Private Tales Denoument

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Medja

Medja

Empress Regent
The Empire
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For once, Medja sat alone within a chamber of the Imperial Palace that wasn't her own study or bedroom. The regent had decreed that there were to be no visitors, no dignitaries, no entertainers within the grand halls. Only guards, Hands, and what few servants were absolutely necessary. There was a malefactor being brought to justice here today...yet there would be no trial. No audacious presentation, no message to be sent to the public, no point to be made. No, there was only one word that rang in Medja's head, a simple question that repeated itself on loop for what had felt like an eternity.

Medja sat atop the imposing stone seat in utter silence, waiting. Though the skin of her hands sat upon its arms, her feet upon the floor, she did not reach out to sense what was coming. She dreaded it. Dreaded the arrival, the question she had to ask, the answer she wasn't even sure she'd receive. All the while her gaze was cold and empty, her eyes like wax as she stared at the doors to the hall outside the empty courtroom.

Until, at last, the sound of their hinges groaning marked the arrival she'd hoped might never come. A young woman, missing an arm, ushered in by a single guard.

"...Nymeasha."
 
The groaning of the great doors was like a death knell through the hollow chamber. Nym stepped into the cavernous silence with her chin held high, her bare feet whispering against the marble floor. A single guard shadowed her, moving her along as she faltered for a moment at the sight of Medja.

Nym’s emerald eyes, heavy with exhaustion, lifted to the throne. For the first time in years, she allowed them to linger on Medja. The sight of her, the woman who had once been her shield, her teacher, her only true mother, drove a spike of heat into her chest. Shame coiled through her like smoke in her lungs, but she swallowed it down. She would not bow her head.

Her lips pressed together, trembling for a heartbeat before she schooled them into stillness. She did not kneel. She did not beg.

She stood tall in the hollow hall, ragged and scarred, her chin defiant as though daring the Empress to carve her down further.

“…Medja.”

Her voice was quiet, but it carried. "I was, summoned..."
 
"Summoned" was putting it lightly. "Brought in" might've been more apt, but by the emphasis the girl put on the word, they both knew that there was venom behind it.

Nymeasha looked as though she'd been put in a tumbler with the roughest stones the Empire could muster. Time had not been kind to her, but Medja could not bring herself to ask what had happened. She could not show care, nor softness. Not now.

For a time, Medja remained stern, stoic. She dismissed the guard with a wave of her hand, and the echoing clunk of the door falling closed behind him marked the solitude the two women now shared. Medja breathed, her tone steady.
"I took you in. I gave you freedom. I trusted you," the Empress started, staring intently at the defiant viper before her. "When your brother came to seize the Salitran throne I denied it to him. I gave it to you, because I believed in you, because I cared for you, so why--"

Medja realized that she had stood from the stone seat. Not levitated as she so often did, no. Her feet were flat upon the floor, her hands balled into fists. Again she breathed, trying to keep her composure. That single word fell from her lips again.
"Why? Why have you done these things?"
 
The sound of Medja’s voice, that raw betrayal in it... Nym felt it coil around her throat like a noose, strangling the air from her lungs, making her chest ache with the weight of it. Her lips parted, but no words came at first. Only silence, thick and suffocating.

Her gaze, sharp as a serpent’s, wavered. She forced it steady, jaw tightening, her spine stiff. The glassy sheen in her eyes betrayed her, though she refused to let a single tear fall.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet, fearing it might crack if she spoke too loudly..
“You should not have trusted me.”

Her chin rose, a brittle act of defiance, though shame burned hot in her gut. "I did not fight, when your hands came for me." she frowned. She knew what she'd done, and she'd accepted the consequence of it before word had likely even reached Medja. "Not so long ago, I would have. I would have had them slaughtered. Might have done it myself.. I might have brought my armies here, and fought you.." she laughed under her breath but the sound was mirthless. She'd have lost, but she'd have convinced herself otherwise, drunk on power and thinking herself as immortal as her father thought himself..

“It was.. Too much… All of it. Your trust. Your care. Your faith. My freedom.. You gave me everything, and I wasn't ready for any of it… I wanted them to believe I was worthy. My people, after what my father left behind in Salitra. They needed to see strength. So I showed them.”

Her breath caught, unsteady, “They did believe. I gave them victories. I raised armies. I took cities. They looked at me, and they saw power.”

Nym’s shoulders rose and fell, trembling with the effort of restraint. Her handless arm hung heavy at her side, she looked down at it for a moment, brow furrowed.

“But I betrayed you,” she finished, the words falling from her lips like ash. Her jaw clenched, her expression hard, daring Medja to see anything else in her face. “That is the truth you already know.. I failed you - but you failed me too. One shouldn't set loose a viper and be surprised when it bites." she said quickly, hurrying along the inevitable.

"So pass the sentence and get it over with." she swallowed.
 
Pregnant silence filled the room as Nym finished speaking. Finally, Medja let out a sigh, squeezed her eyes shut, and pinched the bridge of her nose. If only this could have been easy. Nym held her head high, but everything else about her told a different story. While the girl clung to that facade of pride, her life, her very self, was crumbling about her.

"That you did not fight back, that you surrendered yourself, is the only reason I even saw fit to bring you before me today," Medja started, the hand that had been at her nose falling back to her side.

"You are right. About yourself, and about me. There is little I can say that you haven't already. You failed and betrayed me, and it has cost us both--no, it has cost the Empire much," she continued, taking a step down the stairs her seat sat atop. "I have my own hand to play in that. I saw myself in you, and I came to love you like a daughter. Foolishly I cast you into a role you weren't ready for, because I thought I saw greatness in you. I thought you could be more than a viper. But a viper you remain."

The Empress' eyes fell, her hand reached across her torso to grip her other arm. For a moment she felt small and weak.

"Even now, I cannot bring myself to hate you. I blame myself as much as you, and my heart begs me to grant you mercy..." she spoke quietly before looking back up to Nym. "But as Empress, I cannot. I can only offer you a choice."
 
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Nym's heart was racing as she awaited the inevitable, adrenaline flooding her system, causing nausea to churn in her stomach. She had expected fury, fire, some great display of Medja’s wrath, expected to be torn apart by the woman’s power and left in pieces on the palace floor.

But this quiet? This calm? It stripped her bare.

As Medja’s words fell over her like cold water, Nym’s mask faltered. Her gaze dropped, her breath hitching as tears finally spilled over, hot and sharp as acid against her cheeks. She could no longer meet Medja’s eyes, not when she spoke of loving her like a daughter. Not when she accepted any of the blame when she should not have. Not when she still could not hate her.

‘I saw greatness in you... I thought you could be more…’

A sound escaped Nym, sharp and humourless, her shoulders shaking with a quiet, bitter laugh.
“Why does everyone keep saying that to me?..” she muttered, her voice hoarse.

Her chest hurt. Everything hurt. She swiped at her tears with the back of her remaining hand.
“Just. Fucking. Hate me,” she breathed out, a sigh that almost broke into a sob. “It’ll make things easier.”

Finally, she forced her chin up, her eyes crushed emeralds. “Don’t give me choices, Medja,” she said, her tone sharp despite the quaver that betrayed her. “I don’t know how to make them, I think that much is clear. Just do what you need to do. And be done with it.”
 
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"Hate me,"

Hearing that, and seeing the dam holding Nym's emotions back break, felt much like the spear that the Emperor had once driven into Medja's heart. Nymeasha was broken and hurting, yet it was too late for Medja to truly do anything for her.

"There are plenty that do. Many of my own Hands. The Haathee Clan, since you saw to the death of Sunder Baktosh. Many of those survivors of your conquests. But not me. I wish that I could, Nymeasha. I have tried. But I can't."

The Empress stepped further down the stairs until she at last stepped onto the same floor the young woman before her stood upon. She met Nym's pained gaze with one that reflected only pity and regret.

"The hatred you've fostered and my own inability to hate you are why I offer a choice at all. The new chieftain of the Haathee Clan wants your head in retribution for the slaughter of Chieftain Baktosh. I can release you to them, and they will do with you what they will, or..."

She continued to approach Nymeasha, pulling her crown, that most prized gift from Fieravene, from atop her head and gently setting it on the floor. In that moment, she was not the Empress. She was not the Vizier of Stars, the Smiter, the sorceress, or any other of her myriad titles. There was no condescension in her eyes, no superiority, no regalia. For Nymeasha, in this moment, she was just Medja.

"Or I can banish you. The Empire can no longer be home to you, Nym. Not until the peoples of the sands forget your crimes against them...and given how long many of them live, that could take centuries. You can still live, if you so choose...but your story here in the Empire is over."
 
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Nym hated that look in Medja’s eyes. Hate, rage, even mockery she could survive - she could spit in the face of those things, strike back at them and feel some small victory. But pity? Pity made her want to crumble to dust where she stood. Pity made her want to cease existing.

She swallowed hard, the motion sharp and painful, her head tipping back to stare up at the vaulted ceiling as though it could hold her together while Medja spoke her sentence. Be thrown to a pit of savages or leave everything she had ever known behind.

And go where?

She had never set foot on ground that wasn’t hot and dry. The world beyond the Empire was just a name, a story told by travellers and traders. The thought of stepping into it made something deep inside her shrivel. Fear, sharp and real, lodged in her chest like a rock.

She wished she’d never gone back. Wished she had stayed in Ragash. Wished she’d remained in that quiet room with Settra on the way to Salitra. Wished she’d turned her back on her father’s shadow and chosen peace. Wished she’d been brave enough to be nobody.

How many times could a broken heart splinter? Hers had been shattered long ago, yet still the pieces seemed to find new ways to break.

“Yes,” she whispered finally, voice raw, head lowering again until she met Medja’s gaze with tears on her cheeks that she didn't care to clear any more. “Yes, it is.”

Her throat worked as she fought to speak the next words, but when she did her voice cracked like glass.
“If I can ask one thing of you… Settra—” she stopped abruptly, breath hitching, and turned her face away to blow out a hard breath, steadying herself. “I have been… terrible. And he loved me anyway.” Her mouth twisted into something between a frown and a grimace. “Please do not punish him for that. He deserves peace.”

She drew in a slow, shaking breath and forced herself to look Medja in the eye again, chin lifting with what remained of her pride.

“I will not leave the Empire to die on foreign soil,” she said, her voice and her decision unwavering. “I’ll die here.”
 
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Now it was Medja's turn to let the mask slip. Her lips thinned and she swallowed dryly, choking back her frustration. Her hands balled into fists once more as she fought the urge to slap Nymeasha.

"Stupid girl...you're so young. You can start again. I can make sure you're comfortable. You can explore more of what this world has to offer than these barren deserts and endless politics, you could have your Settra join you if you wished...and you would still choose death? Choose that Soleiman pride over life?"

Despite herself, she felt the warm wetness of tears gathering at the edges of her eyes as she glared at the young woman. Another step closer. This time she could not help herself, and she reached out through the floor to feel the girl's heartbeat.

"Be true. Be certain. Look me in the eye. Is this really what you want, Nymeasha?"
 
Stupid girl...

There it was. The anger and frustration starting to breach the surface of Medja's composure. Something loosened in her chest.

She shook her head slowly, almost in disbelief, a hollow laugh rasping out of her as she lifted her arm, staring at the space that her hand should have occupied.. "Start again.." she achoed. "I don’t know who I am now. I don’t know what I would even start as. You speak like Gerra did, as though there’s still something left of me worth saving, but all I’ve done is prove there isn’t.”

She flinched slightly and her throat worked, hard, as Medja's hand pressed to her chest, but her pulse was calm and steady as she held the Empress' gaze.

“You tell me I can live, that I can go and see the world, that I can be free, as though I deserve that.. But I’d carry this with me wherever I went. Every name, every scream, every body, every drop of blood I spilled because I thought that was who I had to be. Do I choose pride over life? No. I choose not to let this thing I’ve become walk another step beyond these sands.”

She swallowed hard, her jaw trembling, her voice dropping to a quiet, almost broken whisper.

“Could you live with yourself?” she asked, her gaze sharp and wet and pleading all at once. “If you realised you became the monster? If you realised you’d killed everything good in you, and that the only mercy left was to stop yourself?”

“I see now. I’d rather die as what's left of me, in clarity and in my right mind and where I belong, than keep living as her.”
 
Medja sighed and withdrew her hand in resignation. The girl's heart spoke true. Nymeasha wanted not for mercy; death was mercy. If that madness which ravaged her father ran in her blood too, then...then perhaps she was right.

While healing magic could do many things, while it might restore a lost limb or purge a disease, that which addled the mind was not so easily mended. At least, not in the bounds of Amol-Kalit.

"My darling..." Medja began, that brief flash of anger falling away. "I have lived so many lifetimes. I have done countless unspeakable things in my own name. I have drained the life from the very earth beneath me to sustain my own. By all accounts, I have been every bit the monster."

She laughed, tears rolling down her face as she cried with the girl who could have been her daughter.

"It has only been in this age, since I've met people like Ashuanar, like Fieravene, like Noelani...and yes, like you...that I have begun to try to make something better for this world instead of solely for myself."

Medja could do nothing to fight her need to hug Nym now. And so she did. She held her for a long while, knowing she might never get to again.

"If this is truly your choice, then it is yours to make. I...can make sure things are painless," she offered softly, behind barely suppressed crying.
 
Nym’s brows knit tighter as Medja spoke. She was never capable of being as strong as this woman. Medja had clawed her way up from the ashes where Nym had been born into fire and had only ever managed to dig herself deeper into it, choking on smoke and ash until there was no way out.

When the Empress’ arms closed around her, instinct made her body tense, every muscle tight as though bracing for a blade. But it didn’t come. It was just… warmth. It was just Medja, holding her. Nym’s breath hitched sharply, and then the sobs tore out of her chest without permission. She buried her face in Medja’s shoulder like a frightened child, clutching at her with the one hand she still had.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered between uneven, trembling breaths. “I was weak. I am weak. I’m… afraid.” The last word came out so small, as though saying it aloud might shatter what little pride she had left.

She shook her head against Medja’s shoulder, tears soaking into the fabric there. Painless. She did not deserve painless. She deserved to be torn apart, to have every drop of blood she spilled repaid to her tenfold. And yet, she could not bear to be in pain again. Not like the venom she had tried to use. Not like the forge. Not like the white-hot coal searing her severed arm. Not like waking up every day with her chest feeling like a hole had been carved into it. The Haathee clan would ensure she suffered, she was sure of that much.

Her breath trembled as she tried to gather herself, to make her voice steady enough to speak again.

“I thought you were going to give me to the Haathee,” she murmured finally, her throat raw. There was no anger in the words, only quiet confusion. “That is justice. That is what I’ve earned..”
 
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The Viper of Salitra was no more. Before Medja was only a scared, tired, and broken child. Their hearts shattered together.

Medja gave the girl what comfort she could, holding her for some time before guiding her to sit on the nearby stairs. She sat alongside Nym in the waning moments of their time together, arm around her to provide her what comfort she could.

"Of course you're afraid. Anyone would be afraid," she said softly, stroking Nym's head gently.

Again she sighed. Medja felt weak as well. She did not want this for Nymeasha. She wished that she could change time, stop this all from coming to be as it was. One truth remained constant in the centuries that Medja had lived: time is cruel. There was no going back, no changing what had already been scribed in stone.

"The Haathee will take you if you stay. But I will not see you suffer," she answered, trying not to choke on the morbid words that were about to escape her. "There are...poisons. Near instant, and painless. Or drugs that can put you in a dream-like state. Either way, you will--"

Medja forced back a sob. Gods, how she hated this.

"You will not be aware. There will be no pain. Please don't let yourself be in pain, Nymeasha."
 
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Nym shook. When was the last time she had allowed herself to cry like this? To shake like this? Had she ever been so completely undone in her life? She wasn’t supposed to be vulnerable, she had spent her whole life armoured in anger and venom, but then, she wasn’t supposed to be held like this either.

“I deserve pain,” she said at last, her voice small.. “I… tried. I should have died with venom in my blood. I chose that. And that choice was taken from me.”

Her gaze fell to the stump of her arm, and her face twisted in something between grief and disgust. When her eyes found Medja’s again, wet and glassy, pleading in a way that seemed almost childlike. “ I will not take the easy way. I have angered the Gods enough."
 
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