Title: Aftermath
Continuity: Changes of the Wind (I)
Author: Carmarthen (caerfyrddin @ gmail.com)
Fandom/Pairing: Tamora Pierce's Tortall novels (Song of the Lioness Quartet, Lioness Rampant); very vaguely implied Gary/Cythera
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wonderful Tamora Pierce. Not me. No profit is being made.
Rating: PG for some violence.
Spoilers: Spoilers for Lioness Rampant; set during and after the final battle in LR.
Summary: The final battle of Lioness Rampant and its aftermath through the eyes of Cythera of Elden.
Warning: Could be read as het.
Archive: Yes to Piercings (http://u01wmd.supanet.com/piercings)
and my personal site (http://thewritegirls.populli.net/carmarthen),
others ask.
Notes: Cythera has taken over my brain. So here's my take on how Gary and Cythera first noticed each other (although presumably they met earlier). I assumed that some of the noble ladies would have the Gift and that not all would want to leave; I also figured that Gary would be unlikely to pick a wife who couldn't take care of herself in an emergency. There's no canonical evidence for much of anything about Cythera (other than her beauty), but there's no canonical evidence against
her having the Gift, either. Thanks to MagixPawn for clearing up a timeline problem and to Caia for catching my livery mix-up.
Many thanks to Elske for betaing
Lady Cythera of Elden fixed her gaze on one archer in purple-and-black Tirragen livery. She spoke the words of the spell silently, her fingers deftly knotting the thread she had unraveled from the hem of her skirt.
The man had just nocked an arrow to his bowstring when he turned red and dropped his bow to clutch in vain at his throat.
Choking down the bile that rose in her throat, Cythera forced herself to watch him die. When he fell at last, she turned her attention to another, a vicious-looking black-clad commoner who was sidling up behind a man in Goldenlake green-and-gold.
Her legs almost gave way beneath her and she braced herself against the cool marble pillar behind her, fervently thanking the gods for her small skill with thread.
Impatiently reaching up to brush a lock of damp chestnut hair out of her eyes, Cythera wound the thread around her fingers one-handed. She jerked it violently, watching with cruel satisfaction as two more Tirragen men dropped to the floor, frantically clawing for breath.
It all blurred together in her mind after a time, the men in green-and-white or purple-and-black livery, the sharp tang of blood in the air, the incessant clash of swords, the periodic rolling and shaking of the ground beneath her feet. She was dimly aware of most of the other ladies evacuating, shepherded by the iron-willed Duchess of Naxen and several men in the blue-and-silver of the King's Own. Soon only Cythera and a few of the braver ladies who possessed the Gift remained.
Another quake began -- Cythera had lost count long ago -- and the fighting stilled, soldiers halting and looking nervously at the ceiling as they tried to keep their footing on the shuddering floor.
Cythera found her gaze drawn to the King. Jonathan's eyes were closed and he held the Dominion Jewel tightly. He glowed with magic, even to her untrained eyes, white and blue and a queer blood-red that made her feel vaguely ill. The colored fire swirled about him, crackling over the blazing Jewel and Crown. She turned away, her eyes watering.
The quake was already stilling. If she had not been so bone-weary, Cythera would have been awed. To still the earth was a power out of legend!
Tearing her gaze away from the King, Cythera ripped another thread from her sleeve and started knotting it grimly. She was a noble; she would not collapse while there was work to be done.
She only noticed that the fighting had ended when she looked around and saw no more traitors standing. Most were dead or had fled; some stood in small groups, bound by invisible threads.
The silence that settled over the Hall of Crowns was queer and heavy, almost tangible, punctuated only by the rustle of a few ladies' skirts and the occasional staggering of an exhausted soldier.
Cythera wanted nothing more than to crawl back to her rooms and fall into bed and forget about everything, for a few hours at least, but she was a noble. There was work to be done, the injured to tend, and life to be put back in order.
She stood stiffly, wincing as blood rushed back to her cramped limbs, and looked up to see two of the King's Own and a man in court dress making their way towards the remaining ladies.
Her heart leapt in her chest and she nearly screamed when someone laid a hand on her shoulder.
"There aren't any more," Ilane of Mindelan said softly, squeezing Cythera's shoulder. "Mithros, Cythera!" she exclaimed when Cythera turned around. "You're as pale as death!"
Cythera just stared with dry eyes at the bodies littering the floor, Eldorne and Tirragen, commoner and noble. The altar at one end of the hall held the Shang Dragon; two men in the uniform of the Palace Guard were pulling arrows from his body.
From behind one pillar a lady's arm stretched white and still. Cythera's hands flew to her mouth and she bit her knuckles. "I think I shall be ill," she muttered.
"Don't you dare," Ilane said, slipping an arm around Cythera's waist to support her. "Not yet."
"I won't," Cythera said, managing a weak smile at Ilane before turning her attention back to the approaching men.
The man in court dress looked familiar, but it took her tired brain a while to put a name to the face: Sir Gareth the Younger of Naxen.
He looked as tired as she felt, his face flushed and streaked with sweat and blood. At that Cythera felt a pang of fear; she liked Sir Gary. He had always been kind to her, and she had laughed many times at his wry remarks. She did not want him to join the already overlong list of fatalities.
As he came nearer, she realized with relief that he was not as injured as he had appeared.
Cythera stepped forth to meet the men on unsteady feet, but darted forward when Gary stumbled on a broken flagstone, reaching out to steady him. She staggered and nearly fell under his weight, but he regained his footing quickly.
"My thanks, lady," Gary murmured, smiling gratefully at her.
She dropped her gaze, wondering why she was blushing like a foolish girl. "It is no matter, my lord."
"Is it over?" one lady, younger than the rest, asked Gary. Her eyes were wide and blue in her pale, plain face, and she cradled an injured arm.
"Yes," Gary said quietly. "As much as it can be."
Cythera felt Gary squeeze her hand quickly, and then he pulled himself up straighter and addressed the other ladies. "The King is unhurt," he added.
"What are we to do?" asked Ilane, forthright as usual.
Gary looked around at the weary ladies and quirked one eyebrow. "You have done the realm a great service today, and the King -- and I -- thank you for it. His Majesty suggest that you all return to your quarters and rest."
The ladies dispersed in twos and threes, leaning on each other and murmuring quietly. Cythera found herself wondering how many of them actually understood yet what had happened. She knew she was hanging onto her own fragile calm by a thread.
She glanced back at Gary, slowly making his way around bodies and torn-up flagstones, and remembered seeing Duke Gareth paling and clutching his chest early on in the fighting.
"Sir Gareth," she said, running after Gary. "Your father -- I think he had a heart attack."
Gary's eyes widened and he paled. "Is he...?"
"Duke Baird is with him," Cythera said, trying to remember how Duke Gareth had looked. "I think it wasn't very bad."
Gary took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Thank you for telling me." He looked down a moment and then back at her. "I--"
Cythera nodded. "Go to your friends," she said, nodding in the direction of the Lioness, who had just entered the hall, supported by Princess Thayet's bodyguard.
Gary smiled and gave her a tired salute. "You're a good sort, Lady Cythera," he said.
She just smiled back, not trusting herself to speak again without giggling hysterically.
"Will you be all right getting back to your rooms?" he asked.
She nodded and he bowed over her hand before turning to cross the Hall of Crowns once more.
Cythera watched Gary as he made his way over to the Lioness and embraced her, kissing her cheek. She smiled slightly to herself and turned away to begin the long walk back to her rooms.
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