Chapter Text
There were many words people had used to describe Farena's little brother, especially when it came to a particular brand of intelligence he possessed, for all he was rarely willing to show it unless absolutely necessary.
Cunning. Sly. Underhanded. Duplicitous. Sneaky. Crafty. Devious. Furtive. Stealthy. Lying pain in ass-
Well, Farena couldn't exactly disagree, though he preferred to call it a specific kind of social and emotional intelligence, focused on leading away a person's objectives in order to obtain a true goal , which Leona loved a lot as it made him sound like some sort of evil genius.
Still, even his majordomo, who never forgave Leona for plucking his feathers when Zassa stopped him from playing with that mouse, and thus saw Leona as manifestation of all evil in the world ( and probably had backup plan in case Leona tried to take throne, for all Farena and Saraphi told him he was being paranoid), had to admit this was concerning.
It wouldn't be the first time that Leona ran away from home, and for smaller things too. But this time he left no note and no clue, and none of his usual hiding spots (which Farena knew by heart, in order to avoid them better), were occupied, and there was no trace and no smell. Not even Queen Saraphi, who could beat any jackal by sense of smell and fierceness of hunt, could find anything.
In hindsight, there was certainly a better way to handle offers for arranged marriage.
I told you , Saraphi told him, when Leona stormed out cussing and cursing (in several meanings of that word), slamming doors like when he was 13 . And Farena could only nod, because his wife was almost always right ( people always thought that Farena was too lenient with his brother, which was absolute nonsense, because for all her tough demeanor, Saraphi was one who encouraged and enabled his shenanigans, and covertly participated in them).
It was a matter that required a certain tact and elegance, which unfortunately both Farena, often accused of breaking people's ribs with his hugs, or Saraphi, who had a charming trait of throwing bulls at people who tested her patience, severely lacked. So, telling Leona that they opened several offers for arranged marriage their deceased father made, and were considering few, was admittedly not the best way to start lunch.
And Farena now wanted to slap himself, just as before he wanted to bite his tongue, but words flew out too soon- how those were some very fine ladies, and they would certainly like Leona. His brother was, despite protests to the contrary, very sentimental and fond of friendships and honest relationships, so arranged marriage didn't sit well with him, because he couldn't get out the idea that even if they got along, his wife would only like him for sake of status and politics.
(And admittedly, though he had a prickly but admirable personality, Farena recalled well that Leona was never particularly inviting towards women. Girls preferred men who could fight them to standstill and would join them on hunt, and Leona possessed neither inclination, interest or physicality needed for that. Farena thought it shameful, because even though Leona might be able to throw a decent punch, Farena would like to teach him how to wrestle and turn his, admittedly unusual and extreme, smaller size and litheness to his favor.
But then again, Farena couldn't work out magic beyond basics to save his life, so he never bothered Leona with it.)
But uncle likes boys , Cheka said confusedly, and that was true too. Leona never really came out, but neither made it secret. From way he clothed in summer and magazines he didn't really hide across his room, to his childhood games, where Leona insisted on either being prince saved by knight, or villain redeemed by hero, Leona was often pretty clear about his interests, and Farena was glad that he felt safe enough to be so open with them.
So, starting to talk about potential wives was certainly a punch in the gut for Leona, and one he hoped to apologize sooner than later. Ugh, he should have just led with the fact he had been planning to overturn tradition for years and get him engaged to some lord!
Perhaps a foreign one? There was too much politics and flattering at home, and besides Leona didn't have many friends, nor would his visage attract much attention of others, at least not positive one ( people used to mock Leona for his shortness and lack of muscles, as well as disinterest in athletics, and thus quickly learnt to beware for their kneecaps and beware his teeth- because Leona was spiteful and fair in his own way, and wouldn’t wield magic against those who couldn’t defend themselves with it.).
According to Saraphi, and from what he had seen, Leona was very popular at his school (especially with those two Pomefiore students, Rook and Vil, which would have been degrading and warranted beating if he didn't see how Leona was blushing and limping and oh god, too much information ). And then there were few students from his own former school who Leona left with after matches and still kept in contact...
Farena was thrown out of his musings at slight sound, which for a moment froze him at spot, before sending him dashing furiously, madly panicked, seemingly ready to smash his own head, as he followed a strange and alien sound that nevertheless came from his wife's mouth.
There were many things Farena loved about his wife. From her muscles to her smooth and warm voice, from her gift for making children laugh to ability to bench press an elephant. She was kind and brave and ferocious in battle, and Farena had never heard her scream- not because screaming was mark of cowardice, no matter what some more conservative members of their Pride thought, but because so far none of them had encountered something scarier than Saraphi on the warpath.
He rushed into the room, and once again was impressed by her. For Saraphi had only let out a choked gasp, as if she started to scream before her throat gave up, because no sound could accurately convey that sort of terror. Farena, on other hand, didn't even have time to scream, for his brain was too busy fighting the urge to wrap his own hands around his throat.
He was afraid. It was now as much fact of his existence as him possessing bones, or being alive, or being able to comprehend the existence of other beings- an irrefutable and ever present criteria of reality, the unavoidable component of him being here, active even when he wasn't consciously thinking of it. The instinct and age old tales shouted at his brain, as fear ran alongside blood and ice settled in the marrow of his soul.
The being in front of them didn't care about that. It was an accepted and expected part of its existence, as natural as discomfort to nightmare, as burning to fire. It was a thing born of desperate screams of war victims, of last frightened breaths taken by a fox caught in a trap. It stood tall, thrice bigger than Farena and Saraphi put together, and still it had to bend to fit in the room- at an angle of ninety degrees, bending at waist, straight as arrow, like plank, in way impossible and unnerving for anything of flesh and bone.
It's fingers were many and long, and thin, like strips of willow leaves, sparkling silver like new needles, sharp and deadly as garotte. It's eyes were torn out, bleeding thick black blood, and inside burned green will-o-wisps, smoke curling from them, wrapping itself around its body like a cloak of fog. Thick vines shot through the body, dry and ancient, as ugly as bog mummy- something dead and ancient, preserved by filth that killed it, unwilling to let even small tiny things that feasted on dead flesh and fallen leaves steal it's prize.
The Briarspeaker. A creature of Valley of Thorns, emissary of Forbidden Mountain, the voice of faerie royalty that dwelled there. The messenger that no wall could stop, for all gates would unlock to let it pass ( they tried to stop it, their ancestors, with passwords and wards, with technology and magic, and it was useless, for it was herald and voice of the monarch, and it would not stop until the message was received).
Nobody had seen one in centuries, but everybody remembered stories. Of terrible creatures arising from clouds and sand, from prairie and water,passing on demands and ridicule of being that called herself Maleficent, in this age and language, and afterwards would dissolve in mist and dust, but not before punishing those who didn't show appropriate respect.
Not one had been seen, in centuries after Maleficent's fall. The Valley of Thorns retreated, closed in on itself, and cut off all contact, letting the world breathe and heal on its own, only sometimes offering money and magic and aid as recompense, as debt, as repatriation and weregild, something none of them thought possible. For Maleficent wasn't conqueror, marching with her troops to take other's lands. She was like night itself, inevitable and all mighty. Her kingdom was bordered by broken hope and lost chances, and any despairing soul might become lost in it.
Her own people had been terrified of her, all but one raven, and couldn't do anything about it. Faerie crown wasn't passed down by bloodlines, or contests of strength, but by who served the land best. And Valley of Thorns was Maleficent's, created and carved out of reality by strength of her own will. She knew the true name of everything that slithered and crawled there, and oaths bound each creature to prevent them from disobeying. Whoever dared think of such a thing would be torn apart and stitched together in some sort of goon, made to be small and weak and always serve, while inside their true nature clamoured helplessly. And if some dared help her victim, well...
(They say that deep down, beneath root of mountains, beneath dirt and dark, beneath the face of world, in part of valley that was not the material world, but composed of dark dreams and foolish bargains, of traumas of children and crimes of ancient kings, Malleus's father still screams, but he will never be let out, no matter how much new king digs.)
So they healed, and kept their own counsel, and offered aid to those still struggling under their mistress’s ancient curses. And they were feared, for they were grown in her image, and only those that could serve her purpose without being rivals, were allowed to continue to exist. New king was said to be powerful, yet aloof man, who didn't mingle with others, nor did he cast curses when he wasn't invited, which made him all right in Farena's eyes. He never got to meet him, and didn't want to, but he didn't envy him the task ahead.
(Maleficent would return, they said.
Fae weren't like men or other creatures, and whatever shape they wore was just a shell of human imagination, meant to portray interface for whatever sort of thing they were. They didn't live and die, for they were creatures born from the baby's first laughter, from the last drop of the king's lifeblood, from death of final autumn bloom, from coal in water. And Maleficent, they said, was born when the first living creature harmed another. Until all malice and antagonism was gone, she had a chance to return.
Only thing Malleus could do, to prepare against his grandmother- which, in fae way of thought, meant he was found and taken in by fae she herself had chosen to raise- was to tie his subjects with tighter oaths to his own, or seek loopholes to break those they had to her, and beg land to love him better.)
But he was fae, and he should never be underestimated. The Three Good Fairies, those pleasant grannies that taught him at academy, with their bright colours and funny arguments? They killed her.
And it wouldn't do to forget that before Flora gave advice to children in need, the coming of spring, the success of harvest, the bloom of fruits and health of vegetation depended on her mercy.
It wouldn't do to forget that for all her gentleness, the cycle of life on which predator and prey depended, the breeding and hunting of animals, was the source and product of Fauna’s might.
It wouldn't do to forget that for all her sarcastic, friendly attitude and rebel encouragement, there were still places in his own kingdom where, when drought was too harsh in summer, you slit beast's throat and roasted it with incense at top of mountain, to beg for grace of Mistress Merryweather, who made sun shine and brought rain.
''HERE IS THE PRICE.'' The creature spoke, in voice of a dying man in moors, of wind shattering glass, of ghost stalking sleepwalker, and as green flames burned many gifts poured in the room, meat and gold and jewels and weapons, such treasure that farena had never seen.
''Price for..what?'' Saraphi asked, her voice barely shaking, for she was queen and knew well the nature of faerie bargains.
''OF PRINCE CONSORT; LONG AND PROSPER OUS MIGHT HIS LIFE BE. OF LEONA KINGSCHOLAR-DRACONIA.''
And with those words, the Bramblespeaker dissolved in twilight and shadows, leaving behind only one thing, a portrait- Leona, in black robes that could barely be said to have shirt, covered in veil with cutout for his ears, jewelry- bracelets, rings, chains, collar- hanging off him, silver and onyx, emerald and amethyst.
And Farena roared.
He knew the tales. He knew of dangers of Faerie, and of how mortals were led away, to be used and consumed. Of how they would be thrown out, hundred years after, and waste away, pining for fae wine and cakes. And he knew that he wouldn't allow that to happen to his brother, that he would storm down valley himself and fill that little shit of a witch-boy king with iron shavings and if hair on Leona's head was harmed...
''Dad. Why are you shouting?' A voice came behind him, and he hadn't realized he was stumbling, that Saraphi was supporting him. He turned, and Cheka flinched from rage itched on his father's face, and only Saraphi unloading steel in her eyes stopped him from running away.
''Cheka, it is... what is that, Cheka?'' She asked, concerned. There was a strange creature on Cheka's shoulders, something between racoon, snake and butterfly (combination that had no right to look as effortlessly elegant as it did), composed of velvety purple petals and moonlight. It sat on Cheka and nuzzled his hair, sparkling like starlight through tears.
''This? Oh, it is Latisae! Uncle gave it to me, as apology.'' Cheka said, grumbling those last words.
''Apology? For what?'' Farena asked, as strange weight settled in his chest, oh god what was happening to his brother...
''For not being to attend his and Malleus's wedding! I kept asking but he said it wouldn't count elopement if any of their families were present! Uncle Malleus left it tonight, before they went away. Uncle was so impatient, said I was just intruding on his most important night, and if he wanted me to ruin the moment he'd invite the rest of us. '' Cheka said in his drawn out and whiny tone, which meant that Leona promised him something big if he listened and kept quiet, but he hid it because he wanted two of them to feel sorry for him.
As one, Saraphi and Farena turned to portrait, examining it bit better.The face in portrait was grinning, winking grimace, cheekily waving, and they saw that robes were perfectly fitted, in style Leona preferred, and beyond feathers and thorns all rest of embroidery showed off traditional crest of their family, and there was a lot of amber and gold Leona favored, tiny gems woven in fabric to resemble rock dissolving in sand, and there were his bracelets and choker, and wasn't half of those silver and emerald jewelry kind he had been wearing for past two years....
''Elopement.'' Said Saraphi, in quiet voice she used when she thought Leona did something very stupid that nonetheless she had to respect, for not thinking of it first.
''He thought we would ruin his wedding!'' And thus Farena wept, loud and grumbling, as he started calculating the best possible wedding gift, because that good bride price was an obvious invitation of war to in-laws.