Chapter Text
The days grew longer as the list grew shorter, the heat of a Thessian summer pushing those of cool temperaments to places of boiling anger.
“I said no humans, their royalty possess near limitless ego and half the wits to support it, imagine the arrogance if one were to be not merely allowed to marry her, but handed her like a prize as if it is the right of their birth!”
The Empress regarded her advisor with quiet contemplation. Tight lipped, considering, but it did not belie even a faintest flicker of intention. Her face was cut sharp, her demeanour ever stoic, and though the heat and mounting pressures had well and easily unseated the tempers of her advisors, she remained unmoved. As advisors and ladies had found all manner of excuses to depart, one by one, the Empress stood tall at the head of the table. No document put in front of her deterred her, no plea for their daughter to be considered was met with anything but restrained rejection, and all attempts at swaying her into putting off such an arrangement another decade was dismissed. She possessed the stiff rigidity needed of the asari monarch, able to make the decisions others could or would not, with a practiced and decisive ease. Yet even the argument of the last advisor left standing was given heed, listening with the same patient grace as she had given each case prior.
No summer heat would break her.
“I think it laughable to consider that any human could be an appropriate match for the heir apparent to the asari throne.”
Aria T'Loak came dangerously close to bending her.
“The resources it would take to prepare them, the scandal it would cause, the discomfort for the poor girl who hardly enjoys the company of her own people, who has never even seen a human before, it can not be worth it. I have known humans, ruled over them in Omega, I have seen what they are capable of firsthand, you would be wishing upon our princess nothing but misery.”
The Empress held a hand up, silencing her. “You have said your piece, Aria.”
“Not all of it,” came the sharp reply, a purple hand slapping the Empress’s wrist and forcing her arm to her side.
“Enough of it to know that what little more you have to say will not make me of a different mind, my decision is made, she is the only option we have left, unless you believe a krogan warlord or that quarian merchant prince a better partner for her.”
“Thea-”
“There is no other way.” It came like a slap, stinging and harsh to her ears. For its volume, its pitch, and for the way that sea-steady voice crashed dangerously to shore. “The Kingslayer is our only choice, for what that may bring, for all it may cause, if we want her safe as Benezia wished, there is no other way.”
“The Kingslayer?” Aria hissed, palms pressed to the table as she turned her head to look at the Empress.
“The human, she-”
“I know who she is,” yelled Aria. Both hands slammed against the marble, a yell of incoherent curses shot from her lips like a volley of arrows. One hand forming a fist, she rasped, “Damn it, I know who she is, what she is, and what you’ve now done-”
“I am doing it for the good of my people.”
“Our people!”
Empress Thea Tevos placed a hand on the tensed shoulder, firmly in place when the lean body spasmed in an attempt to ward her off. With a quiet caution, she squeezed her fingers around the shoulder, and in a breath she whispered, “Our people will understand.”
“Understand what? That the daughter of their last great Empress is being married off to a human without a title, without a family, without anything but a reputation for bloodshed and carnage? Will they understand why the Empress has chosen her, or will they think it punishment for the girl, for not being an heir of the Empress’s own blood?”
Every word stung, precise and calculated even in the heat of rage. The Empress may bend, but she would not break.
“They will understand, as she will, that to protect her from such slights against her blood she needs a bondmate that at mere mention strikes fear into the hearts of those who may seek to hurt or use her.”
Aria turned her head, her eyes flicking from where she had been staring holes through the marble, her face a grim mask. “And if the human tries to hurt her?”
“I trust in her ability to defend herself, and, more so, in the Captain of the Guard, who would lay her life down before a single finger of malice was laid upon Liara. I trust in you, against all better judgement, to look out for her. I trust in my own judgement, above all else, to have not led to Benezia’s daughter a beast that may harm her.”
"A beast all the same."
"Your concern over the matter is noted, Lady T'Loak."
A scowl marred Aria's sharp face, the formality laying a second blow across it. She repeated, "I said no humans."
"So you did, as I have said it is in a human we must place our trust. Strategically, well measured, but all the same it must be done."
"Your claim to care for the princess as if she were your own grows thin."
"It is for that care that I will see this through."
"There are better options, you are being willfully blind to them."
"I have spent a star divining how best to proceed, do not accuse of me treating this so lightly," the Empress warned, though she did not sound moved to hurt over the words.
"A star, and the most you have managed in all that time is a human with a reputation for violence." Aria gave a dry laugh. "You amuse me, your eminence."
"And you no less me, as for all your great scheming and plotting, you have not the mind to see as I do."
"I see that you are intent on bringing into our midst a bastard, a soldier, a sellsword, for some reason beyond the understanding of the sane, no different to Benezia."
"Then you see no more than the water's surface, imagining it to only be so deep as you can see from its edge."
"Speak plain then," Aria demanded, but it was met with only that tight smile.
"I have spoken plainly, you must listen. There is no option but the one I have chosen, I have from every angle seen it, each card turned over, and over, every piece considered in this, our final gambit."
"An asari would protect her, shield her from our enemies, strengthen our alliances, provide certainty, stability to our people in the wake of the Terran war with Palaven, the Sovereign!" A last bid for understanding, to have her list of potential High Ladies and Justicars seen to.
"An asari would have expectations that a baseborn human soldier will not. Expectations we can not have Liara fulfil."
The Empress's word was final. It did not stop Aria from beginning, tone curious, prying, "The matter of her nature-”
“Will remain at peace for the moment to hand,” the Empress finished for her, seeing in those sharp steel eyes the desire to argue further. It was not the time for arguing, no longer even for decision making, as it was made already the day prior, and from her robes she drew such a decision, with long blue fingers and a motion too refined to be a flourish.
Aria frowned around her words as she asked, “How soon?”
The summons were tossed on the table in front of her, sealed, the double crescent moon crest of T'Soni pressed into the hardened wax.
“These are to be delivered to the Kingslayer, forthwith. I trust your spies to find her, wherever she may be.”
-
The blade sunk deep, through iron and flesh, muscle, bone, straight to the heart. With a pull, the body slid from the edge, collapsing to the bloodied grass with a dull thud, unheard by any over the sound of gunpowder shots and steel against steel.
Another met his fate at the end of that same sword, already drawn across the neck and cleaving before the body could register the cool clash of metal with heated blood. It did not cause fault or stutter, only enough time to pull the blade back, run it over the thick leather of a glove to wipe it free of blood, before it found eager prey again.
The woman that wielded it seemed never to tire, and where her fellows drew back or drew breath, she pressed forward. Relentless, the enemy called her, never giving an inch as she took the battlefield. Stubborn, her order would rally, over ale and fire. Reckless, her commanding officers would bite at her. Brave, the princess of Terra had once whispered, in the same moment that the king called her brutal with equal awe. Stalwart, resolute, steadfast, mulish, courageous, words worse, words kinder, none of it mattered, so long as her head was high and her sword in her hand.
For her skill in battle, she was awarded many words, many names, many titles, honours that adorned her dress uniform, laurels laid upon her by those who claimed her as their champion, scars that tore white across her flesh, yet for who she was, she was given words far worse in whispers.
Knight-Commander Shepard - for she only had the one name - was bastard-born to a noble house of humans. She was scrawny, weak, starving for most of her life, a servant in the house to which she had half a claim. She might have ended up dead on the street, or in service her whole life, had her illegitimate father not had a friend, a kind and caring man, a knight, who saw her practicing with a sword. A rare gift, he had said, and one that ought to be honed, a remark and an offer. The first kindness she had ever known, from the first hand which had extended not to strike or command her. Though her father had insisted she was not fit to become a knight, he had been countered.
No better person to become a knight, Sir Anderson had said, than one with fire and nothing to lose.
Tucking her head down, she gripped her blade, knuckles to her ribs and shoulders forward, charging like a spearman across the gap in battle. Dangerous, without a shield to protect her left flank, but it invited bold retaliation. A chance to strike down the Knight-Commander, the Kingslayer, the bastard-born little bitch who had taken what was never rightfully hers. A chance no soldier would resist, and she welcomed it.
Strategies formed in seconds that stood on solely arrogance or bravery were not those of tacticians and generals.
With the unpredictable skill that had earned her acclaim enough that without a noble name she was knighted, she threw her foot out in front of herself, dropping nearly to the ground. Dirt sprayed as she dug her heel into the earth, the loss of momentum bringing the swords that swung at her short, while she pierced her sword not swiftly but roughly through the gap in the banneret’s armour, the blade digging firmly into his knee.
The howling of their strongest standing warrior sent the others into a blind fury, and in that spot of discolour and contempt, she made her escape, ripping the sword out with as little grace as she had thrust it in. By the time they were looking for her, another two soldiers had fallen, heads rolling.
In the time between being knighted and being granted the rare honour of becoming Knight-Commander of her own order, she had carved for herself a place in history with the name Kingslayer.
The largest human kingdom had fallen to an imposter king, brought to its knees by a turian lord, overturned and in the chaos did a new monarch arise, wielding a scythe with which he cleaved the sky and declared himself sovereign of humanity. Mad and consumed by bloodlust, he had an armada of ships with which to conquer the remaining seats of power, from Palaven to Thessia, and a hundred lords alike to himself to instate upon their hollow thrones.
None would have guessed humanity’s last hope was the bastard knight, scarce moons out from being a squire beneath the Knight Marshal, trained not in a yard but in battle.
She had proved herself a leader, rallying behind her what best of humanity was left, purging from their lands the reaped and reborn souls of their dead. A path of flame that sprung from the ground which she walked ignited hope, a light not just for her own people, but those who had once viewed humanity as a lesser among peers of far greater feats.
With her soul forged of war, she brought down upon the false sovereign her blade forged of fire and blood, the sword which in all human history would be regarded as sacred and for all human lives did it stand, so named Avenger in their honour. By her hand did the sovereign fall, by her blade his head cut clean from his neck, and down the steps of the palace did it roll. At the top stood the world’s saviour, bathed in the hues of dawn. The very hope upon which humanity would rise.
Kingslayer, and the word had rung high through the air, declaring her their champion.
Grunting, she ran the blade of Avenger along her gloved hand, wiping the blood from the steel and readying it again.
Kingslayer, and it rang in her ears as she pushed her way into the tent at the far end of the battle, the lord within cowering before her. Pleas to the Kingslayer, to spare him, and in candlelight did her face take on an orange glow.
The sound of blade through flesh was silent in the night, the slumping of a body scarce heard even in the tent itself, yet high did the flames burn when the tip of a sword pulled an oil lamp from its hook, smashed upon the ground where the lord’s body lay. Silent, rippling, setting the battlefield ablaze, in a wash of orange, as if the sun did rise where it set at their backs.
From the flames came the Knight-Commander, lit from behind, sword sheathed and battle won.
-
The doors leading from the tower burst open with a heavy impact, summons still in hand, the other glowing with the white-blue of biotic energy.
“She plays me for a fool, she forgets who I am and where I come from,” Aria all but yelled, storming down the spiral staircase, not turning to check the girl was still following, but knowing by the sound of light footsteps behind her.
“Where you come from is a pisshole and who you are is a thieves' queen,” came the quarian’s sharp reply.
“Both things a quarian must know a great deal about.”
The princess’s lady scowled behind her helmet. A dig at her race, a low blow, but she knew it was but banter to the Empress's lady. She followed behind her, taking two steps at a time to keep up with her. Though Tali’Zorah nar Rayya was elevated above many of her people, enough so to serve in the asari court, she was viewed by many as no better than the rest of the quarians. A people of merchants, seers, wanderers and tinkerers with no kingdom of their own after it was ravaged by plague and the living machines, the quarians were not viewed kindly nor thought of highly by many. Struck down for their own hubris, and those who dared try and rise in the ranks of society again were cast down, the mistakes of a generation past spit in their face. Tali'Zorah was no exception.
That did not stop her sniping back, “You offend my people yet admit you are of their kind, not by birth but choice.”
“Mind your words, or I will have to inform the princess her beloved lady tripped down the tower steps, and however would she cope having to puzzle out arranging a traditional quarian passing ritual?”
“That you would not set me to sea with the flotsam and jetsam is kinder of you than I expected, thief queen.”
Aria smirked. For all her talk, she liked the quarian, as she was the only one with teeth enough to bite when she barked and not back down from a fight. She trusted her to be honest where ladies and maidens would only speak to please. She asked, “What do you make of this farce? A human brought to Thessia, to be bonded to the heir to the asari throne, with a sword and a title worth half what it would mean were she one of our own?”
“As reasonable as a quarian girl serving that same princess, or an Omegan snake winding herself around the Empress’s leg, which is to say beyond all reason and sense,” Tali quipped, tongue as sharp as the knife on her belt.
“Clever, for a quarian.” It was an insult and compliment, admitting much of her fondness but none of her reasoning. Aria turned back, catching her own reflection in the polished crystal of Tali's helmet. “You intend to protect her, do you not?”
Tali ran her hand along the wall, middle finger catching at the stone as she recited, “Against all winds, through all storms, ever her shadow, silk behind steel.”
“Silk behind steel, sharp wording, well chosen for your vows,” Aria remarked.
“After the guard captain, I am her last defense.”
“A petty formality before the real meaning. Silk, an intentional draw to your own fineries, not many quarians can wear silk, so it acts as a reminder of what you are, yet in the same word of your position above your race, purposeful and disarming,” said Aria, stating it all with an idle wave of her hand. “Not the interesting part though.”
“No?”
“You know as well as I what purpose silk serves in the armour of both our people, worn as hoods and sashes by yours, in place of thick mail by mine. It can stop a dagger, an arrow, a dart, the little things that might slip past a battle-trained guard, but not you.”
“Clever,” Tali remarked coolly, eyes flashing behind her helmet, “for a bosh’tet.”
Aria smiled to herself, folding her hands behind her back, head held high and eyes on the approaching end of the staircase. “You will protect her then, from the human that intends to slip her way through silk and skin?”
“I said as much in my vows of service.”
Aria stopped on the last step, before the door that separated them from the rest of the palace, turning to look up at her. “Even from the Kingslayer?”
“Quarians do not have kings,” said Tali, voice almost a drawl. She stopped when Aria did, standing two steps above her. Though her helmet hid her face, her expression of certainty was audible in her voice. “What do I stand to fear from a Kingslayer?”