BATTERED / 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐒 !

HIS HAND RETRACTED so quickly it made the bruises on his side ache. it was as if the king had taken off a mask once the tent cleared: the terse smile on his lip melted, any attempt at keeping himself together pushed aside once he was sure he had no witnesses. because they both knew — the king might have been too slow in battle, but the real fight was lost when iris showed up on the front lines. and again, when she showed up in the middle of the fight.

“you know, as the queen of acacia, i could FORGIVE you showing up on the front lines.” he started, his tone eerily quiet. calm before the storm. “i could even respect it. in fact, i think it’s something my mother would’ve done as well… come here to aid, to provide morale for the good men laying their lives down, but — “ his words caught in his throat, a bitter laugh pushing its way through, only to die in his throat.

“OUR BABY, IRIS?! HOW COULD YOU PUT OUR BABY’S LIFE IN DANGER?!” he could feel the world outside go silent at his shouts. in fact, he got the feeling there were some that lingered just outside the tent’s door to hear what was happening. dominic had tried to flatten his emotions; temper an anger he’d felt swell the minute he recognized iris on the battlefield. but every time he looked at her, he thought of a child he was excited to meet, the family he was ready to start. what’s more, how he almost lost all of it in one fell swoop — and for what?

      𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒  𝐀  𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄  𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐏  𝐀𝐒  𝐇𝐈𝐒  words  escalate  in  volume,  in  tone.  she  can  feel  the  rage  radiating  off  of  him.  remorse  is  heavy  in  her  bones.  the  laughter  that  falls  from  his  lips  is  one  she  is  no  stranger  to.  it  haunts  her  to  her  very  core  but  she  still  remains  passive,  patient,  awaiting  the  reckoning  that  was  bound  to  come.      ❛  i  understand.  i'm  sorry,  i——  ❜

      and  come  it  does.  but  his  words  fall  on  deaf  ears.  though  she  was  just  as  elated  as  him  to  hear  the  news  of  their  impending  child,  iris'  shoulders  sag  with  exhaustion.  baby.  baby.  baby.  that  was  the  only  word  that  traveled  through  her  mind,  day  by  day.  between  her  handmaidens,  her  husband,  even  the  healers.  she  had  grown  tired  of  forgoing  her  identity  for  the  one  she  was  carrying.  so  the  queen  shoots  up,  out  of  bed,  risking  the  chance  to  reopen  her  wounds  but  she  cares  not,  not  as  her  rage  matches  his  own.

“DID YOU KNOW THAT SHE’S —  ? “ “I DID. I DID KNOW.” he could hear the whispers of the knights at the tent entrance. the young couple had withheld the news for the time being; their miracle quickly swept away with the news of the rebels and the new war. normally he’d snap at the agitating gossip, but dominic was too busy cutting cloth in the infirmary tent. 

beside him, a healer — a real one, not one of many citizens drawn from the draft. the king had insisted on staying by her side, but didn’t plan to make himself completely useless all the while. he’d already failed once today. he didn’t intend to make it a repeat thing.

“i know.” he said when iris spoke, if only to keep her from expending precious energy. the healer moved to clean her wounds with clean water, and dominic reached to grip iris’ hand as he did. the king offered her a mangled smile, knowing the process would likely be a painful one, but privately dominic was far away. outside of his body even. was he watching himself lose a child? his firstborn child? — minutes ago, on the battlefield, had he watched himself become responsible for that?

he swallowed the lump in his throat. “we’re taking care of it, iris. you’ll be okay.” he said flatly, mentioning nothing of the baby yet.

      𝐈𝐅  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇  𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒  𝐇𝐀𝐃  𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐓  her  the  life  of  her  family,  she  would  suffer  in  turmoil  for  the  rest  of  her  days,  surely.  the  murmurs  of  gossip  surrounded  them  but  iris  hardly  has  the  energy  to  entertain  them  with  it.  instead,  she  opts  to  closing  her  eyes  as  dominic  lays  her  on  the  bed.  embarrassment  coats  her  cheeks,  along  with  emotions  that  iris  normally  kept  at  bay.  she  would  blame  this  on  the  baby  later,  if  he  dared  ask  about  the  tears  that  brimmed  her  eyes.  

      with  each  cloth  that  swiped  over  her  wound,  she  hisses  out  in  pain,  a  squeeze  to  the  king's  hand.  the  healer  works  quickly  and  tentatively  under  the  scorching  gaze  of  acacia's  ruler,  sighing  in  relief  when  he  was  finished.      ❛  but  a  flesh  wound,  your  majesty,  ❜      he  offers  quietly,  tightening  the  gauze  that  covered  the  cut.      ❛  the  babe  should  be  fine.  ❜

she was frozen. she tried to will herself to move, but it was as if she had completely forgotten how to move her feet. the world was both spinning and stuck, and roisin couldn’t focus on a single thought within her mind. even her mouth refused to open.

i’m going to die. it was the only thing she heard within her head. i’m going to die, here. in a tent. in the middle of nowhere, solis. of course, it would be the kingdom furthest from home. she hadn’t even done half of what she imagined her life being. she was yet to be a mother, to finish that one painting that was waiting upon an easle within her favourite room in the palace, she didn’t have a single grey hair yet. it wasn’t the death she imagined nor wanted. there would be no adoring grandchildren surrounding her bedside. no tears.

the movement behind her spurned her into motion, pushing the thoughts away as the blade left her back. she pulled away from the man, turning to face him. had her hands always been this shaky? she could no longer feel the stick of the blood on her fingers, instead she had lost feeling in all of her limbs.

“your grace.” it blurted from her lips upon seeing the face of her rescuer. she knew iris was in the tent with her, in the part of her mind that was still working. but seeing that the one to pull the man away was none other than a fellow queen- it could hardly be true.

she doesn’t even know what to do at her words, instead her eyes moved from iris’ face, to the blade held to the rebel man’s throat. gods, was that what she had looked like? there was a flash in the man’s eyes- perhaps the silver of the blade reflecting in his eyes. what was iris to do? she brought her shaking hands up to her face- freezing upon seeing the blood still sticking to them.

      𝐍𝐎  𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓  𝐎𝐅  𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆  she  endured,  at  the  end  of  the  day,  iris  was  no  match  to  the  strength  of  a  man.  it's  within  seconds  that  the  man  manages  to  disarm  her,  turning  their  positions  until  he  had  his  hand  around  her  throat,  the  knife  she  had  against  him  now  against  her.  her  eyes  are  widened  with  shock  for  a  passing  minute  before  they  revive  the  stoic  glare  she  was  usually  plastered  with.  this  was  not  where  she  was  supposed  to  die.  she  was  destined  for  a  death  far  greater  than  at  the  hands  of  a  man  who  falsely  called  himself  a  warrior.  

     there’s  a  dozen  skills  that  the  queen  could  pride  herself  on,  and  none  of  which  she  could  have  ever  anticipated  putting  to  use.  it’s  the  first  time  she’s  seen  the  proper  light  of  battle  over  the  past  few  weeks,  having  stuck  to  the  shadows,  better  suited  to  relaying  a  constant  stream  of  information  to  those  fighting.  it  was  the  best  way  to  keep  her  family,  to  keep  her  children  safe.  dagger  strapped  to  either  thigh,  katrielle  blends  in  with  everyone  else  well  enough,  but  it’s  the  shout  from  nearby  that  draws  her  attention.  chalk  it  up  to  the  wrong  place,  at  the  wrong  time,  though  she  kicks  into  gear  quickly.  catching  the  man  under  his  other  arm,  she  nods  towards  the  sidelines.     ❛ over  there  ! ❜   gaze  sweeps  his  limp  form,  knowing  their  titles  have  no  use  in  war.     ❛ did  you  see  where  he’s  hit  ?  we  have  to  stop  the  bleeding  ! ❜

he was JUST finishing tying off simon’s wound when the rebel had made his appearance known. it was incredible, dominic had learned, how much those three seconds mattered on the battlefield. no amount of training could have prepared him for that — what he missed by even blinking at the wrong time.

this, unfortunately, was one of those times. he stumbled to untangle his fingers from the fabric; simon’s drying blood making it difficult to free himself in due time. dominic looked up just in time to see the bastard’s sword sideswipe his wife’s ribcage. “FUCK!” he yelled, but it was drowned out by the swords clanging in the background. 

he did his best to draw to a stand without slipping in the mud, launching his body into a clumsy tackle. armor clanging against armor as they both fell, wrestled, and found himself eventually remembering he even had a sword. ten seconds for him take care of the offending rebel. fifteen for two men of the knightsguard to realize what was happening and come to his aid. one hundred and twenty for him to scoop iris up and carry her away from the center of the fight.

time was precious here, more weighted than it typically was. the king badly hoped he didn’t just learn that lesson the hard way.

      𝐓𝐑𝐘  𝐀𝐒  𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  𝐓𝐎  𝐃𝐎𝐃𝐆𝐄  the  sword  coming  straight  towards  her,  she  fails.  all  the  stories  her  doting  mother  told  her,  about  princes  and  kings  coming  to  save  the  day,  they  all  seem  like  lies  in  the  face  of  death.  the  sword  comes  down  onto  her,  with  no  mercy  at  its  blade.  with  the  chainmail  still  raised  on  her  torso,  her  skin  proved  to  be  an  easy  target  for  the  male.  while  she  had  experience  in  sparring  injuries,  injuries  on  the  battlefield  were  a  new  one  entirely.  her  hands  reach  down  to  touch  at  the  opening  of  her  wound,  hands  shaking  at  the  amount  of  blood  her  fingertips  were  met  with.  

      but  then  her  thoughts  race  towards  the  baby.  remorse  finds  its  ways  onto  her  features,  fear  stitching  its  way  into  her  heart.  she  hardly  has  time  to  focus  on  the  rebel  at  hand.  mahogany  colors  draw  her  gaze,  relief  flooding  her  entire  body  at  the  sight  of  help.  but  the  way  her  husband  lifts  her  causes  more  aches  in  her  body  than  imaginable.  before  she  knows  it,  they're  pushing  through  one  of  the  infirmary  tents,  where  she  was  originally.  

l o c a t i o n : a medical tent near the frontlines

closed for: @batteredshlds

ever since the news of war had broke out roisin had been on edge. it was as if her body couldn’t stop shaking, fingers trembling as she followed instructions to bandage wounds and give tonics to wounded soldiers. she hadn’t expected to live through such circumstances ever in her life- she was born for a life of silks and flowers, not armor and blood. 

blood, there was so much of it. within the last hour she must have seen more blood that she had the rest of her life. the nausea had long settled in, and she could feel her heart pounding throughout her whole body. how had they gotten there?

she was in a tent, a wounded man in front of her, and she was trying to ignore the rest of the noise surrounding her- there were so many people, smelling of sweat and wounds and mud. there were several other people treating the injured, but they were spread thin enough that she couldn’t call another person over. she was trying to bandage the wound as she had been shown to, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop. 

she must have been working on him for over ten minutes- how could a person lose this much blood?- when she felt a body behind her, and the prick of a knife against her back. she dropped the tools is her hand, stiffening as the body spoke. “hello queenie.” it was a deep voice in her ear, one she hadn’t heard before. she had no idea who it was or how he had gotten into the tent, and her eyes scanned the tent, looking for someone to help her, to stop this. 

      𝐈𝐓  𝐖𝐀𝐒  𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒  𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇  𝐀𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒  where  iris  truly  compared  herself  to  the  other  ruling  queens.  while  they  came  from  houses  that  bred  to  produce  fine  women,  worthy  of  marrying  kings.  her's  had  not.  instead,  her's  bred  for  skilled  warriors  hungry  for  blood  and  power.  she  tries  to  keep  an  eye  on  roisin  throughout  the  chaos  that  surrounded  them  but  with  the  influx  of  wounded  soldiers  filling  their  tent,  there  was  only  so  much  attention  iris  could  provide  her  fellow  queen.  

      she's  feeding  an  acacian  soldier  some  water,  tilting  his  head  as  he  groaned  in  pain.  the  queen  hardly  blinks  at  the  sight  of  war  displayed  in  front  of  her,  despite  how  many  times  the  auran  queen  flinched  at  each  sight  of  an  injury.  perhaps  she  would've  been  better  in  the  kitchens,  preparing  warm  meals  for  the  soldiers  on  the  front  lines.  

      there's  a  tense  air  that  enters  the  tent,  one  that  iris  tries  ignoring  as  she  tends  to  the  man  on  the  bed  before  her.  her  thoughts  wandering  towards  her  husband,  wondering  how  he  was  faring  throughout  all  of  this.  a  black  cloak  is  enough  to  grab  her  attention,  one  that  masks  the  usual  sun  -  like  radiance  that  emitted  from  the  other  queen.  she  can  read  the  malice  in  his  actions,  eyes  only  barely  glancing  at  the  metal  he  presses  against  roisin.  

at first the king thought he was being paranoid. he couldn’t possibly have recognized anyone from that far across the battlefield, and even if he had, iris was safe in acacia where she should be. certainly not anywhere near solis, let alone a stray blow of any kind. he was focused on simon, who was losing an alarming amount of blood — spouting off nothing sentences into his ear so he wouldn’t lose consciousness. “it’s okay. you’re okay. stay awake, simon we’ll pull through this together.” the kind of thing neither one of them genuinely believed.

it wasn’t unusual to see a soldier he wasn’t familiar with. perhaps it was someone from the draft, someone high enough in skill to earn a knight’s armor straight off the bat. again, odd; but dominic had seen stranger things happen. that was, until she pushed the chainmail aside, for a silk dress that the king knew he had seen before.

after all - iris was not someone who wore dresses that could be found anywhere else. vaguely, the king thought he remembered commissioning that exact one. recognition crosses his face in an instant, but he focused on tying up simon’s wound first. he begun to wrap the fabric around the knight’s waist quickly, despite shaky fingers from the adrenaline.

“are you one of my knights, or from the draft — ?” he asked loudly, not yet taking his eyes off of simon. dominic wouldn’t normally be one for small talk in such a situation, but if this was what he thought it was …. the king could already feel his blood boiling.

      𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐀𝐍𝐘  𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄  𝐎𝐅  𝐅𝐀𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐂  to  her  husband  was  her  biggest  mistake  yet.  she  was  a  fool  to  think  that  he  wouldn't  recognize  her,  his  mind  clouded  with  those  falling  around  them  at  an  impeccable  rate.  she  watches  with  earnest  as  he  ties  simon's  wound,  her  hands  ready  to  pick  him  up  again.  iris  nearly  blanches  at  the  question  at  hand,  unsure  of  how  to  answer  him.  though,  there  were  plenty  of  warriors  who  were  women,  surely,  it  wouldn't  have  been  such  a  coincidence  had  she  offered  a  feminine  voice  ?

      she  clears  her  throat,  hoarse  from  the  shouting  she  had  been  doing  prior.  she  prays  to  the  gods  that  he  doesn't  recognize  the  quiver  in  her  voice,  nor  the  way  it  tightens  with  anticipation.      ❛  from  the  draft,  your  majesty,  ❜      doing  her  best  to  disguise  her  voice  amidst  those  around  them.  she  ducks  when  a  body  comes  barreling  towards  them,  landing  right  atop  her.  

𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:  solis  grounds.

      𝐈𝐓'𝐃  𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍  𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒  𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄  𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐃  𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍  the  knight.  though,  she  hardly  ever  expected  this  place  to  be  their  place  of  reunion.  the  queen  knew  of  the  dangers  of  being  around  the  knight,  him  knowing  all  of  her  darkest  secrets.  being  the  only  person  to  know  of  who  she  truly  was.  it's  hard  not  to  turn  away,  to  run  back  amidst  the  chaos  that  surrounded  them.  but  there's  a  particular  glint  in  his  eye,  one  that  conveyed  vengeance,  fury.  one  that  iris  matched  with  a  glare  of  her  own.  even  in  the  face  of  death,  she  would  not  submit.

BODIES WERE DROPPING AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. dominic and his men weren’t ill prepared, but even with first wave troops from the remaining three kingdoms, their chances seemed awfully bleak. the rebels had home advantage — from their vantage point atop the castle walls. they seemed to send waves of troops in all the right places, at all the right times. he wiped blood from his split lip, courtesy of the hilt of a rebel sword — one of many wounds now, and that seemed to be the case for everyone.

when he looked across the battlefield, he saw a man ( a knightsguard, simon. someone he knew well) drop first, into the hands of a soldier he didn’t immediately recognize. he rushed to help, weaving in and out of crowds to make it to the pair as they stumbled for cover. a hand clasped simon’s torso to attempt to stop the bleeding first, as they eased him to the ground — with difficulty, that was. simon was a bigger boned man. perfect for battle, yes, but not so perfect to rescue. 

“do you have spare CLOTH — ?” he yelled to be heard among the commotion. both palms were pressed against simon’s wound now, the blood seeping hopelessly onto his own skin. 

      𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍  𝐇𝐀𝐃  𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒  𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍  𝐓𝐎  𝐁𝐄  loyal  to  house  talbott.  with  his  family  having  spent  years  serving  under  the  kingsguard.  she'd  grown  quite  acquainted  with  the  knight.  never  did  she  think  that  he'd  be  one  of  the  first  to  fall,  though.  with  his  burly  stature  and  reckoning  stance,  simon  was  hardly  ever  brought  to  his  knees.  despite  the  fact  that  she  saw  this  siege  as  an  opportunity  for  acacia,  the  talbott  rule  would  be  nothing  if  not  for  its  loyal  subjects.

      she  feels  her  hands  become  clammy  at  the  sight  of  her  husband.  her  attention  momentarily  diverts,  eyes  scanning  his  face  first,  then  his  own  figure.  scavenging  for  any  signs  of  trauma.  when  she  comes  up  with  none,  save  for  minor  injuries,  she  returns  her  focus  back  at  the  man.  iris  finds  herself  at  lost  for  words,  not  wanting  to  give  her  identity  away.  for  once,  she  feared  the  wrath  that  dominic  would  unleash  should  she  be  revealed.  

Ezrai knew Queen Iris was here, putting herself in extreme danger considering they were so close to the criminals who committed regicide without hesitation - and the truth was, the old knight couldn’t be more pleased to have her here.  She was vicious and unyielding and exactly the sort of person the troops needed around to inspire them.  Siege was not a quick thing like a battle.  A battle could take days, but a siege could take months, even years.

Having Queen Iris here, gave Ezrai the belief that this particular siege wouldn’t last that long.  

He split his time outside the walls of Shorthill Keep, managing the troops and also keeping an eye on her.  Although he didn’t take the title of Kingsguard like King Dominic offered, he still considered himself - informally, perhaps - a Queensguard.  At least on the front lines in Solis.

“Here –” he said, reaching out to grab the soldier and hauling the wounded to the back tents where the medical field was set up.  “My Queen-“ he started to address her formally, but remembered that he mustn’t.  If there were spies in their midst, they might try to target the Queen of Acacia.  He corrected himself hastily. 

“Lady Blacke, perhaps you should stay in the back, where it’s safer?”  

      𝐈𝐓  𝐖𝐀𝐒  𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇  𝐀  𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐄  detail,  to  be  regarded  as  someone  without  a  title.  though  she  recognizes  the  tactic  easily,  giving  the  knight  a  brief  nod.  iris  had  managed  to  catch  his  eye  one  too  many  times  as  she  aided  in  transporting  those  who  were  injured.  if  it  weren't  for  her  stomach  that  was  slightly  protruding  at  this  point,  she  would've  been  in  the  throes  of  the  battle,  standing  shoulder  -  to  -  shoulder  with  the  other  soldiers.  

      though,  for  the  sake  of  her  unborn  child,  she  would  satisfy  her  thirst  for  blood  at  a  much  later  time.  she  feels  a  sense  of  ease  wash  over  her  features  as  ezrai  takes  the  weight  off  of  her.  daggers  laced  beautifully  between  otherwise  softened  fingers,  eyes  scoping  their  surroundings  as  the  knight  lay  him  in  the  nearest  carriage.  

𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:  solis,  front  of  the  lines.

VOMIT. DOMINIC COULD WRAP HIS HEAD AROUND VOMIT. perhaps something gone wrong among the kitchens, or some bad water iris had consumed in recent travels. his burning stare was unrelenting, but internally he felt just a little better as the healer spoke. he acknowledged iris’ hand squeeze with a terse smile, coming back into his own slowly. 

but then — words of iris not bleeding this past month. the king searched his healer’s eyes for something further, some kind of explanation or guess as to what it could be. but alas, he found nothing among the healer nor the sullen hospice servants, whose gazes were oddly casted downward, as if surprised. 

“i don’t - “ he clears his throat, realizing there was no graceful way to admit his own confusion. at least the heat of his wrath had simmered down, replaced instead by bewilderment and dread. dominic set his sights on iris, who looked paler than she had before. “i don’t understand, my love.”

      𝐈𝐓'𝐒  𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐑  𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄  𝐅𝐎𝐑  𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒  to  gather  the  truth  in  the  healer's  words.  she  hadn't  realized  it'd  been  so  long  since  she  bled.  her  jaw  is  slack,  eyes  glossed  over  at  the  meaning  of  his  words.  she  shares  the  same  shock  as  her  husband  though  words  are  unable  to  roll  off  her  tongue  as  they  so  easily  have  in  the  past.  it's  takes  but  a  few  minutes  longer  for  her  to  come  to  terms  with  the  revelation,  sitting  up  slowly  in  bed.  

“it better not be.” he said stiffly, against his better judgement. “because i had to hear from a damned SCRIBE — that my wife was feeling ill, just as smallpox descents among the four kingdoms. isn’t that something?” the king wasn’t shouting per se, but perhaps he wasn’t as calm as he previously thought he’d be. 

his gaze, steely and harsh, flickered between the healer, the servants, and his darling wife — who he found himself even more filled with wrath, every time he gazed at her laid across the hospice bed.

a sharp inhale goes through his nose to try and reel himself back in, his eyes flickering closed off of the many fearful looks he received. “please,” he said upon opening them (though it still sounded more like a demand than an imploration) “someone tell me what’s wrong, and i will decide if it was so frivolous that it should escape my knowing.”

      𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒  𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃  𝐈𝐍  𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍,  listening  to  the  tone  in  her  husband's  voice  that  had  the  entire  room  bowing  into  submission.  everyone  except  her.  she  gave  his  hand  a  small  squeeze,  never  one  to  undermine  his  authority  in  the  face  of  an  audience.  she  would  rationalize  with  him  in  the  privacy  of  their  bedchambers.  

      ❛  she  has  no  other  signs  of  the  illness,  your  grace,  ❜      a  brave  healer  speaks  up,  eyes  cast  downwards.  iris'  own  gaze  shifts  to  the  healer,  awaiting  them  to  continue.      ❛  she's  been  unable  to  keep  much  of  her  food  down.  ❜