Leviathan's Daughter
GoldenEagle
Author's note: You guys have no idea how exhausted I am! And I still have homework! Eck! Anyways, hope you like the story.
Chapter Ten
"You know the punishment he should receive." Queto barked back at her, enraged that she was making her point, getting her way, again.
"Yes, Lord Queto." She said solemnly and without emotion. "But you also remember that I am to take full responsibility for the boy. This would be a good time for me to do so, sir." She looked straight ahead as he circled her, standing straight as any soldier would getting a lecture.
Queto felt like punching something. The boy should be killed. Tortured for going up against Zaibach. But she was right and he could do nothing to Folken. He sure as Hell couldn't kill Persephone, knowing full well what Lord Dornkirk would do to him... He shuttered at the thought. He had learned to hate Persephone's power of reasoning over the last few months. He hated her for being so damn smart and pulling herself up above his own rank. Above the law.
"Lady Persephone, you will take responsibility for the boy." Dilandau's eyes were strict. Relentless. "Give her a view of the simplicity of punishment." The guard's eyes widened at as they realized what he was saying.
"But, sir-"
"Do as you are told, or I will have your head on a stake, you hear?" He bellowed. The man bowed before stepping forward and bounding Persephone's wrists. Queto smiled and looked into Persephone's eyes, wanting to see surprise or anger. But all he saw was a simple contentment. As if she really had won the game instead of him. He growled as she left the room. She was untouchable!
************
Folken paced the room, his legs and feet aching, along with his jaw, from the monotony of his movements. He had been this way for the last three hours, waiting for her to return. For him to hear is judgment. But when she had not, he had grown restless, knowing that something was up. It was into late shadows of the night when the door to her room finally opened. He paused and looked up at her form silhouetted in the doorway. Immediately he knew something was wrong by her slumped figure and her shaking frame. "Persephone-"
"Ca-Call Zenla." She stuttered, interrupting him. "Please. Hurry!" Her voice was urgent and he could tell she was on the brink of pained tears. He reached forward and picked up a communication unit, calling the servant to Persephone's room.
Persephone purposely fell forward into her velvet bed, immediately grabbing a pillow to cry out in. Her body went stiff as the waves of pain coursed through her. "Persephone?" Folken's voice was breathless, terrified at what was causing her to act so tortured.
"My Lady! Oh, gods, when I heard what they did to you I almost fainted! It was cruel of them. Such a child as yourself should not grow through the things that make grown men cry out." Zenla rushed forward, calling the lights on as she did so, the room going from a startling black to an industrial white.
When Folken saw what had been done, his hands clenched tightly, the metal talons on his one had screeching, his fingernails on his original hand drawing blood. Her back was bloodied and torn, horrible crimson marks flashing across her pale skin. The servant looked up at him, reading the horror and hate on his face immediately, his jaw clenched, his eyes glass. "Please, sir, get me some rags and warm water. Quickly!" The small lady said. Folken stood frozen in his place for a few seconds, still stuck in one place by the sight of her wounds, before he obeyed, moving quickly and doing as he was told. When he returned with the water and rags, the old woman spoke again. "Now, go to my bag. In there will be a needle and some tough, plastic like string. Bring me some of that. Oh, and find some hard liquor in the room, boy. Have her drink some of that. I have nothing to take the pain away for when I stitch her up."
Folken felt sick as he carried out her wishes, his mind stumbling too often to rationalize what was going on and why. All he knew was that she was hurt. Hurt so bad that she couldn't even help herself. Folken's goddess of intimidation and strength was laying in shambles, crying out as Zenla cleaned her wounds. Folken laid down the things he had been asked to bring and knelt on his knees by her bed.
Persephone turned her head so she could look at him. She smiled slightly, her face flickering with pain even as she did so. She couldn't say anything, her jaws were clenched too tight. She was trying to tell him it was okay. He didn't believe her. He gripped her hand and she held it tightly, her fingernails sinking into his skin as she whimpered out. Her eyes closed, her mind pushed far from the room by her agony.
"What did they do to her?" Folken asked, forcing himself to look over her back, knowing it was his fault.
Zenla looked at him for a moment, pausing from her cleaning of Persephone's back, before she spoke grimly and quietly. "They call it the 'Simplicity of Punishment'. Some of the soldiers of Zaibach have been punished by it. They take a whip and tie in pieces of broken glass and rocks and metal. They use that to whip the soldier's back bloody. Then they pour salt into it, and once the person's pain has faded from the first session, they pour in more salt. They do this till you pass out. I must clean the wound well, make sure there is no glass in it or mounds of salt to avoid infection." Zenla said quietly. "It is very painful. It is a punishment for the strong. It would kill those who are too weak."
Folken was shaking so badly that the servant had to speak her request three times before he heard her. "Hand me the needle and thread and give her some of the alcohol. This is the worst of the process." Folken did as he was told and he felt as if someone were pouring salt into his own open wounds with each and every scream that echoed from Persephone's lips.
**************
Zenla had long ago left, leaving the two behind her, Persephone's hand still wrapped tightly around Folken's, his metal claw holding him up. They had long ago fallen asleep, both exhausted from the day's pains. The first rays of dawn were making their way across a desolate, desert land when Folken felt a stirring next to him. He awoke, finding blue eyes staring back at him only a few inches away. They stayed that way for a few minutes before Persephone spoke. "Come." She slowly pushed herself up, pulling Folken's hand along with her. He moved slowly, his body stiff from the position he had been laying in, but she also went slow, her back still so intense with pain that it hurt to breath.
"Where are we going?" He asked softly, the early morning light beckoning for quiet.
"Anywhere." She murmured, not releasing his hold. They walked silently into the empty hallway outside, Persephone's night gown open in the back, revealing her torn back. But among her recent wounds, Folken noticed white patches. Scars that stood out on her delicate frame. Its color reminded him of the one on her cheek, in the shape of a feather.
"What happened to your back? I mean, before... Last night." She stopped walking and turned, her eyes hesitant, her face nervous.
"Come." She muttered. "We will talk about it when we get there."
"Get where?"
Persephone pulled him into another hallway before going to its end and punching in the code to open a locked door. The door slid open noiselessly and she pulled him inside. In the first blue shades of dawn, he could barely make out a small and sleeping form. He blinked once, twice, before he let go of Persephone's hand. She walked over to the sleeping form and lay down next to him, resting her head on his chest. The child stirred and smiled under her touch pleasantly, drawing near to her warmth.
"Why are we here?" Folken hissed out, his mind coming up with horrible punishments which could be given for sneaking around in Lord Dilandau's room while he was asleep.
"Don't be afraid, Folken. He wakes at a certain time, every morning, like a machine. Very little can wake him up before schedule." Persephone muttered, letting herself get lulled into a peaceful daze by the gentle heartbeats of Dilandau. "Sometimes I feel as if he calls out to me, and I come and just lay here until the sun comes up, listening to him breath."
Folken stood, frozen, for a few seconds, before he moved over to a chair not far from the bed. Another few seconds of silence dwelled before Persephone spoke, waking herself from the sounds of Dilandau's life. "There was a fire. When I was very young. That is how I got the scars. I remember a horrible nightmare, and when I woke, my world was on fire." Persephone muttered. "Something happened that night I... I just don't know what. My parents died. My world... My home evaporated into thin air." She snuggled deeper into Dilandau's chest and he shifted contentedly beneath her.
Folken was unsure of what to say, but Persephone was not done yet. "He's the first family I've had since the fire." She said and he slowly realized that she was speaking of Dilandau. He stared at the boy in her arms quietly and thoughtfully. Another pause went by before Persephone spoke again. "Have you ever had that feeling, that knowing of something, that you can tell it's going to happen before it actually does?"
Folken thought about it for a second before he spoke, sincerely. "No. My mother did, though. She was very good at seeing the things that were going to be." At mention of his mother, he felt a strange pang of loss and emptiness.
"Folken," Persephone said, seriously, as if she were speaking an undeniable truth. He met her eyes in the dim light. "Dilandau will kill me." It was simply said, like a well known fact. Folken felt like he had been slapped across the face.
"What?" He asked, his voice rising a bit.
"I said, Dilandau will kill me. I know he will. I can feel it. Maybe not today or within the next year, but in the end, it will be him." She muttered.
"Then why don't you leave?!" Persephone gave Folken a hard look at his raised voice, a slightly annoyed look as she looked back down on the child sleeping in her arms.
"For the same reason a person may stay in their homes even as they know a flood is coming to wipe them away." She said, her eyes still on Dilandau. "I have put my heart in him. He is my home."
*************
They had left Dilandau's room quietly, each slipping off to their own rooms. When Persephone reached hers, she found a group of Zaibach soldiers waiting for her. One stepped forward, a scroll in his hand. "Persephone?" He asked gruffly.
"Yes?"
"Lord Dornkirk requests you come see him immediately for training. We already have your things ready. Come with me, Lady Persephone. We are to leave right away." And they did so. She had no time to say good bye to either Dilandau or Folken, which was good, any ways. She was terrible at good-byes.
GoldenEagle
Author's note: You guys have no idea how exhausted I am! And I still have homework! Eck! Anyways, hope you like the story.
Chapter Ten
"You know the punishment he should receive." Queto barked back at her, enraged that she was making her point, getting her way, again.
"Yes, Lord Queto." She said solemnly and without emotion. "But you also remember that I am to take full responsibility for the boy. This would be a good time for me to do so, sir." She looked straight ahead as he circled her, standing straight as any soldier would getting a lecture.
Queto felt like punching something. The boy should be killed. Tortured for going up against Zaibach. But she was right and he could do nothing to Folken. He sure as Hell couldn't kill Persephone, knowing full well what Lord Dornkirk would do to him... He shuttered at the thought. He had learned to hate Persephone's power of reasoning over the last few months. He hated her for being so damn smart and pulling herself up above his own rank. Above the law.
"Lady Persephone, you will take responsibility for the boy." Dilandau's eyes were strict. Relentless. "Give her a view of the simplicity of punishment." The guard's eyes widened at as they realized what he was saying.
"But, sir-"
"Do as you are told, or I will have your head on a stake, you hear?" He bellowed. The man bowed before stepping forward and bounding Persephone's wrists. Queto smiled and looked into Persephone's eyes, wanting to see surprise or anger. But all he saw was a simple contentment. As if she really had won the game instead of him. He growled as she left the room. She was untouchable!
************
Folken paced the room, his legs and feet aching, along with his jaw, from the monotony of his movements. He had been this way for the last three hours, waiting for her to return. For him to hear is judgment. But when she had not, he had grown restless, knowing that something was up. It was into late shadows of the night when the door to her room finally opened. He paused and looked up at her form silhouetted in the doorway. Immediately he knew something was wrong by her slumped figure and her shaking frame. "Persephone-"
"Ca-Call Zenla." She stuttered, interrupting him. "Please. Hurry!" Her voice was urgent and he could tell she was on the brink of pained tears. He reached forward and picked up a communication unit, calling the servant to Persephone's room.
Persephone purposely fell forward into her velvet bed, immediately grabbing a pillow to cry out in. Her body went stiff as the waves of pain coursed through her. "Persephone?" Folken's voice was breathless, terrified at what was causing her to act so tortured.
"My Lady! Oh, gods, when I heard what they did to you I almost fainted! It was cruel of them. Such a child as yourself should not grow through the things that make grown men cry out." Zenla rushed forward, calling the lights on as she did so, the room going from a startling black to an industrial white.
When Folken saw what had been done, his hands clenched tightly, the metal talons on his one had screeching, his fingernails on his original hand drawing blood. Her back was bloodied and torn, horrible crimson marks flashing across her pale skin. The servant looked up at him, reading the horror and hate on his face immediately, his jaw clenched, his eyes glass. "Please, sir, get me some rags and warm water. Quickly!" The small lady said. Folken stood frozen in his place for a few seconds, still stuck in one place by the sight of her wounds, before he obeyed, moving quickly and doing as he was told. When he returned with the water and rags, the old woman spoke again. "Now, go to my bag. In there will be a needle and some tough, plastic like string. Bring me some of that. Oh, and find some hard liquor in the room, boy. Have her drink some of that. I have nothing to take the pain away for when I stitch her up."
Folken felt sick as he carried out her wishes, his mind stumbling too often to rationalize what was going on and why. All he knew was that she was hurt. Hurt so bad that she couldn't even help herself. Folken's goddess of intimidation and strength was laying in shambles, crying out as Zenla cleaned her wounds. Folken laid down the things he had been asked to bring and knelt on his knees by her bed.
Persephone turned her head so she could look at him. She smiled slightly, her face flickering with pain even as she did so. She couldn't say anything, her jaws were clenched too tight. She was trying to tell him it was okay. He didn't believe her. He gripped her hand and she held it tightly, her fingernails sinking into his skin as she whimpered out. Her eyes closed, her mind pushed far from the room by her agony.
"What did they do to her?" Folken asked, forcing himself to look over her back, knowing it was his fault.
Zenla looked at him for a moment, pausing from her cleaning of Persephone's back, before she spoke grimly and quietly. "They call it the 'Simplicity of Punishment'. Some of the soldiers of Zaibach have been punished by it. They take a whip and tie in pieces of broken glass and rocks and metal. They use that to whip the soldier's back bloody. Then they pour salt into it, and once the person's pain has faded from the first session, they pour in more salt. They do this till you pass out. I must clean the wound well, make sure there is no glass in it or mounds of salt to avoid infection." Zenla said quietly. "It is very painful. It is a punishment for the strong. It would kill those who are too weak."
Folken was shaking so badly that the servant had to speak her request three times before he heard her. "Hand me the needle and thread and give her some of the alcohol. This is the worst of the process." Folken did as he was told and he felt as if someone were pouring salt into his own open wounds with each and every scream that echoed from Persephone's lips.
**************
Zenla had long ago left, leaving the two behind her, Persephone's hand still wrapped tightly around Folken's, his metal claw holding him up. They had long ago fallen asleep, both exhausted from the day's pains. The first rays of dawn were making their way across a desolate, desert land when Folken felt a stirring next to him. He awoke, finding blue eyes staring back at him only a few inches away. They stayed that way for a few minutes before Persephone spoke. "Come." She slowly pushed herself up, pulling Folken's hand along with her. He moved slowly, his body stiff from the position he had been laying in, but she also went slow, her back still so intense with pain that it hurt to breath.
"Where are we going?" He asked softly, the early morning light beckoning for quiet.
"Anywhere." She murmured, not releasing his hold. They walked silently into the empty hallway outside, Persephone's night gown open in the back, revealing her torn back. But among her recent wounds, Folken noticed white patches. Scars that stood out on her delicate frame. Its color reminded him of the one on her cheek, in the shape of a feather.
"What happened to your back? I mean, before... Last night." She stopped walking and turned, her eyes hesitant, her face nervous.
"Come." She muttered. "We will talk about it when we get there."
"Get where?"
Persephone pulled him into another hallway before going to its end and punching in the code to open a locked door. The door slid open noiselessly and she pulled him inside. In the first blue shades of dawn, he could barely make out a small and sleeping form. He blinked once, twice, before he let go of Persephone's hand. She walked over to the sleeping form and lay down next to him, resting her head on his chest. The child stirred and smiled under her touch pleasantly, drawing near to her warmth.
"Why are we here?" Folken hissed out, his mind coming up with horrible punishments which could be given for sneaking around in Lord Dilandau's room while he was asleep.
"Don't be afraid, Folken. He wakes at a certain time, every morning, like a machine. Very little can wake him up before schedule." Persephone muttered, letting herself get lulled into a peaceful daze by the gentle heartbeats of Dilandau. "Sometimes I feel as if he calls out to me, and I come and just lay here until the sun comes up, listening to him breath."
Folken stood, frozen, for a few seconds, before he moved over to a chair not far from the bed. Another few seconds of silence dwelled before Persephone spoke, waking herself from the sounds of Dilandau's life. "There was a fire. When I was very young. That is how I got the scars. I remember a horrible nightmare, and when I woke, my world was on fire." Persephone muttered. "Something happened that night I... I just don't know what. My parents died. My world... My home evaporated into thin air." She snuggled deeper into Dilandau's chest and he shifted contentedly beneath her.
Folken was unsure of what to say, but Persephone was not done yet. "He's the first family I've had since the fire." She said and he slowly realized that she was speaking of Dilandau. He stared at the boy in her arms quietly and thoughtfully. Another pause went by before Persephone spoke again. "Have you ever had that feeling, that knowing of something, that you can tell it's going to happen before it actually does?"
Folken thought about it for a second before he spoke, sincerely. "No. My mother did, though. She was very good at seeing the things that were going to be." At mention of his mother, he felt a strange pang of loss and emptiness.
"Folken," Persephone said, seriously, as if she were speaking an undeniable truth. He met her eyes in the dim light. "Dilandau will kill me." It was simply said, like a well known fact. Folken felt like he had been slapped across the face.
"What?" He asked, his voice rising a bit.
"I said, Dilandau will kill me. I know he will. I can feel it. Maybe not today or within the next year, but in the end, it will be him." She muttered.
"Then why don't you leave?!" Persephone gave Folken a hard look at his raised voice, a slightly annoyed look as she looked back down on the child sleeping in her arms.
"For the same reason a person may stay in their homes even as they know a flood is coming to wipe them away." She said, her eyes still on Dilandau. "I have put my heart in him. He is my home."
*************
They had left Dilandau's room quietly, each slipping off to their own rooms. When Persephone reached hers, she found a group of Zaibach soldiers waiting for her. One stepped forward, a scroll in his hand. "Persephone?" He asked gruffly.
"Yes?"
"Lord Dornkirk requests you come see him immediately for training. We already have your things ready. Come with me, Lady Persephone. We are to leave right away." And they did so. She had no time to say good bye to either Dilandau or Folken, which was good, any ways. She was terrible at good-byes.