#cora taskon

adsom icons part 2 !! aka the girlies + vortalis ❤️ (part 1 here that includes the main characters)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22833406/chapters/75890396

Alucard crossed his legs and slouched low against the headboard. Rhy was up and pacing, had been for most of that day. He had suspended talks for two days with the justification that the delegates could use the time to clear their minds, to see Arnes’ capital. He had dismissed Kell to tend to neglected tasks around London, but would not be taking a break himself. He had come to bed the night before with Cora’s agreement and conditions to fulfill. He had enlisted Alucard after complimenting his cleverness for sometime; Alucard had agreed out of worry.

Rhy was exhausted and truly looked it. The talks dragging on weeks longer than expected had taken its toll. Nights littered with nightmares alternated with long, sleepless ones filled with feverish work. Alucard had shamelessly fallen back on caress and kiss to try pulling him into bed, hoping at the very least that a soft blanket would lull the younger man into rest. The young king never took the bait, pushing him aside with tired, well-meaning smiles.

Rhy had been up most of the night, locked inside the palace’s private tea room.

Alucard had awoken that morning to a cold mattress beside him and settled in for the day.

As he paced, Rhy muttered to himself, the very image of madness. Alucard simply waited for his voice to raise, waited to be spoken to. The longer Rhy whispered about Vesk, the Taskons, and Cora’s desire to be queen, the more Alucard wished he had left the king to himself. He was very close to regretting his decision. He could have been with Anissa, making up years worth of time with her, catching up on all that he had missed while imprisoned in Vesk. Instead, he was sitting silently as Rhy endeavored to help the very country that had kept him under lock and key.

Bitterness rose in Alucard’s throat. Cora Taskon was the last person he was jumping to help. He understood her agreement would seal Osaron’s fate. He understood how critical that element was to getting this peace treaty signed. He did not understand why Rhy had to play queen-maker.

Rhy Maresh, king of Arnes, protector of London, was endeavoring to reorganize another country’s line of succession.

Alucard bit into his cheek. Something like that could jeopardize international relations, perhaps build the powder keg that would launch a second war.

“Don’t look at me that way! It’s not a terrible idea… entirely.”

“This is all a terrible idea,” Alucard mumbled.

Rhy blinked. “What?”

Alucard inhaled, neutralizing the emotion in his expression. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

Something was dripping.

The sound cut through the sweetly soft darkness that Alucard Emery had been wrapped in. It was a spell, the darkness, wearing off with every drip.

He didn’t want to leave that blanket of velvet around his mind, and he tried to sink back, to grab onto it with hands that barely twitched against some kind of rough constriction around his wrists, as he felt himself shifting away from that safe place towards wakefulness.

No, no, no. He didn't want to wake up - if he woke up, he might have to deal with the pounding headache behind his temples, the twist of nausea that unsettled his stomach, the way the world had spun off kilter and he might slide right off the edge to a whole new hell.

Rhy.

He groaned, the face of the man he loved burned behind his eyelids, frozen over with Kell’s command, solid and unchanging as stone. No, let him sleep, he didn’t want to remember Rhy that way. If he stayed in the darkness, maybe it would all have been a dream.

He couldn’t escape it. Sleep escaped him, drew further and further away, left the pounding pain in his head behind. He was already in hell. Not the dank hold of the ship, no, he felt no rocking, smelled no human waste and misery. He wasn’t shivering and bruised and broken.

Still, he felt like he’d wake up with the manacles back around his wrists and his Rhy, his prince, Rhy would never know he hadn’t wanted to go he wanted to be with him he wanted, he loved-

He was not in that hell, but in this fresh one. Luc’s eyes cracked open, winced at the pain brought on by only candlelight and the softly lit globes that lined the walls, closed again. Someone murmured something nearby.

He’d come back to Rhy, with all his love, and it hadn’t been enough to hold off the attack. They had already burned down the Sanctuary and swarmed a mass of faceless armor into the streets, bodies that cut and killed like machines made of magic and skin. It was an army of demons led by the white wolves that controlled Kell to hurt Rhy, and there was nothing he could do to keep the streets from running red.

Hell had been the face of the woman who had smiled at him when they hit him, had looked down at him with wide blue eyes in a pale white face, eyes that burned as she said, I remember your voice, Alucard Emery, although I must say you've changed a bit. I know what you sound like crying out for him. I used to love to listen to you - my brother and I both.

He’d never seen her before, he was sure of it. He’d have remembered evil like that.

He groaned, head in a vise of pain, trying to remember past a throb that wouldn’t let him think . Had Rhy made it out before they broke down the door, when Luc was on all fours on the ground, scrabbling to pull one last bit of magic before they buried him? No, he’d been frozen.

Had that scowling black-clad slip of a girl that followed Rhy everywhere since Kell had gone missing spirited him away in time? No… no, she wasn’t there. Rhy had sent her for Tieren Serense.

Luc had done everything he could, but if there was any one truth in Alucard Emery’s life, it was that ‘doing his best’ rarely worked out for him, especially when it really mattered. When it mattered, he ended up hit over the head and dumped somewhere in chains.

Were they chains? He frowned, slumping forward, trying to force his eyes open again to look down. Was this another prison ship? He could feel the cold metal around his wrists, and when he tried to move them they were held and he heard the familiar soft rattle.

He had promised himself he would never go in chains again.

But Alucard Emery’s promises had never been more than window-dressing over his betrayals.

Beloc/Hastra

The grumpy one is soft for the sunshine one. Need I continue. (The survivor and the healer are soft for each other)

Ojka/Calla

The “I will devote my life with unnerving obsession to a god-king I barely know” one meets the “I ship everything but also I am sensible, do you want some tea” one.

Athos Dane/Col Taskon

Age difference and terrifying blonds. Col’s the strong and stoic type who’s willing to take orders from his sixteen-year-old sister. Athos appreciates men who know how to follow, and he loves stoic types.

Mandatory dueling scene between the best swordsman in Vesk and the sorcerer-king who casually beats him into the ground.

Astrid Dane/Ned Tuttle

One-sided. Ned is fully in awe and more than a little terrified of her. Astrid looks at him like he’s scum on her shoes and not even worth the trouble of torturing. Think Uncle Andrew and Jadis from The Magician’s Nephew.

Cora Taskon and Astrid Dane

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22833406/chapters/75834884

Rhy was seething under the surface as Cora spoke, hardly hearing her words over the bubbling rage. He hoped his expression didn’t betray his true feelings. He was in no mood to continuously side-step or recover from that misstep. He was already attempting to recover for Kell’s.

The princess was daring and haughty in her pearl grey gown. Meant to appear serious and innocent while accusing him of favoritism.

Kell had warned him of the potential confrontation days earlier. His brother had seemed tense as he relayed the Maktahn czar’s suspicions, avoidant when pressed for more detail.

Rhy took the news with a grain of salt. Holland Vosijk was new to international diplomacy and understandably wary of the others, especially Cora who was fighting him tooth and nail for the Osaron weapon. It made sense, but Rhy and Kell had nothing to be afraid of. They had grown up with the Taskons, had grown up rolling their eyes at Cora’s every whining temper tantrum. If they waited long enough the sour mood would pass and she would find a new fixation. Despite being older, theoretically wiser, Rhy figured that fact of life wouldn’t change.

The mood had not passed.

Cora was on the warpath.

Kell hadn’t mentioned they had been caught either.

“Certainly you see my concerns, mas hazra ,” Cora concluded with a demure sigh. She laid her hands delicately over her legs, holding Rhy in her pale blue gaze. “There will be no lasting peace if we let the czar’s manipulation of the crown prince continue. Your brother deserves to know how his affections are being… repurposed.”

“My brother is content with his choices,” Rhy answered blandly. “I appreciate your concern, princess, but it’s unfounded. The czar has his agenda in these negotiations, same as us all.”

“But you agree with him, that he’s right to eliminate Osaron outright?”

“I do, but that has everything to do with my service to Arnes.”

Cora raised a pale eyebrow, imperious. The faintest inkling of dislike that Rhy wasn’t falling into step with her; a look that was familiar from their childhoods together. It itched under his skin, stoking an annoyance fueled by a lack of sleep. “What are you implying, Rhy?”

“I’m not implying anything, Cora,” Rhy answered, jaw tightening. “I served on the front lines, as did the crown prince and the czar. We have all seen what catastrophe Osaron brings and, understandably, believe the world will be better off when soldiers’ lungs aren’t dissolving inside their chests.”

Cora stared at him, a pink flush of rage rising in her cheeks. “You’re implying I don’t care about the well being of my people.”

“No, I’m saying experience is behind our efforts--.”

“Don’t lie to me, Rhy. You aren’t handsome when you lie.”

“As if that is my only concern in this world.”

“It used to be.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22833406/chapters/71662485

“I expected better…” Cora Taskon murmured to herself, drawing a thin ink line across the page in front of her. She tapped the tip of her pen against the paper, frowning at the web she had spent the night solving out. “Your secretive nature has abandoned you, Kell.”

Her older brother rolled over in his sleep, his snores carrying across the room to her ears.

Cora was beginning to wish her mother had chosen a different sibling to accompany her. Col was a decent enough companion, she supposed, but a blunt instrument at best. He didn’t have her ability to see the thin threads between things. Didn’t have her ability to see the subtleties in the Arnesians’ hospitality, in the Faroans’ gestures.

Hok had been the best at it and had thankfully taken an interest in showing a younger Cora how to do the same. He would have been the best suited of all the Taskon heirs for these proceedings. He would have happily waltzed the Mareshes into a corner without breaking a sweat.

But Hok was dead.

If he wasn’t, none of them would be here.

So Cora was left to negotiate almost five years of grievances alone. Was left to negotiate Vesk’s newfound military prowess being stripped away from them. All because Rhy Maresh was suddenly squeamish at the idea of Osaron. As if his father and advisors had not purchased and utilized the very same weapons he was now trying to outlaw. Cora had been given express orders to prevent that very outcome. If Osaron’s ban had not been a point in the agreement, Vesk would have signed the new peace treaty in absentia. But no, Rhy Maresh had to have his way. And Cora was saddled with dead weight.

Snoring dead weight.

Cora cast a glance over her shoulder at her brother’s bed, her snarl of annoyance unseen in the midnight dark. She gripped her pen harder and turned back to her page. She had a plan to work out, snarls to tease out, weaknesses to find.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22833406/chapters/66512476

An old ache was settling across Holland’s back by the time he sat down. A bone-deep, smarting pain shooting up the old lines of whips scars. He hadn’t felt them this sharply in months and blamed the Arnesian weather for it.

Nasi had been cross with him when he announced she would not be attending the hours-long meetings with him. She would be bored stiff and restless, he argued gently. Rhy had arranged a companion for her -- a slightly older girl from an aristocratic family -- and she would be much happier exploring the palace grounds. The little girl had put up a decent fight, the stubborn spitfire she was slowly becoming on full display, but it had evaporated the moment Holland winced buttoning his shirt.

Are you hurt? She had asked quietly, concern creasing her brow.

Holland had shook his head, biting his tongue to still his face as he finished dressing. Old wounds sometimes revive themselves, Nasi. I’ll be alright, I promise. I must have slept on it wrong.

You didn’t sleep on it wrong. Nasi had protested, arms crossed tightly. You always roll off of your back when you sleep .

Holland had only stared at her, bewildered. He often forgot how much Nasi saw and remembered, how sharp her observations had become since Ojka had discovered her. He had  wondered throughout breakfast all the things she had seen throughout the years -- the hesitation in his gait the mornings after Athos called him to his bedroom; the uneven line of Ojka’s red hair the evening after Astrid had been done away with; the sweat dampening his shirt when she unknowingly woke him from nightmares because of her own.

Holland hadn’t brought Nasi for her keen, quick eye, but he had begun thinking it could only help him. Even as he left her in the capable hands of Anissa Emery, part of Holland wanted to turn back and take Nasi with him.

“Behave yourself, sa litli . You’ll tell me everything you discover, yes?”

“I’ll tell you all the good things we find… Good luck, papa .” Nasi looked up at him, her hazel green eyes serious. Holland turned away from her and the Emery girl, struck by the gut feeling that Nasi had meant it.

He wondered if she knew she had said it in her sleep the night before.

Thanks, Anon! A lot of my inspiration to take on Cora Taskon - in Endurance and in AUs - comes from my friends @pinkcupboardwitch, @orchidscript, @muffinworry, and @dr-dendritic-trees! We have talked at length about the disservice done to Cora Taskon, who has hints of a fascinating steel under the stereotype she found herself locked into, and who exited the story far too soon.

In Endurance, I wanted to bring her in to showcase the strength that Veskans are said to have - and to highlight similarities between White London's Maktahn people and Veskans as well.