#empiresfic

@lavenderjellies3 created the ATLA AU fanart as seen above and I wrote the Flower Husbands fanfiction inspired by/based off of it ^^

"Well, I'm certainly not a fish," huffed fWhip, folding his wings behind him tightly and trying not to show too much fang in his scowl. "And I wasn't sneaking. Much. I left a very generous payment on the shelf in exchange for that crate of slime!"

"You're on their side, and that makes you just as bad," said the other solider. "You're stupider than you look if you think we'll just let you spy as you please."

fWhip groaned. "I wasn't. spying. And I'm not on their side, I'm a neutral party! I just needed more slime for a new machine, and Jimmy's been away for like a week! That's all! Nothing nefarious about it, I promise."

His explanation fell on deaf ears, and they continued shoving and dragging him toward the guardhouse. A small skiff was docking as they approached, and an axolotl soldier disembarked. When he spotted them, he left his own companion to jog over and whisper something to one of fWhip's captors. The cod's eyes moved back to fWhip as she listened, and he didn't like the way she grinned at him.

"Good news, you're no longer under arrest for theft or espionage," she said. "Mostly because you're not under our jurisdiction anymore. The Ocean Queen has issued an order for your arrest."

"What? For what??" fWhip dug his heels in, his struggles changing from indignant to desperate as they dragged him toward the boat. Being held for a day or two in the Codlands was at most an inconvenience, but if they shipped him off to the isolated Ocean Empire, there was no telling when or how he would be able to go home. "I've never even been to the Ocean Empire! What's the charge?"

The axolotl tipped a scroll out of its waterproof case and unrolled it. "Aiding and abetting known enemies of the Empire. Providing support to enemy military forces in the form of armaments. Securing funds, supplies, and rations from other kingdoms, most notably Mythland and Gilded Helianthia, on behalf of enemies of the Empire. Harboring enemy soldiers and escaped war criminals."

fWhip stared in disbelief. "That's a load of crap. All I've done is let a few refugees stay in the Grimlands to get away from the war! Otherwise, I've stayed out of it! I never wanted any part of this nonsense."

The trident-wielding soldier pushed him forward onto the skiff, and he stumbled as he stepped from the dock to the boat. "Shut up. You'll get a chance to tell Her Divine Majesty that at your trial."

So he was told, but staring up at a furious goddess as his charges were read again and in greater detail, fWhip wondered how he would find his tongue when it came time to defend himself.

The fact that he could even tell she was furious betrayed the intensity of her ire. Both the Ocean Queen and the Ocean King kept their faces hidden in public, and a beautiful layered veil adorned with pearls and shells kept her expression a secret. It was equally hard to read the man who ruled beside her, hidden as he was behind a carved mask.

That must be the Codfather, the god Jimmy served under as governor of the Codlands. Unlike Jimmy, whose size and height was similar to fWhip's own build, the Codfather was nearly as massive as the Ocean Queen. His face might be covered, but at least his arms were bare, fWhip thought as his gaze traced toned muscles appreciatively. If he was going to die here, he was absolutely going to admire the view first.

" - eapons powered by redstone cores, technology that has since been discovered to be sourced from the Grimlands, invented and crafted by Count fWhip."

fWhip pulled his attention back to the proceedings as a sword was brought out for the room to view. He recognized the craftmanship of Mythland, and the hum of his own invention that fed the enchantments on the sword and made it far more formidable than any standard blade. It was a thing of beauty, and he was proud of the work that had gone into it from both kingdoms.

That pride was spoiled by the way everyone in the room looked at it with anger and disgust. "Do you deny that this is your work?" said the queen.

"The sword is Mythland craftsmanship," said fWhip. He was almost certain it was forged by Sausage's own hand, to be specific, but he wasn't about to give the angry empress a reason to go after his best friend next. "The energy core forged into it is my invention. I made it for - "

"Then you are hereby found guilty of the charges levied against you," said the Ocean Queen, not seeming to care that fWhip had first harnessed redstone energy into that form to power farm equipment. "You have admitted to manufacturing redstone cores yourself, and we have invoices that prove you sold many such inventions to the king of Mythland for the purpose of crafting weapons to provide to the salmon armies."

"But I didn't know he was going to do that with them!" protested fWhip. "I mean, not for certain. You can't just assume I - "

"Oh?" The queen's cold tone froze his argument. "So you and King Sausage didn't brag to another ruler about your success in getting the cores to meld seamlessly with the standard enchantments?"

fWhip sighed and dropped his head. Of course Jimmy would have reported to his queen the things he and Sausage told him. He had no reason to keep their conversations private, after all, especially as often as they fought.

"You are found guilty," the queen repeated, "and will be punished accordingly for the crimes you have facilitated against innocent civilians of the Ocean Empire."

fWhip frowned. "What civilians? Sausage only ever sold weapons to be used in self-defense! The salmon are only fighting to protect territory you invaded!"

"You dare presume to tell me if my people have or haven't been wrongfully slaughtered?" hissed the Ocean Queen, half rising from her seat. fWhip shivered at the divine power that lined her voice, casting a nervous glance to the roiling waters on either side of the platform he stood on.

She took a breath and sat back down. "I've heard quite enough out of you. I sentence you - "

The Codfather leaned over and whispered something in her ear. The queen listened, then sighed and turned her attention back to fWhip.

"At the request of the Codfather, you are given a choice," she announced. "I can give you to the depths, as you rightfully deserve...or I can give you to him."

fWhip stared at the two gods, weighing his choices. The Ocean Empire was so insular that even Sausage's best spies knew little about them. The Ocean Queen herself had only attended a handful of House Blossom meetings before turning the responsibility over to Jimmy. And as much as the hot-tempered, awkward cod mer who proxied for the Codfather intrigued him, fWhip knew nothing about the Codfather himself.

Choosing the empress meant certain death, he knew that much. But choosing the Codfather meant...what, exactly? Be a plaything for the god? Be tortured for a while, then be killed? He had no way of knowing what the king wanted him for. The Ocean Queen's wrath might be a mercy.

But choosing the king might also keep him alive long enough to find an escape. And a chance was a chance, however slim.

"I choose the Codfather," said fWhip.

The queen seemed almost disappointed that she wasn't able to drown him right then and there, but she waved a hand and a guard removed the chains on fWhip's wrist. "The Codfather's consort can find you a room and teach you what will be expected of you," she said, and a man who had been standing at the Codfather's shoulder stepped forward and bowed to her. "Get him out of my sight before I change my mind."

The man wore a mask similar to the one Jimmy always wore, marking him as a follower of the Ocean King. fWhip followed quietly, expecting the same vitriol every other mer had shown him today, but once they were alone the man turned and smiled warmly.

"It's good to see you again, fWhip. Though I do wish it were under more pleasant circumstances."

The voice was familiar, even after several years without hearing it, and fWhip's eyes widened. "What - how - why are you here?"

"It's a long story. I'll tell you while I show you around," the man said as he removed his mask. They hadn't known each other well enough to be more than the most casual of friends before, but as fWhip stared into the friendly face of Pixlriffs, the missing king of Pixandria, he was glad for the warm familiarity in the middle of a cold and hostile empire.

“Like, ‘gee I knew a guy with parrot wings just down the street when I was growing up’ familiar?” Fwhip asked.

Pix sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “No, like ‘found his face on an ancient Mezalean record dating more than a millennia ago’ familiar.”

“Oh.” Fwhip blinked. “Sure it’s him?”

Pix tossed his hands in the air. “Am I sure? No. It could be a giant coincidence. But…” He ran a hand down his face, groaning. “Here’s the thing, okay? I bought a lot of artifacts off the last trade caravan here from the Lostlands. There were quite a few traditional Mezalean records and dye tablets that were intact enough for me to restore, and one bundle was the record of an esteemed visitor hosted by the last king before the Rapture. Had a tablet to go with it and everything. And it’s old, and I don’t know how well my restoration really did, but… I could swear it looks exactly like him. And he’s even wearing, like, the exact same thing. And Mezalean shorthand is one of the Old Tongues I still don’t have quite sorted out, but I’m pretty certain it lists the visitor’s name as G’rhyn. Or, you know, Grian.”

Right, that was his name. Grian. Fwhip squinted over the valley again, focusing on the Hermit. Goblin eyes did better in dim light, but he could make out broad details. Red top – sweater of some kind, if he recalled correctly – and dark pants; brownish hair; red wings that revealed flashes of other colors on the underside when they shifted. “You think he’s the same guy? I mean, obviously it’s possible to live that long, like, Joel’s a thousand years old or something, but Joel’s also. You know. A god. Thunder and, like, four-block height, whatever else he’s got going on. This guy doesn’t really strike me as the god type, I guess.”

Pix blew out a breath, turning to lean his back against the wall; Fwhip copied him. “I don’t know,” he said. “Like I said, it could just be coincidence.”

“Could have been a different Hermit visiting before,” Fwhip suggested. “Maybe Grian is, like, a common Hermit name-”

“It’s not,” Pix said, confidently. His words had that odd, undefinable edge about them again; Fwhip glanced up to confirm, and yep, Pix’s eyes had taken on that greenish tint they did sometimes when he was being especially weird. “Hermit isn’t a species or culture like any of the Empires, though they project that sort of impression in this unfamiliar environment. There aren’t many of them - I think most of them are here already.”

“Huh,” Fwhip said, then grimaced when Pix continued to stare weirdly into the ground. Time to snap him out of it. “So how do you know that, anyway?”

“Uh,” Pix said, and stopped. He grinned sheepishly at Fwhip’s look. “I did it again, huh?”

“Yup.”

“That’s, that’s pretty fascinating data, actually,” Pix said thoughtfully. “Implies that whatever keeps overtaking my mind knows something about the Hermits…”

Fwhip tried not to shudder. Pix was, in his opinion, far too casual about the fact that his head was routinely being hijacked. “How do you know it wasn’t just, I don’t know, some other parrot avian? I mean, I don’t know much about the Lostlands, but wasn’t there a jungle empire or something?”

“The Lost Empire,” Pix agreed. “It’s possible – in fact, their emperor at the time was some kind of parrot avian – but the pictures I have of him don’t match up nearly as well as those of G’rhyn-”

“What doesn’t match up?”

Fwhip was not proud of the noise he made at the new voice. Both he and Pix jerked around to see the Hermit himself, no more than a block away from the fence.

Fwhip tried to discreetly smooth down the fur that had poofed up at the scare, and wondered how Grian had gotten there so quickly, or so quietly. Wings that big were loud, he knew, so why hadn’t either he or Pix heard something?

“Um,” Pix said. “Hi, Grian.”

“Hey,” Grian said. He smiled. His eyes were weirdly black, and hard to read. He was only slightly taller than Fwhip, but oddly intimidating. “Felt you guys watching. Talking about anything interesting?”

“Just some… historical discrepancies,” Pix said warily. Fwhip didn’t question his evasiveness. This guy, up close, gave off very weird vibes. “You done, uh, chopping wood?”

“It’s never done, you know, always could use more, but I’ll probably quit for the day,” Grian said. Fwhip wasn’t sure if the Hermit had blinked at all yet.

“Ah,” Pix said. “Headed back to, ah…”

“We’re calling it Hermitopia,” Grian said. He gave them a brief grin; his teeth weren’t weirdly sharp, which for some reason felt even more unnerving than if they had been. “We’re nothing if not dedicated to the brand.”

“Yeah,” said Fwhip. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Well, I’ll be going,” Grian said. “See you two around. Feel free to drop by if you need anything.” He backed away a few steps, and then leaped into the air, bright wings unfurling to carry him away. They were noisy, as they should be.

Pix and Fwhip watched Grian until he disappeared over the hill.

“Okay,” Fwhip said, a bit shakily. “Okay. That was weird. That was weird, right? That wasn’t just me?”

“Very curious,” Pix mumbled.

“You know what,” Fwhip said, after another moment, “I can totally believe he’s a thousand years old.”

i.

Enter: Four actors on a stage. Take this key, one says, and throw it in the ocean. The other tucks it in their innermost breast pocket, whispers, of course. Around them, summer heat swelters like gaze, humid air pressing against their bodies, making them sweat almost as if they were lovers. Pinky promise, the second one says, and the first ties their hands together.

ii.

Anything symmetrical has two halves; a butterfly folds in two no matter which way you cut it. Some people live their lives like this. He picks up a sickle sharper than a sword and much better loved and only cuts the grass. This is not the way it has always been, but it is the way he teaches himself (in sweat) to spell atonement.

iii.

Leaves in autumn turning brilliant red and running away again; this too can be a way of being. When he saw him again there was no blade on his hilt but he hallucinated arrows through his palms. He blinked away the color of blood. Like an irritant. Handed him a torch. This too is a way to spell atonement, but much, much less kind.

iv.

How to pin a butterfly, and other questions. She hands him back not his staff but his grace, in that reluctant way, that grinding teeth way, that handle without the blade way. She'll carry the guilt like she carries anything heavy, so it will ache in her body every time. If you aren't careful you tear the butterfly's wings. Pick up the longest pin.

v.

The world is a padlocked chest. There is another secret. Deep, deep down, not quite locked away, not in the way that matters, he misses it. Misses all of it. The rush of power, the wind at his fingertips, the strength of a thousand men. The blood of a thousand men. He would never admit it. There is another word that kisses atonement; denial.

vi.

She didn't throw the key away. She couldn't. After the denial of death there must be atonement, and atonement must be freely taken. She keeps the key in her breast pocket, but never takes it out. Or wears that coat. Or makes dinner arrangements to see him. Or tells anyone she sees it in her dreams, floating in front of her, out of reach.

vii.

She forgives him like an avalanche. Smallest whisper of sorry and it all comes running back, that which was there and never was really gone, just waiting for the trigger. They don't talk about it. He doesn't say he misses the blood, because she knows, and they never talk about it. If you fold a butterfly in half the wings know each other already.

viii.

A misconception: words actually mean everything they say. When he says, OK, I relent, he means it. He means it big even if he says it small. Atonement complete, he says big, even if he means it small. What he wants to say but doesn't is, I miss you, I miss us, I miss summer, I miss bread and butter, I miss open windows.

ix.