Falls

Her heart hammered rapidly in her chest, a staccato drumming so loud that the ember-colored mare was certain that Ironclad must hear it too.

By contrast, the tempo of her breaths slowed until Kvothe was scarcely breathing at all. Motionless save for the faintest quiver of her skin, she watched her King— taking no effort to close the distance that yawned between their bodies, but none to increase it either. Instead, she waited for what she was certain must follow. The recrimination that his next words would rain down upon her, the punishment that his hooves and teeth would deal to her trembling body. Not that she could have ever believed her lover capable before, but after...after… Kvothe wasn’t certain what to believe. She only knew that she would accept whatever sentence her defiance had earned her. And whatever else might come after, so long as her golden son was spared.

Please, you don’t have to hide him from me. The slender wall of her body had shifted unconsciously to conceal Aslan from the pale stallion’s view. Kvothe flushed at her mate’s words, the curve of her chin tucking against her neck in shame— but she didn’t move. She couldn’t. It hurt her to regard Ironclad with such wariness, but she still remembered the nauseating scent of blood and the crimson spatters that had stained Brunhild’s legs. Until no doubts remained of the Inlet ruler’s intentions, she would protect her child in the only way that she was capable of. Because as her King’s sibling had already proven, the smallest creatures were all too fragile, and their existences all too easily ended.

For a second their eyes met. Kvothe looked away first, finding the dew-dampened grass at her hooves and staying there even when Ironclad began to speak. He mentioned what they’d had, about the emotions she had evoked in him— and the past tense of his words implying much about the dubiousness of their future. Feeling her own eyes fill with tears, the red woman did not trust herself to respond to his pressing question with more than a vehement shake of her head at first. Do you love him? Of course she didn’t, and the idea that Ironclad might believe that she did was almost as comical as it was painful. After all, she hadn’t run to Tyr so much as away from her home. Did he truly believe that anything but preservation of her child’s life could motivate such a reckless and impulsive act?

If you love him I understand. He could. He did. Kvothe wanted to speak then, to shout, to tell the grey male how unfair this all was. But she was still obedient to her core, and her King had asked her to listen. So she listened instead, tears burning in her chest now as well as in her eyes. She listened as he told a story that seemed unimportant compared to the moment that they were sharing together here. At least until it had reached his conclusion, and Ironclad had made his plea. At least until Warsaw’s son stepped forward, his pale eyes intense when she glanced up from behind the crimson veil of her forelock. Kvothe took a single skittering step backward to match, still too uncertain— even though it was torture to move away. “I— I don’t love him, Ironclad,” she stammered softly, as much because it was the truth as because she thought it was the answer he sought.

But the gentle cadence of her voice was quickly drowned out in more of Ironclad’s words before she could continue. Before she could tell him that Tyr didn’t love her, either. The stallion was nothing more than a kind stranger— or perhaps by now, a friend. What had happened last fall was a fleeting act, and one entirely her own fault. Her solitude should have been evidence enough of this— evidence that it was not only her King whom she had been avoiding. In any case, she listened breathlessly as the young stallion vowed to protect her son, to protect her. She listened with a flicker of hope, but also a shadow of doubt when he spoke of the Inlet being her home. She wanted it all so much, and yet—

“I saw it, Ironclad. I saw what happened to her son, and I couldn’t— I can’t.” She inhaled deeply, shuddering, and then continued. “If you wished to punish me, I would have accepted; what happened was my own fault. But Iro— my King, please. He’s not yours, but his life is still precious. Far more precious to me than my own happiness. The Inlet is still my home, and I will come back with you willingly if he is truly safe. I will pay any price that you name, my King.” She could imagine the cost that her plea might incur, and almost faltered. But one glance at Aslan was enough to steel both her resolve and her voice.

“Anything you ask for his life. Anything.”