Sitting in her prison cell, Russ hugged Bjorn tightly and was very definitely not crying. She was far too hacked off to be crying.
"Damn that Empress and her stupid school. She's no mum of mine," Russ whispered to Bjorn.
The wolf just licked her face, and she smiled and rubbed his head affectionately.
"At least I still have you here, boy. Even if I did have to leave the rest of the clan behind. I would have made a great chieftess, you know that. Made sure there was food in every belly and that our enemies feared us. Instead I'm locked in this damn golden cage."
Instead of answering, Bjorn scrambled up and faced the door, the hairs on his back rising as his tail stood straight up, fangs bared. Russ sat up, reaching for her axe, only to grimace and pick up a hockey stick instead. All her weapons had been taken from her as well. Not that she needed them, but a girl did like to accessorize.
There was a polite knock at the door, followed by, "'Allo 'allo, are you een zéré, seestair?"
"Piss off, Horus," Russ snapped, setting down the hockey stick and laying back down on her bed.
"We 'aven't 'ad much chancé to get to know each othair. I've nevair 'ad a seestair befaire."
It took Russ painful moments to parse just what the hell the pampered imperial princess was babbling on about. Why couldn't everyone speak like regular people instead of a bunch of puffed up ninnies?
"Well I've never had a hole in my skull, but I don't feel the pressing need for one of those," Russ snapped.
There was a heavy sigh, and the door swung open. Bjorn snarled and jumped forward, which made Russ grin. Let the princess scream and squeal and run from her little pet.
Instead of gasping and fainting as Russ had imagined, Horus smiled, baring her teeth at Bjorn. The wolf paused, growling softly.
"None of zat. I'm not an enemy. Un of le pak." Horus held out her hand, palm open to Bjorn. The wolf stopped growing to sniff, seeming to be confused. Then he sneezed and sat down, tail wagging as Horus gently patted his head and offered some scraps of food.
"Damn traitor," Russ grumbled, glaring at her supposed sister. They did look disturbingly alike, if you ignored the fact that Horus was well groomed, her makeup done perfectly and clothes a perfect fit, while Russ was unkempt, her hair a greasy tangle and her clothes grungy old cast offs she'd stolen from the palace servant's quarters.
"Oh, 'e's a good boy, isn't 'e?" Horus cooed. "Vairy 'andzum. Reminds me of la dogs ai trained befaire mothair found mé."
Snarling, Russ stood up, frustrated with how hard it was to understand any of this outlander idiots and with how this stranger was treating her wolf. "He's not a dog, and neither am I, though you seem to be quite the bitch!"
Horus stood, her eyes suddenly smoldering with suppressed rage. Good. At least Russ hadn't lost her touch.
"Yur curse languaje grows tiyairezum. You seem to be un of thosé taypes zat réspects on-lee strength. Vairy well. Caré to join mé een la practice yard? Pairhaps zen wé can at last communicate."
"What, you want to practice your music lessons or something?" Russ laughed. "Or maybe dance? No thanks. I'm a warrior, born and bred, and I don't strut about like a cock looking for a lay."
"I was refairréng to combat trainéng. You know, spareng." Horus produced two wooden training sticks, and Russ's eyes lit up.
"Well why didn't you just say you wanted to have a proper scrap? Come on, Bjorn, let's teach the pampered puffcake a proper lesson."
Horus led Russ through the halls of their prison complex. The carpet underfoot might be soft, the lighting bright, and every surface covered in gold and fine things, but Russ saw it for what it was. This was a prison, meant to break her like you broke a new horse. She was to become soft and weak like these mewling lowlanders.
Well. Not Leman Fuckin' Russ, Wolf Queen and Terror of the Peaks.
They made their way outside, across tamed grasses and stone that had been carved and shaped until it was flat and lifeless with no spirit left, then back into yet another overdone gaudy monstrosity of a building. This one at least had a large open space inside, with soft matting that these fools needed instead of perfectly serviceable sand.
Russ was going to enjoy beating this princess black and blue. And she couldn't even get in trouble for it. The idiot had asked for it.
"Sit, Bjorn. I don't want anyone saying I cheated and you helped me beat this girl like a red headed-stepchild," Russ said, taking up the sword Horus tossed at her and grinning widely. She fell into her fighting stance, low and ready to attack.
"I shall try not to break you pairmanently. Mothair would bé most displeased. But it's clair you must be brought into line," Horus said, raising her wooden sword in salute.
"What, a pampered princess like you, hurt me? Piss on that," Russ laughed, and launched herself forward, sword swinging wildly.
To her shock, Horus easily met her attack, battering it aside with expert efficiency, then neatly sidestepping Russ's kick before slapping her on the back of the head with the wooden blade.
"You seem to be undair zé eehlushe-on zat mon life 'as been easy thus far. Prai tell, what gave you zis noshe-on?"
"Oh for fucks sake, stop talking and FIGHT!" Russ snarled, rounding after her opponent. So, the princess had claws, did she? Well, Russ had spent her entire life fighting for survival, first against the wolves that had found her, than against the Clans, and now against these Imperial dogs. And she wasn't dead yet.
This time, Russ was less wild and more focused in her attacks, using her sword, fists, feet, elbows, and everything else she had to attack Horus. Maddeningly, the other girl seemed to see all of it coming. She was nearly as tall as Russ, though not as bulky with muscle, and flowed like water. Deflecting some blows, dodging others, then a quick, precise strike from her sword that left a throbbing new bruise on Russ with no wound of Horus' own to show for it.
"Ai weehl grent you ai was like-lee bettair fed, educated, and treatéd than you waire wiv lé mountain clans. But do not think life as an impairial princéz eez easy, seestair mine," Horus said, her breathing only a little heavy as she continued to defend.
"When did you have to sleep on stone instead of silken sheets? When did you ever wonder where your next meal was coming from? When did you ever have to bury friends after a raid?" Russ roared, her fury only increasing as the fight went on.
"And when did you evair cry yurself to sleep at night oot of fair of lé next assassinashe-on plot? Whén did you evair strivé to airn zé approval ét pairchance even zé affecshe-on of a culd and deestent queen? When did you 'ave to plot, ét schemé, and struggle fair survival not just wiv men but évairy taypé of alien?" Horus snarled back, her own rage kindled and suddenly unleashed.
Russ found herself suddenly on the defensive as a flurry of precise, well calculated blows rained down on her. She snarled in anger and rage, ignoring the pain, and simply dove forward and tackled Horus. The two rolled around on the ground, grunting and grappling for a few moments.
"You are strong. Strongair than ai am, physically," Horus gasped as they struggled.
Russ didn't waste breath on speaking, just grinning in satisfaction as her superior might slowly was brought to bear. Then she yelped in pain as Horus did something quick and clever she'd never seen anyone else manage. The next thing Russ knew, she was pinned, and even twitching brought pain so great it blinded her.
"Zére eez maire to fighténg than mairé brute fairce. If you're goéng to survive, seestair, you're goeng to 'ave to lairn 'ow to be maire than a wild wulf." With that, Horus released Russ, smoothly standing and stepping back, falling into a fighting stance.
Groaning, Russ got to her feet, popping her aching back and shaking herself. She glared at Horus. "That was a dirty trick."
Horus raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Are you complainéng?"
"Fuck no! I thought I knew everything about fighting. No one could ever beat me. Russ eyed Horus with something like respect, though not affection. Not yet. Once bitten, twice shy after all.
"I still don't like you, or that golden bitch that calls herself my mother. But it seems this place does have some things to teach me. Like that move you pulled just now."
"Are you askeng me to téach you?" Horus asked, a smile quirking her lip.
Russ chewed on her own lips, then looked to Bjorn. The wolf wagged his tail and barked. He seemed to like Princess Perfect, anyway.
"Fine. But we're not sisters. Not yet."
"La lone wulf dees, Russ. Theré's goeng to be a whulé pak of us haire. And you'll find you'ré not le on-lee wulf haire."
"And what makes you think you're a wolf?" Russ demanded.
Horus tossed her sword aside, spreading her arms wide in a grapplers stance and gave Russ a feral grin. "Ai am Horus Lupairical, zé Lunar Wulf. You ran wild een la mountains. Ai ran wild een le streets until mothair found me. And just lik you, ai led a pak of mon own."
"So you think you can take me, city girl?" Russ taunted after she figured out what the hell this madwoman was on about. She threw aside her own sword and smiled. "This is a dance more to my liking."
After the end of a grueling training session, both girls sat exhausted on the mat, grinning like idiots at one another.
"Fair an uncooth barbarian, you are a surprizeng-lee quik lairnair."
"For a palace brat, you're tough enough," Russ laughed. She staggered to her feet, offering Horus a hand. "Come on, I'm hungry again. And do you know where we can get some proper mead? That piss they served us last time couldn't get an aged grandmother drunk."
"Zat was le finest Cadian vintaje. But ai supposé we 'ave zum ajed whiskey around hairé somuhaire.
Arm in arm, the two sisters staggered off, and Russ felt cheered. Maybe this gilded cage wouldn't be so bad, if she was locked in here with a sister.
Of course, that was mostly because Russ hadn't met the rest of her family yet.
Author's note:
As time goes on Russ's comprehension of normal language will increase, and I might tone the accents down. A bit. It depends on how funny I continue to find them.