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The scars spread in branches across her skin, winding rivers of darkness that pierced through the snowy drifts of her muscles, following along the edges of delicate bone. Already, some flesh was returning to her, slowly as it were. Marika’s finger drew across a narrow tangle of silver at her stomach, old lines that beckoned memories of happier days. Not like the ebony darkness that gleamed faintly with gold, slender threads binding the shattered pieces of her body together, so delicate it almost seemed like she could break apart easily, cut by the smallest breeze and crumble into a ruin of stony flesh and bone.
Her breath came softly, golden eyes closing, and darkness took her. Sweet darkness, where there was no burning crackle of rage, not twisting signs of memories. Those memories pushed, stalking the edges of her mind. It took many months to keep them back, rising iron palisades around her until not even her old self could climb through. But the memories did not plague her, not now. There were only kinder thoughts, and those had to be found through a twisted pile of flaming steel, coldly white-tipped gold flames that belched plumes of sickening smoke. Through it, she found them, raised them aloft and held them close. Marika would not let them go, never will. She will not lose them, not everything she had given as a sacrifice.
The searching had left her hands and arms bloodied and laced with pain, but she could bare a few more scars. It was worth the sacrifice.
There was the soft whisper of a door opening, the low hum of it closing, and Marika found herself smiling before she could stop herself. She looked up from where she stood, garbed in a pale silken robe loosely open at the front. She looked past the painful memories, through the gloom threatening to overtake her, and found Asmarian standing there, cradling a bundle of gold-bordered white blankets, murmuring quietly in an old forgotten tongue.
“Could she not sleep?” asked Marika, trying not to let the twirling of nervousness show on her face. Asmarian’s smile smothered it a little, that endearing smile he had whenever he saw Marika. She did not know what he saw; and for months, believing his words were harder than almost any other burden. Sometimes she thought that he still must be lying, playing the courteous knight and lord husband, with only pity in his heart. But when she saw that smile, heard the eagerness in his devotion of love, that worry all faded away. It took all her power not to kiss him, then. She found she quite enjoyed kissing him.
“Alas, no. She has all her mother’s stubbornness,” teased Asmarian, purple eyes glinting in shades of lilac.
An eyebrow raised, Marika’s lips turned ever so slightly upward, even as her eyes narrowed. “My lord husband seems to have forgotten that it was he who sought to have my hand in marriage.” She drew a finger to her lips and taped on them thoughtfully, though remembering his words was no effort at all. “And would not take no in showing his gracious care, even if it was unwarranted.”
Pale moonlight flowed in silvery twirls through the high windows, painting a soft white edge to his dark curls that fell like a tumbling mane of shadow, crowning him in a mantle of wintry white. A murmur of a beard shrouded his cheeks, over the wide spread of his jaw and chin. She would admit, he was more dashing with a beard than not. Marika did always enjoy beards more than those who were clean-shaven. Her fingers itched to scrape across it, to bind her fingers through those soft locks of his, and kiss those smiling lips. She almost did not hear what he said. “Unwarranted? My queen forgets: I merely wish to return what you have given me, another chance.”
Just as you did me, you endearing fool . Rolling her eyes, Marika sighed and rose from her chair, strolling on light feet over to her husband, binding her robe in a neat tie around her waist, the tails brushing the floor. She could almost hear her husband’s disappointment at that act, and giddiness tickled through her limbs. But she merely cooed down at the small bundle, smiling as pale violet eyes blinked back with all the awareness and curiosity a child could have. A gurgle of a giggle rose from Melishada’s lips, and chubby arms lifted up to grope with tiny hands. Marika felt her heart nearly bursting, as she tickled her daughter’s stomach. “Could my little Meli not sleep? Did she miss her mother?” Gently gathering the bundle in her arms, Marika made her way to the rounded bed set in an alcove in the wall, draped with pale white silk sheets on polished ebony bedposts.
A song came to her, before she could even think of one, and as she sang she watched her child’s face. Holding a child, seeing that bewildering wonder in their eyes, captivated by any sight or noise they heard, always intrigued Marika, intrigued and enraptured her, filling her with a quiet peace that no other thing could compare. Sun-spun golden curls bounced as Melishada lifted her head, and Marika loosened the tight wraps of the blanket a smidge, letting Melishada grasp a finger. She could watch her babe for hours, and when she had been first born Marika did. She had forsaken her bedroom, all the comforts of it, and settled into a high-backed rocking chair to be sure Melishada needed not. Oh, they had the servants for such little things, but Marika could not bring herself to let them do it. Not now, not when she was given a second chance. Queen she may be, but she would not let queenship take this away from her, not again. She had given it up after Godwyn, when the call of war and all the dangers of it kept her away from her firstborn. No, Melishada would have her mother at her beck-and-call if need be, as long as she needed her.
She felt the bed dip to her side, felt a strong arm wrap over her waist, and felt soft lips and the gentle prickle of a beard brush the skin of her cheek. Heat lingered, even after Asmarian pulled away. It still felt strange, to be touched so gently, so lovingly, even if sometimes in the bedroom that gentleness gave away to rough passion. It had been far too long since Marika had been touched. Had Melishada not needed her, no doubt she would have jumped on her Elden Lord right then and there. The thought shamed and thrilled her. More so the latter than the former. But now was not the time. That would be later.
She had time…she could almost weep. And she could choose what to do with it.
Asmarian said nothing as she sang, only resting his chin on her shoulder. From the corner of her eyes, she saw his own flutter shut, a blissful smile turning the wickedness away. Tiredness from the day seemed to burn right out of her, even as her husband lounged close to sleep, as did her daughter. Asmarian had made known that she would get rest, no matter how much she would argue against it, and every week the duties of parenthood would switch. This week ended Asmarian’s, and she could tell from the faint purple lingering beneath his eyes that he needed the rest.
Swiftly she laid a kiss to his forehead, watched with pleasure as the fond smile grew at his lips. The urge to lavish more kisses onto his face to see that smile grow further pitched through Marika. But then her child made a low noise and Marika’s attention was quickly taken.
As she sang, she thought of all her other children, all the regrets she had, but all the joy she had as well. Malenia being carried on Radahn’s shoulders as they scurry through the halls, Malenia waving a lacquered wooden sword in her hands, a mighty warrior upon her flaming lion. Marika thought of Miquella snuggled close to Ranni as she read to him, changing her tone to fit a certain passage of the novel. She thought of Rykard playing with the animals in the garden, strutting around and charging numerous trees as great towers meant to be taken, all the while the animals circled about him like fishes around a rock. She thought of her beloved Godwyn, taking each child upon his shoulders and racing through the halls as the others ran after him, trying to pin him to the ground. She thought of all of this, and faint glimmers of happiness thicken into a shard.
But then she thought of Mogh and Morgott, the children she was forced to give away, the children she had been first ashamed to bear. Anger still raged at her when she thought about the disgust that tinged her stomach when she saw those accursed nubs of horns. That disgust had fled though when Mogh whined in a child’s wail, and Morgott snuggled close to her while his closed searching about with sealed eyes. No matter the curse they bore, they were her children. As much as the others were. And she had given them up, shunned them away, forced as she was by the proclamation of wroth from the Greater Will. But she had still done it, and had been the one to give the order. That shame was as much hers as it was the outer God. Marika did not think she would ever forgive herself for that.
She had tried so hard to show that she still loved them. She knew Morgott had often slicked through the muck and terror of the grounds beneath Lyndell, to catch a glimpse of a grace. Every time she thought he was watching, she would weave a branch to drop a curtain of pale grace-shaded leaves onto him. She wondered if he ever saw that, if he ever knew that she loved him, as much as the others. That every day she thought of her brother and twin. So many times Marika had wanted to march beneath Lyndell and take her little ones in her arms, to beg their forgiveness, raise them amongst their siblings, amongst her. But duty had kept her away, like so many times before. Duty had taken many things, snaked terrible shackles upon her wrists.
Now those shackles were gone, and the duty she held was one made of something kinder, purer. Love. Love for her new husband that she thought could never love her. Love for her new babe, who she will adore beyond all other things. Love for all the creatures of the Lands Between. Love for the freedom she had been given, this chance of life she had no rights to.
Her husband and daughter drifted asleep, only the soft rise of Asmarian’s chest and the low releases of breath from Melishada giving it all away, and for a while she watched them both. Watched as the tiredness of repairing the Lands Between melted away from sleep on Asmarina’s face, and watched as Melishada slept through with no worries or fears. “I will make a better world for you,” whispered Marika, laying a gentle kiss to Melishada’s curls. “I will heal this world’s pain, as I should have done before, and in time you will turn it all into shadow with your brilliance, and you will make this healed world blossom anew.”
As sleep came over Marika, the Queen of the Lands Between, dreamt a dream once long dead.
She dreamt of hope, and did not think it false.