Hello, all! I hope you had a good Thanksgiving? :) Good gravy, is it already the end of November?
Confession time: I have this savage fear that you guys will judge my integrity based off of the actions of my villains. Please don't do that. There's some brutal backstory revealed in this chapter, so please be forewarned that I did not enjoy coming to this crossroad and being forced to choose between the proverbial guillotine and hangman's noose. But I feel that the path I chose was the best thing for the story, so... I won't defend my villains, but because I know how things'll work out, I will not apologize for them, either. Actions speak louder than words, so please, if you're willing, just read, and know that I have a plan that'll all work out for good in the end. There will be a happy ending. :)
On that note, this'll be my only A/N this week. So, thanks for R&Ring, and have a fantastic weekend! God bless.
Kaeli
Varasach sat at the window of her room in the Blue Cat, watching the colorful sunset. She could feel the Priest's cold eyes on her back, and she shivered despite the warmth of the cup in her hands and the thick blanket around her shoulders.
As soon as they'd arrived at the inn, the Priest had immediately rushed her up to her room before anyone could see her eyes under her large hood. Once inside, he'd made sure she was warmed and fed, but had not let any maids enter the room.
Varasach had forgotten how lonely it could be, locked up in a room- or cell, as it had often been on the Dark Island- with no one to talk to.
There was an itch on her scalp, and she carefully set down her mug of tea on the windowsill before running her good hand through her hair. It was odd, getting used to doing most things with only one hand: her left hand wasn't good for much more than grabbing things, and her remaining fingers didn't always work like she wanted.
"Tell me, Vara-sak," the Lord Rector said. He sat at the table in the middle of the room, drinking from a cup of some bitter draught that Vara could smell even from a distance. "How did you lose your fingers? That looks like a recent injury."
Remembering Garmadon's warning, Varasach did not answer, choosing instead to watch a little black bird flit through the trees outside of her second-story window. She'd said very few words to the Priest since their arrival at the inn.
The Priest gave an exasperated sigh. "Well. Then answer me this, Vara-sak. How-"
The door flew open, silencing him and causing Varasach to leap to her feet with fright.
The Priest rose, looking a shade paler than usual as the King strode into the room.
"My King," the Lord Rector said. "I-"
"Leave us," Garmadon hissed. "Don't return until I call for you."
"Of course, My King." The Priest hurried from the room with his chin held high, trying to ignore the insult of such an abrupt dismissal.
Garmadon shut the door without giving the Priest a second glance. His eyes were on Varasach.
Varasach bowed as best she could in her weak state, hoping she hadn't done something to upset him. Though, if there was any one thing she'd learned over the years, it was that men didn't need a reason to lash out.
"Don't bother with that formality, Vara-sak," Garmadon said softly.
Varasach straightened, blinking at his gentle countenance. Hadn't he been angry only a moment earlier? Perhaps he had only been upset with the Priest…
Garmadon pulled off his snowy boots and tossed them and his cloak by the fire to dry. Then he pulled a chair close to the window and sat. "Sit," he said, gesturing to her chair.
Varasach did, warily, feeling anxious under Garmadon's searching gaze. Her hands shook, her breath came shallow and fast, and she felt as though all of her blood was flooding into her bowels. Lightheaded, she blinked a few times to get her vision straight. She wondered if she was coming down with a cold.
The King was silent for far too long, taking everything about her from her eyes, to her hands, to her hair. When he did finally speak, his words came almost tentatively.
"How are you feeling?"
How was Varasach supposed to respond to that? She'd been dragged over the Southern border this morning by the most dangerous man in Ninjago, the man who Zane, and Josi, Cyrus, and even his wife Misako were all at odds with. Varasach seen his cruelty firsthand with the killing of those guards at the keep's gate that morning, and knew that she'd do well to be wary of him: what did he want her for? And what was his purpose in speaking so kindly to her?
"I feel fine," she said at last, and looked down.
Garmadon's graying brows rested low over his green eyes. "How long had you been imprisoned in Sheshin?" he asked. "Since the nobles' return from the Dark Island, you said?" He shook his head. Took her left hand in both of his, running his thumbs over the rounded, scarred, and slightly pink stubs where her fingers had once been. "This looks fresh. Did they cut off your fingers?" The anger was clear in his tone.
"No!" Varasach hesitated. "Well, yes. But only because I was-"
Garmadon growled, and Varasach jerked her hand from his grip.
"Hey, Aida- Ah, Vara-sak." Garmadon corrected himself with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. You have been through a lot these past…what, six weeks now?" His eyes grew distant. "Five weeks, then, since Lloyd died. Hosts. My son was only home for nine days before he passed. Did you know that? Ah, but I'm getting off course." He noticed Varasach's cup of tea in the windowsill and gave it to her.
"I don't know if it was Zane who did that to you or Kaytake," he continued, looking at her hand. "And I don't know why they did it. But I promise, you did not deserve it."
For the second time that day Varasach was forced to let Garmadon harbor his fantasies to protect Cyrus' cause.
"Did they tell you why they were imprisoning you, at least?" Garmadon asked.
"To keep me safe," Varasach answered.
"Is that what they told you, child?" There was pity in Garmadon's expression. "I suspect they were keeping you and Misako as leverage against me." He grimaced. "Of course, it was probably a good thing Zane took Misako when he did. I haven't really been the most loving husband lately. Will you at least tell me Misako is safe in Sheshin? I can't imagine that Zane would treat the Queen the way he's treated you."
"Zane treated me fine," Varasach insisted. At Garmadon's scoff, she gave up trying to explain herself. "Yes, Misako is safe. But she is sad. She misses you."
Garmadon seemed more surprised by this than by anything else she had said. But his surprise swiftly turned to sorrow, and he set his forehead between his fingers.
There was another, longer, silence. Varasach looked out the window at that little bird, a spot of back against the dark orange and pink sky. It occurred to her then that she'd seen a similar bird inside the Sheshin keep mere minutes before her abduction. She frowned slightly at this, but before she could consider it further Garmadon began to stir.
The King sat back in his chair, clasping his hands on his lap. "Of course, I'm just stalling," he said, looking outside at the sky which was getting darker by the minute. "All of this, stalling. I don't usually ramble, but…" He clicked his tongue. "Tsk. I'll just get to the point, Vara-sak."
Varasach smiled as kindly as she was able. "Just call me Vara," she said. Her anxiety was beginning to slowly edge away. She didn't think this man planned to hurt her. At least, not right now. And if she was kind, perhaps he would hesitate to harm her later on.
Garmadon blinked, bemused by her gesture. "I'm…going to tell you a story," he finally said. "It'll be short, and I'll leave you alone to rest for the night after I'm done."
"I'll listen."
"Thank you." Garmadon looked around the room, as if desperate for any sort of excuse not to continue. He stood and retrieved the Priest's half-full cup from the table. "This, I'm ashamed to say, may take some…courage from a bottle," he said, offering her a fake chuckle as he sat and drank, then lowered the cup, seeming at a loss for words. Varasach sat quietly, sipping her tea as she waited for him to collect his thoughts. Everything about the King's actions perplexed her: he was not anything like Cyrus and Zane's depictions. At least, not at a first glance.
The King stared into his cup for well over a minute before taking a deep breath. "If you believe gray hairs are a sign of wisdom, then you can imagine how dull-witted I must have been when it was blond," he said. "Hosts, I was more a fool then than I am now, if you can believe it. It was my fault that my brother died. But oh, was I unrepentant. His son, and his son's family, left because of my actions. Shortly thereafter, my father died of an illness that had been sapping his strength for nearly four years. Far too eagerly, I took the crown and became King.
"I was arrogant and bull-headed, even by green-eyed standards. Thought I could do anything I wanted: after all, I was the descendant of the First King. I was one of the Blessed. No one could stop me from doing what I wanted, or taking what I wanted. The world was mine to take or destroy as I saw fit."
He took a moment to scowl at his reflection in the amber liquid. He drank again and continued.
"There was this slave in my home, Kaeli with lovely red hair, just like yours. Kaeli wasn't all that important; just swept the floors and tidied things up. Wasn't even allowed to look nobles and Blessed in the eyes, her rank was so low. My memory fails me now, but I believe one of the High Generals had seized her a few years prior because her family could not repay a debt. She was given to me as a gift on my coronation day. Somehow I thought that made it okay, what I did to her."
Varasach could guess where this story was going. Her hands tightened around her cup.
"It was a windy, rainy day, I remember," Garmadon said. "Someone had left a window open in Misako's room, and there was some water damage. Misako called Kaeli and a few hired servants came to clean up the mess, then retreated to the music room. And then after most of the work was done, the servants left Kaeli to finish by herself. But that's the way it is: the slaves get the longest hours." He leaned back in his chair and looked out the window, jaw tight. "She was alone. I saw an opportunity, and, wanting to have a bit of "fun", as I used to say, I took it."
Garmadon, busy avoiding her gaze by looking out the window, did not see Varasach's horrified expression.
"I enjoyed it at the time, what I did to Kaeli," Garmadon continued quietly. "But now it just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. For several months after that, intermittently, I would force her into my bed." He pressed his lips together tightly. "Mmm… I was a fool to think I could avoid the consequences of my sin. She eventually ran away. I tracked her down, and discovered that she was expecting a child. So of course I helped her to hide: it would have been bad, people knowing what I'd done to her. Not to mention, Misako was expecting our legitimate child, Lloyd. I didn't want her to know what I'd been doing behind her back.
"So I brought Kaeli to the Lord Rector of the Northern realm, and he agreed to let her work on the Temple grounds until the next ship from the West would come and take her to Keitorin. People out there would be far more lax about having a Blessed child and a marked slave walking in their villages than here in Ninjago." He stopped, apparently done for the moment, but kept his gaze outside the glass.
Varasach's chest tightened as memories of her own brutal past surged into the forefront of her mind: the harsh hands of a stone warrior, holding her down, forcing her weaker body into submission. Leering eyes, vulgar words, mocking her pain.
How? she thought, unable to speak past the tightness in her throat. How could any man live with himself after doing such a thing to a woman, slave or not?
How could anyone not under Overlord's control be so cruel? It was one thing for a stone warrior to do what he had done to Varasach: she was working toward forgiving them for that, since they were under Overlord's control, and likely had no say in what they were doing. But what Garmadon had done to Kaeli was utterly incomprehensible.
Garmadon finally looked at Varasach, seeming ready to say more, but words failed him. To his credit he managed to hold her gaze as she stared at him. She breathed, but the air suddenly seemed thin. Her heartbeat was strong in her throat, and she had to swallow before speaking in a hoarse whisper.
"My father was a Western soldier," she said. "If you think that I am this girl…"
"Her brother was a Western soldier," Garmadon corrected her. "Kaeli had no money, and would accept nothing from me. So she went to her brother and, to the best of my knowledge, lived with him until Overlord killed them all."
"But you have no real proof that I am Kaeli's-"
"Kaeli's baby girl, Aida, was born just a few weeks before the ship arrived and took her West. I'll be honest, Vara. There aren't many girls out there that would fit the criteria like you do. You're the right age. You were raised on the Dark Island. Green eyes aside, you even look like Kaeli."
Varasach's cup spilled on the floor. She let out a soft cry and moved to grab a rag from the table, but Garmadon stopped her and retrieved the rag himself. She relented, hands shaking terribly. He is lying. He must be.
But some stories were too horrible for anyone to confess unless they were true.
Her entire life Varasach had clung to the idyllic picture of her mother and father, a happy couple in Keitorin that had loved her dearly. Those memories had been her refuge; the treasures she dwelled on during her blackest days on the Dark Island.
Her father, a Western soldier who loved to sit at the fire with a pipe in the evenings and tell her stories.
Or rather, her father, a King who murdered and stole and took advantage of his slaves. And the whole country worshipped him as if he were a god, all the while despising the Overlord across the ocean who did the exact same things.
Although, Overlord found his bastard children useful to some degree. Garmadon just tried to hide them away; children were trivial, inconvenient side effects of his sin.
I can't, she said to God, feeling intensely lightheaded. She looked out the window to hide the tears that started to prick her eyes as Garmadon quickly wiped up the mess on the floor. I don't want to help him. Don't make me stay with him. Please… I don't have the strength to do what you want.
But God's answer was the same as before: You can help him, Vara.
Garmadon stood with his now wet rag and noticed her tears. And now her chest shuddered too as she tried to suppress her sobs. Her hands gripped the blanket on her lap as if it would grant her some extra strength.
"I'm not proud of what I did," Garmadon said. "Not at all. I'm so sorry for what I put you both through. Perhaps if I have not been… Perhaps I could have found a way for Kaeli to stay in Ninjago. Then, at least, you would not have spent those years as Overlord's slave."
Varasach's whole body shook, and she closed her eyes, sending tears sliding down her cheeks. "Please leave," she said, swallowing a hard lump in her throat. "Leave me alone."
Varasach did not watch as the King retrieved his boots and cloak from next to the fire, but her ears followed his path to the door, which he paused at before speaking one last time.
"No matter what way we look at it," he said, "you are one of the Blessed. But even if you weren't, you are my child. I know you won't ever forgive me, but I hope that, at the very least, I can keep you safe from Overlord, and from Zane. I will be back in the morning so we can continue our journey to my keep. You will be safe and comfortable there. I promise."
He left the room. He had not locked her in, but that hardly mattered: even if she could walk well, there was no way she could get home. Even if not for the ever-looming threat of war, she did not know how to return to Sheshin.
Varasach pitched to her feet, leaving her blanket on the chair, and stumbled toward the bed. She only made it halfway before falling to her hands and knees, choking on now loud sobs as her tears splattered around her blurry fists. Don't make me do this, she begged God. Please, don't. I don't have the strength to help him.
Her head fell back and she glared with fuzzy vision at the dark ceiling. Anger, frustration, confusion, and desperation churned her insides into a hot, twisted knot, and she coughed out a loud cry, then another, not caring who in the inn might hear her.
I couldn't have helped Overlord, even if I'd tried, Varasach said. What will make Garmadon any different? I'm not strong enough! Why did you choose me for this task?
I can't help him.
Even after hours of contemplation and counsel with Driniah, Misako, and Peran, Zane was still unable to find a good solution to their dilemma. There were really only three choices: Fight Garmadon, resulting in the deaths of hundreds- or even thousands- of Southern and North-Middle men. Or sign Garmadon's treaty. This option had minimal bloodshed, but Zane and Driniah would be forced into exile on the Dark Island.
If it were just his own life in jeopardy, Zane might have been tempted to sign the treaty. But he had dragged Driniah into this mess as well. And the Dark Island was no place for a woman mere months away from giving birth.
The third option was for Garmadon to sign the South's secession contract. But Garmadon would not do that unless Zane cut all ties with Cyrus. And since Zane had signed a treaty with Borg not even a week earlier, damnation, Zane could not back out of that without making a terrible enemy of Cyrus.
But is he any worse an enemy than Garmadon? Zane wondered. No. Despite Cyrus' position as one of the most powerful men of the criminal underworld, he could never overshadow the King.
As much as it pained Zane to believe it, dissolving Cyrus' treaty seemed like the option with the least bloodshed. Perhaps he could explain his predicament to Cyrus and they could still end their relationship on peaceful terms. That way, the antidote could still be distributed secretly to the Southerners.
A firm knock came outside the door. Zane looked up from his notes and set his pen in its inkwell, preparing to call for the person to enter, but the door was already opening. General Peran stormed into the study, gray eyes burning with careful controlled- but intense- anger.
"General Peran," Zane said, standing. "What's going on?"
Wordlessly the General strode to Zane's desk, one hand resting on his green- and gold-wrought sword. The weapon glinted in the light from the setting sun outside the window to his left.
"General Peran," Zane said repeated, keeping his voice steady and calm as he tore his gaze from the weapon. "Is something wrong?"
The General's jaw tensed. He looked as though he'd like nothing better than to use that gilded sword to cut his Lord apart.
"May I speak freely, my lord?" Peran asked at last.
"Always, General. What is it?"
"Thank you." The General was quiet again for a long moment before continuing.
"With all due respect, my Lord Zane," he said, "you are a fool."
Zane blinked. "Why do you say that?"
"It has been twelve hours since Garmadon stole Varasach," Peran stated. "Nine since he gave you the treaty. And what have you done about either situation?"
"I assure you, General, I am doing what I can-"
"That's not enough!" Peran bellowed suddenly, slamming his hands on the table. He toned his voice down slightly before continuing. "You have forbidden us from sending out another search party for Vara. Why?"
"Because even if you do find her, you will only get yourself killed trying to get her back," Zane responded firmly, determined not to show his surprise at Peran's uncharacteristic outburst. "You are of more use to me here."
"My lord, please reconsider this cocksure-"
"No!" Zane snapped at last, face growing hot. "Believe it or not, General, I do have Vara's situation under control."
"Don't fool yourself, sir. This is anything but a controlled situation."
Zane leaned across the table, coolly staring the enraged General in the eyes. "Where do your loyalties lie, Clouse Peran?" he asked. "With me, or with the girl?"
Peran took a step back, jaw hard as steel. He swallowed.
"If I were honest," he said quietly, but steadily, "I am not sure anymore. Excuse me, Lord Zane." He bowed out of the room without another word.