Thanks to greenoak1 for the follow and favourite, and to JensenAcklesAckles for the follow and favourite also. I apologise, I must have forgotten to check if any I had notifications regarding story/author follows/favourites the last two chapters I updated. Oops. Anyway, this should be interesting...
Enjoy!
The best thing about publicly announcing their courtship, as Hilda soon discovered, was how much Ravio relaxed. It had only been a few days, yes, but the difference – She shook her head, still surprised by how at ease he was. He'd needed to take a step back from it all and so had she. He smiled more; laughed more. Joked around. Teased her openly. Flirted when they passed each other in the halls of the castle.
He resembled the person he had been before far more than he had in years. Cheerful, armed with jokes and witty comments – self-depreciating ones included – but still quiet in his confidence. She'd caught him singing as he went through paperwork of a morning and would often hear him humming as he read. He relaxed, instead of fighting himself. It changed how people interacted with him; as it did with her.
Although, from what she'd seen, it was just various members of staff wondering how she put up with Ravio and his antics. And why she still did it. It amused her. The library was quiet, save the scratching of a quill on parchment. Ravio taking notes again, no doubt. Oh, and the hissed debate Irene was having with Osfala, but she was determined to ignore that. Turning the page, Hilda sighed and read on.
There was a lot on music and magic in these old tomes, as one would expect of a society that'd built their success on the two, but it had just left her itching. Not physically but itching to see if it worked. Music was a big part of Lorulean culture – it had always been. Her hand fell to the flute tucked into her belt, and she pulled it free. It wasn't really hers, but it might as well be. No-one else could play it.
Shutting her book, she turned the flute over in her hands and rose. The desire to make something was overwhelming, and her gaze lingered on her Advisor. Hmm. She'd never sparred with him. Never had the power at her disposal. But this – it was different. Natural. She could feel it. First, however, if her plan was going to work, she knew she better get started. It was showtime, and she'd planned a fantastic one.
So that was how she found herself standing in a fitting room, waiting patiently as the seamstress fussed. Exhaling, Hilda met green eyes in the mirror and smirked as Agatha's brows danced. Was she up to no good? Of course she was. Still, this was working perfectly. The dress fit like a glove, and though it was a subtle detail, the armour, ornate as it was, was practical. There wasn't much, but there was enough.
Best of all? It was light. It was easy to move in as she stepped down from the platform, and she sighed as a maid gestured for her to sit down. She could do her hair herself, but she knew better than to protest. Nimble fingers wove through her hair, and once all was said and done, she stood. Crown returned to her head, she examined the results in the mirror before her. It still surprised her, even now. The difference.
When she'd gone from girl to woman, Princess to Queen, she couldn't quite say. But she had. Her crown rested comfortably against her brow, and she extended a hand, examining the work that had gone into the outfit she now wore. Clad in silk and cotton, exquisite and exact; down to the last detail. Her reflection spoke volumes of the person she'd become. Nothing less than the Queen of Lorule."
As for the man she'd claimed as her Prince Consort, well, she could only shake her head. Poor Ravio. She was expecting consequences for what she'd done, but what those consequences would be – she'd have to see. Her ears twitched, and she swallowed. Voices. Oh dear. Ignoring Agatha's giggle, she shifted in her seat on the windowsill, and watched as Ravio, followed by Claire and Irene, rounded the corner.
"…C'mon," Irene protested, adjusting her grip on the armful of books she carried, "You're not making sense. You don't want to add anything else to your list, Advisor. You have enough to do. And that's not including your hobbies. It's not my idea of fun, but sure, glass smithing sounds pretty cool. Gold, on the other hand – yikes. Gold's soft, as I'm sure you know by now. Why not just leave it to someone else?"
Because there are some things you have to do yourself, witchling, Amusement laced Agatha's voice. And considering I know what he's working on, it's tradition. An old tradition, but tradition all the same. He's rather particular, this one, and I can't blame him. My father, maybe, but not Ravio. Considering his status and his workload he can't just sneak out of Lorule, even if he wanted to. He doesn't, mind you.
Ravio's eye twitched. "Agatha," he growled, "I thought I made it clear that Lorulean queens – yourself included – were to stay out of my workshop. Oh, I'm well aware it doesn't keep my mother's Shade out. Nor does it keep nosy musicians out. If this is why those bets are a thing, I'll have even more words for my mother than I already do. Knowing her, she'll show up uninvited, and at the most inopportune time."
Hilda laughed. "As if you're exempt from that rule," she teased, delighting in the way his eyes snapped to her. "Goodness, Ravio, you should know better by now. You take after your mother, whether you like it or not, and there's nothing you can do. You show up uninvited, true, but your timing is impeccable. I'm positive none of us would be standing here right now if not for your actions. Credit where it's due."
Now, her Advisor was a patient man. Unfairly so, considering what his past detailed. But as he stood there, eyes falling shut, a smile pulling at his lips, she knew that his patience was running out. It wasn't overt, and she doubted that anyone else would've noticed, but she did. It was worse that he kept his eyes closed – they were expressive, and her worry grew when he shook his head. He didn't believe her.
A ragged breath; his chest heaving with unseen pain. The look he gave her cut her to the core. "Claire, Irene," he began, raking a hand through his hair, "You should go. I … I need to speak to the Queen. Alone. You both have things to do, and I shouldn't keep you. Claire, good luck finalising the Festival. Irene, please, don't let Link run after me. I'm fine. There's nothing for him to worry about. Nothing."
He was lying, but Hilda waited until they'd both left before she moved, pulling him into a tight embrace. Link was right to worry, but she knew that Ravio wouldn't want anyone around when he broke. And break he did. His strings were cut. Sobs rocked his body, his face pressed to the crook of her neck, and she could do nothing except give Agatha a pleading look. That, and run her fingers through his hair.
Trying to help him in the only way she knew. "Ravio," she whispered, voice low, "Tell me what's wrong. Please. I'm right here, love. You can tell me; I promise. I won't get angry, I won't fly off the handle. I just need you to tell me what's going on. This isn't like you. You're strong, you know that. I know that. You're not alone. You have a kingdom that loves you, silly. You have dear, dear friends. You have me."
You have us, too. We might all be dead, and we might tease you, kid, but you are family. Vion's voice had an edge to it, but when she lifted her head, she saw that his eyes were fixed on Ravio. His parents and Agatha stood beside him. And if anyone ever tries anything, you can bet your rupees that they're in for the scare of their lives. You're a Narbitt, you always have backup if you need it. Who are we haunting?
That coaxed a laugh out of the man in her arms. A weak one, but a laugh all the same. "It won't do any good," he replied, sniffling. "As entertaining as it would be to see him run and hide, as much as I appreciate the offer, it's not necessary. The damage has been done; years now. I have the scars to prove it – physical and emotional. It's not like anyone knows if he's still alive. He kind of … vanished years ago."
Fury darkened Aviol's face. Who did it? he demanded, a muscle feathering in his jaw. Who scarred you in such a way? Like this? You don't just break down. Others? Yes. But you? No. I've seen your scars. I'm no fool. You don't get those kinds of scars in fights, Ravio. I know what battle scars look like. No matter what you try to pass them off as, they aren't. They're too deliberate to be battle scars. Who. Did. It?
"…Yuga," The word was quiet, but it still managed to turn Hilda's world to ice. "Who else? Let's face it, I was a threat to him; to his plans. So he did away with me. Turned me into a magic battery in the process. Drained me of nearly everything I had. Tortured me. He enjoyed taking his anger out on me. Mainly with knives, but acid too. He found it terribly ironic, burning the fire mage. Hilarious, even."
A battery. A living source of power. Different from a focus and magic artefacts. So very different. She wanted to have the man hung, drawn and quartered; his head on a stake. Well, more than usual. Ravio wasn't Yuga's plaything to do with whatever he wished. Coaxing her Advisor into letting go of her, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks tear-stained, but she had a fix for that.
"Go find Link and Zelda for me," she murmured, squeezing his hands. "Claire and Irene too. We're taking the afternoon off. Grab those pesky Hylian Shades as well. I want to test something, and I need my dance partner for it. After all, someone has to find out if that old magic still works. Why not us? It's practically instinctive at this point; might as well make it fun. Besides, I've never sparred with you."
Something in his eyes flickered; a spark of mischief. Life. "Well," he quipped, smile crooked, "It's better than what I had in mind upon seeing you in that dress. Don't want to cause a scandal. That won't do. I was going to suggest taking the afternoon off, too, but sparring is probably safer. I'm less likely to break something. Shame, really. I know how much you like playing with fire. A little too much, if you ask me."
That was more like the Ravio she knew and loved. Giggling as he winked, she could only shake her head and shrug as four Shades turned to look at her. Vion just looked perturbed as Ravio walked off, like he'd heard something he wished he hadn't. Then again, he probably had. Oh well. Could've been far worse, in her opinion. Ravio liked to mess with people, Shades included. What could she say? It ran in the family.
And they all knew it. Humming as she walked into the arena, Hilda smiled as she felt fingers tapping out a beat against the bare skin of her upper back. He was feeling better, which was good. They all needed a distraction from what had happened earlier, and this would be useful too. Useful in determining how deeply entrenched music was in the roots of Lorule. Useful in determining how dead Yuga would be.
But she kept that one to herself. Instead, she just spun away from her Advisor, into the centre of the arena. Her namesake had oh so helpfully told her that it was the same as playing music any other way: the magic was there, waiting to be told what to do. Waiting to be shaped. How she'd put it? Like clay. Mouldable. Malleable. Manipulated by thoughts and emotions; much like any other magic around.
All the same, she brought the flute to her lips, and began to play. Softly at first, her eyes closing as she fell into the melody. Sound ebbed and flowed as she tumbled deeper, and she could see strings in her mind's eye, vibrating and shimmering with flecks of gold. The noise around her contributed to the song she was weaving, and every time someone spoke, the flecks shifted on the strings, mimicking fingers.
Everyone's voice had a different sound, a different series of notes, and her ears twitched when Ravio called her name. Surfacing, she blinked and turned towards him, brow quirked. The strings had shifted, morphed into ribbons of various colours that lingered in her vision, and she gaped at the sheer beauty that surrounded him. Gold and amber twined around him in threads, but she could still see black.
Bruises. The marks Yuga had left on him, undoubtedly. Returning the flute to the pouch at her belt, she let the conversation wash over her. Ravio was warm, familiar, but when the tempo of his voice changed, she smirked. The dances that usually accompanied such music – to call them anything but sensual was a lie. Did that make their little test dangerous? Yes. Did she care? No. It was fun to tease him like this.
"Well?" she demanded, meeting his gaze, "Are you just going to stand there and stare, or are you going to do something? I'd prefer to do more than sling words around, and I'd be terribly disappointed to find out that you're full of nothing but hot air. You're not a coward. Cautious; good at keeping your cards close to your chest, but a coward? Never. Unless, of course, I'm wrong. What a shame that would be."
He laughed, shrugging off his tunic, chainmail and undershirt. Claire whistled. "You fight dirty, spitfire," he mused, stretching. "Hitting a man in his pride. That's low. But really, I should expect that by now. You don't fight fair. You never have. I can't complain, though. Y'know how the saying goes: all's fair in love and war. This is both, so I don't think I'll be playing by the rules. You don't mind. You don't even care."
She didn't. Not when it came to this, anyway. Hello, he was currently shirtless. She didn't find that something to complain about. What, was she crazy? No way. They stood in the centre of the arena, the wind tugging at their hair, and she smiled as he held out his hand. An invitation. It wasn't truly a dance, nor was she truly sparring with him. It was somewhere in the middle, and it promised to be beautiful.
She slipped her hand into his and pulled him close. Heat thrilled through her as her free hand came to rest on the nape of his neck, well aware that she was surrounded by him – his voice humming a song in her ear, the smell of him, the feeling of his skin against hers; his fingers brushing the small of her back. One step, two, three. Spin. Return to the form of an old court dance. Repeat. One, two, three. Let go.
Alarm scrambled across his face, eyes wide as she pushed him, his arms windmilling. Ice made for a slippery surface when one was unprepared, and that was exactly what he was. At his affronted look, she merely grinned, winked, and began to play. He should know better by now. He really, really should. She didn't play fair, didn't play by the rules – she'd had no other teacher equal him in that. It was his fault.
Ravio only had himself to blame. And if he recalled, he was likely cursing his past actions. Also, Claire. They'd put no rules in place, yes, but still. Coating the ground in a thin layer of ice was interference. Glaring, Hilda jerked a hand across her throat, even as she heard the distinct sound of someone hitting the ice. Head of staff and second in command or not, Claire had no right to put her own spin on things.
Still playing, she watched him carefully as he staggered upright, certain to keep some distance between them. Though she imagined she would soon sink back into the melody, she was nobody's fool. Though he was her advisor and her suitor, he was a trained warrior. A battlemage unparalleled. His raw strength had been tempered, honed, refined, through training under the eyes of many teachers. Experts all.
Letting her guard down would be a fatal mistake. In this manner, it was a dance, a test. A test of skill, of resolve and endurance. He knew her like she knew him, but neither of them thought that the other lacked a full deck of cards. They weren't stupid. She went under, seeing strings in her head – breathe in, breathe out – and changed the song as he approached. It bubbled, sliding down the scale: she smiled.
A crackle cut through the noise, and she smirked as she caught sight of the electricity snapping about his fingertips. Heh. If he wanted to talk friction, well, he'd be having that conversation with Yuga, not her. That was bound to be shocking for the unfortunate bastard. Snickering, she bobbed a crude curtsy and wiggled her brows playfully. Friction, tension … it was all the same to her. This was going to be fun.
It ricocheted off her shield and struck a wall behind him with a thunderous crash. He jumped back, away from her answering attack, and laughed. Fire billowed, as bright as the gold marking the strings she held onto so tightly, and she sent the melody higher. Jumping from key to key, she moved with it, skirting the firestorm that rained down around her. The notes turned shrill, and when she turned, he was there.
It had been a blur of changing melodies, her vision tinged gold and rippling with the duet that unfolded.
It'd felt so fast. So she was surprised to find herself here, in this position, with him so close. Too close.
She'd backed herself up against a wall, and she caught his triumph as he pinned her against the hard surface. A green inferno kept her gaze locked in a war with his, but he failed to notice the way a hand fell from her instrument. He felt the impact, though – a gasping wheeze passed his lips, instinct driving him to fall back and double over in pain. A swipe knocked him off his feet, and it was over. Just like that.
Hilda staggered as exhaustion pounced. Soot stained her clothes, and when she inhaled, all she could taste was smoke. Her dress was smouldering, and she huffed, attempting to put it out. She hadn't escaped unscathed, but neither had he. He was just worse for wear, that's all. Extending a hand, she pulled him up, chuckling as he groaned in pain. How much damage had she done, come to think of it?
She dared not ask. "Goddesses," he rasped, shaking his head, "You really do fight dirty, don't you? Dark Realm, I feel like someone dropped a statue on me. Then ran me over with a cart. I'm not sure if you realised half of what you did, but …" He laughed, though it was hoarse. "Does it work? Boy, does it. Tell me, though, Hilda – did you have to punch me in the gut? Or was it just a reflex? I have to wonder."
She didn't have an answer for him. Not right then, anyway. Glancing over at the stands, she cringed as she realised that Ravio wasn't the only one in pain. Poor Irene looked ready to pass out. Maybe she shouldn't have come but arguing with a witch never went well. They were a stubborn lot. It'd hurt Yuga more than it did Ravio and Irene, though. A lot more. Good. No, that was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Hilda's strong, but she's not strong enough to take Ravio head-on. She's testing herself, and the magic she's using is intrinsic to Lorule. It's old, and has aged like fine wine. Very well. It's muscle memory, essentially, and she's preoccupied, so Ravio takes a beating. He could overpower her if he wanted to - he never actually touches her, notice - but he's just having fun. It's a test; an experiment - they only needed to know if it worked. And it does.
Also, let me just say that the Shades' dialogue in this is something I'm quite fond of. They might butt heads with Ravio from time to time, but when it all boils down to it, they're still family. They're very protective of Ravio and Hilda, all of them. Though it often appears the opposite with all of their teasing, they'd do anything they can to help if they're needed. Haunt someone included. They're quite serious when they need to be. They don't enjoy it, though.
They're all old souls, and if they can't have fun, who can? ...Critiques and reviews are welcomed, by the way. Feedback's always useful.
See you next time!
