the great countries Gaul or Narcissus as allies, but that would mean marrying someone who wasn't of Archon blood and the people of Albion would not have it. They wanted a pureblood heir. There have been too many half-blood descendants overtime and they fear the Hero's blood is waning quickly. For centuries, where there were siblings with Archon blood one would be a Hero, the other would have magic of their own and, sooner or later, the weaker of the two would die. Even their aunt Rose must have had some magic in her to open the music box. The fact that Logan has no powers to speak of and lived long enough to become a tyrant and a fallen king has left the people of Albion apprehensive. Without more purebloods, the Hero line could be all but a myth in a few centuries. Who would save them then?
Lucia didn't mind marrying a Hero to put her people's mind at ease, however she hated knowing she lost potential allies in doing so. Moreover, she hates knowing her brother could secure ties she couldn't without the issue of marriage. It is both impressive and infuriating. She would not dare to make such a decision for him if the roles were reversed.
"You had no right t-"
"I know." Logan says, a little too harshly, "I know, but during my visit to Runne I heard talks of a creature."
She swallows hard, suddenly aware of a lump forming in her throat.
"What kind of creature?"
"A demon of some kind." He shakes his head, as if trying to remember, "They say it feeds on pain and death, that it can drive its victim to madness."
His words bring back memories of her battle with the Darkness. She is in Bowerstone Market again, her sword heavy in her hands, wounds tearing open with every flourish. She remembers how tired she felt, how she had all but given in when she struck the Crawler with the killing blow. Though the events of the battle are foggy, the memory of her aching body and Walter's blood warming her fingers is something she can never forget. No matter how hard she tries. She is no coward. But she is afraid.
"This thing…It's like the Crawler?" she sounds childlike even to her own ears.
He looks away, pointedly avoiding her gaze.
"They said it is its brother."
The queen sets her jaw. Had she the choice, Lucia would rather not face a creature like it again. She doesn't need the extra scars or sleepless nights –she has enough of those already- and she doesn't want to have to go burying more of her friends. She will fight though. She has too. There is too much at stake.
"Then we shall kill it."
His smiles a kind of sad, solemn smile.
"For Albion." He agrees.
"For my son."