Leviathan's Daughter
GoldenEagle
Author's note: I think I might have spelled guymelef wrong. If I did, please tell me so. Nicely. I'm a very sesnitive- *someone whispers in the background* "HEY! SHUT-UP! I'M TRYING TO DO AN AUTHOR'S NOTE HERE!!!"-person. *smile*
Chapter Eight
"You can't always attack, Dilandau." Persephone said, slightly annoyed as she watched the boy look at her pridefully, angrily. "You have to block and perry my blows as well. You're very good at striking other people, but horrible at protecting yourself."
Dilandau pouted even more. "But I thought I was supposed to go for the kill-"
"Yes, Dilandau. The kill. But only at the right time. It's all in the timing." Persephone muttered before taking a deep drink out of a water bottle she had set at the side of the training center. No one was about, which was good, because Dilandau tended to become over cocky and prideful when he had an audience.
"Again." He said plainly, lifting his sword. A sly smile crossed his face and she knew he was up to something, but couldn't quite catch what it was. She raised an eyebrow before picking up her own blade and facing the eight year old, towering over him by a little less that a foot.
She knew what Dilandau would do first off. She knew he would jump before they were done with the ritualistic invitation to a match, done with certain sword motions, so it was no surprise when he sprang forward in the middle of the traditional bow. Persephone blocked his moves easily, the boy sweating and grunting, yet still that smile on his face that was so large it was beyond sane. Persephone moved forward and tapped the back of his neck with the back of her sword, notifying him of the lack of defensive positioning he had. He growled and turned around, attacking her fiercely. Again she whisked by him, her blade tapping his left cheek, leaving a red mark as if he had been slapped.
Dilandau sneered in anger at his opponent before the smile etched his face and he began to attack and make a fairly pathetic attempt to perry her blows. She knew he was about to go back to offensive position and was ready to block his blows when he spoke. "So, does Folken please you?" That strange smile on his face still held. He lunged forward, but Persephone blocked his blows. Yet he could see the slightest faulter in her pattern, the sudden loss of her grace.
"What are you talking about?" She asked, giving him a weird look as she regained her stature, ready for his next blows.
"Does he fuck well?" Dilandau said as he lunged forward.
Persephone's concentration failed her, taken back by his question, unexpected. But he knew... He knew she and the prince weren't involved in the least way! Her perrying failed, his blade nipped her left thigh, leaving an inch deep wound. All hope of regaining her earlier technique was lost as Persephone stumbled, the boy she was so obligated to hurting her emotionally, making her angry.
Fed by the sight of her blood, Dilandau became more violent. It was all she could do to block the sword's blade from killing her. "Dilandau," she panted, fear falling into her eyes. "Stop. Please."
The fear in her eyes only pulled more blood-lust from him. Persephone stumbled backwards, falling, her sword skidding away from her. As she went down, Dilandau's blade sliced into the right sight of her abdomen. Persephone clenched the wound as she looked at the boy. She knew that she could kill him if she pulled out the dagger hid in her boot and flung it at him. He would be taken unaware. She reached for it and felt its cold blade. She hesitated, saw Dilandau raise his blade above her, to finish her. And although her salvation was within touch, she couldn't pull the dagger, much less kill him with it. She just stared at him, her eyes pleading. Stop. Her mind whispered the word out quietly, calmly. I won't hurt you.
Dilandau brought the sword down, but it hit an inch from her left ear, cutting of a lock of her hair. He then resheathed his sword and laughed at her as she tried to stop trembling. "Oh, Perseph, you didn't think I'd actually hurt you?" He said, the child returning in his voice. "I would never hurt you!" He said as he threw his arms around her now sitting body. She couldn't react, her arms limp at her side, her wounds still bleeding and stinging. "Never hurt you unless I had to! I love you!" He said, his voice innocent. He drew back and smiled at her, that childish smile. "I've got to go to a meeting with Queto. See you later." He yelled as he ran off, leaving Persephone trembling and bleeding on the floor.
Terrified.
************
Persephone was getting her wounds treated in the medical ward when one of the younger soldiers, perhaps her age, maybe even a year younger, ran into the room, panting, his eyes wide in panic. He met her eyes and she looked at him calmly, though her body went stiff. "Lady Per-Persephone!" The boy panted, trying to regain his breath.
"Quiet, boy, and calm your breathing." She said plainly. "What's wrong?"
"The prince!" He said, his lungs finally his again. "The one with which you are responsible for! He has stolen one of the guymelefs and escaped! Queto has already left to kill and hunt him down." Persephone was out the door by his last words, resheathing her sword as she walked, her deep wounds still open, her blood staining her clothes, and her eyes blazing with rage and fear for Folken.
*************
Folken ran, knowing he had lost Queto and his men long ago, along with his stolen guymelef. But still he ran, too filled with pain to think rationally. He wanted to be home... and yet he didn't. He wanted to see his family, but he didn't want them to see him and what he had become. The world was nothing to him anymore. All he wanted was home. Something edged into his mind and he stopped, his head lifted, the tears stopping for a moment as he sensed the presence. The cold mind, made up of broken pieces and manufactured lies. The hate at his betrayal shone clear through that soul, but a feeling contradicted that hate. One of total fear for his safety. His mind sensed her.
Persephone.
***********
Rage boiled up in the red haired demon as she pushed on, looking for him. She hated him. She hated him. But even as this rage boiled in her, she was terrified that he was gone. Dead, perhaps, or even just vanished, returning to home. She was afraid that she had lost him. The burning hatred in her red, flaming eyes felt so strange next to the cool tears that fell down her cheeks. She stopped her horse quickly, a mind within her own suddenly detected. The pain of loss stood strong in it, irrationality ruling. Yet there was also the fear of loss in a different field. The want to get away while, at the same time, not wanting to lose her. Her mind sensed him.
Folken.
Chapter Nine
Folken was attacked from behind, a heavy object barreling into him. He let out a low grunt as he hit the ground, already knowing who his attacker was. As soon as he was down, a strong hand dug harshly into his good arm, throwing him around to face his fate. It was Persephone, as he had known, her eyes on fire, her hair tangled and messy. Folken's mind faintly flickered quizzically over the blood that soaked her shirt and pants.
"How dare you! How dare you! I should kill you for what you've done!" She screamed at him, pulling out her sword. It came down, the tip stopping at the first touch of his skin on his neck. He just looked up at her, trying to decide whether he should be afraid, ashamed, or relieved. Afraid of what she might do, ashamed of what he had done, or relieved that it would be her that took his life. She would at least grant him a quick death. A merciful end. But as he watched, he was broken from his own thoughts, his own daze of insanity. Crystal tears fell from her as she still held the sword to his throat. "How dare you?!" How dare y-" She choked on her own sobs, blinking to clear her sight. "I would have let you go." She whispered, the fire in her gaze gone, tears pooling at the bottom of her deep, blue eyes. "If you would have asked, I would have let you go." With this she pulled away, rising to her knees and backing away from him, her blade dropping to the ground.
Folken rose quietly himself, looking at her lowered head, trying to see her face through the thick red hair which shielded it. Her shoulders still shook, giving away the sobs she continued to produce. Her hands drooped at her side, lifeless. Folken was mesmerized as he watched her falling apart, her self deception breaking. He knew it would return, as it always did, but he also knew that, for the moment, it was gone. Right now, Persephone was not Dilandau's Persephone, or even Dornkirk's. She was just Persephone.
He took a light step forward and touched her shoulder, standing at arm's length from her. She weakly hit at him, her fists pounding against his chest, leaving bruises. He let her pound, let her get it out. She was still doing this when he spoke, his voice changing tones with each impact of her hands. "A trader came in to the ship today. He brought news of Fanelia. My mother is dead." Folken said quietly. Persephone's movements froze, her fists resting on his chest. She lifted her gaze up, blue and clear and unclouded by bitterness for the moment, and her tears slowed to a steady stream instead of a flood. But he knew the tears were for him. She cried for him when he could no longer do so for himself. She pushed her head against his chest silently, her arms curled up and pulled against her. It took all Folken's strength to break through this barrier as he lifted his arms around her. Once the deed was done, he pulled her harder against him, letting his sobs out. They stood there for only moments and eternity alike, crying as the Mystic Moon and her companion hung lazily above them.
GoldenEagle
Author's note: I think I might have spelled guymelef wrong. If I did, please tell me so. Nicely. I'm a very sesnitive- *someone whispers in the background* "HEY! SHUT-UP! I'M TRYING TO DO AN AUTHOR'S NOTE HERE!!!"-person. *smile*
Chapter Eight
"You can't always attack, Dilandau." Persephone said, slightly annoyed as she watched the boy look at her pridefully, angrily. "You have to block and perry my blows as well. You're very good at striking other people, but horrible at protecting yourself."
Dilandau pouted even more. "But I thought I was supposed to go for the kill-"
"Yes, Dilandau. The kill. But only at the right time. It's all in the timing." Persephone muttered before taking a deep drink out of a water bottle she had set at the side of the training center. No one was about, which was good, because Dilandau tended to become over cocky and prideful when he had an audience.
"Again." He said plainly, lifting his sword. A sly smile crossed his face and she knew he was up to something, but couldn't quite catch what it was. She raised an eyebrow before picking up her own blade and facing the eight year old, towering over him by a little less that a foot.
She knew what Dilandau would do first off. She knew he would jump before they were done with the ritualistic invitation to a match, done with certain sword motions, so it was no surprise when he sprang forward in the middle of the traditional bow. Persephone blocked his moves easily, the boy sweating and grunting, yet still that smile on his face that was so large it was beyond sane. Persephone moved forward and tapped the back of his neck with the back of her sword, notifying him of the lack of defensive positioning he had. He growled and turned around, attacking her fiercely. Again she whisked by him, her blade tapping his left cheek, leaving a red mark as if he had been slapped.
Dilandau sneered in anger at his opponent before the smile etched his face and he began to attack and make a fairly pathetic attempt to perry her blows. She knew he was about to go back to offensive position and was ready to block his blows when he spoke. "So, does Folken please you?" That strange smile on his face still held. He lunged forward, but Persephone blocked his blows. Yet he could see the slightest faulter in her pattern, the sudden loss of her grace.
"What are you talking about?" She asked, giving him a weird look as she regained her stature, ready for his next blows.
"Does he fuck well?" Dilandau said as he lunged forward.
Persephone's concentration failed her, taken back by his question, unexpected. But he knew... He knew she and the prince weren't involved in the least way! Her perrying failed, his blade nipped her left thigh, leaving an inch deep wound. All hope of regaining her earlier technique was lost as Persephone stumbled, the boy she was so obligated to hurting her emotionally, making her angry.
Fed by the sight of her blood, Dilandau became more violent. It was all she could do to block the sword's blade from killing her. "Dilandau," she panted, fear falling into her eyes. "Stop. Please."
The fear in her eyes only pulled more blood-lust from him. Persephone stumbled backwards, falling, her sword skidding away from her. As she went down, Dilandau's blade sliced into the right sight of her abdomen. Persephone clenched the wound as she looked at the boy. She knew that she could kill him if she pulled out the dagger hid in her boot and flung it at him. He would be taken unaware. She reached for it and felt its cold blade. She hesitated, saw Dilandau raise his blade above her, to finish her. And although her salvation was within touch, she couldn't pull the dagger, much less kill him with it. She just stared at him, her eyes pleading. Stop. Her mind whispered the word out quietly, calmly. I won't hurt you.
Dilandau brought the sword down, but it hit an inch from her left ear, cutting of a lock of her hair. He then resheathed his sword and laughed at her as she tried to stop trembling. "Oh, Perseph, you didn't think I'd actually hurt you?" He said, the child returning in his voice. "I would never hurt you!" He said as he threw his arms around her now sitting body. She couldn't react, her arms limp at her side, her wounds still bleeding and stinging. "Never hurt you unless I had to! I love you!" He said, his voice innocent. He drew back and smiled at her, that childish smile. "I've got to go to a meeting with Queto. See you later." He yelled as he ran off, leaving Persephone trembling and bleeding on the floor.
Terrified.
************
Persephone was getting her wounds treated in the medical ward when one of the younger soldiers, perhaps her age, maybe even a year younger, ran into the room, panting, his eyes wide in panic. He met her eyes and she looked at him calmly, though her body went stiff. "Lady Per-Persephone!" The boy panted, trying to regain his breath.
"Quiet, boy, and calm your breathing." She said plainly. "What's wrong?"
"The prince!" He said, his lungs finally his again. "The one with which you are responsible for! He has stolen one of the guymelefs and escaped! Queto has already left to kill and hunt him down." Persephone was out the door by his last words, resheathing her sword as she walked, her deep wounds still open, her blood staining her clothes, and her eyes blazing with rage and fear for Folken.
*************
Folken ran, knowing he had lost Queto and his men long ago, along with his stolen guymelef. But still he ran, too filled with pain to think rationally. He wanted to be home... and yet he didn't. He wanted to see his family, but he didn't want them to see him and what he had become. The world was nothing to him anymore. All he wanted was home. Something edged into his mind and he stopped, his head lifted, the tears stopping for a moment as he sensed the presence. The cold mind, made up of broken pieces and manufactured lies. The hate at his betrayal shone clear through that soul, but a feeling contradicted that hate. One of total fear for his safety. His mind sensed her.
Persephone.
***********
Rage boiled up in the red haired demon as she pushed on, looking for him. She hated him. She hated him. But even as this rage boiled in her, she was terrified that he was gone. Dead, perhaps, or even just vanished, returning to home. She was afraid that she had lost him. The burning hatred in her red, flaming eyes felt so strange next to the cool tears that fell down her cheeks. She stopped her horse quickly, a mind within her own suddenly detected. The pain of loss stood strong in it, irrationality ruling. Yet there was also the fear of loss in a different field. The want to get away while, at the same time, not wanting to lose her. Her mind sensed him.
Folken.
Chapter Nine
Folken was attacked from behind, a heavy object barreling into him. He let out a low grunt as he hit the ground, already knowing who his attacker was. As soon as he was down, a strong hand dug harshly into his good arm, throwing him around to face his fate. It was Persephone, as he had known, her eyes on fire, her hair tangled and messy. Folken's mind faintly flickered quizzically over the blood that soaked her shirt and pants.
"How dare you! How dare you! I should kill you for what you've done!" She screamed at him, pulling out her sword. It came down, the tip stopping at the first touch of his skin on his neck. He just looked up at her, trying to decide whether he should be afraid, ashamed, or relieved. Afraid of what she might do, ashamed of what he had done, or relieved that it would be her that took his life. She would at least grant him a quick death. A merciful end. But as he watched, he was broken from his own thoughts, his own daze of insanity. Crystal tears fell from her as she still held the sword to his throat. "How dare you?!" How dare y-" She choked on her own sobs, blinking to clear her sight. "I would have let you go." She whispered, the fire in her gaze gone, tears pooling at the bottom of her deep, blue eyes. "If you would have asked, I would have let you go." With this she pulled away, rising to her knees and backing away from him, her blade dropping to the ground.
Folken rose quietly himself, looking at her lowered head, trying to see her face through the thick red hair which shielded it. Her shoulders still shook, giving away the sobs she continued to produce. Her hands drooped at her side, lifeless. Folken was mesmerized as he watched her falling apart, her self deception breaking. He knew it would return, as it always did, but he also knew that, for the moment, it was gone. Right now, Persephone was not Dilandau's Persephone, or even Dornkirk's. She was just Persephone.
He took a light step forward and touched her shoulder, standing at arm's length from her. She weakly hit at him, her fists pounding against his chest, leaving bruises. He let her pound, let her get it out. She was still doing this when he spoke, his voice changing tones with each impact of her hands. "A trader came in to the ship today. He brought news of Fanelia. My mother is dead." Folken said quietly. Persephone's movements froze, her fists resting on his chest. She lifted her gaze up, blue and clear and unclouded by bitterness for the moment, and her tears slowed to a steady stream instead of a flood. But he knew the tears were for him. She cried for him when he could no longer do so for himself. She pushed her head against his chest silently, her arms curled up and pulled against her. It took all Folken's strength to break through this barrier as he lifted his arms around her. Once the deed was done, he pulled her harder against him, letting his sobs out. They stood there for only moments and eternity alike, crying as the Mystic Moon and her companion hung lazily above them.