Avarice

Chapter 37: Broken Things

You have lost too much love

To fear, doubt and distrust

(It's not enough)

You threw away the key

To your heart

Gotye – Heart's A Mess

Naveena held the squalling, nervous baby in her arms with the same kind of delicacy one would hold a glass statue. Tight, unyielding and close to her, as if letting go meant destruction itself.

"I'm sorry, baby," She said to the tiny boy. He blinked up at her with big, blue eyes. "I'm so very sorry."

The baby gurgled as if in reply. The door to her quarters opened gently, and Naveena felt as though she knew who it was without even having to look.

"Go away, Logan." Naveena whispered, her voice a mere waver.

"My, confusing me with your oh-so-very dour brother?" Reaver tutted in the doorframe. "For shame, meurtriere, for shame."

Naveena held her baby boy even tighter, feeling at that moment extremely vulnerable, as though all the wounds she had or would have ever received were on display for the deviant's gaze. She swallowed the knot in her throat.

"Reaver." She said, breathed really.

"Indeed, it is I!"

"You are a sorer sight to see than even Logan right now." Naveena said, looking down at the ground with extremely empty eyes. The area of the bed beside her dipped as Reaver added his weight to it.

"Well," Said Reaver, and at that moment his voice seemed incredibly gentle. Deceptively soft. "I am certainly not going anywhere anytime soon."

Naveena replied, her voice pointed, needly, "You have nothing to say. You've never lost a child."

She could feel Reaver's body beside her tighten, as if the words had struck him, or something deep within. Naveena's heart sank. The words were cruel, and angry, and vicious, and she felt petty for even saying them.

"Perhaps not," Reaver said, and his voice held a certain kind of clip to it, as if the words he wished to say had died on his lips. "Certainly that doesn't mean I do not…" He searched for a word. "Empathize with your situation."

Naveena sneered, her lips pulled back, but dropped it when the baby within her arms reached for the top buckles of her garments, gurgling as he did so.

"A quiet little whelp," Reaver observed. "Certainly a blessing, if nothing else."

"It is a blessing," Naveena spat. "That he is alive at all."

"Then," And here, Reaver's voice held just a hint of firmness. "You should take your blessings as they are, as they come."

Naveena snorted, her head hanging low, "And who are you to speak of blessings?"

Reaver looked at her then, with fierce, wild eyes that she hadn't seen since their encounters within Bloodstone. Naveena froze, pulling her child close, very close to her.

Reaver's voice was a dangerous, deceptive purr, "I know more of blessings than you ever shall, vous putain chienne folle."

Though she did not understand the words, the meaning behind them, the sheer antipathy in Reaver's voice was enough to alert her that he had said something incredibly insulting.

"Oh, you consider what you did to Oakvale," She couldn't stop herself from speaking, from saying anything. "To Sibyl, a blessing?"

Reaver froze up, and the sheer pain that flashed in his eyes was painful even to her, "You know nothing."

"I know more than you ever will," Said Naveena, her voice fast and rough and rushed. Tears came unbidden to her eyes. "I know what it means to love, and to lose, and to feel real pain. Do you think you're the only one who has ever suffered loss?"

"Ah," Said Reaver, and his voice held all sorts of threats beneath it. "Do you believe you are the only one?"

Naveena gasped, her breath catching on everything inside her throat as the tears fell, rolling, fat on her cheeks. The baby in her arms began to cry as well, squall and fuss in her arms. Reaver gingerly, gently, lifted the baby from her arms into his own. The baby quieted, if only for a moment.

The Queen's laugh was hoarse, rough-edged, "He likes you."

"Well," Reaver whispered, looking at the squirmy thing in his arms as though he wished it were a bottle of wine or a chunk of gold. "Best not get too attached."

Naveena chuckled, humorlessly, and then said, in a voice that seemed a near-whisper, "The Darkness is coming, soon."

"Do you believe that you are ready, meurtriere?" Asked Reaver.

"Of course not." Naveena replied. "I don't think we'd ever be ready to face something like the Darkness. Not now, not a thousand years from now, not ever."

"Ah, well, most penultimate battles against the evil forces of the Void seem to go that way," Reaver laughed, shifting on the bed next to her. He cradled the child in his arms. "Or so it seems."

"If this were a story," Naveena muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Then all would go well and we would win, wouldn't it? We wouldn't have to worry about even the thought of losing."

"Unfortunately this isn't quite a story, is it?" Asked Reaver. "And you, my dear, are not quite a hero."

"A Hero, yes," Said Naveena wryly. "A hero, however, I am not quite so sure."

Reaver stood, handing the babe back to her. He made a move to leave, but Naveena's voice stopped him.

"Reaver, wait."

Despite everything that he was, Reaver stopped. He turned his head to look at her, on the bed with a baby in her arms, looking at him with such a desperate look, so afraid and so tearful and so much like Sibyl that he actually had to stop, had to look at this woman as if he were seeing her for the first time.

"Reaver, please," She said, her voice cracking. "Please stay. Just this once."

He moved towards her, sat beside her and let her cry into his shoulder, let her ruin the expensive fabric with her tears and let her hold the child between them.

Reaver felt nothing, just a deep gaping emptiness where his heart used to be.

"Thank you." Were the words she whispered, deep into his chest, muffled so much that he barely heard them, as if they hadn't been there at all.

In the end, at night when he was in her bed and the child in his crib, Reaver knew what he was going to do.

He didn't care if it hurt Naveena, not at all. He was Reaver, after all. He did what he wished.

It didn't matter to him who got hurt because of it.

The dawn was pink, with great bursts of gray inlaid with the clouds.

"Sister," Said Logan, behind her, as Naveena looked out the window of the War Room. "Everything will be alright."

"I find that hard to believe," Naveena replied gravely, holding her little baby boy tight to her chest. The baby slept peacefully in her arms. "The Darkness at our heels, the people rioting in the streets, my husband gone, my family ripped apart… pardon me, brother, if I'm not feeling exactly optimistic about the world in general these days."

Logan sighed, and it was the kind of sigh – Naveena felt, at least – that you'd give a child whom you were particularly disappointed in.

He chose to change the subject, "You haven't named your child yet, have you?"

"The name will come to me," Naveena said, with resignation heavy in her tone. "In time."

Logan watched Naveena, and she could feel his gaze on the back of her neck like two hot coals. A burning sensation that got beneath her skin, made her feel terrible and angry all at once, a torrent of emotions that raged within.

"The commoners say it's ill luck to not name a child."

"At this rate, Logan," Naveena spat, and her child woke in her arms. "My luck can't possibly get any worse."

The baby cried, and Naveena winced, as if slapped by the sound. Logan walked up beside her, reached out for the child and Naveena, leveling a dangerous look at Logan, handed the boy to Logan.

He began, soft, "Down by the reeds, down by the reeds…"

Naveena recognized the song. Felt her heart well up horribly in her chest, a swelling that made the back of her throat sting. She leaned in close to Logan, let in a shaky breath and sang, slightly offkey,

"A twisted path leads…"

The corners of Logan's lips twisted in what was almost a smile, "To banshees who breathe out… a cold winter's breeze…"

And the child quieted.

"Three days, until a whole year's passed." Walter said, to no one in particular. Naveena was on the throne, leaning back leisurely, almost slovenly, though her face was cast in a nonplussed expression. Her eyes were narrow, and her fingertips trailed a gentle line over her lips as she thought.

Beneath her, Ben and Walter stood.

"We've got four million gold pieces in the treasury," Ben said, optimistically. "I mean, that has to count for something right?"

Naveena nodded, "We can't save everybody. This, I know. But if we can save at least over half…"

Walter cursed, "Balls. First the revolution, and now this. Albion's going to have a tough time rebuilding, Your Majesty."

"It can be done, though." Naveena replied, and she stood up from the throne. "Logan, and I can both devise a plan of attack. We know the Darkness better than most. If, perhaps there is a weakness… something exploitable…"

"Right." Ben interjected, grinning. "Clever idea there, Your Majesty." From his tone, Naveena couldn't judge if that was a compliment, or an insult. It was probably both. That was just how Ben was.

"All I do know," And Naveena could feel her mouth grow dry. "All I ever will know, or ever shall know is this: We have to win. For me, for my son, for all of Albion. Losing isn't an option."

"Oh, that's pretty obvious." Ben chortled.

"Shut up, Ben." Walter growled, shooting the younger man an angry look.

Naveena laughed, softly, a small snort. She walked past Walter and Ben, muttering a quick, "Dismissed."

Her feet took her to Bowerstone Industrial, and from there, the Orphanage.

Naveena stood there, in the courtyard, and simply let her memories roll out in front of her. It was as if she could see them, feel every thought and emotion unraveling before her like it were a physical thing of sorts. She could feel Elliot's breath on her lips, and a whispered question in the shell of her ear.

"Don't you have something to ask me, love?"

Naveena knelt in the courtyard, in the shadow of an Orphanage that was being renovated and dug with her fingers. Deep into the earth, a shallow grave of sorts. The ring tumbled from her fingers easily, carefully, rolling into the mud and the dirt. It glinted when it caught the sun, and in its own way became a blinding thing that was hard to look at or even recognize.

She moved the dirt back over it, and stood, staring down at the shallow grave of a thing that should never have died. Her hands felt filthy, the white glove sullied.

And then she left.

And the Darkness came.

The next chapter will be very, very long. And it is also the penultimate chapter, I am so very sorry to say!

Feedback is appreciated~!