CROWMOTHER

[kaylacita 1187]

CROWMOTHER

 

 

“The pain and panic slowly ebb away, replaced by a cold, creeping numbness. An acceptance. Her last conscious thought is of her family, and what could have been.”

 

---

 

THE CRACKLING OF FLAME FILLED THE SILENCE OF THE CHAMBER. The hearth had been tended to with firewood brought in from the Crowswood, soothing in that moment, for the winds were strong outside. Nataliya stirred awake to the sound, sunken back into a wooden chair. What? She wondered, and rubbed at her eyes gently as to observe her surroundings. Her husband sat beside her, barely masking his annoyance, though it was not with her. Meeting after meeting... Yes, that was it. If only they were livelier. Her thoughts were interrupted shortly by a sudden knock upon wood. “Which is this?” She posed to her husband. “I thought we’d finished for the evening,” to which he grunted, and rolled his shoulders in response.

 

“Enter,” Ivan called, and the door swung open. A darkened figure stood in its frame, and Nataliya tensed; the Barrow of Kastell Lesanov. “Speak, then.” 

 

She swelled with anger as her leave was bade by the bastard. Her teeth clenched as she withdrew from them, and to her mind once more. She often took to this in his presence, cold to the ceaseless bickering between the pair. Their petty slights. Resentment. She lacked discernment between this conversation and the last with the Barrow. They all melded together into one. A brief moment of clarity overcame her, and with what little comprehension remained, she could scarce believe what she’d heard. “Nie.” She took to her drink.

 

“It's niet vy I ask.” Andrey spat. 

 

The room spun around Nataliya, and her eyes met the candleholder overhead, pale in the light. More, and more insults hurled against her character. The Queen’s hands trembled as her fingers curled into a fist, then pounding against the table. “I should have seen vy undone!” She snapped. He was only a babe then. I should have, I could have! Her husband pushed himself to his feet in that moment, and took up a sabre that lay against the table. Andrey too ran a hand across the scabbard at his belt, eyes aflare. She scanned her surroundings without a weapon of her own, unusual of her character, when the walls suddenly enclosed around her into a haze of black.

 

---

 

A GUST OF THE COLD, WINTER AIR BLEW INTO THE ROOM AND SET THE HEARTH’S FLAMES SWIRLING. Nataliya listened to the logs crackle and pop as her senses returned, and she inhaled a sharp breath. When her eyes opened, she jolted, and her hands pulled away from her daughter’s cheek. She had been pushing aside the little Princess’ stray hairs from her bedside, doting on the girl. Wasn’t I?

 

Stay vyr tongue. By all rights it is hers. I told vy what would happen if vy spit vyr poison, boy.

 

“... Mother?” Anastasya cautiously asked. “Is all well?”

 

“I lost track of time,” she reassured her daughter, and herself. I’d almost forgotten you have my eyes, Ana. She pressed a kiss onto the girl’s cheek, and returned to her affections. “I must’ve been dozing off.” 

 

Worry washed over her daughter’s face as she hesitantly spoke, “But... Mother, vy’d only just arrived.”

 

She is only what vy made of her, Father.

 

“Eh?” She sounded, taken aback from the statement. “Nie, nie,- I was here. I was, wasn’t I?” She blinked in quick succession amidst her confusion, and clutched the Hussariyan cross around her neck. What is she saying? The silence between the pair was suddenly broken as the lady’s maids hurried in to prepare her daughter for the day. A dress to change from her bedclothes, a brush for the night’s tangles, and a stew to break her fast. The ladies weaved around the Queen, as she sat motionless in her disbelief, and certainly would not budge to their account. One of the maid’s combed through her daughter’s hair, just beside Nataliya, while the other maid offered the bowl of stew. The scent of spice and earth hit her nose; turmeric, and walnut? She rapidly grew alert, and shouted hysterically at the attendants, “Poison! Vy fools!” To her dismay, her shouting did no service, and she watched in horror as her daughter took a sip from the stew.

 

Anastasya looked aside, puzzled and frightened, and in good health. “... I,- I think we need a physician, Mother... Vy’re niet vyrself.”

 

“Nie! Niet after the last one!” She pressed a palm to her forehead as a pain throbbed. What was the last one, again? She pushed the thought aside. I have sound reason. “Where is Ivan? Where is he?” Her skin was pallid, as though it might turn green from her sick.

 

“In the meeting hall, Majesty,” one of the maids answered, who gingerly ran her hands against the Princess’ arm, for her eyes welled with tears.

 

Cease vyr bitching, or be cast from the halls of my family.

 

The Queen stood, swaying as she clambered out of the chambers and to the balcony. What meeting could he possibly,- Her guts twisted into knots, followed by a dry retch over the railing. An unbearable pain rested in her stomach as noise and confusion enveloped her. Eyes lowered to the ground, and soon after did she collapse into that familiar black blur.

 

---

 

MUTED LIGHT FILTERED THROUGH THE TOWER ALONGSIDE THE INCESSANT WHIPPING OF THE BLACK-GOLD BANNERS. Nataliya’s eyes snapped open, and found herself leaning against the red bricked wall of one of the turrets. Her heels clicked underfoot as they met the stone stairway. One cautious step after another, she was unsteady on her feet, yet none came to her assistance despite plenty of servants traversing the halls. Some brushed against her displayed shoulder, a grunt emitted to each one. This is torturous. Were the stairs always this long? Her eyes settled upon a set of doors. Not the right ones. Then a second set. Where are the boys, she wondered.

 

I made nie complaint. Vy let this harpy drip her poison in vyr ear. Have I niet been leal? I have given vy nie reason for such scorn beyond vyr own great sordid shame. Vy would raise Stefaniya as a princess, as vyr own blooded daughter? I am vyr son - the elder.

 

Those very doors flung open, and a girlish voice with great urgency called, “Vyr Majesty!”

 

Eyes dart to the source, a young Ruthern of raven hair, Milena. The Queen wove a dismissive hand, and choked out the words, “Niet now.” 

 

The young noblewoman’s expression was grave, and she continued, “It is dire. I must warn vy again, my Koenas.”

 

Again? This is the first I’ve seen of her today, she thought. “Speak it, then. I have elsewhere to be.”

 

Vy are a jealous, vain little creature. Begone.

 

“A murder descends around them, stabbing and squawking in fury. Two flocks, two armies,” she began to drone, her tone sapped of prior urgency. Her eyes were sunken and dark, restless. “In the end, one stands above the other, talons soaked in the blood of its kin. The other golden coronet sits amidst the pool of ichor.” The Ruthern stared ahead blankly, awaiting response.

 

The cruelty which the Ruthern regaled with such sudden indifference shocked Nataliya, and sent a bone-chilling shiver along her spine. That warning gnawed at her, and she stood in a daze. Then, a warmness of familiarity. But this is the first I’d heard her prophecy. It must be, I should not forget it; Ivan always says I have the memory of a crow. She hesitated, and the Ruthern had vanished from sight as the hall melded into one with the shadows. 

 

---

 

AND SO SHE AWOKE IN HER CHAMBERS, AS SHE HAD BEFORE. The days fell to darkness for what felt like an eternity. Dishevelled, this morning she strolled out to the parapets. Her gaze lingered on the autumn leaves of the Westerwald as wild gusts of wind nearly yanked her back with such force. How long had it been, and still they do not fall? She could hardly recall the last time she felt the snows. It is no matter. I must tend to Ana. Nataliya turned from the railing, and made for the heavy oaken door that gave way to the halls.

 

A blade of light cut into the darkness of the princess’ chambers, as the sun had barely peeked over the mountains. “Ana, have vy woken yet?” She called in a hushed tone.

 

Her daughter stirred, and rubbed a hand over her tired eyes. “... Mother?” She groaned, half-awake, and sought to pull the covers over her face. “It is hardly light out, Mother.”

 

“I know, I know.” The Queen grinned, and made to her bedside. She tugged those sheets away, and beckoned her upright. “I had thought we could paint before the servants rush in. What do vy suppose?”

 

“... Paint?” Whatever fatigue that plagued her had all but disappeared in that moment. She bounced from her feathered mattress, and at once took her mother’s hand. Anastasya near dragged her into the halls. She had been so weakened by her illness, though Nataliya entertained her. Their stifled laughter echoed through the otherwise silent castle, until they found themselves before a set of easels on the westward balcony.

 

Her daughter wasted no time in laying their canvas, while Nataliya beckoned a servant fetch them a palette from the cellars. The pair swiftly put brush to canvas once the servant returned, depicting the autumn leaves of the forests west. Every so often, she heard a faint cough, and looked over to her daughter. Streaks of orange bled into the waters of the rivers and the green of the grass. The Princess frowned, and laid down her brush. My sweet girl, it still looks fine.

 

“H-Highness!” A gaggle of maids rushed in at the sound of her hacking. In one of the lady’s hands, she carried a bowl of stew. 

 

The scent of spice and earth hit her nose; turmeric, and walnut? “My, that smells delicious, Ana,” she said in some attempt to calm her, though she felt a pit in her gut. Is something amiss? Her daughter drank deeply of the stew, regardless of her thoughts. And when she did, the girl seemed at peace. There were no more coughs; no pain on the girl’s face. Nataliya took up her brush, and pressed it into Anastasya’s hand with a gentle smile. Blue painted over the orange streaks in the rivers, and fine green strokes to those in the grass. The sun was now visible overhead where the two admired their portrait. “I shall frame it for all the guests to see,” she spoke proudly.

 

One of the servants still lingered, and cleared their throat. “Majesty, vy’re needed in the Aulic Chambers.”

 

“Eh?” What possibly for? “Oh... Nie matter,” she looked once more to her daughter, and nestled a kiss atop her forehead. “Be good for me, da?” Anastasya nodded, and brought up her palm. She gave a final wave to her mother who returned the gesture, and slipped into the halls at the servant’s behest.

 

---

 

HER HUSBAND LOOKED NEAR DEATH AS HE SAT ALONE IN THE AULIC CHAMBER. The hall was silent as the King’s head laid in his hands, wearing a deep scowl that was near hidden by the moustache on his lip. She took the seat to his right. “Skravi of Sigismund, this is the deepest of the hells!” Ivan growled, as he held up a flagon of Carrion. It was still hardly midday. “I ought to be riding. Fighting, blade in hand! Niet shuffling through sheafs of parchment like some damnable clerk!” Nataliya inclined her head, though did not speak. What followed was a blur, as always. One man sought a title, another an office. All meaningless, she sighed, and took note of each request. 

 

Her thoughts were interrupted shortly by a sudden knock upon wood. “Which is this?” She posed to her husband. “I thought we’d finished for the evening,” to which he grunted, and rolled his shoulders in response.

 

“Enter,” Ivan called, and the door swung open. A darkened figure stood in its frame, and Nataliya tensed; the Barrow of Kastell Lesanov. “Speak, then.” Her leave was bade by the bastard. He is far too bold. Why must he always insist upon this? Her husband dismissed the notion. “She shall stay if she please,” and so she had. Then, a request.

 

“Nie.” She took to her drink.

 

“It's niet vy I ask.” Andrey spat. 

 

“It ought to be.”

 

“All vy have was given unto vy by vyr husband.”

 

“Stay vyr tongue. By all rights it is hers.” Ivan asserted, folding his arms loose at his chest. “I told vy what would happen if vy spit vyr poison, boy.”

 

Nataliya withdrew to the depths of her mind. I had never been cruel to Andrey. I had never rose a hand to him, nor my voice. She pinched the bridge of her nose, and exhaled a sharp breath. “Vyr request will niet be honoured.”

 

“Vy were born a Morovar, last I recall.”

 

Ivan slammed his fist onto the table, shattering the plate that lay before him. “Vy speak to the Koenas of Hanseti and Ruska, niet vyr ***** mother.”

 

Andrey scoffed, shifting his gaze. “She is only what vy made of her, father. Now vy send her off into the snow, and deny me even a private word? I am vyr son.”

 

His words cut into her alike to that of a dagger. Aleksandr had done that over a decade ago, not my Ivan. While the two bickered, the Queen’s eyes trained past them and to a portrait on the wall. It depicted the Royal Household; Ivan, Nataliya, Marius, Josef, Anastasya, and Andrey? No, he is nowhere to be seen. 

 

“Vy've the manner of a daughter. Cease vyr bitching, or be cast from the halls of my family.” Ivan pushed himself to his feet, and took up the scabbard that lay against the table.

 

“I made nie complaint.” He too ran a hand across the scabbard at his belt, eyes aflare. “Vy let this harpy drip her poison in vyr ear. Have I niet been leal? I have given vy nie reason for such scorn beyond vyr own great sordid shame. Vy would raise Stefaniya as a princess, as vyr own blooded daughter? I am vyr son - the elder.”

 

Andrey’s words met her ears, but her reaction was muted, and she did not offer any retort. I’ve heard this before. The back and forth of the King and his bastard continued nonetheless, and they spoke as if she too hurled vitriol. I’d known better than to speak poorly of him to Ivan, but I was cold. I had no interest in him. I treated the boy as if he were a stranger, a thing. But, he was a danger to our children, how could I have shown care? The reality of her situation dawned upon her. How many times have we argued? How many times must we go in these circles?

 

“Vy are a jealous, vain little creature. Begone.” The King demanded. “Vy are a bastard. Vy ought to make vyr lot with it, lest vy spend vyr life clawing at title and prestige like some Imperial palace woman.”

 

“It is niet vyr crown I desire, Father. Let it choke about Marius' fat neck. But, I have earned a respect vy will niet afford me. I am vyr son!” He turned the chair aside with a palm, tightening the other about his scabbard.

 

“Vy walk these halls by my will, I do niet deny that I sired vy on that Tiber wench. And for this, vy strut about like a chicken, squawking at my wife and trueborn children while vy whine of vyr misfortunes. The realm does niet weep for vy, who are dressed in silks, and look down upon them from a catered room in the greatest castle Aevos has ever known.”

 

Andrey scoffed, waving a hand in short dismissal. “Perhaps niet. But there are those that might stand with me if I wished it.”

 

“They might join Bossir Godunov and the rest of those shit-eating bastards at the gate; Spiked and rotting!”

 

“And I besides them - is that it?” He turned the hand from his scabbard then, shifting it aside. “Fine, then. I do niet cower in fear of vy. On the morrow I meet the Patriarch. For when I was a fool boy, I swore to avenge vyr defeat in a duel of mine own. Perhaps he shall save vy the trouble.”

 

It would not be right for him to die like that. The dishonour was no fault of the boy; Ivan had sired him. He had no say in his coming into the world, yet still he is punished for it. She knew it to be wrong, yet her fists clenched in anger. Nataliya wanted to strike the boy for his insolence as Ivan had oft done, but she could not bring herself to raise her hand against him. Would I not be so bitter had I been thrown into the cellars? My mother exiled? She found herself trudging toward the Barrow, who seemed to shrink away from her. Nonetheless, she brought him into an embrace. Her eyes closed tight, and in the darkness she heard the crackling of firewood once more. When they opened, she awoke in her bedchambers, her husband knelt at her side. 

 

A terrible dream.

[MunaZaldrizoti 5947]

Milena vas Ruthern was often hidden away within the Kastell Lesanov, not called upon lest the King needed his carrion or Prince Josef wished to pass the hours contemplating the departed. More often than not, she was reading--or dreaming. But no dream she had ever had would matched that first one, her first prophecy. Two crows, at war amidst their flocks, with golden crowns atop their heads. Blood stained the stone-carved feet of Lady Haense, with nothing remaining but despair and turmoil.

 

She had warned the Queen, but felt little else could done. As Ser Mikolaj had said, in one of their few lessons, the future was not something to be avoided. So, she awaited its coming, a weight upon her young shoulders and with some small hope that perhaps she was wrong.

[yopplwasupxxx 5802]

While the Queen tossed in her nightmares, Torugr stood guard in the chambers of Prince Marius, silently watching him as he lingered awake in the dead of night. Court drama and familial debacles gave the hulking, monstrous snow orc no heed; such intrigue was lost on him. Instead, as his fat belly began to rumble and growl, a more important thought entered his vacuous mind. Gazing intently at Marius, he muttered out the simple yet profoundly powerful question:

 

”Food?”

 

@Dogged

[ncarr 2295]

The Grand Lady - in her decrepit state, plagued by an unending infection - sat opposite the Queen in the Aulic Chamber. The hearth cast shadows across her gaunt features, the otherwise dark room flickered in the crackling flame's light as the pair sat in a heavy silence. 

 

Vy should have seen him dealt with when vy had the chance. 

 

The woman’s voice echoed in the Queen’s mind, the Grand Lady’s illness-riddled form only worsened in Nataliya’s nightmare. Marjoreya lectured the Queen with eyes unmet with the Barbanov's own gaze. Her features were painted with contempt as her eyes slid to meet Nataliya's at last. "He will see vy undone." she spoke plainly to her. "He stains vyr household." she drawled on, though her utterance cut short, interrupted by a fit of coughs the Ruthern pushed into a monogramed handkerchief - now stained with blood. 

[ContestedSnow 845]

Ratibor's brow furrowed, as he recalled the Queen's absent stare in the plaza.

 

 It seemed, to him, that her eyes had seemed to look past all; even with his verbal prodding, it had taken rather some effort to produce any response from Nataliya. When it had came, it was a short, terse order. Something must have wore upon her.

 

 

[ivery 159]

Deep within the Kastel's halls, where few ladies and fewer royals dare step, Deia sits at a small table and stares at the parchment in front of her. It is quiet and cold, and there are many who share the bunks with her now, but she remembers a time when it was just her. When the butlers had moved out and her little sister - her sweet sister, cursed and lost- was exiled,  the halls were her own, as large a space as she'd ever had for herself. The fire stayed dim, the chairs stayed rickety, and the blankets stayed thin. She ate alone.

 

And then there came a boy. "She doesn't want to look at me," he mumbled churlishly, glaring at the floor. "I'm to live here now."

 

(She remembers him before then, of course. Everyone knew of the king's- the Crown Prince's - bastard, of his shame, and kept their distance from the wailing in the nursery lest they earn his wife's ire. She remembers Amaya sneaking in to feed him and lingering by the door, too wary to follow.)

 

"..Well, you can't stay in that room all by yourself," she'd said. "You'll stay with me."

 

So she taught him to wash his clothes in the tub instead of calling for a maid, set out a second plate at mealtimes with pieces cut smaller than her own. When he spoke of missing windows, she spent her pay on paints for the ceiling- a night sky and its many stars- and when his hair grew over his eyes, she cut it evenly and ushered him off to play with the toys she'd found second-hand. Little by little, his scowls softened into smiles, and she remembered how to be a mother again.

 

The shouting from the Aulic Chamber echoes in her ears now, where he's grown so much taller, and she mulls over what to write.

What would teach the right lesson.

What would keep him safe.

What would help, when a servant is helpless to royalty.

 

Come home when you're ready, she writes. Be safe.

[ferdaboy 1825]

Josef knew not what to make of his mother’s disappearance. In the following days, the Prince spent his time by the gates, hoping to see his mother within the many crowds that came and went from the Royal City, yet he did not find her. Wherever she was, he hoped she was safe, she had much to teach him.

[sarahbarah 5253]

The Royal Physician, one Lady Emma, had been toiling away, creating various tinctures to soothe the Queen's slumber. Whispers were exchanged with the handmaidens regarding the Queen's state, and all she could do was helplessly watch as the Queen succumbed to a fitful rest. Emma's concern deepened with each passing day, the shadows under her own eyes darkening as she pored over ancient texts and experimented with various herbs.

 

The castle's atmosphere was thick with worry, the air heavy with the scent of medicinal incense which wafted from Emma's laboratory. Every evening, she would bring her latest concoction to the Queen's chambers, hoping that this one would bring peace to her liege's troubled nights.

 

"Perhaps this one will work," Emma murmured to herself as she prepared yet another concoction - lavender and chamomile. She glanced at the Queen's handmaidens, their eyes wide with fear and hope alike. As Emma approached the Queen's bed, she saw the monarch's face contorted in distress, her sleep far from restful. The Queen's once-vibrant complexion had paled, her strength waning with each passing night of unrest.

 

Emma knelt by her side, gently lifting her head to administer the tincture. "Your Majesty," she whispered, her voice trembling. "This should help you rest."

 

The Queen's eyelids fluttered, her breathing ragged. Emma's heart ached at the sight. "Please, let this work,"  she prayed silently, watching as the Queen swallowed the potion. 

 

But the minutes ticked by, and the Queen's fitful sleep continued unabated.

[shay 2402]

A shadow of grief loomed over Lesanov, its darkness pressing down upon Stefaniya with a suffocating weight. Since Anastasya’s passing, Nataliya had become a different person, her vibrant spirit replaced by a haunting sadness. The once warm and lively queen was now a figure of sorrow, her eyes hollow and distant.

The young Bihar had always been content with her role, her station within the realm, but she now found herself elevated - recognized as a true crow. In a turn of grief towards affection, it was a bittersweet title, one that felt more a shackle than an honour. Nataliya, in her sorrow, clung to her niece with a desperate intensity. The princess found herself trapped in a role she had never asked for, living in the shadow of the true princess. She knew Nataliya meant well, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was merely a replacement, a constant reminder of what had been lost.

The change in Nataliya was palpable. She wandered the halls at night, lost in her thoughts, often pausing by Anastasya’s empty chamber. During the day, she sought out Stefaniya, her touch gentle yet laden with unspoken sorrow. Each affectionate gesture and kind word felt as if they were meant for someone else, the love in Nataliya’s eyes overshadowed by grief.

In rare moments of clarity, when Nataliya smiled faintly and looked at her with genuine affection, Stef clung to the hope that her aunt might find peace. But until then, she was caught in a bittersweet reality, bound by love and loss, forever living in the shadow of a memory.

[Demavend 296]

Those darkened skies overhead might once have felt an ill omen. Though, the bastard found in them now some vague peaceful freedom. The Marshal’s trial felt as much an escape for him now, after that eve about the Aulic chamber.

 

He had blunted his blade against the wood again, a gift from the good prince Stefan. It ought have been his sister’s, in truth. He had long promised it to her; in a time of brief fair health, before. .

A sharp exhale sent the thing spinning into the snowdrift. She had been so plainly replaced, by one not even of the King’s own line, yet the elder son was left to traipse alone about the peaks and shake snow from his boots, tattered as they were. He had been leal, valiant and would have offered  so much more - yet perhaps his mother had the right of it all along. 

 

There was no place for a bastard in Valdev that he did not carve himself. Hang the lot of them, then; he would do so. Dour and darkening, Andrey pulled the sword from the bank and pressed it back to his scabbard. He would have more than the Rothswood, now, whether by his father's will or otherwise. A dim, golden glow enveloped him - and the youth set off back for home.

[indiana105 2593]

Ivan had not cared much for his daughter. It was a shameful thing for a father to admit, but he knew it to be true. She would not carry on his legacy. She would take the name of another and leave to live with him, never to be seen again. For what short time they had together, the girl had been laid low by sickness. He was far too busy to linger at her bedside like some servant. The duties of kingship made sure of that.

 

Even when she was well, she was a recluse. She oft spent her nights with her mother, holed up in her quarters and entertaining none else. In some ways she was much like himself. Despite their distance, she was his blood. And in turn, her death demanded blood. He’d disemboweled the “healer” without a second thought. That was closure enough for him, yet it was not so for his wife. It had ruined her.

 

---

 

"Here you go," spoke the King of the Haeseni with a huff as he read over the missive. "From that Heartlander that keeps lingering in our palace."
 

Spoiler

Queen Nataliya of Ghaestenwald,

 

In the twilight of reflection, your missive echoes with a weight that transcends mere words. The intersection of our paths, is fraught with unsightly truths rend somber realities. Your resilience—a quiet beacon amidst the tumult—is felt even as it remains largely unspoken. In these uncertain times, the memory of your favor remains a silent yet steadfast presence in the periphery of my life.

 

Yours in quiet contemplation,
Alexander Caius.