![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
annarti.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
yraeAUTHOR Annarti
DISCLAIMER All mine
NOTES Yan approaching Haela, who appeared in The Price of Freedom. Mmm, ye olde Yan.
~ ~ ~
A pair of sparkling blue wings extended far out to either side of her body, glittering with the same majesty of the yrae wings they mirrored. They held the woman aloft with no apparent effort, carrying her above the bright orange desert sand, made even more vibrant by the intense light of the sun rising in the east.
And yet, the woman’s feet hung limply as they trailed behind her. Her head hung low against her chest. Clearly, the exhilaration of flight had not touched her mind.
Yan watched her from the ground for a moment longer before dropping his cloak in a black pile on the sand and spreading his own impressive wingspan. With a strong thrust of the leathery black wings that protruded from his shoulder blades, the fallen king took to the air, looking down as he always did, watching the desert miraculously fall away below him. Even after two thousand years, he had not tired of the elation that flight brought him.
He silently drew up behind the woman to glide directly above her, hands clasped casually behind his back. Unlike his own wings, this woman’s wings appeared to replace her arms. She gave a half-hearted flap, still completely unaware of the ancient king’s presence as he watched her shoulder muscles tighten with the flap of her wings.
Her back bore the mark of yrae magic, but where Yan had a pair of small, black wing markings on either shoulder, this woman had what appeared to be an impression of the tip of an yrae’s tail. The dark, teardrop outline was nestled between her shoulder blades, obscured slightly by her wind-blown black hair.
For long minutes, Yan floated above the woman, wondering how long it would take her to realise he was there. He flapped his wings experimentally, blowing a slight gust of wind over her back.
The woman lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder, obviously not expecting to see anything. At Yan’s overly casual wave, her eyes and mouth opened wide with shock, and she completely lost control of her graceful flight. She plummeted unceremoniously to the sand, a look of surprised terror planted firmly on her face. The woman’s desperate descent reminded Yan of the fall of the yrae he had shot down himself so many centuries ago.
He shrugged and brought his wings around to allow him to execute a somewhat more dignified landing.
The woman knelt in the sand before him, the brilliant blue feathers of her wings drawn back into arms that hugged her body. Tears hung unshed in her eyes, and they rolled unnoticed down her cheeks when she blinked.
Yan frowned slightly. He had been around for long enough to recognise that these were tears born of physical pain rather than of fear. There was no fear in the woman’s eyes, only pain.
He shrugged again and folded his wings against his back.
“Their majesty is quite astounding, don’t you agree?”
The woman dipped her head slightly in silent agreement. The pain was still in her eyes as she rubbed her arms subconsciously, almost as though she were cold.
“What is your name, pray tell?” he asked her. He didn’t know why her name was important. Maybe he simply wanted to hear her speak.
She whispered something, then cleared her throat as though she hadn’t spoken in a while. “Haela,” she repeated quietly. She opened her mouth again as if to speak, but instead fell silent.
“You and I are part of a very select group of individuals,” Yan continued. There was still no fear in the woman’s eyes. Surely she knew his identity by now? “No other man has seen Ni-Yana from the skies.”
Haela nodded dismissively and slowly got to her feet, displaying the yrae stone glittering on a tarnished bronze chain around her left ankle. She squared her shoulders and stared hard into the king’s eyes. “Tell me, King Yan, why have you come?” As well as her voice hid it, the pain she felt was still evident in her eyes, but there was still no fear.
Yan raised an eyebrow and stared down his nose at the woman. “Are my intentions not obvious merely by my presence?”
“You have a stone of your own,” she accused, “What need have you of a second?”
A rueful smile graced the fallen monarch’s lips. “This much does not concern you, Haela.” The woman flinched slightly at the sound of her name spoken with Yan’s archaic accent, but her gaze held steady. “All that concerns you is that I have indeed come for your stone. Your choice to hand it to me willingly will grant you a death evidently less painful than your life.”
Haela’s intent glare finally broke, and a fresh tear slid down her nose. “You could not begin to imagine the pain I have suffered at the hand of this stone.” She kicked her left foot out to emphasise her point.
“Then why do you resist? Surely you would gladly be ridded of its curse?”
Haela shook her head. “I know not what your plans for the stone are, but doubtless the result would hurt Raykin twice as much as your rule under a single stone.” Her dark brown eyes were hard as granite. “I would not wish that on my kingdom.”
Yan nodded and examined his fingernails. “Your words, though strong, do little to sway my intentions.” He frowned thoughtfully and looked over his knuckles at the woman. “How many summers have you seen, Haela?”
Haela’s brow furrowed as she opened her mouth hesitantly. “Thirty-nine,” she answered, a note of caution in her voice. “Why do you ask?”
The monarch’s eyebrows rose slightly as he pondered this. “Four less than I while I reigned.” His voice was distant, as though thinking out loud. He sighed and dropped his hand to his side, lifting his other to the hilt of his sword sheathed at his hip.
“It pains me to say you will not see those four summers,” he said with mock sadness.
Haela’s eyes flashed in anger and she took one step back, placing the stone on her left ankle further from Yan’s reach. “It pains you nothing,” she spat.
Yan grinned wryly as he drew his blade from its scabbard. The familiar note of fear was beginning to creep into her voice, as well it should. “Alas, you speak the truth.” He began meticulously inspecting the shining steel blade. It had been nicked and dented in places through two thousand years of use, but the golden sun of morning still glistened from its surface. He shifted his weight slightly, moving one foot a tiny bit closer to the woman.
She flinched slightly and took another step backwards.
“You are right to fear death, Haela,” he told her, watching her past the silver blade he held in his hand.
Immediately her expression hardened again. “I do not fear death, Yan.” She had obviously left out the ‘King’ on purpose.
“Is that so?” Yan asked conversationally, shifting his other foot and grinning at her reaction. “My lady, I have seen too many summers to avoid seeing that which has been evident in your eyes for several minutes.”
“The pain you would bring me can be no worse than that which the yrae stone has dealt me already.”
Yan shook his head in disagreement. “Tell me, Haela, how is it you are so educated in the ways of death? I speak from personal experience when I say that no pain on this earth is worse than the pain brought by Aeia.” Another step closer. “The cold, hard steel scraping against bone and flesh creates a wound that will never heal.”
The fingers of his left hand smoothed over the scar that still ran down the left side of his face. Even that simple action caused a pained tingle under the skin.
“But this is a mere pinprick. The pain of the sword sheathing itself in muscle and blood pales in comparison to Aeia’s hand taking hold of your heart.” Yan’s own hand gripped the air to emphasise his words. “She grabs it and twists it in Her grip, squeezing the lifeblood from its cavities until nothing of your life remains.”
He glanced at his sword again, then back at Haela.
The fear was evident on her face now, and she did nothing to hide it.
“Now, Haela,” Yan said matter-of-factly, “Would you rather die quickly and painlessly by magic—” He twisted his sword in his grip, “—or would you rather that my sword take the life from your heart?”
Haela’s eyes were wide as her mind turned over the dilemma she was faced with, then suddenly her face hardened resolutely. “I would not die at all,” she stated, turning abruptly and flapping back up into the morning sky on her re-formed wings.
Yan sighed, rolled his eyes, and launched himself up after her, his sword gripped tightly in his right hand. Why did she bother trying to defy him? What did she expect to gain?
He caught up with her easily, grabbed one shoulder and flipped her over in the air, slashing awkwardly with his sword but only managing to catch her wing with the blade’s arch.
Again she fell towards the desert below, but this time she managed to catch herself and flap back into the sky, although her flight was somewhat lopsided.
Yan tipped the warm air rising from the orange sands from his wings and descended on her like a hawk on a mouse. This time the sword tip gouged into her lower back, and her wings drew in against the pain. She crashed to the desert below, lying in a foetal position in the sand.
The ancient monarch dropped lightly beside her, pressing his sword tip to her throat. Haela made no indication that she could feel the bloodied steel against her skin.
With no further thought, Yan flicked the tip up, causing the shuddering body to fall still. He stared down at the unmoving woman, a slightly disgusted look on his face.
He sighed and examined his sword, stained red with Haela’s blood. “Another needlessly untidy business,” he muttered as he ran a white cloth meticulously down the length of the blade. He frowned in annoyance when some of the blood caught in the nicks and scratches that marked its length. This job would take much of the day.
He casually bent to pull the yrae stone from Haela’s ankle before shoving it into his pocket and glancing at Haela’s face, still full of pain even in death.
“You could have made my task much simpler if you’d responded to my request immediately,” he muttered, then turned his attention back to his sword and walked away.
DISCLAIMER All mine
NOTES Yan approaching Haela, who appeared in The Price of Freedom. Mmm, ye olde Yan.
A pair of sparkling blue wings extended far out to either side of her body, glittering with the same majesty of the yrae wings they mirrored. They held the woman aloft with no apparent effort, carrying her above the bright orange desert sand, made even more vibrant by the intense light of the sun rising in the east.
And yet, the woman’s feet hung limply as they trailed behind her. Her head hung low against her chest. Clearly, the exhilaration of flight had not touched her mind.
Yan watched her from the ground for a moment longer before dropping his cloak in a black pile on the sand and spreading his own impressive wingspan. With a strong thrust of the leathery black wings that protruded from his shoulder blades, the fallen king took to the air, looking down as he always did, watching the desert miraculously fall away below him. Even after two thousand years, he had not tired of the elation that flight brought him.
He silently drew up behind the woman to glide directly above her, hands clasped casually behind his back. Unlike his own wings, this woman’s wings appeared to replace her arms. She gave a half-hearted flap, still completely unaware of the ancient king’s presence as he watched her shoulder muscles tighten with the flap of her wings.
Her back bore the mark of yrae magic, but where Yan had a pair of small, black wing markings on either shoulder, this woman had what appeared to be an impression of the tip of an yrae’s tail. The dark, teardrop outline was nestled between her shoulder blades, obscured slightly by her wind-blown black hair.
For long minutes, Yan floated above the woman, wondering how long it would take her to realise he was there. He flapped his wings experimentally, blowing a slight gust of wind over her back.
The woman lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder, obviously not expecting to see anything. At Yan’s overly casual wave, her eyes and mouth opened wide with shock, and she completely lost control of her graceful flight. She plummeted unceremoniously to the sand, a look of surprised terror planted firmly on her face. The woman’s desperate descent reminded Yan of the fall of the yrae he had shot down himself so many centuries ago.
He shrugged and brought his wings around to allow him to execute a somewhat more dignified landing.
The woman knelt in the sand before him, the brilliant blue feathers of her wings drawn back into arms that hugged her body. Tears hung unshed in her eyes, and they rolled unnoticed down her cheeks when she blinked.
Yan frowned slightly. He had been around for long enough to recognise that these were tears born of physical pain rather than of fear. There was no fear in the woman’s eyes, only pain.
He shrugged again and folded his wings against his back.
“Their majesty is quite astounding, don’t you agree?”
The woman dipped her head slightly in silent agreement. The pain was still in her eyes as she rubbed her arms subconsciously, almost as though she were cold.
“What is your name, pray tell?” he asked her. He didn’t know why her name was important. Maybe he simply wanted to hear her speak.
She whispered something, then cleared her throat as though she hadn’t spoken in a while. “Haela,” she repeated quietly. She opened her mouth again as if to speak, but instead fell silent.
“You and I are part of a very select group of individuals,” Yan continued. There was still no fear in the woman’s eyes. Surely she knew his identity by now? “No other man has seen Ni-Yana from the skies.”
Haela nodded dismissively and slowly got to her feet, displaying the yrae stone glittering on a tarnished bronze chain around her left ankle. She squared her shoulders and stared hard into the king’s eyes. “Tell me, King Yan, why have you come?” As well as her voice hid it, the pain she felt was still evident in her eyes, but there was still no fear.
Yan raised an eyebrow and stared down his nose at the woman. “Are my intentions not obvious merely by my presence?”
“You have a stone of your own,” she accused, “What need have you of a second?”
A rueful smile graced the fallen monarch’s lips. “This much does not concern you, Haela.” The woman flinched slightly at the sound of her name spoken with Yan’s archaic accent, but her gaze held steady. “All that concerns you is that I have indeed come for your stone. Your choice to hand it to me willingly will grant you a death evidently less painful than your life.”
Haela’s intent glare finally broke, and a fresh tear slid down her nose. “You could not begin to imagine the pain I have suffered at the hand of this stone.” She kicked her left foot out to emphasise her point.
“Then why do you resist? Surely you would gladly be ridded of its curse?”
Haela shook her head. “I know not what your plans for the stone are, but doubtless the result would hurt Raykin twice as much as your rule under a single stone.” Her dark brown eyes were hard as granite. “I would not wish that on my kingdom.”
Yan nodded and examined his fingernails. “Your words, though strong, do little to sway my intentions.” He frowned thoughtfully and looked over his knuckles at the woman. “How many summers have you seen, Haela?”
Haela’s brow furrowed as she opened her mouth hesitantly. “Thirty-nine,” she answered, a note of caution in her voice. “Why do you ask?”
The monarch’s eyebrows rose slightly as he pondered this. “Four less than I while I reigned.” His voice was distant, as though thinking out loud. He sighed and dropped his hand to his side, lifting his other to the hilt of his sword sheathed at his hip.
“It pains me to say you will not see those four summers,” he said with mock sadness.
Haela’s eyes flashed in anger and she took one step back, placing the stone on her left ankle further from Yan’s reach. “It pains you nothing,” she spat.
Yan grinned wryly as he drew his blade from its scabbard. The familiar note of fear was beginning to creep into her voice, as well it should. “Alas, you speak the truth.” He began meticulously inspecting the shining steel blade. It had been nicked and dented in places through two thousand years of use, but the golden sun of morning still glistened from its surface. He shifted his weight slightly, moving one foot a tiny bit closer to the woman.
She flinched slightly and took another step backwards.
“You are right to fear death, Haela,” he told her, watching her past the silver blade he held in his hand.
Immediately her expression hardened again. “I do not fear death, Yan.” She had obviously left out the ‘King’ on purpose.
“Is that so?” Yan asked conversationally, shifting his other foot and grinning at her reaction. “My lady, I have seen too many summers to avoid seeing that which has been evident in your eyes for several minutes.”
“The pain you would bring me can be no worse than that which the yrae stone has dealt me already.”
Yan shook his head in disagreement. “Tell me, Haela, how is it you are so educated in the ways of death? I speak from personal experience when I say that no pain on this earth is worse than the pain brought by Aeia.” Another step closer. “The cold, hard steel scraping against bone and flesh creates a wound that will never heal.”
The fingers of his left hand smoothed over the scar that still ran down the left side of his face. Even that simple action caused a pained tingle under the skin.
“But this is a mere pinprick. The pain of the sword sheathing itself in muscle and blood pales in comparison to Aeia’s hand taking hold of your heart.” Yan’s own hand gripped the air to emphasise his words. “She grabs it and twists it in Her grip, squeezing the lifeblood from its cavities until nothing of your life remains.”
He glanced at his sword again, then back at Haela.
The fear was evident on her face now, and she did nothing to hide it.
“Now, Haela,” Yan said matter-of-factly, “Would you rather die quickly and painlessly by magic—” He twisted his sword in his grip, “—or would you rather that my sword take the life from your heart?”
Haela’s eyes were wide as her mind turned over the dilemma she was faced with, then suddenly her face hardened resolutely. “I would not die at all,” she stated, turning abruptly and flapping back up into the morning sky on her re-formed wings.
Yan sighed, rolled his eyes, and launched himself up after her, his sword gripped tightly in his right hand. Why did she bother trying to defy him? What did she expect to gain?
He caught up with her easily, grabbed one shoulder and flipped her over in the air, slashing awkwardly with his sword but only managing to catch her wing with the blade’s arch.
Again she fell towards the desert below, but this time she managed to catch herself and flap back into the sky, although her flight was somewhat lopsided.
Yan tipped the warm air rising from the orange sands from his wings and descended on her like a hawk on a mouse. This time the sword tip gouged into her lower back, and her wings drew in against the pain. She crashed to the desert below, lying in a foetal position in the sand.
The ancient monarch dropped lightly beside her, pressing his sword tip to her throat. Haela made no indication that she could feel the bloodied steel against her skin.
With no further thought, Yan flicked the tip up, causing the shuddering body to fall still. He stared down at the unmoving woman, a slightly disgusted look on his face.
He sighed and examined his sword, stained red with Haela’s blood. “Another needlessly untidy business,” he muttered as he ran a white cloth meticulously down the length of the blade. He frowned in annoyance when some of the blood caught in the nicks and scratches that marked its length. This job would take much of the day.
He casually bent to pull the yrae stone from Haela’s ankle before shoving it into his pocket and glancing at Haela’s face, still full of pain even in death.
“You could have made my task much simpler if you’d responded to my request immediately,” he muttered, then turned his attention back to his sword and walked away.