Category: Queen's Thief

Rating: M

Couples: (at least mention of) Canon ones

Warnings: AU, potentially smut, Character death

Chapter: 11

Copyright: Characters & places © By Megan Whalen Turner, Plot & OC´s © by me

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Her waking had none of the grace it usually had as she nearly fell out of her bed.

"Mistress!?" Her loyal slave was at her side in an instant. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." Nahine let the other woman help her onto the bed again and reached for the blankets that had tangled around her body. "A dream… it was just a dream..." But she knew for a fact that it was far more than a dream. One does not ignore somehow stumbling onto a divine argument. "I need to take a walk."

Since her uncle had divorced or executed all his wives and concubines, she was the only one currently living in the women's wing of the imperial palace... aside from the small army of slaves solely devoted to the care of the residents.

"At once." She did really like the other girl, appreciating how they were on the same wavelength most of the time. She promptly returned with a heavier cloak which would hopefully keep her warm through the night-chill. "Where to?"

"The gardens." Perhaps seeing some of the rare night-flowers would calm her down.

"Ah..." She followed, as was her duty, but in the privacy and silence of their rooms she did something few were allowed; she questioned. "Mistress..."

"Yes?" Stranger still, her Mistress at least considered when she did.

"They… they say that his Majesty leaves the prisoner there." In other words, she could run into him.

"After this week, he's no danger." She waved off the concern, conceding to herself there might also be simple curiosity in there. She had only briefly seen him the first time he arrived, when her uncle had invited her to see the gift her intended had send him.

He had been proud and fierce then, like a barely contained beast. She wondered how he was now… probably far less than on his arrival.

There were only some guards as they passed through the palace, which made sense when she looked up at the position of the moon; it was well past midnight where only the drunkest revellers would still be out.

Passing into the garden, she took a deep breath of the cool night-air. Where was the prisoner again? The last Medean princess tilted her head lightly, strolling down the pathways to where she thought they kept the Attolian.

She briefly stopped at the closer of the two poles, looking up at the mechanism that could easily adjust the position the prisoner was in. He was prone on the ground. From the looks of it, they had lowered him and he hadn't had the strength to move himself into a more comfortable position.

"Help me up." She held out one hand and without question the slave helped her onto the platform. It was… quite frankly a mess. She was certain they did not clean up beyond emptying buckets of water over the Attolian whenever he fainted before they wanted him to.

She gestured at him and thanked the gods that the other just got her, reaching over the mess to poke the large form. He gave little reaction, merely groaning softly.

Looking for a place that would not ruin her shoes, she stepped closer, crouching down to have a closer look at him. He was… a mess, in the gentlest terms. The smell of blood and burned flesh clung to him.

The thought came to her unbidden and she wondered if one of the gods had shoved it into her brain; was this just? It was appropriate to torture a criminal as punishment or an enemy for information… but for the sake of torture? She was starting to figure out exactly which humans had enraged the gods so much in her dream, but as a woman she could hardly

"Get me some fruit." She looked over at the slave, who obediently left. She could see the sparkle of his eyes, but as to whether he realized that she was here was another question. Reaching out, she gently touched a cut on his cheek. Her eyes narrowed at the heat she felt. This was no longer the heat of the Medean sun, this was the heat of fever.

He murmured something, so soft it might well have been just a bare breath that escaped him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Philia…?" He had not been certain if there even was anyone with him, but the cool finger on his cheek made him believe that something was there now.

He could no longer move and even in his fever-burned brain, he knew it'd soon be over for him.

The form he vaguely saw leaned in close, whispering something. He could not understand, though he thought it could be Mede.

He did feel the lips on his certainly and the fresh liquid that passed between them.

Echoing vaguely in his skull, the form spoke again, but he still couldn't understand her. He did feel her sudden absence though, the cool fingers disappearing as the lights of a patrol appeared from the gloom beyond.

Not a goddess then… Goddesses usually don't have to slip away physically.

"Or even worry about mortals." These fingers were even cooler than the previous ones and had he the strength, he would be marvelling that this time he understood.

Instead, he only sighed in blessed relief as their cool seemed to spread over his body, even to his hands. He hadn't felt those in a while...

"A word… you are needed still… do not offend the gods, Captain. Do your duty."