Pyrrha grunted and slid on the ice, and she wobbled gracelessly before one of her guards managed to stabilise her with a firm grip on her shoulder.
She thanked him and turned back to face the ragged procession that still followed her. Less than four hundred soldiers, half as many slaves and a few wagons they had tentatively led onto the ice that had once been a wild, untameable ocean.
Well either the Atlesians or their Gods had tamed it. They had frozen it completely into a great plain of ice.
The ocean. They had frozen the very ocean itself. What a fool she'd been to start a war she'd lost. To fight a war in a different realm with different customs and different gods. The Goddess was all-knowing, but if she was all-powerful then why was there evil in the world?
That was a question which plagued her religion from its inception hundreds of years ago. The Inquisition argued that the reason evil existed was because fallible, foolish mortals turned their backs to Her light and became heretics, something worse than the lowest creature. Priests argued something similar, though they tended to not advocate for death if they were a young member of the ecclesiastical class, favouring reform and forgiveness over punishment and death for those led astray from Her path.
Pyrrha herself believed the Goddess only had sway over those who believed in Her, which would explain why foreign religions weren't struck down by Her for espousing false idols. This was why her religion hadn't been struck down by foreign deities either, as she did not believe the truth behind their alleged power.
But Pyrrha had blindly forged a path straight into the heartland of a foreign Kingdom and had expected the spirits of that realm to ignore her and the new, true religion she had sought to gradually, eventually, impose over it. They'd shown her hubris to the world, but it would be the soldiers who trusted her who would pay the price.
It had been days since the storm began. Maybe a week even. Possibly more. Her army had scattered and had been lost to the thick, impenetrable wind that had descended so suddenly and so swiftly. Pyrrha had been unable to regain order, which was an impossible task when she had barely been able to see her own hand.
Her royal guard had rallied around her, always close on hand. They had heard fighting, the sounds of panicking men turning into primitive, wild beasts out of madness fuelled by fear. They had secured a few wagons of supplies, gathered what slaves and sane soldiers they could find and journeyed into the wild, unable to stay in Fort Reed as it rapidly filled with snow and jagged icicles descended from the heavens, crushing men and leaving behind broken bodies and ice stained a watery crimson.
After travelling through miles of rising snow they found respite in the broken remains of a village charred days before by its own inhabitants. They had sheltered in the village square, the wagons forming a wall around them as they huddled around the broken remains of a statue.
Time seemed to be non-existent, but the snow lessened in strength and by the time the winds had dispersed the world had changed completely.
The landscape was pure white. Snow upon snow upon snow. It was terrifyingly blank, no forests or landmarks to distinguish where they were or where to go. Fort Reed was nowhere to be seen, but for all they knew it could have been buried under a mountain of snow.
The skies remained murky but they could see again. And apart from the endless snow they saw something else that shocked them.
The ocean had been frozen over.
The waves were gone. The water was gone. There was a blanket of ice, stretching off into the horizon as far as the eye could see. It was like the world had ended and been remade into a completely different one.
For a time order had broken down. Some believed she had led them straight into the Unknown, the purgatory hell lost souls went to when they died lost in the wilderness, unable to receive the Goddess' light on account of being unburied, untreated and not being given the funeral rites needed to rise into the Heavens and bask in Her warmth. Instead their bodies had sunk into the earth and their souls had been consumed by the Unknown.
Order had barely been restored by her ever loyal Royal Guard. But even they showed signs of doubt. Signs of fear. Fear and doubt from the people who had been raised alongside her from birth to fight for her fearlessly and trust her unequivocally.
Fortunately it seemed the Goddess still held some sway over Atlas' foreign, cold land and held Pyrrha in some regard despite her catastrophic failure. Survivors from a destroyed village had stumbled across them. Despite being invaders and invaded, they had banded together, enlightening Pyrrha to the fact the same catastrophe that had doomed Mistral and her reign had been equally damaging to the Atlesian natives who dwelled there.
According to the villagers, the snow and wind had devastated the land as far as Bessemer and beyond, and that all the roads leading to Atlas' interior had been caved in by snow and rock and ice. Even the vaunted Solitas Road, the pride of Atlas and crown jewel of King Jacques' reign, the one road that was both paved and connected to every major settlement on Atlas had been smothered over by snow, drowned like dozens of towns and hundreds of villages in the unforgiving cold.
Using the villagers as guides, they had headed eastwards, retreating towards Vulcan. Despite being weakened, despite having no strategic value if the sea around it was frozen as well, it was the only stronghold Pyrrha had left. She needed to retreat, recuperate her losses and reorganise her forces before making any decision. She had been rash before, blinded by her victories, but she wouldn't be now.
Hence why they were now tentatively walking over the ice that had once been an ocean. The mountains had been badly affected by the snow, with avalanches making the area that led to Vulcan almost unrecognisable. The only reason she had known she'd been at Braygate was because of the ruined flag they'd found there, bearing her sigil and not far from the charred remains of the sacrifice the once grand army of Mistral had held for good luck, now buried under a mound of snow.
The new landscape had been too steep to cross and too uncharted for her to risk their party. Walking on the ice was risky, but so long they hugged the coast (or at least what they thought was the coast) then if the ice broke they'd at least land in the shallows. The Atlesian villagers had shared horror stories of smooth snow caving in and swallowing hapless victims whole.
So Pyrrha and her ragged band of less than four hundred survivors of an army that had numbered in the thousands made their way eastwards across the ice that had once been a roiling ocean. Eastwards to a settlement that had only been pacified due to her strength in arms. A settlement led by a boy who'd lost his father defending it.
Pyrrha was really starting to regret her decisions.
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Winter was scared.
It wasn't the first time she'd been scared. Long ago she had a fear of the spiders which would build their webs in the dusty, dark corners of her rooms. The eight legs, creepy, scuttling movements of the creatures terrified her. Fortunately for her, her guard Rodrik would always come in and deal with the creatures whenever she screamed at the sight of them before tucking her back into her bed.
Then Rodrik had died fighting bandits and her new guard was far colder to her worries than Rodrik had been. When she had gone to her father for help instead, he had laughed her off and told her that as a Schnee she needed to overcome such fears.
Winter had managed to do that eventually. It took months of restless nights, fuelled by the fear she felt when even the lightest breeze brushed against her skin and made her think a spider was crawling over her. But eventually, slowly but surely, she had overcome her fear until she was the one dealing with the spiders.
Now Winter was scared again. Except there was nothing she could do to get rid of that fear.
James' skin was a pallid, pasty pale colour. The dark bags on his eyes were juxtaposed by the snow white of his skin and his mouth was open only slightly, letting her hear the rattling, pain breathing that made her heart clench tighter out of worry and fear.
His right arm was missing. His chest was scorched all along his right side, the blackened skin peeking from underneath the pile of bandages and dressings that had been applied to his maimed body.
That damned Inquisitor. That damnable, cretinous, treacherous spy! The man was dead but the damage was done.
Using a magical projectile, of which the irony was not lost on her one bit-the prejudice with which the Inquisition had hunted magic users well known to herself and many others, the Inquisitor had tried to kill her. Because of her blasted, stupid dress, he may well have succeeded.
Then James had leapt forwards and shoved her aside forcibly seconds before the arc of bright lighting had struck her. He had been knocked back into the throne she'd been sitting on and broken some of his ribs.
The Inquisitor had been killed by their guards before they'd been spirited away, the Lords and Ladies of Vale fleeing to their own villas or out of the city. A few nobles had announced their intention to start a war of independence, though their cry for liberty went mostly ignored by a distrustful lower class and a nobility who knew not to hedge their bets just yet.
Winter had been busy in the week that had passed since, making numerous public appearances to show she was fine and shoot down rumours of James' death. Though with what the healers had been telling her, the likelihood of that happening was high.
Winter frowned, clinging onto her husband's remaining arm tighter. What could she do? No healer could grow back an arm or heal the myriad of bones that had been broken or burnt. No healer…but maybe a mage could.
The Vytal Treaty was irrelevant now. Even before the Inquisitor had attacked her, the treaty that had brought a peace advantageous to the enemy side had been ripped apart by Nikos. Magic users, in both Atlas and Vale, could rest easy and reveal themselves.
Or would they? If Mistral somehow won the war then revealing themselves would be foolish, as the Inquisition would know where and who to hunt. They would likely remain in hiding, keeping a low profile until the moment where the victor was clear.
She stared at her husband's face, so pale and sick and deathly. But he was alive. She could hear it in his rattling breath, in the weak beating of the heart she could hear when pressing her head against his chest. He was alive. She would keep it that way.
"My lady." Nicholas Arc said, bringing her out of her thoughts and making her blink with surprise at how easily he had snuck into the room. His eyes were sympathetic but his face was carved out of stone. "We've found a traitor."
"How? Who?" Winter demanded, on her feet within an instant. With James wounded and herself faced with problems from the gathering Vacuoan army, rebellious Valean nobles and the threat of a Mistrali invasion as well, she had put Nicholas Arc in charge of defence of the realm, something he had agreed to.
The man wouldn't say it, but he'd done so for James. Winter didn't really know why, didn't know why the strange bond of friendship and respect existed between the two men but she did not care so long it meant Vale, and by extension James, was safe
That job meant he was also in charge of tightening security and rooting out traitors, something he had proven to be surprisingly adept at.
"She came forward willingly. Said it was only a matter of time before she was caught." Nicholas crossed his arms. "I do not mean to sound impertinent, my lady but I do not think it is wise to let you know her identity."
"Why? Do you not trust me?" Winter replied, narrowing her eyes and glaring at the man. "I am your liege Arc."
"You are, which is why I do not want you to know." Nicholas retorted calmly. "She is…an important member of staff, my lady. I believe she came forward in order to cause you emotional distress and harm."
"Who is it, Arc?" Winter demanded again, before softening her approach. "Please? I need to know."
Nicholas sighed, his ocean blue eyes turning to stare at the ground.
"Your midwife my lady. She is a Mistrali agent."
Winter's head spun and the world blurred into colours. Her midwife. The woman who had smiled over and over again and reassured her time and time again that one day she would have a child after her numerous, plentiful pregnancy scares.
"Take me to her." Winter demanded, swallowing thickly. "I need to...I need to see with my own eyes. I…I need to know what she's done."
Nicholas Arc nodded sadly, and his eyes told her he suspected what she did.
"I'm so sorry my lady." Nicholas said, before turning to lead her to wherever her former midwife was being kept. She squeezed James' remaining hand, a silent promise to come back, before she turned and followed, stomach heaving with distress.
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Weiss was scared.
She had been scared when Sir Sorensson, one of Alexander Nikos' lackeys, had charged at her with a silvery steel blade and tried to take her life. She had been scared for Klein's life when he had been thrown into a trial for fulfilling her orders and she had been scared for Jaune ever since he'd been forced to flee into the wilderness with only a girl barely of age to look out for him.
But now, now she was terrified.
The reports came in everyday with a new group of refugees. Tales of snow and ice that were greater, deadlier and more powerful than what naturally occurred, powerful enough to break bodies and blow little children into the dark, whirling storms, never to be seen again.
Reports of avalanches and new mountains sprouting as the storms of snow seemed never ending. Reports of an ocean frozen over, of trade completely stalled and food beginning to run scarce across her Kingdom as old stores had been damaged or destroyed by the weather and with the meagre Atlesian harvest already reaped and supplies from Vale stalled, a famine seemed inevitable.
Except it hadn't been weather. It had been her, her magic. In her attempt to help save her Kingdom, she had single-handedly doomed it.
Or the world, it would seem.
"What did you just say?" Weiss blurted out, eyes wide and horror filling her to her core. Old Bragrim sighed.
"Ice melts Your Majesty. The temperature of the ocean has never been cold enough to allow for the ice to completely freeze it. In time, the ice will melt but that will only cause the ocean to rise as ice melts into water. We have some time due to winter approaching, but when spring comes and summer soon after I fear parts of the world will be swallowed by the ocean as the ice melts." The old man explained, looking both equally terrified and sympathetic. "You did not know what you were doing, Your Majesty, but every spell can be undone. You must find out how."
"I can't do it alone!" Weiss exclaimed, standing quickly and speaking as closest she would ever get to pleading to someone. "I need your help Bragrim!"
"I cannot and you know why I can't." The old man replied sadly. "You were asleep for so long and I did not know if you would re-awaken. The people demanded answers."
"But it wasn't you who did this!"
"Of course not. But do you think the people would still accept you as their Queen if they found out you did this?"
They wouldn't. Too many lives had been lost. Too many homes and towns and hamlets were destroyed. Too much damage and instability caused. Not to mention the still lingering fear and prejudice towards magic users that would surely only increase after what she'd done.
"What do I do? How do I fix this?" Weiss pleaded, clasping her hands in front of her. "Please Bragrim give me something to work with!"
"I can try Your Majesty." Bragrim sighed, turning to his now cleaned out desk and ruffling through the bag containing the items he could not afford to leave behind. "Here. This book will instruct you how to make potions that can boost your magical strength. In the meantime, you will need to try and find the time to meditate, to create a bond with the power within you. I wish I could do more to help you, but I cannot remain here for much longer."
"Is there no other magic user you know of who can help me?" Weiss asked, clutching the dusty tome she'd been given close to her chest. Bragrim hummed.
"There is one I know of…I will try to contact her, however she resided in Vale the last time I checked. She is just as, if not more, powerful than I am, and of all the mages out there will likely understand your plight better than most." Bragrim told her, before slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I will do what I can. But I make no promises."
"Thank you Bragrim." Weiss said softly, looking away ashamedly. "I wish there was more I could do to protect you."
"I can look after myself well enough, Your Majesty." Bragrim chuckled, smiling kindly at her. "Don't fret over the fate of one old man. You have a Kingdom, and dare I say it, a world to save."
With that Bragrim bowed and turned and left the room, muttering an incantation that would blur his features and make his escape easier.
Weiss made her way over to the window, the glass having been shattered when she first unlocked her power. The holes left behind in the ceiling still hadn't been fixed either, though there were more important things to worry about as well.
The Mistrali still had a significant force near the ruins of Mantle and their home Kingdom had been untouched apart from the training camp she had destroyed and the port which had been filled with goods stolen from Atlas, both of which were likely Argus. That meant the Kingdom still had the capacity to wage war.
Her own Kingdom was crippled. Winter had been brought early by herself and the ocean, and with it the vital shipping routes bringing food from Vale, had been frozen over and cut off. The region around Nördliche Burg was flooding with refugees and the food supplies that had been damaged when the dragon had attacked had yet to be fully restored, leaving her with the prospect of an imminent famine, on top of the responsibility of trying to find the funds and supplies to maintain a large army and discovering the key to her powers and finding a way to undo all that she had done before Remnant was flooded.
For the first time in a long time, Weiss wished she was Jaune right now.
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Pyrrha sighed as she leaned back and stretched her arms, feeling a satisfying pop in her shoulder. Walking around on ice in her armour all day had been a challenge to say the least, but with dusk fast approaching her small cohort had found a snowy cove and set up camp there.
With no risk of being flooded by the ocean's water at night, it provided a welcome shelter and respite, as they could freely light fires to warm themselves. Pyrrha didn't doubt the Atlesians were in as rough a state as her own forces but she wasn't willing to risk open fires on ice that had been an ocean the day before nor the chance a band of Atlesian soldiers might spot them.
The balance of power had been thrown on its head. She had no idea how many of her men survived outside of her small company of survivors and she had no idea how badly affected the Atlesians were by this. They had to have been affected in some way shape or form, but there was a chance they had either reorganised or just been affected less harshly than she had been.
Either way meant that her enemy was in a stronger position than her, and they would also have the advantage of being in their home Kingdom. They would know where to find supplies and would likely be given it willingly by the locals. Pyrrha did not have that same luxury.
Pyrrha sighed and wandered towards the mouth of the cave, nodding back to her guards who saluted her as she approached. They were the only ones she could truly trust now, and she did not know whether she could even rely on them for that much longer. Even if she did return to Mistral, her defeat would cripple the weakened foundation of her reign, already splintered by the loss of Haven.
If she was quick, if she managed to portray it as something other than an all out defeat, she may be able to survive. Perhaps she could use the weather phenomenon? It had been the real reason for her defeat after all, and then it could either be blamed on the weather or the cowardly Atlesians relying on mages rather than their skill with a blade.
Worst case scenario then she would have to cow down to the demands of her nobles and marry a son of theirs. They would marry into her family of course, not the other way around, but the Crown's power would be weakened by such a move, not to mention she'd alienate the noble families whose sons she didn't marry.
Pyrrha shook her head. She'd have to make it back to Mistral somehow first. As far as she could tell the ocean had been frozen over completely. If she managed to find the supplies she could risk trying to just walk back to Mistral.
It was a ridiculous thought but at the same time she couldn't think of anything else. Vulcan would likely have some Atlesian icebreakers but she didn't believe that even they would be able to carve through the plain of ice that stretched on before her. Plus they would be too slow so any pursuers would catch her quickly.
No one would expect her to just walk back, so it was unlikely she'd come across any hunters or scouts.
The problem was that if the ice didn't actually spread all the way to Mistral's shore then she would waste supplies and days only to come across an ocean she couldn't cross. If that happened, the fragile trust in her leadership would shatter.
Her guards would remain loyal. They always would, as they had been conditioned to unconditionally support Mistral's monarch. Her soldiers, the levies and mercenaries and opportunists, the Atlesian villagers and the slaves however? Their loyalty was questionable at best.
Fortunately her guards outnumbered them, even if it was only slight. But the problem remained that she couldn't trust half of her remaining company.
"Your Imperial Majesty." Sixty-Four, her lieutenant in the absence of Seventy-Seven and the loss of Seventy-Five during the storm. "I have received word from those you instructed to listen."
"And what do my spies have to report?" Pyrrha questioned, wondering if she would be proven right or paranoid.
"The soldiers are disgruntled and the villagers are pushing this. The slaves hope for freedom, even those well trained. They are colluding against you." Sixty-Four answered and Pyrrha smiled sadly, staring out across the open plain of ice before her.
"Ready the men. Begin in five." She ordered quietly, and Sixty-Four nodded before turning around and heading inside the cave once more.
As she stared out the open field of ice, trying to convince herself she was in the right and she should go through with her current plan, she noticed something. A flickering light.
"Arms ready." She ordered the guards on either side of her, drawing the sword she always kept at her hip. Her spear had been lost in the storm and her shield was inside the cave, but she would not need it. You could insult her ability as a war leader, but never as a warrior.
The light grew closer, revealing the shadowy but distinctive shapes of five men. As they grew closer, their figures became clearer and more recognisable, as days before she had been fighting against men wearing similar armour.
The armour was Atlesian, bulky with steel plate and furs to protect against the cold. Weapons bounced at hips and she took note they had not drawn yet. Perhaps she could bribe them? It could at least buy her the time she needed to make it back to Mistral.
Then the faces became clearer, and she frowned as she recognised the leader.
"Richard?" She asked, lowering her sword slightly. The boy was haggard, with dark pits underneath his eyes and the stubble shadowing his face. His left arm was in a sling and in his right he carried a torch.
"Your Imperial Majesty." Richard greeted quietly, struggling onto one knee. His companions did the same, and she recognised them as some of the men she had left behind to garrison Vulcan, and one she recognised as Seventy-Seven, filling her with both joy at his good health and worry at the reason as to why he wasn't shadowing Duke Acteon as ordered.
"Rise. Why are you here?" She asked, slightly dazed with shock. He should've been at Vulcan.
"Hell of a coincidence eh?" Richard snorted, the shadow of a smile curling at his lips. "We were trying to find you at Fort Reed but the avalanches blocked the land route so we decided to walk over the ocean, which is still weird to think about let alone say."
"Why were you seeking me out?" Pyrrha demanded, only a hint of the hysteria she was feeling creeping into her tone. The men next to Richard, apart from Seventy-Seven, bristled, though her remained calm.
"To give you bad news." Richard replied, coughing harshly, a rough sound that hurt her lungs to hear. Pyrrha noticed the worrying looks the men next to him gave, and even she felt a tinge of worry at the rattling cough. "Vulcan has fallen. We were attacked by a force of Atlesians and Mistrali."
That was bad. But she expected it. Even before the storm, Vulcan was always going to be left in a weak position. She still didn't wish it had happened now, when she was at her weakest, let alone with the knowledge Acteon had actually betrayed her.
"I take it Duke Acteon is no longer loyal?" She asked, directing the question to Seventy-Seven, who nodded tiredly.
"That isn't all, Your Majesty." Richard said, before gesturing towards Seventy-Seven, who swallowed nervously. Pyrrha frowned immediately, bracing herself for even worse news.
"During my time in Duke Acteon's…entourage." Seventy-Seven said, shuddering as he did so. "We came across a village. His men razed it, but whilst doing so he meant with a man. I am sorry Your Imperial Majesty, he bore the royal sigil. It was your brother."
"No!" Pyrrha gasped, the realisation slamming into her as her tired brain quickly computed, quickly put two and two together.
"I am afraid it is true, Your Imperial Majesty." Richard continued. "His banner was flown by the Mistrali forces who attacked Vulcan."
Pyrrha turned away from them, a whirlwind of emotion storming inside of her. If her brother had been flying his own banner instead of that of his betrothed then it was a clear, simple message. He was making a move for her crown. To usurp her.
Her brother had always hated her for taking what he believed to be his. Pyrrha knew that and had long ago accepted that she and him would not have a simple, loving relationship because of it. But this…this still hurt.
"Why are you here?" She asked Richard quietly, swallowing her emotions like she had been taught to. "Seventy-Seven I know will die for me. My men will want to return to their home. But you? Your home is in Atlas. Why?"
"You still have my family remember?" Richard smiled bitterly before he shook his head darkly. "And I'd rather follow you than Queen Schnee. Your men razed part of town but they didn't do some of the things the Atlesians were doing to our own."
Pyrrha frowned, but nodded at his reasoning. Part of her hated the first part of his reasoning, a not so subtle reminder that whilst her family fought amongst themselves and hated each other, others such as his cared and loved for one another. The second part…even she would have thought the Atlesians would have greater discipline to not murder, loot and do all the other things conquering armies do to a city they were supposed to be liberating.
"Swear loyalty." Pyrrha ordered. "All of you will reaffirm your loyalty to me and we will all return home, to our families."
They glanced amongst themselves, before falling back onto their knees and swearing fealty to her. Pyrrha smiled gently at them, something which quickly turned sad when she heard clanging of steel and screams echo from within the cave behind them.
"What…What's happening?" Richard asked nervously, averting his eyes when she made contact with him. A manic, broken laugh bubbled out of her.
"Those who are disloyal are being given their just desserts." Pyrrha answered, allowing a single tear to shed at the monster she'd become before wiping it away and falling solemn once more as the screams continued to echo out across the windless, soundless night.
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The Governor's Palace was oppressively quiet as she made her way through the long, opulent halls of her home.
By no means was she and James used to hosting the entirety of Vale's nobility at once, but the usual quietness was even more noticeable after the hustle and bustle leading up to and immediately after their meeting in the Great Hall. That silence was even more pronounced by the lack of servants wandering the halls, with many still under temporary arrest whilst they were investigated by an increasingly paranoid and zealous guard, all of whom were fiercely loyal to James and determined to root out traitors to rectify what they saw as their error.
In a way, any infiltrator would be her fault as well. Any new staff would have been interviewed by her or James, though considering how busy her husband usually was it turned out to be her more often than not. Any infiltrators would be her fault and hers alone.
Apart from three staff members who had been part of the Palace's servants since before James had been made Governor, left over from Arc's time. Only one had retired and only one had been a member of staff before even then, having served when her Uncle had been Governor of Vale before being thrown to the Faunus Horde during the Faunus Rights Revolution.
Her midwife. The woman who was supposed to help her during pregnancy and during birth. A woman who had soothed her and reassured her that everything was fine, and that one day she would give birth to a child.
Now her mind was spinning as she remembered minute facts from years ago. Times when her bleeding had been larger, clumpier than usual after a consultation with her midwife over a possible pregnancy. The numerous poultices and potions supposed to increase her fertility and increase the likelihood of her having children, herbs and leaves that would leave her sick and weak for weeks afterwards.
Her stomach heaved. Her mind was made. She knew. Even Arc knew. It explained everything.
"Did you know?" Winter hoarsely asked Nicholas Arc, who had been leading her to wherever he was keeping her midwife.
"I didn't." Nicholas replied sadly, apologetically. "She was nothing but supportive whenever my wife gave birth here. She tended to stick to Ansel when pregnant, but one time she visited me and gave birth to Autumn here."
"And which number was that daughter? Five? Six?" Winter asked, unable to hide the bitterness in her tone. Nicholas did not reply, and they walked in silence until he finally stopped outside the door to a small study room.
"She is in there my lady." Nicholas told her. "I will wait outside. There will be two guards already inside and they will remain there. I won't compromise on that."
"I can handle myself against an old lady." Winter scoffed, entering the room stiffly. True to Arc's word, her midwife sat on a wooden chair, bored expression turning bright when she entered.
"Ahh, Winter. I wondered when you'd come." Morana rasped, and Winter looked away from the woman's bright eyes, taking note that the guards were her own, or rather James', instead of men from Arc's own retinue. "Will James be coming soon as well? Oh I forgot about his condition. Silly old me. You know how people's memories slip with old age don't you Winter."
"You've said it enough times already." Winter replied coldly, feeling her throat choke up and her eyes beginning to sting with the threat of tears. "Why?"
"Why?" Morana repeated, making a mocking expression. "Please do speak up dear. My hearing isn't quite what it once was."
"Why have you come forward as a traitor?" Winter elaborated, hands clenched into fists at her side. "And what have you done in your role as said traitor?"
"Ahh now that's the kicker isn't it. What have I done? Or have I done anything? Perhaps my purpose is to make you second guess and doubt and fear over smoke and mirrors rather than anything I've actually done."
"Speak clearly!" Winter snapped, stepping forward and bristling with an anger she could no longer contain. "What have you done to me!"
"Oh Winter." Morana tutted mockingly. "The correct answer would be have I done to you children? Or would it be accurate to say would-be children? They were never born after all."
"No!" Winter gasped, stomach heaving and the world spinning violently, a dull ringing echoing in her ears. "What have you done!"
"Guaranteed your filthy bloodline cannot continue through you." Morana cackled, uncaring of the bristling guards who had their hands gripping the hilts of their steel blades tightly. "My life was ruined by your great-uncle, so I ruined yours!"
"What does my great-uncle have to do with any of this? He was killed during the Faunus uprising?" Winter asked numbly, not entirely there. She was going through the motions, asking the questions that needed asking but she wasn't truly listening to the answers. Her mind was swimming through a dreadful landscape of 'What If?'.
A landscape where the quiet palace halls were filled with the noise of giggling children. A landscape where the empty rooms set aside for children were filled with laughter and joy rather than cobwebs, dust and faded paint. A landscape where she and James had never mourned or cried for their lack of children in those dreadfully silent, still rooms. A landscape where James was healthy, hale and whole, holding her in his arms whilst they watched their brood of children play fondly.
"Your great-uncle." Morana spat. "Defiled me. Ruined me. He used me and threw me away to the gutters. My family disowned me. My husband left me. My little baby, your cousin, died on the streets. I will never forget how pale and thin and sickly he was because your great-uncle had cast me aside once he had had his fun with my body."
The words broke Winter from her reverie. She had heard tales about her uncle. Her father had told her about him, about some of things he had done, during one time when he'd been drunk. She wasn't surprised by this revelation, but it was disturbing to hear nonetheless.
"Arc gave me employment again. So did Ironwood. Then you came along. And I knew I could finally avenge my boy." Morana cackled again. "The reason the Inquisition came to me in the first place was because I'm the only person alive who can say they've killed six Schnees."
A choked howl erupted from Winter, and the tears she had barely been holding back spilled freely. Six Schnee. Six of her children had been murdered before she could even carry them into the world. Before she could even see their face or their eyes.
Six.
"I don't care if you kill me for this." Morana cackled. "My job is done. Your womb is as barren as Vacuo's Badlands. The Schnee line will end with your sister's deat-argh!"
The old woman screamed when Winter surged forward and threw her bodily onto the floor. She distantly heard an old bone in the woman's body crack as she hit the floor, but the screams and panicked noises from her guards were nothing but white noise to Winter as she stalked over to the howling old woman.
"Willow."
Winter's heeled foot slammed into the small of the old woman's back.
"Whitley."
She kicked the hunched over bitch's stomach and knocked her onto her side.
"Bleiss."
Her foot dug into the woman's shoulder, and Winter made sire to dig the heel of her shoe into the woman's shoulder as she was knocked onto her back.
"Slate."
Winter stood over the woman, the bitch, the monster who had stolen her children from her before she leaned down and swung at the monsters jaw.
"Helle."
Choking sounds was the only noise the monster made as broken teeth and blood gargled in her broken, bloodied mouth. Nicholas Arc was yelling something at her. Winter ignored him.
"James!"
Winter's hands slid over and gripped the side of the monster's face. Terrified eyes stared into her own, and the monster howled as Winter's thumbs drove down into them, digging into the eye sockets as far as she could with a satisfying squelching sound and accompanying scream.
"You murdered them all!" Winter roared, using her grip on the monster's head to raise it up before slamming it onto the stone ground. "Die! Die! Die! Diediediediediediedie! Die!"
Some grabbed her, ripping her away from the monster. Winter howled and spat and scratched, trying to break free. She had to make sure it was dead. She had to make sure the monster couldn't harm anymore of her children.
…as barren as Vacuo's Badlands…
Winter froze. She wouldn't be able to conceive again. She'd never carry life inside her again. She would never have the opportunity to raise her children again. The monster had murdered her children, poisoned her very body and stained her soul.
The damage was already done. There was nothing she could do now.
All hope was lost.
The thought broke her. Her anger vanished. Her rage dissipated into nothing. The strong arms that had ripped her away from the monster she'd killed wrapped around her and rubbed her back soothingly, and a soft voice whispered kindly into her ear.
It didn't matter. She'd already lost.
A/N: Good news and bad news.
This fic won't be going on a hiatus as of yet. That was the good news.
The bad news is that I haven't received a proper treatment/diagnosis about my spine yet. Today was a Rheumatology appointment because of a gene detected in my blood (I took blood tests ages ago) that could cause inflammation in my spine but is an unrelated issue and isn't actually causing me any problems. I was basically told nothing was wrong and all I needed to do was some Pilates to improve my core strength to help my spine.
They also showed me a picture of my x-ray and my spine looks like half of a goddamn pretzel. On the notes from the referrer it also said 'moderately severe' so I can't help but think that things are fine from a Rheumatologists point of view as the genetic condition isn't playing up, but I haven't seen a proper spinal clinician/consultant if that makes sense. I'm going to try and get an appointment with Orthopaedics (which is apparently the spine people or something). In the meantime I'll just be doing Pilates I guess.
Next update 15/09/22.