A/N: She-ra and the Princess of power were made by J. Michael Straczynski and Larry DiTillio, I only take credit for my own added character's and storylines. Similarly, any references will be attributed to their original creators when they pop up.

Recommended story: Learning Curve by ForsythiaRising

Five times Adoras possessive and one time Catra proves to be just as possessive in space negotiations. Fluf in space, post season 5. What else could you want?

BTW, I also have an A03 account where I'm also publishing, if you prefer reading it there~.
Enjoy!

Book I: Of Shard & Concept

Chapter 12 ~ The Royal Banquet II

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Content Warning! There will be implied depression, BPD, suicidal thoughts and other similar themes. If any of the above is something you are not comfortable with, then you might want to skip this fic.

If not, welcome to the gem! Enjoy!

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Elegant fingers trace over the pictures frame, tears welling in the girl's eyes as she hides under the covers of her bed.

More than two-thirds of the photo consisted of women of various ages, their hair spanning a half dozen shades of pink.

She'd known that the Assemblage had been a growing threat, she'd even started taking some of her mother's roles because of it. But… but they were supposed to be princesses, not…

Well, there might not be any evidence, but an 'accident' regarding technology that killed the majority of Brightmoons Royal family could only be interpreted in so many ways. The Assemblage had assassinated her family and still dared to claim they were on the moral high ground.

Her mother had only survived thanks to her workaholic nature, and, for once, Angella found herself grateful. The idea of being an orphan was a terrifying thought, more so with the knowledge, she'd lead both Brightmoon and the recently assembled alliance.

She doesn't look up when the door opens. Only one person would enter without knocking. Instead, she chooses to continue staring at the photograph, terrified she'll forget their faces otherwise.

The bed shifts slightly, and Angella can practically feel Juliet's tense state as she wonders what to do. The silence continued as they both lay on the bed.

Her Knight, she thinks, might be the most awkward person she's ever met.

But she appreciates her presence all the same. Leaning on her for support, she closes her eyes as the silence continues to fill her chamber.

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She was younger than what Angella had imagined.

Which, in retrospect, had been a rather ridiculous assumption to make.

She supposed she'd subconsciously been aware that the young woman was the same age as Adora, and therefore barely any older than her old daughter, but… she'd seemed to have made a conscious effort to not think that she was effectively at war with a child.

It was all the more obvious now that she was dancing with said young woman, having taken the lead and trying ever so hard to not smirk at the tense and slight awkwardness she was causing her dance partner. Angella was tired and cynical, but that did not mean she couldn't hold a grudge and be prone to bouts of pettiness.

"I believe congratulations are in order." She finally states, forcing her face blank as the other woman twitches. "Your promotion was recent, I assume. You've built quite an impressive reputation in recent months."

Angella was even being truthful. While the common folk didn't understand the Horde's growing improvements, intelligence had quickly realized that someone far more competent had taken control.

Not that Shadow Weaver had been a terrible leader, but Angella vividly remembers her preference for leading smaller squads through hitting hard and fast. A style that had been distinctive when she'd turned towards the Horde, even as it slowly twisted into hitting hard and overwhelming with no show of retreat.

It'd been a rather clear distinction, which had left little doubt or question since it'd been the same time when the woman in front of her had started leading larger army's.

"Thank you," The young commander nods, voice even and calm when Angella knows she's anything but. "And yes, It was… a recent change of events."

Now, how could Angella influence her into the alliance's favour? Turning her into a double agent would be useful, and having her defect would be an advantage, but... she didn't see that as a likely outcome… but then, one didn't need to turn another to influence them to their advantage.

"Can I assume the Horde will begin sending Ambassadors again?" She asks instead, tone absentminded even as it's anything but. "I admit, it's a surprise after years of refusal, but if you're attending the royal Ball…" She trails off, leaving her opponent's mind to link the loose ends.

Angella will have to sit Adora down and have an in-depth discussion on how the Horde's average citizen lives. She's already gone over its military, but it was clear that culture speaking, it was a much different place to that of its previous King's rule.

"Well," The woman offers, "we're currently in a… reformative phase, so nothing can be guaranteed."

She'd been somewhat aware of that as well, she supposed, with Adora's difficulty adapting to a princesses lifestyle -a vivid memory of the young woman having a mental break down for killing a bed of all things appeared in her mind-, but there'd also been the awareness that Shadow Weaver had most likely projected her own ideals and expectations onto her, and Angella had left it at that.

Which had been a mistake on her part. Shadow Weaver might not have been half as manipulative in her youth, but she'd been just as demanding and had always had an expectation that one should reach their best.

"Oh?" She offers a fake smile, "Please do contact me if you decide so, I've grown quite tired of this senseless violence."

And, truth be told, Adora's own presence in the alliance left Angella with mixed feelings. Ordinarily, she would have never allowed a former Horde soldier in any position of power, much less military-related. The exception had been from the knowledge that they were at the edge of losing the war, the realisation that it simply was the Rebellion's best chance of surviving.

It was more complicated now since She-Ra was the centre of the Rebellion's morale. Angella didn't believe she was a spy or a sleeper agent, it… it wasn't even because she'd won so many decisive battles, Angella had genuinely become fond of her daughter's friend, just as fond as she was of Bow, even.

Which was a complicated thing to say, since she was very aware of the glances Glimmer gave both her friends when she thought no one was looking. She'd much rather her daughter waited until she was an adult… or somewhere in her thirties… or perhaps it'd be better if-

"Of course," The commander offers a fake smile of her own, "that being said, I'm not the highest-ranking member of our military, so I can't promise anything."

She was going off track.

"I understand," She tilts her head sympathetically, "I thought I should offer nonetheless. It is the polite thing to do, after all."

The simple matter was that Angella knew Adora believed in the Rebellion, in what it stood for, in its ideals.

And that was the issue, Adora believed in its ideals. And ideals tended to waver when it came to emotions. Which had caused Angella many sleepless nights. Having She-ra borderline obsessing over the enemy commander was worrying, but not overly concerning. The issue was that Angella knew that she wouldn't turn on the Rebellion for the Horde. The ground, however, became much more fragile when it came to someone she was emotionally invested in.

Such as the woman she was dancing with.

Angella was starting to wish Adora had persuaded her to defect with her. Either that or for the Hordes commander to have perished in combat.

On one side, having two former Horde soldiers… well, it wouldn't have been ideal, but she likely would have made it work. It would have made it near impossible to compromise She-Ra and gained them the Horde's greatest strategist.

She might have even groomed her to be her daughter's own countering force for when she eventually took the throne. Not like Micah with his position as advisor, but more… well, more like Light Spinner.

And there was a faint sense of amusement, seeing how that had once been Angella's and Shadow Weavers respective roles with leading the alliance.

On the other, the Horde was… violent. The knowledge that she was starting to involve herself in politics. To succeed -at least as far as she'd seen- in politics was concerning. Very concerning. It made her hesitant of not only her current options, but her previous one's as well.

"Then I will take it under consideration," The woman responds as the song comes to an end, letting go of her hands as she tilts her head, taking a step backwards as her face remains forcefully blank, "thank you for the lovely dance, it was very... enlightening."

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Huh, Catra thinks feeling faintly dazed, I feel like I got into a fistfight with a tank and lost. Badly. Her face felt slightly heated as well. Must be from fatigue.

Definitely from fatigue.

"You look like you were thrown down the stairs from the tenth floor," Lonnie snarks, ignoring Dawn's scandalised gasp as she sends her junior a smirk.

"You should work on your compliments," She snorts, leaning in a nearby pillar so she can take a moment to breathe, "Or your metaphors. A lesser woman might have thought you were insulting her."

"Me? Insult you? Perish the thought!" Lonnie drawls as her eyes return towards the dancing crowd. "Who was the Lady, anyway?"

"You remember when we invaded Brightmoon?" Catra sighs, rubbing the back of her neck as her bodyguard raises an eyebrow. "Well, that was the Queen of Brightmoon."

"...seriously?"

"Yep."

"...You luck knows no bounds. Truly, I'm in awe."

"Neither of us believes in luck, we'd be ten feet under, otherwise." Catra scoffs. "Also, don't give her the eyes, pretty sure she's married."

"Mae-, the what now?"

"Married. Means she's only interested in one person" Catra frowns, "Or something like that. From what I understand, it's like a squad partnership, but with only two people."

"For... what?"

"Beats me." She admits. "I think it might be to raise kids."

"...Weird."

"Very." Catra nods sympathetically, not particularly getting it herself.

Well, technically she's not supposed to get it all.

A member of the Horde took pride in being a soldier, excelling at being a soldier. And as far as Catra was concerned, the Horde had by far the greatest army in Etheria.

But while they were all excellent soldiers, brilliant, even, that did not always mean that they followed every rule in the book.

It's not like they were unaware of what the Horde stood for, of what it did. The thing was that the Horde was their home, their family. And Catra still didn't understand how Adora could just walk away from all of that. Walk away to people that were hell-bent on killing them.

There were many things Catra didn't like about the Horde, true, but that didn't mean that they would always be as such. After all, just because a soldier was told not to have feelings didn't mean that they didn't feel anything. Catra would have expected Adora to have at least understood that.

You could expect almost anyone to try to undermine your position. That was true. But it was very rare for anyone to sell you out to a higher command for their own gain. Simply because it went against the honour and pride every soldier had in the Horde. Because it spat on the culture they'd all grown up learning from their own seniors.

Exceptions existed, of course. People like Octavia had risen through the ranks by selling out other soldiers, having them executed for their own gain. Every single one of them was deeply loathed.

There was a reason Catra had clawed her eye out.

There was a reason no one had supported Octavia when she'd tried to have Catra executed for it.

Catra blinks, having realised her absentminded state as she exhales deeply. "...Urgh, kill me now."

"Sure," Lonnie nods uninterested, "knife or hand?"

"Knife, obviously."

"Mind telling me why?"

"I need to humiliate myself to make my life easier." Catra grimaces, eyes darting towards the lone figure.

"...Actually, I've lost my knife."

"Thank you, Lonnie, truly, you're the patron of camaraderie."

"Well don't let me hold you, go enjoy your humiliation." Lonnie shoos as Catra reluctantly walks away. "Say," She hears her turn towards Dawn, "Do you think they'll mind if I get something to eat for watching this?"

Lonnie, Catra thought, is going to regret this the second we return to the Fright Zone. No respect whatsoever, she sighed.

Somehow, she was again brought to the same dilemma that had been on her mind for the past few months, plaguing her thoughts throughout the day at the most inconvenient of times.

Pride or power, which to choose.

Thing is, Catra had always associated one with the other. Either a coward and weak, or proud and strong. The mere thought that a coward could be strong was bewildering.

But then, she'd been starting to realise that there were many forms of shapes for power, much as there were those that wielded it.

Not good, not bad, just… different.

Sure, some were far more pleasant than others, and some were far more trustworthy than others, but…

Many of Catra's world views had started to be… well, not shattered, as she still held firm to most, but perhaps shaken. Questioned by the many things she'd seen both in and out of the Horde.

But that? That was not one of them.

It was all moot point, really. Because for the first time in her life, she was in a place where she was forced to choose between two of her ideals.

She had to be strong. Always. It didn't matter that her reason had up and left, it didn't matter that Catra had shattered and remade herself for her. It was part of Catras identity. Part of who she was. Because if she wasn't strong, then what was she?

However, when she'd started leading armies, given orders, had trust…

Catra hadn't personally known them, might never have spoken to them, and yet, the knowledge that her soldiers died on her orders. Believed in her orders. It made something ugly crawl under her skin.

So she could choose power with pride, where she claimed the top and watch those crawl at the bottom.

Or.

Or she crawled with them.

The answer was obvious. Trust didn't bring any form of long-lasting power. It didn't cement your future. It had no promise of lasting forever.

And yet, here she was, at a princess party, in a dress, about to throw her pride out simply to increase her people's chance of survival.

Coming to a stop, her eyes dart downwards as she nods politely. "Queen Frosta," She starts, watching as the thirteen-year-old stares wearily, "it's a pleasure to speak to you again."

Just barely, Catra managed to keep the cringe of her expression. Forcing a pleasant smile on her lips as her eyes meet those of another Queen.

"Indeed." She repeats back blankly, and Catra is torn between relief and weariness that she had hasn't been called out on the fact that the last time they'd spoken had been when she'd blown up her caste. "And to what do I owe this… pleasure?"

Call it instinct, but Catra had the sudden irking that the girl might have purposely marginalised herself from the ball simply to drag Catra into a conversation. Which was a ridiculous thought, what with the fact she shouldn't have known Catra wanted to apologise. But then, Catra would never come to understand the workings of a princess's mind.

The fact that the mind she understood best was Entraptas should be a telling sign if nothing else.

Breathe in, breathe out.

"I owe you an apology," She finally manages to breathe out, suppressing another grimace as the Queen simply raises an eyebrow. Scorpia had been very clear that Catra had to place most but not all blame on Shadow Weaver if she wanted to get any positive form of attention, and that meant apologising. It helped that Shadow Weaver had practically stolen all the credit for that operation. Even if, many years down in the future, they did double-check others would also support that claim. "Failure of completing a mission often lead to execution," She explains carefully, "and my mission to... ruin princess prom was a direct order from Shadow Weaver." And that woman really was infamous, from all the dark expressions crossing members 'overhearing' their conversation. "Nonetheless, I ruined your prom, and for that, I owe you a favour."

It wasn't quite a 'sorry', but Catras' pride was already snarling at the mere thought.

She can almost feel Scorpia's stare from the crowd, and while Catra can only guess, she thinks it's an approving one.

It'd been something they'd discussed for hours, how to gain Frostas forgiveness without ruining her position before even getting a chance to establish it.

Which had led to offering a boon in exchange. Now, the likelihood of Frosta ever asking for one was near non-existent. Princess tradition dictated an 'eye for an eye' idea, so since Catra had ruined her ball, she technically owed Frosta a celebration of similar worth.

But there weren't any balls or similar festivals in the Horde. and requesting something else would lower Frosta's position rather than Catra's. Essentially, as long as Catra didn't do something that lowered Frostas, then technically she was forgiven. Of course, that meant she couldn't invade her land -which would be too tempting for her to refuse-, but Catra was hoping she could... shift the Hordes resources into a more trade orientated one so she could drag the Kingdom of Snow into an economical dependence... kind of.

It was conditional forgiveness, true, but forgiveness nonetheless.

And if the momentarily frown that crossed the Queen's expression was any indication, she was just as aware of this as Catra was.

"I see," She finally states, eyes scanning her sharply as she slowly nods, "then I see no reason to hold you to my grudge. I look forward to seeing what favour my Kingdom will receive."

"Thank you," Catra dips her head, "I'm glad to hear that."

That... hadn't quite gone well, but it was close enough that she'd be satisfied with that result. As long as she was careful, she could make this work.

She'd already been here for a fair number of hours. Technically, she was allowed to leave without-

"Indeed," Frosta suddenly smiles, "perhaps you'd care for a drink, I've been told the wine here is lovely."

...That brat. "I'd love to," She forces a smile, reaching for the offered glass. "Who knows? Perhaps something interesting will come from this talk."

"I look forward to it." The thirteen-year-old smiles with far too sharp teeth.

Princess spawns, Catra considered, were bloody terrifying.

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Walking through the castle's large doors, she barely notes the guard's stiff salute as her eyes dart towards the many stairs. She'd always found Brightmoon to be a strange land, with it having been built on a peninsula, its castle at the highest point possible to increase its defence rather than the usual structure of being at the centre.

Well, it's something she'd respected of its Queens, even if nowadays she was technically against a fair number of them.

"My lady?" Her attendant asks, tensing as she comes to a stop.

Waving a dismissive hand, her eyes darted to the base of the stairs.

"I'm surprised to see La Iglesia here." She offers after a moment of silence. "I was under the impression Queen Angella made her position rather clear."

"She did," the young woman nods, calming her own set of guards as she offers a placating smile, "but can people not change their positions or ideas?"

"I suppose they can." She says neutrally, ignoring the guards bristling at the lack of respect. If the brat wouldn't greet her then she had no reason to offer a greeting.

Irritatingly, the girl's smile widens, making no attempt to hide that she knows what she's done and is quite happy with herself about it.

"Then there's no reason for us not to be here. If nothing else, Brightmoon is a beautiful place this time of year."

And every other time of the year, she thinks with growing irritation. "I see. Then I won't hold you to your meeting. I hope you won't be disappointed when she refuses." She offers a smile of her own. "Again."

"Of course not." The younger woman's sudden tension is well hidden, polite and demure even if she's anything but. "It is her right, after all." Her eyes narrow slightly, letting her barb lay for another moment as she starts walking up the stairs.

She watches them leave, her own eyes narrowing as she walks down the last set of steps.

Etheria had become a madhouse, she thinks frustratedly. As if the Horde's sudden shift -and the only reason she didn't call it a civil war was because she expected one to occur soon- La Iglesia was making a move of its own.

The likelihood of the neutrals remaining such was quickly diminishing, and that meant the war would likely become as bloody as it had been two decades ago.

A grimace forming on her lips, the elderly woman let out an irritated sigh. And here she'd been hoping She-ra's appearance might have made peace treaties an actual possibility.

Rubbing the bruises under her eyes, she glances at the training grounds, spotting a single individual in the large plain, repeatedly swinging a sword in a well-practised motion.

...She recognised him. Infamous he may be, years ago as it was, it was a little difficult not to recognise him.

What was the Cowardly Knight doing in Brightmoon?

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"She's still complaining," Dawn can't help but giggle, passing her the screen as she reads through Lonnie's particularly foul language.

"Serves her right," Catra sniffs, reading the last paragraph before placing the screen down, ignoring the pile of work she has still left to go through. The vehicle's movement made reading a nightmare anyway. "Besides, having her wait some few more hours for Scorpia barely qualifies as a punishment."

"I mean..." Dawn offers a helpless movement with her hand, "the way the instructors went about it, I was expecting one of the Princesses to bite me or something. They seemed very..."

"Very." Catra offers, receiving an agreed nod. Suppressing a yawn, her eyes dart out of the window, the sight of the Fright Zone becoming visible at the edge of her sight. "How's it going? I realise I didn't give you much note on it, but..."

Shifting her weight, she rubs her right arm, studying the younger woman's reaction.

"Oh! It's going great! I mean, I'm sorry Edmond couldn't make it, obviously. " She smiles sheepishly. "He should be fit for duty by the end of the month." She brightens even further, and idly, Catra wonders how the Horde produced such a woman. "But Lonnie and Scorpia are great! And we get to be in a squad with you, which just makes it even more amazing! We get to see Etheria. And conquer it!"

It's an oddly nostalgic thought, Catra thinks, not bothering to suppress her smirk. "I hope I don't disappoint, then." She offers with a faint purr in her voice.

She's oddly fond of her, not quite sure what it is that makes her quite this easy to speak to. It's why Catra pulled them in their makeshift squad.

With Adora leaving, Kyle's semi-retirement, and Rogelio's growing interest in medicine, it left her own squad with just Lonnie and herself. She'd been a little worried that it might not have worked, teamwork didn't always grow with time, and personalities did need to have some form of compatibility to flow properly.

To her surprise, not only had Lonnie seemed to approve of Dawn, she worked well with her. Almost as if she was mentoring the younger woman to be more... Lonnie like.

Which is a wearying thought in itself, she thinks, rubbing her right arm slightly frustrated as she reaches for the screen, if only to read more of Lonnie's complaints to amuse herself-

-and she flinches back, pulling her right hand to her chest as the faint sound of an explosion echoes. Faintly, she hears Dawn yell something in the background.

It's a little difficult to listen to right now. As she stares at the shattered screen still releasing smoke, only for her eyes to dart back towards her scarred arm.

It's not the newly reappeared veins that concern her -even though she's having Entrapta check it the moment she returns- but the momentary flash of red that had flashed on the screen.

She might have just imagined it, but...

There were vivid images engraved in her mind, of Shadow Weavers, moving shadows and, more clear in her mind, the red flashes of electricity.

And, in that single moment, her hand had flashed red. Faint sparks, harmless to her skin, floating in a nightmarish reminder of memories.

"Ad'fier." She mutters under her breath, eyes still wide as she starts to panic.

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In the deep of the ocean, where light has not reached for centuries, lays mountains of ancient ice. Landscapes of a past time long since forgotten.

The scars at the surface are of a recent time, clear signs of battle and destruction, they, too, join the forgotten parts of time.

The most recent battle leaves a large underwater canyon. It's another mark of little importance to the naked eye.

But to those that search. To those that really look, there are shadowed figures, most shattered through ice and rotted through time.

Some, however, lay intact, encased in the ice hundreds of metres from the surface. No life dares to draw closer, for while the echoes of the sea mask the sound, if close enough, the faint sound of humming can be heard through the ice.

One, bigger than all but the tallest of Etherian's twitches ever so slightly.

For hours, days, it remains still.

And then, close to its head, it emits yellow coloured light.

Throughout the ocean, a torn sound echoes in a haunting manner.

It might have been a howl of a hunter.

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I sometimes post art of my fanfics here:

Deviantart: sapphireandemeralds

Twitter: SappandEmr

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As always, thank you to Hubris Plus for the advice and grammar checks! It's always awesome to have someone read through the mess I call notes!

Months after I come up with the idea, I can finally end Book I with my own story! From here onwards it's a madhouse, I'd say be warned, but it's already in the tags, so... every sapient being for themselves!

I'm... a little worried about how the next two chapters will be regarded. It's kind of against posting them, but I also need to post it as a writer, so... bear with it?

But... yeah. Writing is hard. I keep trying to make this better, but whenever I look back I just cringe so much. I know I could do it better, but at the same time, I know that I would never post because I'd never been satisfied with it. So, with the end of Book I, I guess I'm apologising for not being able to convey it better. The only thing I can really say is that I'm trying to make this greater, and if you look at my older fics -especially those on fanfiction- I can, with evidence, claim that I am improvising.

So. Getting close to 70K, and at the end of Book I, I want to say thank you. I realise the spelling's bad, I realise the grammar could be better, but you've still read through this fic. And that means alot to me.

...

On a final note, if you thought I should have written something differently, be it personality and/or displays of different states of mentality, a different conversation, or a different story idea, please leave a comment! I always love hearing what people have to say, especially when I get to brainstorm for ways to improve this fic! Any advice is welcome and appreciated! Always.

Anyways, Ill See you next time! Chao!

~ Sapphire and Emeralds