#bonds broken

A continuation of this

Undyne hid her clenched fists behind her back as she listened to the words of her king. Her whole body was tensed, as if she were prepared to leap into battle at any moment, and her teeth would have ground together if they’d been the right shape to do so.

She wore the armor befitting her position as captain of the royal guard, and her helmet was the only thing disguising her livid expression from the capital’s citizens.

Next to her, Queen Toriel’s face showed nothing but disgust towards her husband of several centuries. In this, the two were in complete agreement.

How could he do this? How could he dishonor the memory of his children like this?

You see, Asgore had just declared war. He’d said that any human that fell would be captured and brought to him to have their soul ripped from their body in revenge for the late prince. He’d done so without consulting either the guard captain who would be responsible for bringing the humans in, or his wife, who was supposed to be of equal power to the king.

His co-ruler and closest advisor had both been discarded in favor of the throes of grief.

--

After the declaration, Undyne confronted him.

“How could you?!” She cried. What could have possibly possessed him to think that this was a good idea?

“I did what I had to do,” He said, speaking with finalty. 

“What you HAD to do? How could you POSSIBLY have needed to do THIS?” His face darkened, and his next words were laced with contempt.

“And what would you have had me do? Leave our people to lose all hope? Let us remain trapped down here forever?”

“If the price of freedom is MURDER, I’d happily live the rest of my life down here!” Undyne’s moral code is one she’d adopted from her liege. She didn’t understand how he could simply discard it because it no longer suited him.

“I will not leave the kingdom’s children to grow up in the darkness!” He yelled, finally releasing the illusion of calm. If Undyne herself hadn’t been filled with righteous fury, even she might have flinched from the anger in his voice.

“And what about YOUR children?! What about Chara? THEY were a human, since you’ve apparently FORGOTTEN. Your declaration wouldn't doom the humans who killed Asriel, it would doom the humans like THEM! The humans so lost and broken they climb a mountain where people are said to DISAPPEAR!” Her voice shook with emotion, and she had to pause for a moment to take in a ragged breath. Asgore used her momentary silence as a chance to interject.

“You don’t understand the pain of losing a child!” 

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND? THEY WERE MY SIBLINGS, YOU BASTARD! ASRIEL TURNED TO DUST IN MY ARMS AND YOU THINK I DON’T UNDERSTAND?!” She blinked quickly to stop the tears that threatened to run down her face. Quieter, she repeated:

“They were my siblings,” She turned away, and said, with a calm she did not feel:

“Whatever. Have your war, Asgore, but I won’t be a part of it,”

Cypris paced the den of the cottage, Cricket weaved in and our at her feet as she went. Certain event’s had left the woman in reflection on her past and consideration of her future. 

The night prior had been spent sitting up on the mountain top near a familiar scorched tree with her usual bottle of bourbon dwarven in  make, laced herb smokes, an her goblin radio. Each offered their own comfort as her mind wandered the littered paths of the life that lead her to this moment. 

She’d been labeled cursed as a child, for her natural affinity of fire. Sold by her mother to a goblin slaver who soon reaped reward as he bartered her off to the next highest bidder, seen no more than a tool or weapon. Eventually she was given a home among whores where love was mere illusion used to further bend the woman to the wills of others. Even after there was blackmail that saw to her chains until she’d gained enough courage to burn down her bonds.

It was the burning of her bonds that sent her running for her freedom and into the arms of the man who while crass in his own ways, was the first to see her for who and what she was. He’d helped her knowing there was little she’d be able to do to ever return the favor. The months that followed had brought her more freedom than she’d known but also bound her tighter than any chain. 

As Cypris turned to contemplating her future, she found herself at another crossroads. She could embrace her bonds or she could relinquish them...

(( @thalsianiii ))

“On your feet, Oathbreaker.”

Geoffrey doesn’t move, doesn’t even raise his eyes. He has the patience for a majority of the epitaphs that have replaced his name, but that will never be one of them. Childslayer, Fireforger, Divine Denier, they are all unearned but do not infuriate him so thoroughly as does Oathbreaker.

Though after a year one would think him used to such.

“Up!” The warden beats on the door of Geoffrey’s cell, a snap in her voice, “On your feet, His Worship will not be made to wait!” He’d rather not be rushed by the guard, so Geoffrey slowly lifts from his pallet, sliding on monkish sandals with a grating familiarity. He steps towards the door, thrusting his hands through the angled cut out. A chain slides through the eyehole of each shackle encasing his wrist, before they are drawn tight. The warden slides a bar through the meagre gap left and then pulls the door open.

Geoffrey has little choice but to follow its swing. There are the usual spectators, three guards with swords almost unsheathed, a daring danger on each face. Geoffrey draws his arms back when the bar is removed and stands as another chain is affixed to the first, swallowing the brief surprise that emerges when he notices a cleric nearby.

Perhaps this was an unexpected request from the emperor. Geoffrey is almost amused that they’re even bothering to try and hide the evidence of their laxity. The cleric might make less the bruises upon his flesh and knit the scabbed remnants of marks and cuts upon him, but such magic takes time to diffuse, to properly work away injury. Despite this truth, the cleric still bows his head.

It burns fiercely when the staff grows luminous, as if the entirety of Geoffrey’s body is aflame. He can’t help gasping out, from going to a knee. The stone floor is cool against his flesh, but it hardly lessens the sensation of being razed alive.