Chapter Text
There was a sickening crunch, followed by a heavy thud.
“Anyone else have any concerns, I’ve plenty of love to go round?” Cuddly Dick turned to the overlords, giving them an opening he knew they wouldn’t take, should they wish to object to the act of murder they just witnessed. Voltari dragged his eyes from the now lifeless body on the floor, and there was a vague muttering from each of the overlords as they denied any concerns. Voltari found himself joining in with a noncommittal “I’m alright actually.” He cast his eyes round the room, trying to judge what the other overlords thought, most of them were just avoiding looking at their newly appointed leader. The problem with evil overlords was that they had all long since perfected the art of the poker face, Voltari knew he was one of the best, but even the more emotionally dictated lords, like Dissectus and Cutz, seemed completely straight faced right now. Voltari usually liked trying to analyse the small movements of Dissectus' face to try to read him. But he didn't allow himself the privilege of letting his eyes linger on him today, the situation was tense and required careful execution.
Voltari knew Cuddly Dick was saying something by the way the others' eyes in the room centered on him, but he had been too far away to pay attention. The other overlords were hanging onto his every word with bated breath. If he was capable of killing one of their own over such a small disagreement, what was he planning next?
“Bagsy the biggest bedroom!” Cuddly Dicks maniacal laughter followed him out of the room, along with most of the other overlords.
Bedrooms.
Voltari felt sick to his stomach.
He dared another look at his fallen comrade. Once a proud, war-worn leader, now a pile of broken bones on the floor. Rathmore’s eyes had been open when he was killed, and they remained that way now, it had only been a couple minutes or so but already they were dry and empty in a way that made it clear he was really gone. One of his military medals had fallen off the sash he wore in the commotion. Voltari had never seen Rathmore without them.
It wasn’t that they had been friends. None of the overlords were friends per say, the very nature of the role quite often lead to backstabbing and mutiny if one let their guard down. But he was well respected, one of the oldest and most feared of his fellow overlords. Voltari had been a much younger man when they had first met, when he had joined the academy, Rathmore was quite a bit older than him and had left before he started, but there were several times when he was asked to come in to test the new recruits on military strategy or maintaining order. Voltari always got top marks on his tests. It was his strategy and intellect that got him the position as overlord, after years of fighting to prove himself, and Rathmore had taken him aside on his first day and told him he expected great things from him. It was the closest anyone had ever come to saying they were proud of him.
And now he was dead.
Death wasn’t unusual to Voltari. He was an evil warlord, he had been surrounded by death since a child. There was something about this death however that wriggled into his brain and burrowed there deep down. This was the senseless killing of an ally over mild criticism. It was wasteful. Unnecessary.
Voltari would have been paralysed in thought, staring at his corpse if one of the few people remaining hadn’t piped up.
“Well, best get this moved before his eminence comes back eh?” Voltari didn’t turn to meet the others.
“Yes. Dispose of him.” He ordered, gesturing at the body on the floor, “Best not make a mess of things.” His voice was steely as always, as he watched the two remaining people pull Rathmore out of the Chamber and down a hallway.
A quick glance around and Voltari made a move to leave the room, but he gave pause at the exit Dick and the other Overlords had taken. Hovering on the threshold, Voltari felt his knuckles tighten. He closed his eyes for a second or two before turning back to the chamber. He quickly strode back to where his higher up had been lying and crouched down to pick up the discarded medal that was lying on the floor. He observed it for a moment, his gloved thumb running over the worn metal, before he pocketed it.
Voltari’s head shot around as he heard what he thought was whispering, but all he could see was an empty room, and an empty vent grate, so he rose back to his feet and swiftly left the room, tracing the steps of his fellow overlords.
— — —
Elf watched, barely breathing, as what he could only assume was two lower ranking officers were ordered to remove the body of the man Cuddly Dick had just murdered. They had just witnessed a murder. Not just that, the murder of one of Dick’s men with his own hands. This was something else. He looked around and quickly saw that the other elders felt the same way.
Feather light footsteps pulled the group from their thoughts as a figure came into view. It was one of the Overlords, ‘Voltari’ Elf mouthed to the Elders. He’d been one of the few to stay behind after Dick had left with the others. They watched him crouch down and pick something shiny off the floor, from where the dead man had been lying not moments ago, a medal? Had it fallen off that man? The group watched him observe the medal, his bottom lip dropped open slightly for a moment and his eyebrow twinged up in the middle, he almost looked remorseful. Almost.
“What’s goi-” Elf ducked from the grate in time to see Elder Pressley throw a hand over Elder Choop’s mouth, who was stuck at the back of the group, to shut him up, oh if looks could kill Choop would be dead.
Elf realised at some point he was holding his breath, and given the deafening silence surrounding him, he gathered that the others must be doing the same thing.
After what felt like an eternity the sound of quiet footsteps retreating down a corridor allowed relief enough to breathe. Elf peaked through the grate and saw Voltari disappear down the end of the corridor, and soon his eyes found Nick. Onto the next part of the plan.
— — —
The day had been long. Voltari could feel the aches from travel and long meetings already starting to settle in his shoulders but he kept his head high and back straight, making his way to what had been assigned as his room. It was the smallest in this wing, he'd been the last to arrive after the murder so had his room assigned rather than chosen, but Dick still wanted him on his side of the castle. Not that he cared about the size, he never had much need for material objects so he had no use for space. So long as he had a desk, a map, and his papers he had everything he needed for the job.
There were sharp footsteps at the other end of the hallway, Voltari didn't need to see him to know that they were coming from Dissectus, he had a knack for knowing these things, it kept him safe. The taller man neared him as Voltari reached his door.
“Good evening Voltari.” Voltari nodded in greeting. His voice was always so peculiar to him, lilting and light, often drawling, almost inviting if Voltari didn't know the devastation it had caused.
“Long day?” Dissectus often did this with him. Small talk. If it had been anyone else Voltari would have shut the conversation down immediately, but Dissectus was probably the closest thing he had to a friend, so he allowed him to continue the dull chatter.
“Indeed.”
“Is this your room?” Voltari thought it was a stupid question, it was the end of the day and he was standing at the door with a key in his hand.
“It appears so.” Dissectus nodded.
“I had suggested this one should be yours.” Now that was interesting. Voltari turned from his door to give him his full attention.
“You did?”
“Well, you're one of our top men. Cunning, intelligent, the best at pilfering secrets out of people.” There was a tone to his voice that Voltari picked up on, but what it meant he had no idea. “Indispensable, some may say.” Indispensable. Pride swelled in Voltari’s chest.
“I figured it only made sense that His Eminence's wing be filled with only the strongest.” Dissectus made a show of taking in Voltari's figure. If he didn’t know any better, Voltari would think he was making a jab at his thin arms and slim build. But Dissectus didn’t make those kinds of comments towards him. He knew better.
“Sensible.” Voltari didn’t smile, but made a show of nodding. It was a show of appreciation that Dissectus would be able to read. The taller man gave him another look Voltari couldn't work out and took a few steps back.
“I shan't keep you up. You seem like you could do with some rest.” Voltari couldn’t argue, he did need rest, but it bothered him that it was so easily readable.
“That obvious?” Dissectus smiled slightly, the expression came so naturally to him, it suited him.
“It’s been a long day of travel for us all.” That much was true, but especially for Voltari and Dissectus, their realms were some of the most distant from Yonderland. It was one of the reasons Voltari felt so tense, being so far away from his land left his rule vulnerable. Dissectus hovered for a moment and Voltari wondered if he too was contemplating the dangers of being this far away from their respective lands. When Dissectus came back from wherever his mind had taken him he nodded at Voltari and took a step back.
“I shall let you retire then.” He turned before Voltari could say anything, not that he really intended to, he just had a feeling he should. Then he watched Dissectus walk down the hall, though not far, it would seem they were bedroom neighbours.
Voltari made a point to lock the door when he entered his room and to check the lock worked, he left the key in the keyhole for extra security. He heaved a sigh and looked at the wall adjacent to Dissectus’ bedroom. Reading Dissectus had never been difficult for him, but there was always this one tone and expression he could never read, it appeared more and more frequently recently and Voltari didn't know what it meant. And he didn’t like not knowing. Flattery was a strange thing to receive amongst overlords, it made him suspicious, but from Dissectus it was relatively common. It did irritate Voltari to no end when he was trying to work though. There were many occasions when he'd had to block out Dissectus’ pointless conversations when he had been working to finish his latest plan of attack, he'd remembered having to do the same thing during their time at the academy. Dissectus and Voltari had been in the academy together and had been relatively close, as close as overlords would allow themselves to get with others, which was admittedly not very close. But it had given them insights into the others strengths and weaknesses. The alliance between their realms had been strong and politically convenient so Voltari had never had to exploit those weaknesses. Part of him wondered if he'd even be capable of doing that to Dissectus.
Pulling off his long overcoat, Voltari allowed his posture to crumble, aware of just how much his back and shoulders were aching. He hooked the coat up and sat down on the bed, observing his new room. It was humble, there was a writing desk against one wall upon which his various maps, quills, and military papers had been dropped off by the staff at some point in the day. There was a white rug in the middle of the floor, Voltari hadn't taken his boots off yet but it looked incredibly soft. He opened the drawer of the bedside table closest to him out of curiosity. It didn't contain much: a broken quill, needle and thread, a small box of dried leaves and flower buds (tea, he realised after an embarrassingly long time spent wondering what the previous occupant was smoking), and right at the back was a blue hair clip in the shape of a butterfly. Boring. He closed the drawer.
After he had changed out of his day clothes Voltari was lying in bed. He had to give it to the previous owner, the bedsheets were incredibly comfortable, but that did little to aid the storm in his head. He kept replaying the earlier scene in his head. Every time he closed his eyes Voltari could see the crumpled body of his once ally on the floor of the chamber. He couldn’t understand why this death affected him so much. It just felt so wasteful. So wrong. Voltari was a cruel and vicious leader, but he saw no use in senseless killings. They were a waste of time and resources, and they birthed unrest and rebellion from the people. And to kill someone by luring them into a false sense of security? Why he almost thought it cowardly. If Dick was going to kill Rathmore he should have challenged him, or just ordered his execution, he should have been aware of what was going to happen. Welcoming him with open arms only to kill him… If Voltari didn’t know any better he would have thought Dick didn’t feel he’d be able to take Rathmore in a fair fight. But that wasn’t the case was it? Dick wanted the others to fear him. Wanted to make it clear what he would do to any that got in his way.
Voltari didn’t sleep well that night.
— — —
The lock clicked as Dissectus turned the key in his bedroom door. He paused where he was, hand still on the door. Voltari’s face remained at the front of his mind, and in the privacy of his own room he allowed himself to indulge in the image.
Voltari had always been different from the other overlords to him. Dissectus often thought about their time in the academy together. Voltari had been almost silent when he walked through the halls, he was much shorter than the rest of their year and, though he had certainly grown taller as he aged and was almost eye level with Dissectus now, he was still one of the smallest in stature. Dissectus had thought him like a shadow, dressed in all black and silently slipping in and out of a room without people noticing, always gathering information and picking up on the subtlest cues. He had been ridiculed for it in the early years at school, but that didn’t last long. His knack for discovering secrets and spreading rumours had made him untouchable, he could decimate someone’s life overnight if they crossed him with his blackmail. Dissectus had seen him do it. He hadn’t used this power for social status though. Where Dissectus headed a group of the toughest, meanest students at the academy, and often spent his spare time terrorising the new recruits and the weaklings; Voltari would just silently observe, alone, from his seat in the library or the mess hall. No one approached him, it would have made him an easy target for Dissectus’ group but Dissectus never started on him. In fact they barely spoke until the students had been moved from group dorms to twin rooms in fourth year. The dorms were grouped by their class ranks, and with the two of them being nearly the highest ranking students, Voltari and Dissectus were paired together. He often found himself thinking back on the rare occasions they spent talking in their small, dark room until the sun started rising and the tweet-birds could be heard rousing. Their tutors would have called it a waste of time, but Dissectus found he learnt more from Voltari than he did in his classes that year. They'd both risen in the ranks that year, despite their occasional eye bags.
Even before Cuddly Dick took over, back when Imperitrix had been in charge, Dissecrus had been assigned as head of defence. His military leadership skills and fighting prowess were some of the best in the twelve realms, but when he saw Voltari bring proud men to their knees with only a few words he couldn’t help but stare. They had had a shared alliance for years now, they both benefited from it, Dissectus crushing rising mobs in Voltari’s realm with merciless violence, and Voltori hearing the spark of rebellion in his and putting a stop to it before it could begin. Like in the academy, Dissectus had found himself enjoying Voltari’s silent company. There had been a few late nights during Imperatrix's rule when the two of them had been the last people left in a meeting room, he trying to finalise the plans of his latest invasion, and Voltari fixing a draft of the latest manipulative news article or disarming letter. Dissectus would watch Voltari's deft fingers work his typewriter, occasionally muttering to himself to hash out the next sentence. He was always so focused on his work he never noticed that Dissectus couldn't take his eyes off him. It was a weakness of his. Overlords were supposed to be void of feelings. But on those late evenings, when they had finished off the last of the meeting's wine, Dissectus would watch the way Voltari's dark hair framed his pale face and feel his heart hit his throat. He never really got any work done on those days.
Dissectus played their last interaction back in his mind as he shed his military coat and sash, placing them away with care. A sigh escaped him, he had attempted to chat with Voltari on many occasions but he never gave much back. Mostly just a few words. He was tight-lipped to a fault. Dissectus had showered him with compliments, calling him cunning, intelligent, strong. Indispensable.
Dissectus swallowed thickly, he shouldn't have said that. None of them were indispensable to Cuddly Dick, he'd proven as much earlier. But then again, Dissectus hadn't been thinking about Cuddly Dick. What had gone unsaid was that Voltari was indispensable to Dissectus. He knew this was bad. These feelings. If news got out about them, Dissectus would be a laughing stock. Worse than that, he'd be an easy target. Connections and emotions gave enemies an easy way to get to someone. Dissectus didn't think he'd be able to say no to someone if Voltari's life hung in the balance. So he resolved himself to bury anything he felt about him deep down where no one could find it. Ignore it till it went away. He'd been doing it for a long time now, he'd keep doing it… Even if it took a quillenia