Servant Ambrosius
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The Blade of Miquela
🕑 Added 2024-04-21 18:08:03 +0000 UTCPJO World
The Realm of Winter, Before the Winter Throne
Fast. That is Aemon’s first thought upon finding Malenia’s blade inches from his throat. Malenia is the fastest foe Aemon has ever faced, and as a warrior who prides himself on his speed it is a novelty for him to come upon a warrior whose speed matches his own.
Drawing Longclaw Aemon blocks the slash, his eyes widening when the power behind the attack craters the ground beneath his feet and the resulting shockwave sends debris flying in all directions.
Strong. This is Aemon’s second thought. Malenia is near as strong as Koios and easily faster than the titan. This battle will not be an easy one.
Shoving her back, Aemon takes the initiative to go on the offensive.
His first slash is one that Malenia parrys, while his second and third are dodged with the fae flowing around and dodging the attacks as a stream flows around an obstacle.
As their swords clash once more, Aemon and Malenia are sent flying back from the shockwave.
Adjusting himself in midair, Aemon gracefully lands in a crouch before standing at his full height.
“You are fast, and strong.” comments Malenia as she and Aemon circle one another. “Yet I find your skills to be lacking, and unfortunately for you this is not a battle which can be won merely through strength and speed.”
“Aye.” agrees Aemon with a smirk as they come to a stop.
Taking a deep breath all emotion drains from his face, and his eye which has been amethyst up to this point turns a cold starry blue devoid of all emotions leaving a cold and calculated expression on his face. With a long exhale the temperature in the room drops severely and frost begins to grow upon every surface within the throne.
“Come Malenia, I shall introduce you to defeat.” Aemon says, and with a boom that shatters the ground beneath his feet launches himself at Malenia.
With grim determination in her eyes Malenia meets Aemons charge head on, parrying his first slash only for him to make use of her momentum to change the trajectory of his sword and cutting her on the cheek.
With wide eyes Malenia attempts to retreat, yet like an avalanche barreling down a mountain Aemon follows. Seeing that her opponent has no intention to allow her to retreat Malenia rallies and advances towards him, flowing around his attacks like water and parrying when she cannot dodge.
Despite her best efforts however Malenia finds that Aemon’s graceful footwork prevents her from out maneuvering him, forcing her to meet his attacks head and slowly accumulating small cuts upon her being; for Aemon’s attacks are full of feints and deceit which force her sacrifice small openings so as not to receive any major injuries.
That is the danger of facing Aemon’s newly developed fighting style, it forces the opponent to choose between small cuts or dismemberment. A lesser warrior would find the small sacrifices acceptable, but Malenia is no lesser warrior and knows intimately the danger of falling to such a trap. The longer the battle goes on the higher her chances of defeat become.
It is a cold, cunning, calculated, and precise fighting style meant to slowly tear the opponent apart with maximum efficiency. There is no wasted movement and no emotion to his movements, only cold indifference. He cares not whether he inflicts a small cut on her cheek or outright dismembers her, the outcome of the battle will be the same regardless: her defeat.
Yet Malenia is no mere fae who would accept such an outcome. She is the Blade of Miquela, Heir to the Autumn Throne, the greatest warrior of the Unseelie Court, and she will not be defeated so easily.
With a rallying cry she sends Aemon flying back with a blast of wind.
“Indeed, you are a candidate worthy of the Winter Throne. Yet… merely being worthy is not good enough. As Heir to the Autumn Throne and vassal to the Winter Throne I will not bow to one who is ‘merely’ worthy.” Malenia says as a budding scarlet flower grows on her back and blooms into two sets of butterfly wings.
“The scarlet flower blooms once more. Now rot!” Malenia says as she ascends to the air with a beat of her wings, living butterflies trailing behind and encircling her.
“How fitting.” says Aemon, his voice as cold and emotionless as his starry blue eye. “As autumn heralds the coming of winter, decay comes before death.”
“Malenia! I shall make you mine!” Aemon declares as he and Malenia once more engage in a graceful dance of death.
The ringing of Valyrian steel clashing with the enchanted fae steel echoes through the throne room, shockwaves shake the castle to its very foundation, and winter and autumn war within as Malenia’s butterflies of decay assault Aemon only to be met with the buffeting and cutting winds of a blizzard.
With Malenia’s ability to fly she easily gains the advantage of maneuverability over Aemon, yet despite her best attempts she cannot seem to pin him down for every opening seems to be a feint designed to create a path of retreat for him.
Once more Malenia cannot help but admire and respect his skills as a warrior, and yet despite this she is not willing to allow him to sit upon the throne. The Autumn Court is vassal to the Winter Court and as such their fate is tied to whoever rules the Winter Court. She will not, and cannot, allow merely anyone to ascend that throne; the fate of her brother and her people depends upon it. She would rather they all fade than to allow the wrong candidate to become their rulers.
As such she pushes herself further than she has ever done before, ignoring the accumulating cuts on her person and the cold energy that invades her being, festering within and constantly slowing and injuring her despite her healing factor.
She abandons the thought of surviving the battle unscathed and instead focuses all of her attention into inflicting as much damage upon her opponent as possible, for she knows that with his fighting style, and his skills, mutually assured destruction is the best outcome she can hope for. And so she sets the scene for their final clash.
With every clash she recoils slightly more, with every new cut she receives she slows down, and with every attack of hers that Aemon dodges or parries Malenia allows her frustration to lightly show.
The change is impossible to notice at first, but as the battle draws out Malenia becomes slower, weaker, more frustrated and reckless unless eventually she makes a mistake which exposes her throat and leaves it vulnerable to Aemon.
Yet Aemon does not take the opportunity to slash her throat open and instead maneuvers himself to her back and slashes her wings off, forcing her to the ground.
Before she can recover Malenia finds Longclaw’s edge digging into her neck and drawing blood with a shallow cut.
“It is my defeat.” admits Malenia, her voice devoid of sorrow and pity.
“Is it truly?” asks Aemon with a raised eyebrow as he looks upon wings breaking down into thousands upon thousands of butterflies that circle them.
“Yes, I concede defeat.” Malenia says as the butterflies merge once more with her back and disappear.
“I laid the ground for my permanent defeat and had you taken the bait my rot would have encircled and killed us both. Yet, whether due to your mercy or foresight you did not choose such a path. Regardless of the reason, I am willing to admit defeat.” Malenia explains, her breath frosting in the air as ice crystals form on her skin.
With a nod Aemon flicks her blood from his blade and sheathes Longclaw before placing his hand on her head and reaching out to his magic within her.
From the countless cuts on her body one can see the cold air leaving her, freezing the wounds before dissipating in the air.
With an exhale from Aemon the temperature in the throne room returns to normal and the frost covering the windows and walls melt away.
As he regards the defeated Malenia before him, Aemon cannot help but be glad that he had decided to face her as a warrior as opposed to using his Conqueror’s Haki as he had done to all the warriors and knights he had met in the castle.
Something about her called out to his warrior spirit and he had decided to indulge it, something he rarely does for many a man with great potential had died prematurely due to their ‘warrior spirit’.
Yet this once he had indulged it and is glad for doing so. Had he defeated her with his Conqueror’s Haki he would not have earned her respect, and judging by her position within the Winter Realm it may have made accepting him as their ruler that much more difficult. As far as Aemon is concerned the fae of his Wild Hunt are enough trouble for him currently.
Accepting Malenia’s defeat, Aemon walks up the dais, passing by the throne on which Miquela resides and the thrones of the royal family and stopping before the throne of the Unseelie Court.
Carved from ancient, frost-kissed marble, the throne bears intricate patterns of frost and ice, reminiscent of delicate frost ferns etched across its surface. Yet, time and neglect have taken their toll, leaving the stone cracked and weathered, its once-pristine beauty marred by the ravages of winter's harsh embrace and the waning power of the fae.
The area surrounding the throne is shrouded in an eerie half-light, casting long shadows that dance across the icy floor. Crystals of frost cling to the walls, sparkling faintly in the dim glow, while patches of moss and lichen creep across the cold stone.
Above the throne, a canopy of icicles hangs suspended, their sharp edges glinting ominously in the faint light as if threatening those unworthy of the throne from sitting upon it.
“Sit upon the throne.” says Malenia from her position next to her brother’s throne. “Should you truly be worthy it will not be difficult for you to make the realm yours.”
Following Malenia’s instructions, Aemon turns and sits upon the throne. At first nothing happens and Aemon begins to doubt, but before he can voice his doubts he feels it.
He feels the entire Realm of Winter as if it were a limb that had always belonged but he was ignorant to its presence. He feels the surviving fey even as they slowly fade, he feels the remnants of the dead fey as their will fights to remain, refusing to be snuffed out in case a worthy King or Queen were to ascend, but most importantly he feels the slow decline of the Winter Realm.
Tied to the nature of Earth, the state of Earth’s wilderness is heavily reflected in the state of the Winter Realm, and as nature continues to lose ground to mankind’s pollution the Winter Realm will continue to decline.
There is however a silver lining in the form of Miquela using his very own essence to slow the decline of the Winter Realm. It is why he sits unresponsive on his throne as Lord of Autumn.
Unfortunately this silver lining is merely a temporary measure for eventually Miquella will fade and with his fading the decline of the Winter Realm will accelerate twofold at the very least. And with the complete decline of the Winter Realm all faeries of the Unseelie Court will fade for their very existence is tied to the realm.
“There is only one ideal solution to this problem.” says the Other from within Aemon’s mind. “Sever the Winter Realm’s connection to Earth’s wilderness and tie it to your own.”
“Are you mad? I do not have the required magic to uphold an entire realm.” retorts Aemon.
“It is not to your magic it will be tied, but your lifeforce.” replies the Other.
“That is even worse. I am not immortal.” says Aemon.
“Perhaps not yet, but should you go through with the ritual your life would be tied to the realm and the realm would be tied to your life. As long as the realm exists you will live, and as long as you live the realm will continue to exist. This is after all why the Great Other cannot be killed.” explains the Other, shocking Aemon.
“What the fuck did you just say?!” snarls Aemon.
Author’s Note: Here’s the latest chapter. As usual, tell me what you guys think.
Comments
Son-Of-Scorn
Interesting twist at the end, can’t wait for Aemon to meet the Great Other I’m sure it’ll be a cool scene
