To redeem, or to fall? (Saber Arturia x Belle Dujour)

In the long years of his service, Gabriel had learned the ways people faced their death. Some were courageous, defiant to the end and facing the odds head on, even as their demise loomed over them. Others sought to flee, cut down while they hoped for date and luck to save them. By now, such things... Such people were common. Brave knights and bold soldiers, cowardly commanders, wretches who threw comrades in arms behind them just for a running start. And yet, the knight felt the most pathetic of foes were the ones who begged for mercy in any way they could. Money, titles, peace, the finest luxuries... All had been offered to him, all had been offered to stave his blade, to still his hands from inflicting an inevitable face. He’d already sacrificed everything he had to those he served, and as the years wheeled on he had even less need for simple luxuries. Despite being a champion, a knight in service of a higher power, such amenities were wasted on one who was merely a tool. It was these pitiable mongrels that Gabriel felt the most anger over, hose who pleaded bargains and simple cowards.

Perhaps that was why the dark gods had seen fit to play such cruel jokes upon him, to test the mettle of their champion, and to simply sink their claws further into him. This war was simple, a kingdom that stood in the way of his masters. Gabriel’s lands had no king themselves, he was the closest to a ruler they had, and it was little surprise when the bloodied and broken remnants of his enemy withdrew, falling back to the capital in order to secure the ruling family. It made his job simpler, his soldiers spreading like wildfire, doing the work of the masters. Death, sacrifice, pacifying the population in order to serve the dark gods, he had removed the heart of the beast and readied his forces for a final push.

At least, till a beaten and bloodied messenger was cast down at his feet, begging for the simple act of mercy. If it was under his will he would have silenced the man then and there... But the gods had a sense of humor, and whispered into the ear of their champion.

‘Let him live. You have done as we willed, humor this one for now.’

The man spoke of fealty, of surrender, of peace and recompense. The king had little land, little money to offer... But he had something that the dark knight could savor, could enjoy beyond any measure. Again Gabriel desired to raise his blade and simply cut the man down, yet it was not his choice. And if nothing else, the gift could simply be rejected like all the others that had been offered to him over the decades. The man was sent back, with Gabriels word that he would see this gift, would consider it before he came for the king personally.

It was evening at the border, the sky turning to a dusky hue while the sun began to set. Banners with a broken shield and blade waved in the breeze, soldiers clad in light armor patrolling the roads around the keep that Gabriel had taken as his. Once the home of opulent nobles, little had changed once Gabriel had taken it for himself. His banners hung high, and the servants worked with fearful eagerness, not daring to upset the new lord. And it was here he waited, the fallen knight briefly watching from the windows...

Arion of house Sinclair was never a flighty young woman. She was never taken - as some her age were - by songs and long epic poems of knights in shining armor, maidens with flowers in their hair, and battles where good always triumphs over evil. There was no truth to it, only a very beautifully fabricated dream. And that was the trouble - dreams always ended. She more focused herself as a child with history, military battles, biographies of great women throughout the kingdom. Their stories, their legends, were unending because they were a part of something much greater than themselves. And not just being the object of a waifish desire. Arion would often ponder sometimes what her legacy would be. As a Princess there were limited options. She could not go out and engage in glorious battle, could not claim territories for her kingdom, or slay monstrous beasts. There was precious little she could do save for marriage and being the mother of a son who would take that claim to history. To immortality in the hearts and minds of all.

And then came the day when Arion learned what that claim to history would be. Oh it would involve marriage alright...marriage to the most feared man in the entire world it seemed. Gabriel. The dark wolf. The vulture of the gods. The ruination of society. And she was to be his tribute. His bride. His concubine. His sacrifice. And there was nothing she could do. She ranted and raved, screamed at her father to find another way, but her father turned the cruel eyes of desperation away from her.

"It is what must be," he said, "you are our last chance."

Arion understood then. She must suffer...and perhaps die...so that others might live. Was that not...glorious? There was her immortality, her legacy. She would always be remembered as the poor, pitiful girl who was given tearfully up to the monster so they all would be saved.

Like hell!

When Arion left that night to meet Gabriel she knew how she wanted the droves to see her as she rode outside of the castle gates. With her hair curled and cosmetics applied as though she were a bride on her wedding day, she had a cloak wrapped around her tightly (to cover her nearly naked body beneath it), and a confident smile on her face. Her auburn hair blew in the soft breeze of night, and her golden hazel eyes were fixed straight ahead as though she were a mighty general off to face the enemy. To bring glory. To bring salvation. To be their heroine. It was a damn good play...particularly since Arion herself was so frightened. She had prepared herself for both reactions. Either Gabriel would accept her as a bride and take her to his bed...or he would kill her. And she was resolved, should he choose the first option, to do her best to please him. If she were to do that then she could perhaps spare her people his wrath. There was no chance at heroism if she was dead.

Near his home, Arion and her contingency of guards were met with his, and escorted to Gabriel's keep. Arion knew its history but she did not think of that. She could hardly think of anything save for the uncontrollable beating of her own heart as it nervously twitched in her chest. Her guards were told to wait at the door to the keep while her messenger - the one who would convey to her father whether or not Arion had been accepted - walked along side her. The poor fool looked as though he were staring death in the eyes. Arion kept her eyes on the ground for the most part as she was led to Gabriel's hall. Opening the door, his guard cleared his throat and gave way for her to enter.

"Princess Arion of house Sinclair, my Lord," the guard said.
Arion knew better than to speak before spoken to and so she looked at the man who was to decide her fate, and she knelt down in a deep courtesy before him, saying nothing.

What would the man send? Gold and riches? Art? Gabriel had been offered so many things over the decades, so many inane and insignificant offerings to let others live, to let them escape, and to have others killed in their place. Each time, it only caused the knight to take his duties more solemnly, to spite those who made such bargains and offers to escape the fate of inevitability. If they could not accept their death with grace or at least enough bravery to pick up a blade, they did not deserve a clean death. The king must have been a truly desperate man, pathetic enough to let his people suffer while he sought freedom and safety in his castle, seeking to placate death rather than make peace with his life and do the ‘right’ thing. But still, those Gabriel served wanted him to humor the king, and he begrudgingly did so as their proper servant would. The knight even took the time to greet the messenger he was to treat with properly, dressing not as he would for war but as one would meet a guest with. Resting upon a chair, the man was nearly a mockery of the demonic visage and horrible appearance that many thought hid beneath his blackened armor and helm. Broad shouldered and tall, he still held the look of a man in his youthful twenties, short blonde hair framing a clean shaven face, green eyes that were calm, masking the anger he felt at having to treat with the king. He had dressed simply – though still elegantly enough with a long sleeved white shirt which did little to hide the taut and firm body underneath, and his pants were an opposite black, giving him a sharp appearance. He even lacked his usual blade, instead looking the most vulnerable he had looked to anyone in quite some time, years.


‘They had best have good reason for this.’ Gabriel thought to himself quietly, this was something he detested, spited and hated and now he was here, unable to feel anything other than anticipation and spite. The emotion was akin to a wolf being forced to live the life of a sheep, prey just out of reach but ever present. The meeting hall was well lit, a warm fire and lamps giving it good lighting despite the setting sun, and four other guards in case Gabriel needed protection. It was an amusing thought to Gabriel, but protocol was protocol, and he felt no reason to change it. “The princess?” The fool sent his daughter to deal with him? Was the king that pathetic? That he sent his own daughter to die? “Let her in, then.” The command was short, and the guard left only to bring the princess in, the woman clad in a travelers cloak and kneeling with grace. It took Gabriel just a moment, his eyes looking over her before a flash of recognition was in his eyes, this woman... She was different.

“Guards, you are dismissed.” The tone firm as he rose, a hand resting against his chair. His soldiers were quick to comply, leaving in a loose formation, the room soon holding only the princess, and the conquering knight who was to decide her fate. “Rise, princess. State your name and reason for interrupting my war against your father.” For the first time in years, he had felt... Perhaps it was not wariness, but there was something wrong here. Just the way she walked, it was... it was a reminder of someone long gone.

When Gabriel sent the guards away, Arion had to fight the urge to cry out or to scream. She felt every urge and inclination to do so - her instincts crying out for her to run as far away from this monster of a man...but she stood firm. She knew how this worked, and she had prepared herself for it. Closing her eyes for a moment she complied with what Gabriel asked, rising to her feet. She slowly reached up and removed her hood. Her young face was defined around her cheek bones and round around her chin. Rich, thick tresses of auburn brown curls tumbled down her back and her bright eyes gazed at him without any of the hesitation or fear she felt. "I am Arion Sinclair - only daughter of King Eobard Sinclair of the kingdom of Teryn," she said with a calm, steady voice that surprised even her. "I have come as tribute of our people, on behalf of my father yes but not for him. For them."

She hesitated here for a moment, trying to assess the situation. They were alone, all guards gone from the place. Were she a more cruel or perhaps only more cunning woman she could have snuck in a blade and here she could have killed him...or at least attempted to. Or perhaps taken her own life...but there was no glory in either of those things. Both would have probably meant her death...for she sincerely doubted she could best this man in combat. 'The Dark Wolf' the villagers called him, the man that ravages and picks clean the corpses of any who get in his way...and Arion sincerely doubted that she could kill a man like that. She doubted whether or not she could kill at all. Oh it was a very easy thing to imagine - but a far harder thing to actually do.

"My Lord, I am not as naïve as all that...I know I may not be what you truly want...but as it is I am destined to be your tribute, and I beg of you to consider me. I am no waif, no trembling girl. I am a young woman and weak as I must seem to you I am not witless. I can read, sew, mend, cook, and clean, and all of my talents are yours if you would only agree to have me." To have... Arion thought about the implications of those words. She knew such a thing was possible - highly likely should he agree - and she was prepared for that too. "I understand I may be speaking in vain - that you have already decided to reject me or...or kill me before marching to Teryn's castle," she paused here and swallowed lightly. For as brave as she was attempting to be, she was still only human. "But, my Lord, if that is the case then...I am but the first to fall."

“Arion Sinclair.” He spoke the name at first with distaste, the inflection that of hatred for wuch a man. “Your father is a man I know well enough to judge, and I call him a coward. I am no good man. But I would not send my daughter to be anothers lover or pet just to try and save my life. However, your father has. How does that make you feel? To be told that you are his beloved daughter, his heir, only to be cast out and to have your fate decided by his enemy.” his eyes met hers, and again... The blue eyes, she was familiar, a familiar light from the darkness. “You call yourself tribute. What is it you truly offer? I’ve no need of a wife, i’ve no need of a warm body in my bed. You have nothing to give me.” Having risen, he began to approach, his boots making a soft yet constant sound against the ground beneath as he approached, almost disdainfully. The moniker that her lands soldiers gave him felt accurate, his eyes looked over her cloak covered body like a wolf eying its prey, finding it wanting.

They were alone, the only sound being their voices, the crackling fire, and his boots against the floor, giving some respite against the otherwise overbearing silence. “You are smart enough to know I want you not, but your father believes otherwise. I know you are not a waif either, you speak to me directly, you speak despite your fear. You can hide it, you can mask it under your voice, but I know you fear. I’ve no need of your talents, you may spare yourself from listing them off.” With a more dismissive tone, he stood closer to Arion, standing at his full height. “You may rise, and take off your cloak. I will grant you mercy.” Or humor – perhaps. “You will dine with me. And I will determine your fate. Before I march to your fathers castle, I will have you dealt with one way or another...” But while she swallowed, and held what fear she had in check, there were many familiar pangs from her, giving his tone a more softer quality than before... Even her voice was familiar, a slow and fearful thought beginning to creep into his mind.

‘Does she not sound familiar, Gabriel? Does her voice not remind you of her? All will be bared when she reveals herself, you may consider this our... tribute, our reward, to one so zealous in our name.’ The sinister voices of his masters echoed within him, and he stepped back subtly, his more plaintive expression briefly that of knowing shock.

By all the gods the man lived up to his name - and not merely the ferocity or the cruelty of his gaze, but by his directness. A wolf does not meander around its prey, nor does it simply howl and wait to see what the prey might do. This was a man who knew he held every ounce of power. Arion was a Princess in name alone - and even then she knew the title was flimsy. She was a doe in a wolf's den, and now he was stripping her of every reason or defense she had given him as to why she had come. He wanted no wife, no bed fellow, and he could see through her steady voice and steady eyes. He knew her fear. He probably tasted it in the air around them. She could feel her shoulders tensing as he came closer to her and she gazed up at him. Finally when he decided what she would do - what they would do together - she pressed her lips together a moment and then nodded.

Arion stood and reached for the strings that held her cloak together. She was a maid, yes, but not a simpering one. She knew what this might mean - and still her hands were steady and her fingers smooth as she opened the cloak. "You've no need to convince me that my father is a coward. Nor that he is a fool. I know this all too well. Only a coward would hide behind the curves of his daughter's body..." And with that the cloak fell in a pool of soft, rich fabric to her feet. In the glow of the firelight, her fair skin appeared all the more smooth, warm, and inviting. Not a stitch on her, not a hair out of place, her soft breasts were round and slightly larger than what was average. Her hips were not too large, but enough to grant strong song or so the midwives said, and her long auburn hair fell down her body. For as naked as she was, she did not seem afraid of her nakedness the way most maids might be - constantly covering themselves and looking away from their men in shame. She wore her own skin comfortable, confidently even, as she stepped free of the cloak and her flat shoes. "What I truly offer is myself. You have little care for my skills it seems, little need of my company as a bed warmer or otherwise, and so all I may give in return is my company - however that may please you."

'Please you,' whispered the shrill voice of his gods, 'Please you take a look at the gift we have given! Not a single curve or dimple out of place - a perfect gift! Do you remember her, Gabriel? Do you remember her spirit? Is this not true of her too? We are generous, Gabriel, to those who are loyal.'

“Oh, but your father is a fool. He hides behind not just a failing army but his daughter, as if he expects you to shield him. This is not a wise man, this is a desperate man.” And one who only deserved scorn, pity was lost upon such cretins. But when her hands moved for her cloak he watched, expecting a dress or something simple in its elegance to be underneath – instead, he found himself face to face with something else entirely. And something that made him recoil, taking a noticeable step back as he started to comprehend that which knelt before him. “You...” His voice had lost the edge to it as Gabriel’s eyes peered over her virtually naked form. From her crimson hair, to the curves, eyes and way she carried herself when before him. No, it couldn’t be. She had been dead for years – for as long as he had been this. :Is this a joke?!”

He asked not her, but the gods – yet the angered tone in which he spat out the words may as well have been spoken at her, eyes narrowed. He had not been expecting... This, she seemed identical to someone long lost, down to the very color of her eyes. “You will answer me on who you truly are and what your goddamned purpose is!” This time he spoke to her again, his tone angered, a steadily rising tone in each step he took to her, all but forcing her up as an arm gripped her by the shoulder to face her directly, eye to eye. While he had been calm and in control moments ago, his body language was one of bristled, barely held back rage as it tensed and coiled, all but ready to lash out at her. Was she part of the gods game as well? A demon sent to torment and tease him? A construct of some sorcerer who was given a familiar visage? Whoever was behind this would die, he’d make absolutely certain of it.

'Not a joke, my lovely,' replied the same shrill voice - the cadence of voice recognizable as Tiamat - the dark goddess of lust, heart ache, and vengeance, 'she is the end result of a long plan, the waking up after a long nightmare. A soul once lost long ago hath been found and - to thank you for your selfless dedication - reborn. Not made. Reborn. A gift. A reward. Reborn.'

Arion looked up at Gabriel just long enough for him to stride over to her and yank her to her feet. Fear gripped her as his harsh words filled her ear and the anger in his voice made her knees tremble. He forced her to gaze into his eyes and she could no longer hide it behind her strong visage and steady demeanor. She was afraid...she was utterly terrified. Was he going to kill her now? Had he changed his mind so quickly? Her fingers curled around themselves as she winced away from him - not being able to move of course, but trying to get away, to stop from behind hurt. "But-But my Lord I-I have been honest with you...I cannot say something I don't know.."

Tiamat. How easily she could mock her servant with disembodied words alone, her pitched tone that of dominance and ill humor. She was one of the ones he had pledged to, and there were times he pondered on just how much easier it would have all been had he never listened to her whispers in the first place. A gift reborn? A gift? Is that what they called this? A gift from them, an utter mockery and disgrace to someone he once held higher than any other.

His eyes bored into Arion’s, hateful and filled with ill intent at first... But as he lifted her to her feet and his hands gripped her pale shoulder, he felt her body locking up, her kneels quaking from emotion. It was the fear in her eyes that gave him pause, made him remember... He’d never seen her look like that, this woman... this doll was far too much like her, it gave him hesitation. His hand left her body after a moment, eyes still lingering into hers. “You are being honest. Of that I can tell. You are not at fault for what you look like, that I know. But you are a joke laid upon me by others, to dig at an old wound! How do you look like her down to even your trembling voice! I won’t harm you.” He wason the verge of it before the gods spoke, knowing this to be some way they could harm him further. “But I must know why you look like someone who should be dead, you are her, but not in name or past.”

Arion let out a trembling sigh of relief as he let her go and she wrapped her arms around herself, not to cover herself or show any sign she was somehow ashamed of herself - but to soothe the ache she felt on her skin. Where he had touched her shoulders there were now thin little purple lines on her skin - one for each finger. The discoloration stood out against her fair skin more so than it normally would. She took a step away from him, looking away for a long moment to try and regain her composure. In that moment she had been so afraid and so unsure as to what to do she had felt the beginning traces of tears sting the corners of her eyes and the last thing she wanted was for him to see that. She squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her jaw for a long moment, before she finally felt them subside and she turned back towards him. Her hands gently fell from her shoulders, her fingers lightly brushing against her arms until they came to rest across her flat stomach. As she listening to him speak she furrowed her eyebrows slightly.

"I-I don't understand," she admitted, the language of her body still closed off to him - a distinct change from how it had been when they first met. "I look like someone? Who? I...I was always told that I didn't look like anyone in my family. My mother was even pulled before the courts on charges of adultery...they could never prove anything but-but no one could explain why I didn't look like either my mother or my father. So who do I look like?"

He had hurt her – more unintentionally than anything. To his surprise there was a small pang of sympathy when he saw the light bruise marks from his hand, even if they would fade after a day or so. The fact that she was able to remain as stoic as she was, only made things harder. But a moment later, his head shook in response to her question. “It doesn’t matter, it’s a person long gone. You just look far too much like them. It is of no importance today, or for your fate when I have decided what to do with you. I will have servants run you a bath, and they can aid you pick something simple for dinner this evening, that should be enough to ease some of the pain from mygrip. I was uncouth, and acted without thinking.” That was the closest he’d given to an apology in some time, and good enough as far as he concerned himself with, or convinced himself at least.

“If you need anything else, say it now. Patience only goes so far, and while you are a guest, you are currently something of a prisoner as well. Your father sent you here to be mine, and I do not intend to bow to him by accepting such a gift.” No, her father would not escape because he had someone he could hide behind.

Arion listened and was careful to monitor how she looked and presented herself to him. The bruises she knew would fade, and she had not noticed them beyond feeling her skin a little bit tender and more noticeable to the touch. When he ignored her question she slowly uncurled her fingers. Whatever he saw in her would not help her - but she also knew it would not hurt her either. Especially given when he said that he was going to give her a warm bath and food - and then asked whether or not she would want anything else. He made it known she was no guest, but a prisoner still. She knew better then to ask for the wrong thing. She paused and slowly contemplated her words.

"I...I think not," she admitted as she failed to come up with any thing for her to ask for. Were this another day, perhaps further into her staying with him, she might have once more asked him to be merciful to the people of her kingdom. Her father could handle himself, but the women and the children and the elderly...who would look after them? Not her father. Not the man so cruel he would send her to the mercy of this man. That left only she. But that was for another day. Yes. Another day... "Just I ask you to continue your mercy, Sir."

She was letting him only see so much of her, and in some respect that only drew him more to her, reminding him of his old love even more. But as she then spoke he gave her another curt nod, laughing quietly when she spoke the word mercy. “Mercy? You are not getting mercy.” To him, this just was how it was to go. He was humoring this... woman, at the behest of his gods. And he would do so until he saw their game. Moving for the door to the halls, he cast one last look to her. “I’ll bring a servant to escort you to the bath, and who will help you with clothes. They’ll usher you to the dining room when all is ready afterward. Listen to them, and do not flee or run. Otherwise you’ll see how short this mercy truly is.” Opening the door briefly, he was soon out, an older maid escorted by a guard, who then left the two alone. The elder maid was quiet, guiding Arion to a bath to wash herself – soaps of all sorts of scent and type, more tan enough to help clean her and leave her feeling warm and relaxed. Clothing was rather open, though most options would be dresses of some shape or sort.

“When you are ready Milady.” The elder woman, spoke, offering a more solemn smile. “I will escort you. But I have been told there is no immediate rush. I suggest you take what time you can to enjoy yourself.”

Arion went very quiet as he laughed at her use of the word 'mercy'. To her this was mercy - not being cruel or immediately raping her as she had feared he might. She was ready to accept it if necessary to save her people but now...now as he looked at her with such cruelty and mercilessness she realized just how badly things could go. That combined with his strange outburst later. How would she know if he meant to hurt her later? After dinner maybe? When he turned to look at her for a last time he couldn't help but see just what he had done to her. The confident woman who had walked into his hall had taken several hits - her eyes were a little softer, a bit more affected by fear. Had he intended to wear away at her, he was doing a good job of doing so thus far. Arion had never felt so...so small. So when he left the hall and the serving woman came to take her to her bath she did cover herself as she walked to the bath. Settling into the relatively warm water, she instinctively pulled her knees to her chest and shook a little. Resting her forehead to her knees she finally began to cry. She cried for the anger she felt at her father, the fear for herself, and the hopelessness of her circumstance for her people. There was no rush, and so Arion made sure she cried every las tear she could, until her eyes were sore, because she figured that after this she would not want to cry again.

Not in front of him.

When the tears finally ceased, she reached for the soap that appealed to her most - an earthen but spicy scent, trees and nutmeg maybe? - and began to wash her body. Carefully she scrubbed away any dirt or mark from her travels, and then took a shampoo to wash through her long hair. With a delicate hand she also tended to the bruises around her arms that he had already left her. And once the bath was done, she slowly rose out of the water and went to the clothes that had been given to her. To compliment her fair skin and the red in her hair she reached for an evergreen dress with gold knot needle work around the collar, and long sleeves. She had no way to know if this was the only dress she'd be given so she opted for a longer one for when the cold nights came. Before letting the woman lead her to the dining hall she wound her hair into a long, low side braid with bits of curls hanging out for a pretty, undone sort of look. And then she turned to the servant. "I'm ready," she said.