Many thanks to the wonderful newmrsdewinter for being a fantastic beta who catches all my misplaced clauses and long-winded sentences. I really recommend reading her fic "Glass Slipper:" its third chapter is out! To anyone who is studying the history of English and its grammatical structure - I apologise for butchering it in an attempt to bring a "ye olden mediaeval" flavour to a certain text. I also apologise for using the literally named Online Shakespeare Translator instead of consulting an expert.
And this isn't even the real beginning of the skeevy parts...
Validar's study was part of an area so deep below the earth that only a few of the higher echelons knew of its existence –much less how to find it. It had been willed to him along with his position as archpriest of his flock. Unlike his rather austere predecessors, he chose to fill it with objects that reflected his learned disposition: an extensive library filled with tomes so rare and ancient that half of them were threatening to crumble into dust at any moment; a well appointed laboratory filled with weird and complicated glassware; and an enormous collection of items ranging from weaponry to jewellery gathered from all corners of Plegia throughout his life.
When she was alive, his wife had jokingly dubbed him a magpie due to his almost obsessive need to collect and categorise. As her love for him faded and morphed into hate, her affectionate teasing became razor sharp jabs, and she began to refer to him as a thieving, hoarding snake.
What she meant was about his tendency to collect personalised trophies from enemies he had vanquished. Often, they would be as typical as a battered war-helm, showing a sizeable split where his sword had cleaved through the metal. Less common were the more obscure objects, like dented wedding rings, cracked childrens' bowls, and a set of divining stones spattered with a curious black substance.
His favourites by far, however, were bones. He possessed everything from knuckle bones to ribcages, and those prizes had been won from those he had loathed the most. Consequently, they were afforded places of importance in his study, especially where guests could see them from the door's threshold. A particularly prominent example of this macabre practice was the full skeleton sitting behind his handsomely carved desk. It was used as a placeholder for Validar's preferred weapons, barring the use of tomes. Knives were stuck in precise intervals along its arms, and its hips supported a pair of khepesh while two large spiked maces were grasped firmly in its hands. The literal crowning piece was the shockstick bequeathed to him since the beginning of the Grimleal's history, rammed firmly into the skull and down its hollowed out spine.
Should he feel the need to assuage any episodes of anger, Validar would come to this cold, dark place to admire his trophies, and his mood would be restored. Nothing of the sort could have helped for this occasion, however.
As he brooded over the small mountain of books he had scattered around the floor, he thought back to the utter disappointment (was that word even adequate enough to describe the depth of his feelings?) of the past week.
The moon had set on the 19th anniversary of the vessel's birth –as was promised, as was calculated. The event had been celebrated with all the pomp and circumstance befitting their Lord's vessel as all renditions of their tribute should be. And for all his years of planning, what was the end result?
Nothing. No sign of their draconic overlord threatening to burst from His vessel as a butterfly would from its chrysalis. No sign whatsoever of the great being shedding its mortal shell to deliver them from this wretched, wretched world. Centuries of studying scripture, of breeding failed vessels, of guarding the Dragon's Table for His feast once He returned...was it all for naught?
Validar refused to believe so. He had locked himself in his study and, once his fury had subsided, had collected himself in order to begin searching through his library for an answer.
The vessel had been submitted to many examinations under the auspices of several physicians during the course of her young life. Since birth, she had been poked and prodded with more instruments than he could count to see if she had perhaps sprouted wings, if her nails had sharpened into claws, or if she had begun exhibiting a preference for bloody meat and human flesh. With each passing year of her body growing into that of any normal girl, his disappointment and ire grew.
Be patient, Noam and his assistants had said. Her breasts have not yet budded. She is still a child and has not bled yet. There is still time.
Her first menstruation coincided with her former maid, Gulnaz, attacking her out of jealousy and spite. Soon after, she was nearly kidnapped to the Walled City by Gangrel's agents, who had somehow been able to sneak into the skull undetected until it was nearly too late. Both events had precipitated investigations, trials, and beheadings. The vessel was sent away for her safety almost immediately. Both events had delayed further examinations of her body, and her absence worsened Validar's apprehensions of her growth and Grima's rebirth.
Now that she had returned, he had been assured of his Lord's Awakening as it was predicted by their holy scripture; the number nineteen was auspicious, and consequently the 19th year was when the typical Plegian youth came of age and could thus start a family, own a house and till their own soil. For Grimleal, the number represented the number of great deeds Lord Grima had committed in the mortal plane, just one short of the even holier 20th — His purging of the earth— before being sealed by the first Exalt, Naga's first Branded and the loathsome progenitor of her line.
The vessel still moved and looked infuriatingly human. Validar had spent days working through his books to see if something could explain the Awakening's delay —he had already exhausted all scriptural sources, eventually moving to his texts on magic, and then the occult. By the time he had finished poring through the latest moth-eaten bestiary, he had taken to brooding and pacing once more, as seemingly nothing could explain his predicament.
She had been born with the strongest Heart of Grima ever: the Mark on her hand attested to it. He had passed on the Dragonskin and Anathema skills to her, and Mustafa confirmed their lethal usage in combat, albeit being rarely activated. Better still was the degree of clairvoyance she exhibited, as it allowed her to See multiple paths on the battlefield and when in danger; it was was saved her from Gangrel and what allowed her and her companions to cross into Ferox to escape the horde.
Was that not enough?
Validar stopped pacing and sat in the desk's armchair. It did not escape unscathed from his wrath and his nails tapped impatiently on the gouges he had made in its upholstery. He was mindlessly leafing through random publications now, half lost in thought and half with the hopes it would point him in the right direction. He was currently in the chemistry section (after tearing through biology, medicine and philosophy) reading a dull treatise by the doctor Amenemhat-Har on the proper care of beakers and tubes:
To thofe who wish to hus Peripatetick Elements one mufte prepare thine glafswork with the utmoft Care and Skil required of any man who dubs himselfe a Master of Physick and Chymist, for even the mofte ftudious mufte always be certaine that his beak'rs and tubes are thufly maintained as wouftd his corse. As the glafs is juftly like the flesh in yond 't wilt at each Moment beest did tend to and revis'd f'r leakage and breaks. To summarise: bethink of the childing dameth, wouldst thee not beest conc'rn'd f'r the babe within fhouldst his brood beest p'rous and vuln'rable to the outside Elements? The Chymist w'rth salt fhouldst treateth his cautel as wouldst precious Progeny - thusly, the Chymist Vessels fhouldst beest bethought of as the moth'r yond carries those children, taketh fuch Cares ov'r as of equal Wonder and Grand Creation. This is Efsential to those of Magickal Inclination as only the moft wondrous and strongest of Vessels art able to enwheel the moft wondrous and strongest of spells and potions.
As careth of yon children goeth, fuch require meticulous Cleanliness and Attention. Soak in a bath of muriate, or as as the Fr'oxi knoweth of 't as acidum salis, Mischievous spirits of salt—
Validar shut the scroll with a loud snap after having gone through the passage at least three times. A pregnant pause overcame the dusty, stale air of his study and he let the motes settle over him.
~oOo~
As with his study, Validar progressed to his meditation chambers and spent many days in seclusion as well. While he had conserved his looks over the years, his predilections for darkened spaces turned his once warm brown skin ashen and gray.
His chambers were built directly over what would be identified many centuries later as a gas vent, whose hypnotic vapours gave him glimpses of the future, and a link, if an uncertain and unstable one at that, to attempt to commune with Grima. As he breathed in the fumes, visions of fruit being peeled open and melting into juice, of eggs cracked open and their yellow yolk hardening into gold coins swam around the edge of his vision. To his utter delight and confusion, a dragon's grinning face joined them, flickering in and out of existence, but if it was his Lord's true visage, he could not tell. It certainly did not match any of the descriptions he had seen depicted in tapestries and idols.
Validar thought back to the revelation he had experienced in his study. Despite his initial elation of having found a solution to his search, he was, truth be told, conflicted. It was a shameful admission to even make. Even so, he could not help but think of the ramifications of such a conclusion...and of his own experience as a parent.
Had he had more than a shred of self-awareness, Validar would have admitted that he was an inattentive father at best. His own father had been what most would call exemplary, and devoted much time to teaching his only son of the duties that would be his once he came of age.
But they were both failed vessels, Validar reasoned, and thus undeserving of the respect and reverence that came with that status. They were to grow and live as any mortal would —in Grima's service, yes, but mortal all the same. Such was not the case with his daughter, whose Heart of Grima was proven by the Fell Mark on her right hand. It would have been unspeakably insulting, profane even, to think himself as her superior even though she was technically the product of his seed. She was raised as befitting her position as their herald, as their god, and it was Validar's duty to distance himself accordingly and act as her faithful servant.
Validar remembered how her tutors and nursemaids would report her asking after him, if he was available to attend her lessons in arithmetic and reading (he never was). Once, a sparrow had somehow flown into her quarters. Gulnaz had insisted on killing it, fearful that an outside animal would contaminate their vessel with disease. The child had scarcely been able to reach his knees when she sought him out, crying and whimpering over the ragged thing, and begged him to save it for her. He remembered her dripping nose and her attempts to climb into his lap while at council; in the end, he had removed her firmly, but not unkindly, from the premises and explained that he was not to touch her in such a manner. The girl was handed off to her nurses and the bird was dealt with.
Had he been wrong all those years? Validar wondered as his thoughts danced and writhed within his trance. Had so much time been wasted on an erroneous conclusion? Would she even comprehend the magnitude of her task now, of what would be asked of her? Was their Lord's return a dead promise once more?
No, voices replied, male and female, and young and old, and sly and soft all at once. Just a different opportunity. The voices stroked his ears with their misty whispers. Another path to the same destination. Everything was foretold as everything should unfold.
The voices prompted him to move out of his meditation chambers and into seclusion once more in the temple. He had nothing to eat or drink except water and gruel, and he spent unmoving hours seated before Grima's death-mask. The clay effigy's stare was blank - yet the voices grew louder and stronger the longer he gazed upon it.
It cannot be, Validar argued with them. He had studied sufficiently, had prayed, taught, schemed, and calculated all in his Lord's name. How could such a thing even be possible, when all the evidence he needed was to be found on his daughter's hand?
Ah, a deeper voice scraped his hearing, yet you recite from a book crumbling under the weight of its own age. Outdated. Perhaps even a touch irrelevant...
The very foundations of our faith! Any deviation is blasphemous and should be treated as such. Validar's shock and anger were palpable through his hazy mental link.
And? You make it sound as though change is unnatural. Does the sun not fall from her lofty perch night after night? Does the worm not emerge a butterfly after spring's end? Change is what transformed you measly creatures from the nasty, base insects you were at the world's birth to proud, upright beings.
As though the Presence sensed his discomfort, he felt it grin and twist around in his brain almost amusedly. He fell silent and listened.
Such consternation would almost be enough to entertain us. Poor thing! You are much too old to have a crisis of faith. You should put that brain of yours to use and think of the multitudinous opportunities this offers you.
How so? he asked. This is not what our scripture has ordained.
And? Your inability to comprehend the simplest things never fails to irritate. If you are so concerned over your precious scripture, then recall this: there are several paths that lead to the same destination. Such is the nature of the world! A hare will either escape the hunter's snare or live to ripe old age, but he will still die. Your world was birthed through the placement of cycles and structures that dictate the passage of time and the movement of life. Death and creation are irrefutable constants. Everything you know of your existence follows that very rule, be it meat, blood or a figment of your thoughts. And you, in your silly human ignorance, panic at the very notion of losing that knowledge when it is impossible to do so in the first place. Think, fool!
Exactly how are such assertions able to support centuries of the faith? How can they explain the deliverance of our fated herald after generations of failures? Validar questioned. We are no fools to sully our pages and our lips with errors, and yet everything we have waited for has yet to arrive, it seems!
Validarfelt a shift in pressure throughout his body. An air of ponderance filled them before being sucked in deeply in preparation for another reply.
Thou art truly mortal enough to be so put-upon by the mere thought of imperfection. How quaint, it sneered, adopting the gravelly persona of his father's voice before dissolving into laughter. Sorry to disappoint! You have said it yourself: you inhabit filth, overrun by filth, which spawns more filth. And yet it is you who agonises over such a trifle while Naga's dirty spawn bask blissfully in their ignorance beneath her sun. Mistakes happen. Imperfections happen. And just seems as though your own interpretations and whatever readings and studies you may have completed have brought you to an incorrect assumption. Centuries of incorrect assumptions, in fact, which has translated into scripture that gives you incorrect affirmations in return.
Validar swayed unsteadily on his thin cushion as he began to process the information sluggishly. Comprehension dawned upon him slowly, but surely. So you say all those years have been a mistake, he almost seethed.
No, it sing-songed through a razor-sharp hiss. She possesses the Heart of Grima your ancestors have so yearned for...it more than exceeds expectations. It is your own comprehension skills that are in need of an amendment, as well as your books and your hymns. Fear not. Cull them from your mind, and all shall be well. Eliminate the imperfections from your knowledge and allow the strongest facts to progress. But enough about you...if we are to discuss the role that her fate plays in the Awakening and the Feast, then we must also review your relation with her as her progenitor and the way she must pass on Grima's legacy, just as her own mother did. As we said—there are but many paths that lead to one sole destiny. No matter whatever you and your predecessors may have thought, it holds the same for her fate.
When Validar came to some hours later, the black had finally receded from the whites of his eyes.
~oOo~
He left his seclusion shortly after and emerged from his quarters fresh, clean, and renewed; it brought to mind the parable of how desert snakes shed their skin. The comparison strengthened his resolve.
Validar found Robin training in the arena with the usual small audience allowed in her presence. Mustafa and his generals watched from the terraced seating, as did his council and a few priests charged with the tutelage of the acolytes. Tharja and some of his spellmasters sat at the very forefront of the proceedings.
Robin's sparring partner was Jamil, the youngest of his council, and the weakest in terms of magical strength. The assassin favoured speed and throwing knives, which Robin knocked aside with her kepesh, a fast blur as she moved in a wide circle around him to gauge an opening for a return strike. She found it soon after, catching one of his knives and throwing it back to him, her sickle-sword following. Jamil dodged his returning weapon, but, upon seeing the heavy blade aimed at his head, dropped to the sandy floor to avoid it. She was immediately over him, pointing one of his thrown daggers to his throat.
"I yield," Jamil chuckled lowly. He raised his lanky body upright with a push of his hips and back, landing neatly on his toes and offering a deep bow to the victor. A smattering of polite applause echoed in the arena.
Despite his protracted absence from his flock, Validar joined in, his bejewelled fingers clapping almost delicately against each other. A swell of pride buoyed him to see that not only had Mustafa trained her well in the art of combat, but her own natural strength was clearly superior to what some of the strongest men of the Grimleal could offer. One could tell with a single glance that the lines and cuts along her physique had been honed through years of training. Her body moved in perfect sync with her intended actions, the very picture of discipline and power, and of the health and shapely looks inherited from her forebears.
Grima had truly blessed her.
Robin bowed her head slightly to Validar after returning Jamil's knife and performing the usual after-training ablutions. He attended briefly to his councilmen and generals before dismissing them with a lazy flick of the wrist. Tharja attempted to hang about, hoping for another glimpse of Robin before Validar's penetrating stare sent her on her way with a last, lingering glance at her mistress.
Now completely alone, he turned to her.
~oOo~
Robin knew immediately that something was wrong —or at least very, very different, and not entirely favourable— when Validar did not bow to her. Courteous, yes, but certainly not as obsequious as before. Instead, he beckoned to her, as they apparently had an important matter to discuss...in his study. Her stomach twisted into knots as they descended into the lower levels of the sanctum. When they arrived in his study, her nerves were ready to snap apart from the sheer anxiety of it all. Perhaps the cold beer or wine that was usually offered to her whenever she was attended to might have helped, and yet there was no such offer as Validar sat behind his desk. He observed her fixedly, all steepled fingers and satisfied, reticent smiles.
"I have to inquire as to the purpose of this meeting," she stated cautiously. Robin noticed that there was also no rush to procure her seating either.
If anything, the corners of his lips pulled up higher, and a drop of fear ignited through her veins with the memory of a nightmare. "A matter that requires your utmost attention. It is crucial that you take it to heart...for it concerns the very future of Grima. After years of waiting, it seems as though the answer has finally surfaced at the perfect time."
"Answer to what? What issue do you speak of?"
Silence stretched tensely between them. Validar, still with a pleased expression that worsened her suspicions, and she, keeping her own schooled into neutrality. When he spoke again, he had pulled out a slip of paper and a finely shaped stylus before writing. It would have been in bad form to lean over to peek, so she stood still.
"Recall the text penned by the sages and sorcerers of the Dragon's Table...could you enlighten me as to the signs they proclaimed would announce Grima's return?"
"A mighty rush of wind as had not been felt since the time of the dragons' sealing; a sky as dark as winter seafoam; the crack and howl of thunder and lightning to rival the emergence of the volcano of Origin Peak." She allowed a small, annoyed frown to be seen, perplexed by the question. "It seems a tad strange to be summoned all the way down here if we are to discuss old school lessons. Are you perhaps worried that my absence requires a refresher?"
"Nothing of the sort...it is good to see that Noam has obviously been up to snuff." She did not miss the tiny trace of annoyance that had leaked into his inflection. "However, the eldest sage, Manetho, had written a more...scientific account in his later years. It is of great personal regret that you have not read it yet. He describes several stages of what is the life cycle of draconic beings, and his work has been rigorously backed by the dissection of several specimens of wyverns and manakete. It is of utmost importance that you respond correctly to the prompts...understood?"
Paranoia had settled in fully by this point, but Robin's feet were planted firmly on the floor. "...Yes."
"Good." Validar did not blink for the entirety of the bizarre questionnaire, and Robin thought back to her recurring dream. "Have you noticed any change in appetite? Perchance a newfound affinity for flesh? Blood and sinew, mayhaps?"
She had grown to love game meat during her time with Mustafa, and the memory of cooking boar at night around the campfire hurt. "No."
"Elongation of the nails and canines? Strange aches and pains in the gums and fingers?"
"No."
"Hardening of the skin? Scaliness and dryness around the elbows and knees?"
"No."
"Fluctuation in power? Newfound abilities that seem to have developed overnight?...What have your dreams been telling you of late?"
"...Nothing of importance." She scowled. "What exactly is the matter that concerns you so? If you have dragged me here to discuss trivialities, then I would do better to take leave to where I am actually needed," Robin's voice came out with a snap harder than she had intended, and she silently pleaded that it would not anger him.
Validar regarded her curiously. For the first time in his life, he wondered: how seriously did she take her role as Grima's vessel? How conscious was she of the magnitude of her duties? ...Or was she perhaps wearing a cleverly painted façade? Had she known, all along, the true extent of her divinity? His kohl rimmed lids narrowed the tiniest bit. He stood with a loud tinkle of gold and onyx, beckoning her again as he lead the way to the temple with an eerily sprightly spring to his step.
When they reached Grima's Altar, he dismissed the attendees, who scattered like insects revealed under lamplight. The hollow echoes of their voices within the hard-packed sandstone walls underscored how isolated they were, and if the intent of his interrogation was not made obvious yet to Robin, then the sucking emptiness of the temple, with its stale air and menacingly tight corners, did. He gestured her to sit upon one of the black silk cushions directly below Grima's Mask, and he too lowered himself down with an air of expectancy.
"Your negative responses seem to confirm what was once but an inkling before...truth be told, I had difficulty in accepting it myself. And yet, to hear it from your own lips...is rather a relief." Validar's carefully measured words sent a chilling frizz down her back.
"And yet you continue to allude to it with caginess and insinuations. My visions only see so far —do not mock me so and be forthright with your intentions." Bringing herself to a commanding stature usually yielded positive results. This time, however...Robin noticed that Validar was unable to mask the annoyance that leaked onto his slightly lined faced. To see him not immediately defer to her, to know that he was not being his usual pandering self...it was their reunion at the entrance all over again, and Robin braced herself for the worst in the face of such damning facts.
He stood. She noticed how he towered over her, with his black satin and golden regalia adding to his sharp height. How unbalanced was the power between them, exactly?
"You have reached your 19th year, and the moon has set on the night of the promised date," he lit a few candles and a censer, bathing the area in a thick, soporific scent as he began to pace evenly. "By all accounts, a feast should have been set at the Dragon's Table to welcome Grima's emergence into this world; leaving behind His mortal husk to reign supreme once more." His long, gold-capped nails began clacking pointedly on the marble countertop holding the lights. "It has been foretold since a time immemorial. The stars and planets have aligned just so...and yet, no such sign of His has appeared. Initially, I was rather...preoccupied. How could this be, I wondered, despite our most learned men giving assurances to the contrary?"
Grima...might not be coming back then? Despite knowing the hope that she felt was false, Robin could not help but grasp at it.
"My...absence was a necessary evil. However much our flock needed me, our need for answers was far more urgent, you see. It was difficult, rest assured; though the path was arduous, there were facts that were made for me to learn in due time."
"You are being much too cryptic again," Robin pointed out.
Validar did not even try to hide his irritation this time. His frightful scowl made Robin quail in her boots and promise herself to keep her mouth shut.
"Very well then...since you are so eager to get to the point…" he murmured. "I have received a message. Whether it was from our Lord or a different source, I cannot say for certain. What I am sure of is that it has revealed to us the folly of our mortality...our tainted flesh makes us unfortunately prone to errors of logic." He heaved a languorous sigh, contemplating his next words carefully. "And it is, apparently, a fact that you yourself are not immune to."
"How so?" Robin asked, genuinely confused.
"It means that your soul is as unfortunately human as your body," he pronounced gravely. "Grima may not be residing within your flesh as we have thought."
Shock stunned her into silence. Did that mean that she was...not Grima? Years of being kowtowed to, of being told that the world's destruction lay in her hands...it was all wrong? Not only was His return not assured, but she was now...normal?
Normal. What a strange word. How strange it felt to even consider it. Her life so far had been anything but normal...and yet, the notion of being no better than the lowliest apprentice...that her true origins lay in the mortal realm, and not with all the pressures and burdens that destructive divinity entailed...again, she knew her hope to be false. And again, she could not help but try and hold it close, to warm her heart and comfort her briefly.
"At least, not yet."
There it was. That however that bookended every sentence of Validar's. Robin willed her tense body to be calm as she leaned closer, feigning consideration. "What do you mean?"
Validar smirked cockily, again, jarring compared to his usual simpering. He sat down cross-legged on his own cushion, and when he spoke, Robin had the strong impression that his slower inflection was due to him believing she would not be able to comprehend him fully.
"Our elders and sages were in the wrong, yes...but not entirely. For you see, what they understood as a vessel's role has turned out to be something more in the...literal sense. For Grima cannot simply occupy a mortal body and emerge from it like some common insect cocooned away from the world...no, our Lord needs to be born first. Born from His vessel like any other physical manifestation of this realm. The sages described what they believed to be the signs of a manakete's coming-of-age...what they did not notice was that such occurrences are also common of expectant mothers...vessels of the human race. Why, the 19th year is when all Plegians become men and women...I myself married your own mother shortly after she came of age. When she was with child, she had quite the prodigious appetite for antelope and goat blood."
To her utter embarrassment, Robin's mouth flapped like a fish's: silent and useless. The consternation and shock she felt robbed her of her all too short hope. What he was saying...what he was saying of her as a vessel...
"You seem to be having trouble with such information," he remarked as though amused. It was a terrifying thought.
"How can I not?" She clenched her fists in her lap."I've been told that I'm Grima's vessel my entire life, and now you expect me to believe that I'm...only a human? If anything, this seems more like the rationalising of a man who becomes desperate when he does not receive what he expects on time," she stammered, trying to leverage what little authority she could muster over him. "I am your superior, and yet you expect me to bow to you in the blink of an eye."
"I apologise. It is rather difficult to take in, considering how you have been brought up," Validar said, not sounding apologetic at all. "But I do not speak the ramblings of a madman or a drunk. I speak the words that have appeared to me after days of meditation and study. I have prayed and fasted in search of answers...and they have appeared to me in a glorious vision."
"You should have consulted with me to see if I could have mustered up a dream or two."
"And yet you told me that they were 'nothing of importance' when I questioned you," he scoffed patronisingly. "This has been foretold of you for centuries, and you have been more than complacent before with you duty...why balk now?"
"Because my duty never entailed me as a broodmare!" Robin cried desperately.
"SILENCE."
Robin cowered in her seat as Validar rose to his full height again. He loomed over her, tension coiling every limb, and anger colouring his face with terrible force. For a moment, it looked as though he was poised to strike her. The moment passed quickly enough, and his face returned to its normal state.
"Again, I apologise for such uncouthness. But now, you are in no position to attempt to issue orders. I can only imagine the difficulty it must be to unlearn years of your education, but it is for the good of the flock and for Grima's glory. As unfortunately mortal as you have been revealed to be, you are still Grima's vessel...destined to produce Him as though you would any child for us, and fulfill your purpose as you have been fated to. You have Grima's Heart, after all."
His dark robes swished gracefully as he began to glide out of the temple, leaving her behind in all her torment and confusion. Validar stopped, suddenly, and turned to her. His face twisted minutely with an expression that could have been pity. "Do not fret. The path is not without its obstacles, but we have confidence in your ability to traverse it. And we will be sure to seek out a worthy enough husband for the task."
Robin stayed alone for an amount of time she was unsure of. When she was able to snap out of her stupor, she ran out of the temple blindly until she reached her room, knowing that her servants were not present at the time, and tore out the chunk of wood out of her bedframe until her fingers closed around the folded letter.
~oOo~
She had felt numb and humiliated for the entire duration of the ceremony, but the blankness of her visage was unable to broadcast any of that. She entered the temple with her maidens, dressed in the costliest robes of silk, jewels, gold and silver thread. The entirety of the skull's occupants were gathered, but their collective stare felt inconsequential compared to Validar's eyes, fiercely proud and smug, as she reached the dais.
Torchlight and hundreds of candles flickered unbearably hot on her skin as she was disrobed completely and anointed with a stream of precious oil. Robin mused that, perhaps, she should have been more grateful for her past, chained to a fate she never wanted, but fêted as a god and awarded luxuries and leeway. Now? Her life was more restricted than ever, with an arranged marriage looming over her and with her body being planned as an incubator for the resulting monster.
The depth of her depression allowed her to block the sensation of hands washing her with plain water, and clothing her naked body with rough burlap as Validar led the Grimleal in their hymns and psalms. Robin was stripped again, and wine was poured from a golden ewer over her head as another set of robes were prepared for her. They were grand and elaborate, in the style of the highest of Grimleal, though not as splendid as her vessel's robes.
When she was seated by Validar's side, it was as a human woman —as the Grimleal's new hierophant, but human all the same...and now answering directly to Validar. It was bitterly funny, considering Robin never really had much of a say in drafting decrees and orders in the first place. She was barely able to recite the words of her assigned passage in the book of Grima's Truth, numbness stinging her lips as the unintelligible mass of darkly clothed adherents swayed to the cadence of her voice.
The next few months passed in a blur. Robin was downgraded to smaller quarters and her staff reduced. It was a small blessing at least, given the way most had taken to gossipping about her.
From what Mustafa and Henry had gathered, the cultists found themselves divided: the first camp, still as reverent of her as before, and the second, incensed at having to serve a person they deemed a liar and a cheat. She faked her identity as Grima for power, they whispered between gritted teeth. For attention. Our faith has been used against us by an imposter and a fraud.
Don't take it too personally, some of the more salacious busybodies would reply. With a father like that, and the rewards of her lifestyle, it's no wonder a girl of her age would act out. And they would say this all while smiling to her face and groveling at her feet. Snide remarks, hidden behind long sleeves, personal items dropped accidentally with increasing frequency, a snub or two. These became commonplace.
Apparently, Mustafa had discovered, the majority of the councilmen pertained to the second grouping.
Robin was grateful for Mustafa and Henry. Their support had never wavered, and they made sure that their presence was always felt. In Henry's case, the small consolation of her new position being that she was now charged with the overall supervision of the acolytes' education, even if they were still not allowed much familiarity. And Tharja— well, Tharja was as obsessive as always, but her continued loyalty was nothing if not reassuring, as twisted as it was.
In any case, Robin felt as though her body was on the receiving end of better treatment than she was. The old women who formed the bulk of the healers gave her increasingly complicated instructions, foodstuffs, and remedies: no very cold or hot baths, tea and honey to soothe any hint of anxiety, oral supplements and an assortment of strange roots and meats to keep her weight constant, her skin clear, and to thicken the lining of her womb. Nothing but the best for their god's birth. To have to become a mother so suddenly after a barely-there childhood...
She thought back to her own mother, and of the letter she had stowed away in the new bedframe in her new room.
~oOo~
My darling, the neat script read, I cannot begin to say how I longed for the chance to hold you in my arms. As unlikely as it is, I can only hope that this has made it into your hands. I do not care what lies your father may have told you about me, or what you may believe about the Grimleal, as long as you are reading this.
A few words had been blurred and smudged by watery drops on the page.
As I write this to you, I am trapped with nothing but the clothes on my back and the paper for this letter. My allies are few and far between; I pray that you do not suffer my same fate, and that you have friends who care for you and who are willing to do what it takes to see you safe.
Pay close attention, for what I am about to write is of vital importance. It could be the key to finally getting you out of there. Perhaps your life is happy, and you want for nothing, and you may think my words to be falsehoods. Rest assured that they will turn on you soon enough. They are nothing better than a nest of vipers and scorpions who will bite you and bleed you dry.
Keep this safe and hidden away from prying eyes, my love. You will be freed soon; that I promise.
~oOo~
Validar found himself in his study once again. The golden sheaths capping his nails tapped irately on his desk. The depth of his annoyance was revealed by the mess strewn before him, insulting his desk's previously immaculate state: fawning letters of recommendation, unimpressive pedigree charts, even personal pleas appealing directly to him, all vying for his daughter's hand and all equally worthless in their standing.
In what manner did any of them find themselves even remotely worthy to try and stake a claim? The entitlement those buffoons displayed over his daughter would have been laughable had Validar not have been more inclined to be infuriated. The vast majority were insignificant fools, of low enough rank to convince him that they were simply deluded, and he made his dislike of them apparent. The only thing some had to offer her was a proximity in age. He recalled one middling dark mage who, blinded by his good looks and self confidence, strode forth arrogantly with the intent of declaring his suitor's candidacy. That one had been pitifully easy to dispose of. Others were dismissed as insufficiently devout or weak.
To his complete disgust, the entirety of his council had placed their own bids as well. Validar had hand-picked them for the positions they occupied, and they were more than capable of fulfilling their duties to perfection, but keeping a seat and keeping a wife, however, were very different things.
Jamil, despite being the youngest, was greedy and overly attached to his material possessions. Algol was violent and possessed a temper he was unwilling to control. Nelson's Valmese origin was an immediate disqualification, besides suffering from delusions of grandeur that included him overthrowing Validar (not that he would succeed...and it was laughable, really, how he thought Validar was unaware). Chalard was a simpering dunce and the weakest of them all, and Ardri was much too old and lecherous.
Validar knew that discontent ran freely through his flock. There were whispers of purposefully delaying the selection of a suitor and keeping his daughter away from them to prevent an ascension in ranks. Which was true...though not the real issue. Rather, the complete inadequacy of the men who offered themselves was. Did they not care how important such a task was? That the one destined to bring about their god's birth needed to be a man who did more than exceed expectations?
He was loath to give access to his daughter's body to men who would only sully it with their inferiority. Now that she was human, it was upon him, as her father, and as her legitimate legal guardian, to decide such things. Her own mother had been selected for Validar in the exact same process, as Shahin was the best and brightest of her generation. It was only natural that the product of their union resulted in perfection, despite her tainted mortal flesh. Validar could not permit the same rigorous standards to be ignored if Grima was to emerge.
And so he repeated his isolation in the temple. And he fasted, and prayed, and asked, Who possesses the wit and might to please a god? Who is brave? Who is sound of body and mind? Who is of a pleasing face? Who has a skill with magic such that it might as well be the blood running in his veins? Who is a root of a family tree that is free from blight and disease and mediocrity? Who is worthy of Grima?
Why, I do believe you already know the answer, the shadowy whisper teased slyly.
I'M SO SORRY ROBIN