Amalia
the shield of safrin
It is true: their Queen is yet another acolyte of a false goddess. It is why Amalia insisted on taking the power she did, loathe as she is to wield it, but she does not explain this to the fae. The woman seems determined to peer in and see only the Shield's flaws, her shortcomings. To press against the bending places and see if they won't break.
If only Nephele had thought to ask Amalia's greatest critic in these matters: herself.
Amalia falls quiet in the face of more objections, having already explained her actions as best she can. Beyond that, she has no excuses: no reasoning to describe why she has not done more, no justification for the actions at the Mathair, the lack of punishment doled out upon the culprits there. It is true she has not been a stauncher ally to the fae (not that they asked, a petulant part of her thinks); it is true she has stood idle while the Voice did her work.
No longer- this the Shield vows. Not now. Not after Sam.
The final question lands like a blow, making Amalia wince. She meets the wildfire gaze with steel once more, dark iron hard and soft in turn. Will she change her tune? "Not if they deserve it," she whispers, thinking with an ache of Wessex, of Rexanna, of those who arguably have committed sins, whose punishment she could never inflict but also could not condemn. "I would only ask they be given the option to recant. Repent. And that if the choose it, be given a chance. One already has - Samuel Wordsworth."
Her throat tightens around the name. Suddenly she straightens, seeming to gain height. "Punish those who have betrayed the world. Tear down shrines and the Voice's places of worship - and I will gladly help. But do not touch Sam. That is all I ask."
"LongNight is coming, and I must protect my people. But after that... I will help you change things. And I will see to it that Rexanna is no longer queen, nor any other Ascended. You have my word."
She waits for a response before nodding curtly, turning back into the woods. The fae has given her much to think about, in the upcoming week of dark.
{fin}
If only Nephele had thought to ask Amalia's greatest critic in these matters: herself.
Amalia falls quiet in the face of more objections, having already explained her actions as best she can. Beyond that, she has no excuses: no reasoning to describe why she has not done more, no justification for the actions at the Mathair, the lack of punishment doled out upon the culprits there. It is true she has not been a stauncher ally to the fae (not that they asked, a petulant part of her thinks); it is true she has stood idle while the Voice did her work.
No longer- this the Shield vows. Not now. Not after Sam.
The final question lands like a blow, making Amalia wince. She meets the wildfire gaze with steel once more, dark iron hard and soft in turn. Will she change her tune? "Not if they deserve it," she whispers, thinking with an ache of Wessex, of Rexanna, of those who arguably have committed sins, whose punishment she could never inflict but also could not condemn. "I would only ask they be given the option to recant. Repent. And that if the choose it, be given a chance. One already has - Samuel Wordsworth."
Her throat tightens around the name. Suddenly she straightens, seeming to gain height. "Punish those who have betrayed the world. Tear down shrines and the Voice's places of worship - and I will gladly help. But do not touch Sam. That is all I ask."
"LongNight is coming, and I must protect my people. But after that... I will help you change things. And I will see to it that Rexanna is no longer queen, nor any other Ascended. You have my word."
She waits for a response before nodding curtly, turning back into the woods. The fae has given her much to think about, in the upcoming week of dark.
{fin}
she is calm in the storm
and anxious in the quiet
and anxious in the quiet
