Work Text:
[Scene 60810, Royal Surveying Expedition to Elynas, Furina]
“Rift hounds”, the people called them. Lupine things of bone and miasma, appearing and disappearing from tears in reality. Focalors was, naturally, well apprised of these beasts: as the God of Justice, she was blessed with supreme knowledge of all sinners and sins.
Chorus
You know not what they are, nor whence they came.
The records spake naught of them ere your birth
—some ‘birth’ that was, you wretched charlatan.
Are you the cause? Heaven? Egeria?
Though the wolves tore through her half dozen Maison guards like cheap paper, they were no match for Focalors,
Chorus
o, run, Furina; run; Furina run—
who moved in search of favourable ground, that she might better command the tides of battle.
Chorus
Ta gueule, cretin! Nobody's listening!
O, save your words, you fool, and run!, or else
when your dupes find you sundered limb from limb,
no turn of speech will hold the veil down then!
But before she could decisively claim the upper hand, the Rift hounds had her surrounded, and with a warlike cry—
Chorus
Don't scream! If help is on the way, they'll hear.
—nay, with steely silent resolve, she grit her teeth and drew her rapier.
“Come at me,” snarled Focalors, greatest among the Seven to the very last.
Chorus
And so you die: alone, yet acting still.
A girl in way over her head— but lo!,
what's that you hear?, the ringing of a blade?
She turned to find a woman cutting through her assailants. About damned time! Heavens forbid she do this all herself.
Chorus
Oh, Archons, we are saved! Oh, blessed stars!
Focalors drew closer to the woman— not for safety, mind you, but to combine their strength.
Chorus
What sword!, what sorcery!, how fortune turns.
And oh, divinity: behold her form!
Focalors's saviour was a Remurian warrior goddess: blonde and lithe, clad in white and gold and wielding a sword that glimmered with something a shade more violet than Ousia. The Rifthounds' remains crunched underfoot as she circled the silent battlefield, radiant, shining, beautiful.
Chorus
The stars are naught beside her golden eyes.
They shine so bright, and harder, too, than steel.
She was nothing short of luminous.
By what was assuredly a joint effort, the creatures were slain. Now, the woman gazed upon Focalors with those honey-clad eyes.
It felt like being known.
Chorus
Her eyes are sharp—beware! She mustn't see.
All hope is lost should light pierce through the veil.
And that she is: accursed golden light.
Begone with her, before ruin descends!
Focalors was not afraid of being known. She welcomed it. She was the Hydro Archon, beloved by Fontaine for all sixteen decades of her reign, and she had nothing but love for the spotlight, for having the eyes
Chorus
and eyes, and eyes; unblinking, endless eyes!
of the world upon her.
The luminous woman sheathed her sword, nodded to Focalors once, and turned to leave.
Chorus
Wait, what!? She's leaving now?, without a word!?—
Why, the temerity!
Chorus
—we mustn't be alone, Furina; act!
That affront simply wouldn't do. Focalors cleared her throat, drawing the interloper's attention.
“Ahem. I don't recall giving you permission to leave.”
Slowly, the woman turned around.
“I suppose you didn't,” she said. Her voice held neither sneering nor apology, only the mildest of interest. “Should I stay?”
Chorus
Without the Marechaussee, whither shield?
It isn't safe. Who knows what beasts may lurk;
who knows what enemies may lie in wait.
Spine straight. Head held high, bearing the crown magnificently. Focalors drew breath and spoke:
“My honour guard is slain, a fact I rather doubt has escaped your notice...”
Chorus
is she one of your subjects? No— don't ask.
Not even for her name. That would invite
she question you in turn, and what now then?
“...my kind defender.”
“Your defender...? Ah. You may call me Lumine.”
Chorus
“Lumine”. Oh Archons. What a perfect name.
Her eyes, they shine so bright; too bright, you fear.
At arm's length you must keep her, Furina,
or else the prophecy shall come to pass.
(Furina weeps alone upon her throne.)
“A pleasure to meet you, Madam Lumine.” Focalors, eminent as she was, needed no introduction herself, and did not bother with one. “I require an escort to civilisation.”
“On Elynas?” Lumine asked. “There's little to be found...” Her lips quirked. “And what need have you of my meagre protection, esteemed Hydro Archon?”
How— how dare she mock Furina de Fontaine,
Chorus
She knows something. She's onto us. She knows.
greatest among the Seven?
“The laws of Fontaine do not take kindly to such disrespectful address, my child,” Focalors snapped.
Chorus
“Snapped”? Ha. You stammered: that, she must have heard.
Lumine arched an eyebrow. “My apologies. You're quite right. It would be foolish to have royalty travel unescorted... And the Rift hounds are acting strangely of late,” she conceded.
Chorus
The way she pronounced “royalty” felt off.
There was some private joke in there, Focalors was sure of it. Perhaps she'd have the woman beheaded later.
Chorus
She could undo you with a single word,
and with you, all the good that you have done.
Shut up shut up shut up.
“Merusea Village,” Focalors said—confidently, as was her wont. “Take me there.”
Yes, another typically brilliant Focalors decision. The Melusines were loyal; they could send word back to the Court
Chorus
Loyal to Neuvillette, dear, not to you.
What stories might this Lumine woman tell?
What tongues might wag?; calamities, unfold?
and a proper escort back could be organised.
“Of course,” said Lumine. She offered her arm. “Well, then, Your Highness?”
Focalors took the woman by the arm,
Chorus
Furina weeps alone upon her throne.
An end indelibly engraved in stone.
clutching perhaps a mote more tightly than decorum called for.
“Well, then?” she humphed. “What are you
Chorus
Furina weeps alone upon her throne.
Furina weeps alone upon her throne.
waiting for?”
Lumine's honeyed eyes crinkled as she smiled. “This way, Your Highness.”
[Merusea Village]
It would take a few hours for word to reach the Palais. There was nothing for it but to wait. Focalors busied herself speaking to the Melusines, who she loved as much as all her subjects.
Chorus
They hear too much. They see too much. Take care.
If masquerade demands you hold them close,
then just as close as needed. Nothing more.
“That lady who brought you here... She was beautiful,” said Canotila. “Like a field of flowers. Or maybe a sea. Blooming and blooming in endless waves under a crimson moon.”
“And what about me?” said Focalors, who was vain and loved the spotlight.
Chorus
What's done is done. That which the Melusines
can see is seen. 'Tis better to know what.
“You?” Canotila tapped her chin. “When I look at you, I see... a sword.”
“A sword?”
“A beautiful sword. One so perfect I can see my own reflection in it.”