Shattered
Is this a darkfic? I suppose one could look at it that way. Anyway, this story has been kicking around in my mind for the longest time, but what really gave it shape was a conversation in the Fire Emblem Writer's Guild forum about the psychological impact and consequences of being raped.
Hence, this story. I'm not an authority on rape in any sense of the word. I can't promise anything I write in here will bear a good correlation with what would actually happen were an equivalent situation to occur in real life.
I own nothing, and I do not profit materially from the creation of this work.
My vagina was green, water soft pink fields, cow mooing, sun resting, sweet boyfriend touching lightly with soft piece of blonde straw.
There is something between my legs. I do not know what it is. I do not know where it is. I do not touch. Not now. Not anymore. Not since.
– Extract from The Vagina Monologues by Eve Ensler
As battles go, it wasn't a particularly remarkable one.
An ambush by Grad soldiers in the middle of the forest was liable to completely disrupt the schedule laid down by Prince Ephraim. At the least, there probably weren't going to reach the palace of Rausten by nightfall as planned.
The standard tactics for fighting in forest terrain quickly came into play – the Allied forces moved through the woods as speedily as could be expected, extra guards posted around the vulnerable sections of the caravan such as the supply line. Archers, and those with keener vision kept a constant lookout. For their part, the Grad troops attacked quickly and suddenly, melding back into the undergrowth after a sudden, surprise strike.
Standard offensive maneuvers, standard defensive maneuvers. As battles go, it wasn't a particularly remarkable one.
Blood coated Amelia, once-knight-of-Grado-now-soldier-of-Renais, as she rode through the melee astride a snorting warhorse. Combat was almost always a messy business, and today was proving no exception. Every time she brought the heavy point of her lance down upon another foe's head, chest or shoulder, a fresh spurt of blood would spray out, further adding to the patchwork of maroon and crimson that so coated the cavalier and her steed. Offhand, she wondered how much of it had found its way onto her face – not that it mattered too much, she supposed.
In the few moments that she was given a slight reprieve from fighting desperately for her life, she mused on the fact that what she really, really wanted was a nice, warm bath – in and of itself a rarity in these situations, unfortunately.
Another flash of steel, another jerk of her muscles to dodge the killing blow, and another sweep of her weapon to unseat her latest opponent. Giving the fallen soldier nary another thought, she turned and continued fighting.
After an ill-timed strike that had gone badly for the Grado forces, Ephraim had dispatched a small group to hunt this particular cell down. They had swiftly overtaken the fleeing Grad soldiers, and now the area was filled with cries of surprise, anger, and pain.
Abruptly, the soldier she'd knocked down lurched to his feet. As she swung around to face him, he hurled a dagger straight at her face. Sheer reflexes – throwing all her weight to the side at the last instant – resulted in the dagger flying harmlessly past, and in her managing to unseat herself from her steed. Dropping into a roll as she came up in order to convert the momentum of her fall into energy she could use to get to her feet, she struck at the soldier, the sum result of her three – second ordeal a further spray of blood covering her face and chest, as well as a good bit of a headache.
That had certainly been an unexpected event – but battles were like that. Battles themselves seemed almost living, breathing things, seething with endless movement, sharp exhales and inhales, surging and ebbing, always morphing, always shifting. In situations like these, the unexpected became inevitable.
No, as far as battles went, this wasn't a particularly remarkable one.
Wearily, Amelia shifted the grip on her lance and sought her steed. From the patches of sunlight that filtered down through the canopy, she caught a flash of mottled brown in between the flashes of verdant green. With a sigh, Amelia started out for it.
She got two steps before another Grad soldier marked her as an easy target and charged her. She shifted slightly and lashed out with her foot, sending him tumbling to the forest floor.
More resilient than to be taken out of the fight quite so quickly, the soldier stumbled to his feet, drawing a sword. Tightening her grip on her lance, Amelia shifted her position as well, trying to ensure that no one was suddenly going to leap at her from behind.
Then he charged, bringing his sword up low so as to ensure that he could still adequately defend himself. Judging the strike, Amelia shifted once more, bringing up her bloody lance in an effort to strike at her opponent's neck-
"Ah!" A surge of pain blasted its way through her leg and she tumbled. Risking a split-second glance behind her, her eyes widened as she an arrow protruding from the back of her calf. An archer, somewhere, had singled her out as a target…
Snapped back to the immediacy of her predicament by the hoarse yell of her opponent, she caught sight of him raising his blade high in the air, and with instantly she brought up her lance, parrying the blow.
As the Grad soldier stumbled, Amelia's hand grasped the dagger tucked away in her belt. Before her foe had a chance to recover, the blade was plunged deep into his belly, leaving yet more dark blood splashed over the young cavalier's face.
Wearily, Amelia tried to pull herself to her feet, using her lance as a crutch. It worked – barely. As long as she didn't put any weight on her bad leg at all…
Her instincts suddenly screamed at her of danger, and she whirled around. But her wound slowed her reaction time to just a hair too long.
Struck on the head by an incredible force, Amelia was unconscious before she hit the ground.
Decapitation was a messy business. Blood had a tendency to spray everywhere – and he meant everywhere. Not to mention that the head could bounce off and roll away to who-knows-where, which made identifying the body (on the rather rare occasions where it needed to be identified in the first place) a troublesome task.
Franz stepped back from the corpse of his opponent, wiping some of the still-wet blood from his face with his sleeve. All around him, the rest of the soldiers were finishing up from the remains of their skirmish, marching off those taken prisoner and trying to find if there was anything that could be salvaged.
Returning his blade to its sheathe, he stepped forward, whistling for his steed to come to him. It trotted over, lowering its head and obviously requesting some gesture of affection from its owner. Franz relented, silently running his hand along her glossy mane.
Abruptly he caught sight of another horse – one he recognized as Amelia's. With a tiny smile, he walked over to it, casting around for her so he could reunite the two.
The smile slowly faded as he quickly realized that Amelia was nowhere to be seen.
A cursory examination of the battlefield revealed that she wasn't around – at least, he couldn't spot her distinctive crimson armour anywhere in the area.
Of course there was always the chance that she was now lying concealed behind a bush or tree, bleeding the last of her life away…
He realized that the others were calling his name, admonishing him to hurry up and join up with the people returning to the main party. He spared them but a glance before he turned and headed deeper into the undergrowth, peering intently at each of the broken bodies that were strewn about the forest floor.
They say that it's really all about power. About having someone at your complete mercy. About being able to reach in and tear from them what they consider most precious. About being able to remind them that everything – everything is open to them, and that they can claim it anytime they so wish.
Amelia wasn't sure how long she had lain asleep – what she knew was that she would have preferred to remain unconscious throughout the whole ordeal. But of course that was something that they would never allow her. Their entire purpose was to break her, after all.
She jerked upright – or as much as her bonds allowed her to. For a moment the world swam around her, accompanied by a dull pounding sensation at the back of her head. As the world shifted back into focus, she quickly glanced around. Standing in a loose circle around her were three Grado soldiers standing around her, unpleasant smiles on their faces.
"Awake at last, princess?" The largest of the three sneered down at her. "Took you long enough. One little tap on the head and you're out like a candle in a storm."
For some reason, she was having difficulty forming a coherent response. This obviously annoyed the speaker, for he lashed out with her foot.
The instant his foot hit her leg, Amelia gasped as a fiery wave of pain lanced up her leg. Of course – the arrow wound. If she strained her neck she could barely catch a glimpse of the ragged, torn flesh.
Off to the side, at the edge of the clearing, she caught sight of the arrow, yanked carelessly from her body and tossed onto the dirt. Then she noticed also that she had been stripped of her armour, the metal plates dumped into a careless pile. Further, she was tied down such that her arms and legs had been spread wide apart, and that she could gain no leverage with them.
A cold knot of fear twisted itself in her stomach. "What are you going to do with me?"
One of the soldiers stared down at her and laughed. "Why do you ask, Amelia?"
Her eyes widened. How did he-? Then, recognition.
"Arvis!" She sputtered. One of her fellow recruits back in the Grado barracks…
"Yes, imagine my surprise in finding out that the little girl of our squad had deserted to the enemy. What's more, you've become so very efficient at killing Grad soldiers, haven't you, Amelia?"
She closed her eyes, not wanting to hear the words. What Grado was doing was wrong – her convictions still stood. But the undeniable fact was that she had betrayed her country and had fought against them.
A scrap of memory made its way into her mind. An image. "You…" she whispered. "You were the one who ambushed me."
"Correct. Oh, you don't know how undecided I was. I wanted to cut out your throat then and there. But something stayed my hand. Killing you as you lay asleep just didn't seem fair. Not after all you've done to us."
Subconsciously, her breathing quickened. No… he wasn't talking about…
"The battle's long over by now, you know. Your precious friends from Renais have left you in their dust. How's it feel to know that you're the one being thrown away now? Was it worth it, Amelia?" His face twisted into an ugly snarl. "Was it worth it, traitor?"
Quickly, he walked over and crouched just beside her head. Suddenly, she felt a dagger pressed against her neck.
"It would be so very easy to draw this across your throat." The voice was silky with menace as the knife traced itself lightly across the bare skin of her neck. "Too easy, in fact. I've no intention of letting you get off so lightly." The dagger went away, presumably to be tucked back into Arvis' belt.
Amelia was panting now, trembling violently, her heart thumping against her chest. They wouldn't – they couldn't-
Then she felt rough, scrabbling fingers reaching for her belt, and she jerked away – or at least she tried. The ropes held her fast.
No, no there. Anywhere but there. No please, don't let this happen, oh god oh God help me
"You… you wouldn't…" She said softly, staring pleadingly at Arvis.
"Why not?" His voice was smooth as he leaned over. "It's no more than you deserve, Amelia. You left us. You left me." As he spoke, he moved closer and closer, until his face was right in front of her.
"What… are you… talking about?" Amelia snapped as she tried to twist away, away from him, away from the other two who were tearing at all that protected her womanhood from the world.
"You mean to tell me you never noticed?" Arvis continued softly as he reached up to stroke her neck. "Of course you wouldn't. Self-centred, stuck up little girl that you were, always trying to become best in the platoon, in the division, in the entire army. No time for your equals, eh?"
"You're insane." She snapped, mind racing frantically. There had to be some way to get herself out of this nightmare, some way to escape, to turn things around…
"Oh, am I." Arvis smiled and leaned in close enough to kiss her on her still grimy cheek. Instinctively, Amelia recoiled. His smile merely widened. "If I am, indeed, insane, it's only because you drove to me. So bright, so energetic and eager. With that ready smile and infectious laugh of yours…" Slowly, he moved downwards, kissing her neck, his gentle, measured touches in such sharp contrast to the clumsy fumblings around her nether region.
Gathering up and swallowing as much of her pride as she could bear, she stared right at Arvis. "Don't do this, Arvis. I'll give you anything you want, just don't do this." Raw fear gnawed at her being, making her buck her hips, making her struggle and squirm helplessly in place. She had never felt so utterly powerless as she did at that instant.
"Anything I want?" A low, deep chuckle in her throat. "But, Amelia, I want to see you humiliated. Broken. Defeated. Crushed. We're not doing this –" and he gestured to his compatriots. "Because we think that you're some perfect specimen, you know. This is punishment. And when this is over, I will see you dead."
Any retort that might have been formed on Amelia's lips died as she felt something invade her, tearing through the walls of her inner sanctum. A crude mix between a moan of anguish and a scream of pain exploded from her lips – until she felt herself silenced by the hard press of lips against hers. Arvis. Arvis! Arvis!
She wrenched free, spitting away the filth, her rage eclipsing her fear for the barest moment. "I'll kill you!" She raged. "I'll kill you!"
Arvis made no verbal reply, merely a thin-lipped smile that told her everything she needed to know. Then slowly, deliberately, he reached down to and began undoing the clasps on her tunic.
She didn't know how long she was trapped there as the three beasts… creatures continued to violate her, stabbing deep into her core. Tears ran hot down her mud and blood streaked cheeks.
She howled death threats, cried for them to show mercy, and as her strained will and resolve began to fail her, whimpered softly for help from someone – anyone. None of it mattered. She was a conquest – and they would claim her. Sensation coursed through her body – nothing pleasant, nothing desirable. Just rage and shame.
Eventually an innate survival mechanism kicked in – she shut herself down, refusing to allow herself to feel. In such a manner the experience became, if not bearable, then she was, at the least, able to survive. Even when Arvis squatted in front of her, thrusting violently into her mouth so that she gagged and choked, the image of her biting down, teeth scissoring through flesh briefly swam through her mind, but even then her resolve and steel had been so thoroughly beaten that all she could do was squeeze her eyes, tasting that strange cloying sensation, and abruptly a spurt of sour-saltiness that left her gagging and choking.
"Good little whore, aren't you?" Arvis smirked, breathing heavily. Amelia merely stared up at him silently, fighting to get air in her lungs.
And at last, when she knew she could endure no further – when she would gladly have welcomed a quick, easy death were it available, she became dimly aware that their ministrations on her ravaged body had stopped.
Then she felt a rough hand on her chin, jerking her so that she stared up into the face of her captor and tormentor. "How does it feel, Amelia?"
She felt defiled. Dirty. Unclean. She wanted to clean herself. If she'd been allowed to she would've scrubbed at herself, at her womanhood, rubbing and rubbing until the caked filth was all washed away.
"How does it feel to be broken," Arvis taunted her relentlessly. "To have been conquered? What happened to your spirit, those death threats, eh? If I cut you loose and gave you a weapon, would you stand and fight us? No, of course not. You're so weak and pathetic that-"
"You MONSTERS!" The cry was barely human. From the trees the small dark form of Franz exploded, blade already flashing down to carve deep into the back of one of the Grad soldiers who had been caught unawares.
As the other rose to a standing position, fumbling for his weapon, Franz stepped forward, running his foe through with his sword, twisting it and cutting open his belly.
As he jerked the sword out and let the innards spill out onto the cool earth, Franz turned to face Arvis, the last standing Grad soldier in the vicinity, eyes alight with a dark rage. The soldier seemed to know on some instinctual level that he would be no match for the berserk knight and so he turned to run.
In a moment, Franz had caught him, slamming him up against the rough bark of a tree. Arvis opened his mouth to scream and as he did so Franz slashed open his throat, once, twice, and on the third swing he tore Arvis' head clean off, letting a vomit of dark blood spray over his chestplate and tunic.
The headless cadaver slumped over, flopping limply to the ground.
As the last of the corpses fell to the ground, Franz turned to Amelia. The sight of her pale, nearly naked form spread-eagled helplessly on the rough ground caused his heart to rise to his throat.
"Oh, Amelia, Amelia…" Rushing over, he drew his knife, cutting through the bonds that held her fast. What have they done to you?
If only… Her right arm was freed – instinctively she brought it close to herself, almost hugging her body as she sought protection. If only I'd found you sooner, I could've – I could've done something. I could have stopped all this from happening… The left arm. Now Amelia did hug herself, shivering.
As soon as Amelia was freed of her restraints she curled into a tight ball. Slowly, hesitantly, he walked up to her. "Amelia?" He whispered softly. There was only a soft whimper.
Hesitantly, he reached out a shaking hand, laying it on her shoulder. "Amelia… it's me. It's Franz. It's all right now."
She felt the touch on her shoulder and flinched away at it. "It's me. It's Franz. It's all right now."
Franz…? Franz! Her tears blurred her vision, making it impossible to look at him clearly.
Franz was all right. Franz was safe. He was… he was a friend. He wouldn't hurt her.
Franz… suddenly she reached up, clutching at his arm, holding him as close to her as she could. "Franz…" She whispered.
"It's all right," he whispered into her ear, and she heard and so desperately wanted to believe it. "It's all right."
Silently he gathered up the tattered rags that had formerly been her clothes – now completely torn up by the soldiers, of course, but still better than nothing.
Then he picked her up, and began to walk.
She didn't know how long they continued like that, her head full of knotted hair and grime and blood and tears resting in the crook of his strong arms. The two of them carried on as the fiery red of the evening extinguished itself, plunging the forest into shades of blue and grey.
As they finally returned to the camp, Franz quietly circumvented the crowded areas where the campfires were, avoiding any inquisitive stares. Near the back of the campsite, he lay Amelia down in a set of rough pallets.
"Wait here." He said softly.
As he turned and began to walk off, Amelia clutched her rags close to herself, willing her breathing not to quicken, and her heart to stop hammering. After an endless moment he returned, carrying a bucket filled with water, some cleaning rags, and a sponge. Silently, he pulled a vulnerary from his pack, splashing the contents on the fiery wound on her leg and staunching the bleeding.
Dipping the sponge into the water, he brought it out again, "Stand up," was all he said. And she did, letting herself be stripped of the torn rags that were her clothes. Then he brought the sponge up to her back, letting the warm water run down her back as he slowly began to clean her. The tiny rivulets of water trickled down her thighs and calves and feet, coming to rest in tiny pools on the cold earth.
She wanted to grab the sponge and scrub it along her own skin, rubbing and rubbing until the dirt and defilement was ripped off, forever, and she could return to the purity and light she remembered, but she didn't, she just sat there, letting Franz continue to wash her, letting the dirt and filth and blood mix together with the water and running off into the ground, buried forever, never to come back.
Slowly, silently, he continued to wash and cleanse her entire body, working on her neck, her face, her chest, her arms and stomach and legs, until at last he was at her womanhood, her core, her inner sanctum, where it had been ransacked and ravaged and violated and…
"Amelia?" Franz said softly. 'Will you let me?' was the unspoken question in his eyes.
Slowly, hesitantly, she nodded once.
As he looked at it, he failed to keep the wince from his face at the sight of her flesh, raw and bleeding.
Knowing that no matter how gentle he was, he was still going to hurt her, he steeled himself and reached down, working around the outer edges, at the rough pubic hair, cleansing it of dried blood and semen, draining it dry.
Finally, as he began working at her nether lips itself, he heard her hiss sharply. He loved her too much to stop, and so he continued, washing out the dirt and shame.
At last, he stood, handing her a towel. "I brought you some fresh clothes." He said, indicating a pile off to the side.
Finally, she was dry and clothed, and the two of them stared at each other. Franz nodded, paused. "You… you can sleep in my tent tonight." Prince Ephraim would understand. I'll explain to him later.
He settled himself down by the entrance, staring out at the darkening sky. Behind him, Amelia murmured softly. Reaching down, he grasped her hand in his.
"I won't leave you. I promise."
"Mh." Was that a note of consent? A semi-delirious mumble of one falling into slumber? Franz couldn't tell.
As the night fell and universe whirled around them, he sat there, grasping her hand, staring at the sky.
Chapter End
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