Author's Note: Mary Mcdonald POV, looking in on a glimpse of Sirius/Remus's relationship. Set vaguely after RUN.
No Warnings Necessary.
Moroth's Ruler
Moroth's ruler is dainty, afraid, and far too young to bear the weight of her mother's crown. Her died six months ago, and the wound still feels fresh. When she sits on the throne, lording over the ballroom that heaves with dancers, she feels like a trembling little boy dressed up in his father's armour, facing the reality of war.
"You're the ruler here, right? Do you rent out dungeon cells? Asking for a friend."
The voice comes from the left, and it is strained. Mary McDonald, Queen of Moroth, turns and inhales in shock at the sight of two ragged men peering round one of the heavy drapes that flank her pedestal. One is slumped over the other, held up by a sturdy arm wrapped around his waist. There is no question of how they got in; broken glass trails behind them like glittering dust.
The one who spoke snaps his fingers together impatiently. "Oi, we're on a schedule here." He heaves his friend a little higher up. "Can I rent out a cell or not? It's more for your benefit than mind, if we're being honest."
Guards rumble into action, then, albeit slowly. May isn't surprised by their laziness. Nobody particularly cares if she dies at the hands of strangers or assassins that are due to come any night now. The Malfoy family have had their eye on her castle for a while now. It might not be much, and it might sit above a rotting market, but the trade route is rich and runs right through Antler Pass, shining with ore. She isn't expecting to last very long.
It's why she stands up, straightening her skirts, and takes the two intruders to the cells herself. Some people gossip and stare as she passes, but most are too busy drinking and dancing to notice. Nobody moves to stop her. Two Guards trail after her reluctantly. She leaves the Guards at the top of the stairs and gestures her intruders down into the darkness.
The boys introduce themselves as Sirius Black and Remus No-Name respectively, and tuck themselves into the dungeon willingly.
"You're being awfully generous," Sirius Black says, eyeing her shrewdly from the other side of the cell door. "If your plan is to keep us locked in here, it's not going to work. I'm just as good at breaking out of places as I am at breaking into them."
Mary locks the cell and hangs the key around her neck. The dungeons are not particularly grim, but they feel cold and gloomy. She doesn't like coming down here. She isn't going anywhere tonight.
"You needed help," she says primly.
Sirius keeps on eyeing her. "And you were bored," he says, with a slow grin. "And curious. I've sat through enough balls like that in my time to know how mind-numbing they can be. I'd offer company and all that, but you're not gonna want to stick around for this."
He indicates Remus with a wave of his hand.
Remus is lean and quiet, panting softly as he slumps against the wall. Mary peers closer and spies a hint of fang. She's heard many stories of the outside world, but none that make much sense until she sees it with her own eyes. She never expected to see Wolfkind in her home.
"I'll make better conversation in the morning," Remus promises, with a rasping tone.
Sirius jerks at the words, and crosses to kneel in front of them. The look they share is intimate, despite the distance between them. Mary retreats to the shadows of the stairs, flustered, and watches as cool grey mist flows out of Sirius's fingers. He shapes something in the air. Animals come to life in wisps of storm-coloured smoke. One particular tendril takes the shape of a dog and curls up on Remus's laugh.
The moon peeks through the cell window, high up on the wall. Silver moonlight drips in, bathing the cold stone in pearly light. Mary hears two voices speaking lowly and frantically, and then one ominous growl, accompanied by the soft tenor of a laugh.
She retreats further. She doesn't go back to the ballroom, but sits at the top of the stairs, letting her skirts touch the dirty stone without care. These men, these boys: she doesn't know them. She expects they will try to pay her with Sickles and Galleons in the morning, for the use of her cells and the repair of the smashed window they had climbed through. But she won't take it. She will take whatever freedom they can offer her instead.
The ruler of Moroth sheds the weight of her crown on those steps, above a hired cell, as she weights for the moon to fade into morning.
