nathanialroyale: (Nathan)

The etymology of the word Monster reveals but one rather simple definition. According to Cohen, monster “derives from the Latin monstrum, a divine portent, usually of misfortune. Augustine [ … ] thought the Latin noun to stem from monstrare, ’to show’ ; Isidore of Seville [ … ] glossed monstrum as contra naturam and connected it to monere, ’to warn”’ (“Use” 48). Classicist Catherine Atherton slightly expands on monstrum, noting that “one of the traditional roles played by monsters-as the standard etymology of the Latin monstrum indicates-is to signal or presage event or advent, even more terrifying or violently destructive than the monster itself’ (vii). Thus, the monster is that which demonstrates or warns that something has gone-or is going to go-awry.

~ Monsters We Become: The Development of the Inhuman Narrative Voice.


The scene in which Nathanael heard his Father call him a Monster and an AU What If? Scene in which Nathanael confronts his Mother about his Father calling him a Monster.


"Yet something has to be done."
Leaning against his parent's door, Nathanael's ear is pressed against it to hear better the conversation taking place within.
"The council is becoming restless; politics are keeping us away more often. Who will care for him?"
"Thom is here, he will do his duty as his husband to look after him, it cannot be helped we are away so much Elaina."
"Yes with Thom he will be alright but...Can-," a moment's silence, "Can we really trust him around Drefan? What if Drefan hurts him again? I do not know if he would tell us." My mother’s voice held soft doubt.
"What could you possibly mean; he would, of course, tell us if he was in pain. Have we ever given him a reason not to believe he could?"
"Nay of course not but this is something else entirely. Earlier when I was cleaning his wounds I found a cut down his left arm, a cut that could only have been self-inflicted. His other wounds were nothing like this from Drefan."
"Our son is a cutter? Nathanael knows that he will lose the light of his spirit to such..
.perverse practices. He must realize without the light of soul he is only a shell, a..a Monster."
...I am?
A Monster...


"A Monster."
"You..heard Peter say that?" Elaina whispers to her only child, her hands reaching out toward the nine-year-old.
There is only silence as Nathanael's eyes fall to the floor.
The Queen gathers the boy into her embrace, "Sometimes those we love say things because they are afraid."
The Prince's eyes are filled with tears at his own anger, willing himself to banish the vile emotions
he was taught he should not feel. He looks up to his mother trying to hide how upset he was,"What have I done? I hurt no-no one but me! He's my father, he shouldn't be afraid of me!"
"He's not afraid of you
Nathanael, he's afraid for you."
As though that simple difference made the pain any less deep.


As Cawson, Andriano, and Cohen note, acknowledgement of the monster is a necessary step in human development because in all ways it is human...  Thus, a society must transcend the limitations of the past by discovering ways to include the unique until, ultimately, everything that is inherently human can be acknowledged and incorporated, including those aspects we often attribute to the monstrous in a misdirected attempt to exorcise ourselves of sin and imperfection. Monsters are the way to this transcendence.

Monsters We Become: The Development of the Inhuman Narrative Voice.
nathanialroyale: (Dance)

Title: Drefan Returns home...
Rating: (PG)
Content Notes/Warnings:

Mentions of past spousal and possible child abuse.

Main Character/s: Drefan Royale, Robert Royale
Plot: After having been gone for over a year in the northern deserts, the Prince has returned to home.
Location: The Imperial Royalian Palace.


“You worried her.”

A thick swallow, leaning forward on the fencing that was a surround for the spar taking place in front of them. Hands curl around the edging, the slivers digging into his hands as Drefan keeps his silence.

Robert continues, “Aidna thought you were dead for over a year. She would ask me continually if you were still alive. ‘Tell me you can still feel his life-force through the obelisk.’ Your mother prayed for you faithfully.”

“So?” the word is forcefully controlled, and the rest of his response is through grit teeth. “Did you strike her this time to make her stop asking about me?”

The King turns completely from the sparring match behind him, leaning his back against the fence. Arms cross before his chest in a relaxed pose, not even looking at his eldest son as he answers.

“It would not have stopped her. She’s in the grove, as she always is.”

Drefan pushes himself back from the fencing by both of his hands, done with this tense returning conference with his father. He was stiff as a board from being back at the Imperial palace where his life had been hell. The Prince of the Blood made a move to leave and Robert reaches out, his hand a flash. Meaty digits grab the nineteen-year-old by the back of the neck.

A calculated squeeze.

“You were gone for almost two years, Drefan. Did you let that time shorten your memory? I am still your King. You will speak to me as I deserve and show the respect due to me. Do you understand?”

A discordant breath escapes parted lips, eyes wide and staring ahead at nothingness whilst fists at Drefan’s sides shake. But the son gathers his words and they come forth quiet and with as much dignity as the Prince can muster in an effort to hide reborn terror, “Yes. I remember.”


nathanialroyale: (Nathan)

Title: Separate and Yet the Same
Rating: (PG)
Content Notes/Warnings:

The Ellearn on Cor'Terrae are considered a different species from humans, not just another 'race' as that moniker is to be used within a species to denote by geography or other differentiates. Thus, this different species has many unique physical aspects, but remain humanoid enough for children of both species to grow up among each other rather easily.

Warnings: None.
Main Character/s: Sir Castillean, the Commandant of King Joscelin's Sovereign Guard, and Lady Yara Sallis the newest, and youngest Sovereign Guard.
Plot: Yara having been brought up among human orphans of the Danaigh culture knows very little about the various cultural practices of her species, and finds that she must be educated upon them often.
Location: The Castle of the Capitol City of illander.


Yara had only meant to knock, she had not known that her Commandant’s door was not fully closed, and that pressing against it to knock would slip it open. She had stopped once the deed had been done, tilting her head seeing through that open-sliver, that Castillean’s back was turned, with his coat, and shirt off, before the mirror.
Neither had the young Ellearn expected to see the beautiful vine of flowers that appeared as though it grew from the very flesh of the Commandant’s shoulder, trailing down, and obscuring a nipple. Confused, Yara had taken a step back from the private scene. But blue eyes in the mirror fixed on the door that had partially opened, “Is someone there?"

With a swallow, bucking herself up, Yara truly knocked, opening the door the last of the way, "Commandant, Sir, I did have need to speak to you, however… I can return…"

"Nay, it is alright, I will re-dress myself, give me only a moment.”
Yara knew that she should have looked elsewhere, but the foliage fascinated, and yet, horrified her all the same, and she could not draw eyes away, her cheeks dusting red at her own impropriety.

The elder Ellearn had moved to his bedside, picking up the gold, and black stripped under-tunic of his uniform. Straightening, Castillean looked to the newest member of the Sovereign Guard, and he stopped, holding the cloth to his chest, making no move to slip it over his head.
“You have never seen our Garden Grafting, have you?” his voice has a gentler-ring to it now, and this only causes the blush to increase, as it was the tone Castillean used when he was to educate her.

“No…” Always the orphan was reminded how different her past had made her, how growing up in the capitol ghettos had denied her the heritage of her people.

“Would you like me to explain Lady Yara? You may touch them if you wish, and I will teach you how the Mellael learned to Graft leaf to flesh, and how many have become a walking garden of epiphytes. I realize, I do, that many of our practices appear so outlandish to you, as well as unknown, and I do not expect you to come into any of them easily, however, you should know…”

Yara Sallis would take in a deep breath, stepping into the Commandant’s room fully, softly closing the door behind her, and her hands clasp behind her back to stay straight, and tall.
“I have come to realize quite starkly that I know very little about my own species sense I have been accepted into the Sovereign Guard, Sir. Castillean, and I cannot say everything that you, and Sir Armeludon have done, or will do, makes very much sense to me… But, I do want to learn, and those lilies, well they are very lovely,” she gives a hesitant little smile.

Always was the young woman willing to learn, and to try to understand, even if she would never partake, because these rituals may have been hers by blood, and breed, they were not hers by rearing. She would always be of the Human Capitol City, and the Danaigh orphans she had grown up beside, regardless of the unique physical qualities of her Ellearn species.

“Thank you, Lady Yara."

Castillean laid down the tunic on his bed, "Come, sit with me, you can bring up what you also needed to speak of with me as well, whilst I teach you a little…”
The female Knight would nod, following her superior to the small two seat table. It was at times like these that she felt adrift at sea, surrounded by those who she should have seen as brothers, and sisters, but could only see as a separate, and remote peoples that for all intents and purposes were utterly alien.

Yet Yara had promised to keep an open mind, and an open heart to the traditions of the species that she had been born of, but had never, and would never truly be a part of. So she listened, and she just for a singular moment wondered, ‘Would such flowers look so beautiful as part of me?…’
nathanialroyale: (Nathan)
Title: Anoush, Child Avatar of Nanqa
Rating: (PG-13) 
Content Notes/Warnings:   
20+ years past the events of the novels, the Lord of Darkness has had his soul be born in the body of a girl child, and has grown up with her. He has done so in his wish to understand his peoples, and to live as they have. [Also, the Lord's enemies would never think he would take the form of a child, as such a form is it not?]

Warnings:Battle scene
Main Character/s: Anoush, Varteres (Anoush's Father,) and Lord Nanqa, God of Darkness/Honor/Undead.
Plot: Uncontrolled undead, remnant of the Scourge war many years ago, attack a small village in Royale. As the guards are losing, this little girl takes the chance to make the difference.
Location: The Village of Taschair, Imperial Royalian Empire.


The Master-less undead had attacked the gates of the small town of Taschair. Overwhelmed, many guardsmen had died, and those still standing had suffered tremendous damage from both, teeth, claw, and magic. 

Breaking into a run, escaping the confines of her father’s embrace, the little girl moved un-noticed toward the fray. A guardsman’s agonized scream as his arm was torn to shreds had been the last that she could take to hear. Tiny feet made little noise as found herself at the battle’s center. Throwing herself to the ground at the feet of the most powerful of the undead, her voice broke upon the syllables of the incantation.

Barely heard above the den of the clash, blood began to run from the child’s nose as she sank into the mud in her ribbons and dress. It was the rain that had begun to fall that brought the fight to a stuttering stop, slowly petering, a hiss filling the air. Like acid, the divine rainwater hit the flesh of the undead, steam escaping into the skies with their screams of agony. Flesh began to disintegrate from the effects of the spell, trapping the monsters where they stood. 

The rain washed the living with healing magics, wrapping about those alive and those dead. That same purple luminescence picked up the dead from the ground, suspending them as it flashed through the layers of dress before settling them back upon their feet. All of those who had died, awoke, their eyes popping open, and lips gasping upon their first, returned breaths. 

Around a man’s destroyed arm, the purple light encased the flesh, and filled the terrible wound, reforming bones and muscle, nerve and tissue. It was not pretty, nor was it painless, and the act blacked out the man who had a sheer scream upon his lips. 

Nothing was left in this muddy field to mark that the undead had ever been there, and the newly living starred, in such a mixture of awe, and terror at the realization of their second chances. The earth around them seeped of blood, gorging upon this feast that would strengthen it in the years to come. But that purple luminescence had not left, it wafted like fog about this place, a substance known for its Resurrection of the loyal dead.

Yet, lastly laying there at the heart of all of this was its propagator. The father had run after her, but had been pushed back by the power, like a wall of force he could not push through. But here, now, on her front in the blood was the little girl in her pink dress, her hair still done up in it’s matching ribbons. He falls to his knees by her side, gathering her bloodied form into his embrace, crushing Anoush to him as he heard her faltering, but living breaths. No more then seven, her face had been half hidden in the bloodied ground, stigmatized by her Dark God so the battle could be won. 

The Avatar of Lord Nanqa, lived another day, but would need many to recover, and shakily, the village Butcher presses a kiss to her bloodied brow. Up now, he makes his way back toward the village, wishing to spirit her away to some semblance of safety. It does not surprise him, however, when, later, the many guardsman come to his home. No, they know now who, and what this seemingly ordinary little girl is, and all he can do is be by his daughter’s side as they kneel before her bed. Their heads touch the floor in reverence, and Nanqa’s name is a litany, her own only following long after. To the people, to this world, his daughter is Nanqa incarnate, and because of this he will always wonder, would anyone ever see her as his little girl? 

Anoush, the child who loves to learn, the girl who tells him not to be afraid when she does something reckless. Who also, tells him to always trust in their Lord, and gives him the brightest, and biggest smiles. Oh, this child may indeed hold the soul of a powerful God within her, but she is still her mother’s daughter, and will always be her father’s, everything.

nathanialroyale: (Scream)
Title: Love is never gentle, and Grief gives way to Hate.
Rating: (Heavy PG-13) 
Content Notes/Warnings: Ending of the First Novel. Character Death.  

My brother died yesterday in real life. Drefan has lost his, so I let him speak of his loss so maybe I can understand my own.

Warnings: Death.

Main Character/s: Nathanial Peter Quele Royale, Thom Antsrev Royale, Drefan Robert Royale
Plot: When Drefan loses his brother Thom, everything follows into a 3 year night, where Gods fell to mortal suffering, and their minds broke as easily as those they had labored to defend. 
Location: illander castle, illander city.


Wasting away, that was the hardest part of it, watching him die. I had thought the knowledge that his death was on my hands would hound me far worse then this, the physical representation of it all. But no, the wheezing breaths, the shut, dull eyes were much, much worse. 

The grey pallor that would give way to blue, the poor circulation that Thom already had only making the transformation from living to dead that much quicker. Nathanael is whispering to him, clutching his hand, making promises, as if the future matters at all. 

My grief has never been easy, it has always transformed itself into something more, the bitterness twisting it into rage. Always I would attempt to shift the blame, to put that hate on someone else, anyone else but me. If the grief turned to rage, and rage into hatred, I could push away all of these actualities.

Thom was going to die today, and I could blame everyone under the sun, but that wasn’t going to change the fact that this was going to destroy me.

I’ve never been a happy person, my people call me their ‘Bitter Prince’ for a number of reasons, and it was in his smile that the rays of hope shone. But there would be no hope, no dreams, not after this. I was the last one of us, father - deceased, mother - deceased, and now Thom who die as well. 

Where did that leave our people? 
Where did that leave me?

I feel it before I see it, as my eyes are starring at the infirmary wall, and I force myself to look down as Nathanael begins to cry, head buried in my brother’s chest. 

It’s done. 
It’s over, and I’m alone.

My head snaps up, as agony wracks through my mind, and that voice, that comfort I have depended upon for these last three years is panicking. The breaths that come are faltering, stuttering as I feel myself rise from Thom’s bedside. The darkness envelops me once again, and I allow myself to snap free from the tethers of this reality. 

It looms below us, the Abyss, and this time I do not feel it as my body rears up from the bedside, back hitting the wall as shudders wrack every one of my limbs. Digits have dug into pockets, and the black diamond nearly spills from my fingertips as it is loosened from the material coverings. 

Held up now, I can see the black diamond sitting upon my open palm over my brother’s body and my lips open. Yes, the words are my own, and yet they are not only mine, two voices leak free, and they overlay the words that we need to say.

“I won’t be left behind. I won’t be made to be alone. These are not my sins, I will not be damned! Purple skies…and broken glass…”

Endless seas and memories of the past,
Purple skies and broken glass,
Shattered minds, where there is no rest,
Hatred and grief, that breaks the best of us.

Thom’s soul rose from the body on that bed, a ball of glowing white light. It would be captured then, filling the black diamond. Never be alone…

In a moment of control, and with such reverence and tenderness, contrary to the way my body seemed to quiver and jerk, would I slip that diamond away into my pocket. Safe. 

With that act complete we surged forward, around the bed, and our darkness did not only crawl its way up our limbs, no, now it wrapped around us in flames. Black leaking purple, climbing and falling as the infirmary melted away into the castle’s main hall. 

They would scream, and they would beg and plead, they would know what it meant to lose my brother, my mother, and the people I had only ever wanted to defend! 

All there was now, was that hypnotic fire, rising into the night that had eclipsed this noontime sunlight, taking with it all that stood in our way, all that brought us to this day. 

Enraged yells, and so many screams.

Laughter fills the air, a maniacal sound, the laughter of the deranged, and it’s owner… its progenitor is me.


nathanialroyale: (Nathan)

Title: A Shell
Prompt: Was there a night when Peter held that dagger over Nathanael while he slept contemplating the murder of his own son? Yes.
Rating: (PG-13)
Content Notes/Warnings: The contemplation of the murder of a minor.
I wanted to have Peter's POV on his understanding of his son being spiritually dead and all that was left behind being a Shell. 

Main Character/s: Peter Quele, Nathanael Peter Quele Royale


It was late, past midnight, and Eliana slept in their bed upstairs where he should be sleeping beside her. But instead, Peter stood on the left bedside of his only child, his heir, sweat forcing him to clench harder on the dagger held in his right hand. It held an intricate blade, ceremonial, and meaningful, as the dagger of his Hara.

Peter worked at the lump that sat in his throat, the one that had not left him as long as he starred at what had once been his flesh and blood. Now? No, all that laid before his sight was a shell, the body of the son that struggled to bring in each and every breath in his sleep.

Peter’s lips trembled as he recited the liturgy within his mind one more time, hoping the words would give him the strength he needed to bring down this knife and finish this night.

Reinn Anon,
Oh, Sovereign Angel
Give us the strength,
to make the right choice,
even at the cost of our blood.

Forgive us,
he who freed us,
from our sins.

He who loves us,
have mercy upon us,
mortals of sin.

But it was not enough, and his certainty fails him, and Peter shakes his head. It was a mercy to not only the child but to them all, to rid the world of thissomething, lost to the darkness. Yet, even as a shell, this being had the body of his son, and he knows he will go mad when the deed is done. He already knows his wife, and his consort will never understand, and what little strength he had in this task is sapped from him when he sees himself alone.

A shaking hand claws back through his blonde hair and his blues are clouded by tears as he tries now to leave un-noticed. Not tonight then, but this had to be done, eventually, because all that laid there in that bed was a shell. There was no soul left within it. That spirit had been lost as the boy opened his own flesh, allowing the light that resides within the breast to disperse into darkness.

The blade falls to be lost in the rug by the bedside as Peter stumbles backward, and he braces himself upon the wall. That same wall of tree and cloud that he had painted beside the boy that laid in that bed, sickly. He had failed his God, and now he failed himself because of his inability to imagine life without his wife, and lover both. So the shell continues to sleep and Peter is able to leave the child’s room quiet enough that Nathanael does not awaken.

In the cabin’s hall Peter watches his now empty hands shake, and he catches the sob that tries to escape and break the night’s silence. He looks back, a hand curling around the doorknob and he pulls the door closed upon on the nine year old who continues to sleep, unknowing of what his father had nearly done to him.

There was a scream that was forcing, pushing its way up and through him, gagging the King who tried to remain quiet in his movement as he fled. Out through cutting brush and tangling root, he muzzles himself with clenching fingertips as he falls to his knees.

Reinn Anon
Forgive me,
for my sins.

Forgive me,
my weakness.

Into his hands, the noise is caught, strangled in its shame and agony. Head bent to touch the forest’s floor, Peter wonders what now? What now will he do?He is sorry, but not for himself, no, he is sorry for the child he failed, for the shell he could not kill.

So sorry,
so very,
very sorry.

nathanialroyale: (Nilec)

Title: I Hate you for your Love, and I Love you for your Hate.
Prompt: I despised him for his kindness.
Rating: (PG-13)
Content Notes/Warnings: Twisted relationship dynamics.
This was a look into Nilec's psyche in-regards to her hatred of the man that loves her so gently and intensely.
I wanted to write out and rationalize why she despises James for his kind words and noble qualities.

Main Character/s: Nilec, Quele, James Red Rose Quele Cross
Plot: Love and Hate are opposite sides of the same coin.
Location: The Northern Deserts.


A tool was not supposed to have human qualities; the rock hard bones she could feel beneath her fingertips were only a part of the monster she was meant to use. She could not allow the far off and forgotten softness enter a frozen heart. Watching him interact with a villager’s child, the smile that lit up his eyes brought further light to his handsome and noble qualities. But then she remembered herself and shook the sentiment aside, he was meant to be her instrument and she could not let her emotion sway her from using him.

Nilec had to remember that his life meant just as little as her own. The Gods had not factored in love or emotion, and she felt contempt for the vampire that made her feel.

Nilec despised James for his love, for his kindness, and his care. Having his hate would have made what she had to do that much easier, in tugging the leash she had crafted for him out of seductive hopes and dreams. But the man who was supposed to be a monster was far too emotive, breaking into pieces in front of her eyes. What could she, the already broken, do? It was easier to despise and destroy then to love what would be twisted by her hands so very easily.

I hated you for never fighting back; I hated you for all the kind words you ever said. I hated that you loved me even after all I have done…

The young woman detested so that her heart was further hardened. She caught herself when she would tarry upon what of him she wanted, and what it was of her, that he needed. She corroded and tainted everything she touched; growing from the fearful and shy adolescent into the captivating witch that he hungered for. Nilec made James her enemy as by race he was born to be, and would not allow herself to feel the sorrow for what she had done to him.

The vampire would become the implement she required to save the world, just two lost souls screaming at the Gods until their dying day.

James was only a means to an ends, just like the child that was growing inside her womb. Nilec owed the Gods her life and had been compelled to obey the Divine in everything and in this, there would be no difference. If there was love beneath it all, that emotion was just as corrupted as the rest.

I love you for learning to lie to me; I love you for allowing me to drive you insane. I love that you started to hate me just as I hated you…

I hate you, I hate you, I love you, I hate you…

For everything we’ve ever done and will likely ever do.

nathanialroyale: (Nilec)

Notes: I don't know if this would be considered some spin on Second-person narrative or something but I have never written something with the character addressing an un-named audience in the form of You before. It was interesting.



"How can I help you understand?" Joscelin asks of You.

But the King’s eyes flutter closed as he feels Master Riviria lead him through the countless millenniums of memory that Riq’ua possessed. By extension it is not only the two Elves, but You who see this glimpse into this ageless man’s long past in hopes of comprehension.


Riq’ua’s hands were clasped before him within the Mellim’disiel, the sacred Elven homeland, and to his left and his right there were rows of gravestones extending even further ahead. A graveyard within a graveyard and his eyes came up and head turned back beyond those gathered individuals to the Blade Dancing Academy through the trees. This grove beyond but yet close to the Academy where Master Sea taught and lived. Eyes returned and he starred at the freshly filled grave with simple headstone above it, sadness acute within the air from those presented. For there was no shame or dishonor in sadness in Blade Dancing tradition, it was believed that we should feel sorrow, but not sink under its oppression. There was a time to mourn and that was now.


(Blade Dancer)




6546 Perditus

A single grave, a single grave marker and Riq’ua stepped back from the grave-site and he put up his hand and those that filtered into the picture by stepping forward bowed with him swords laid horizontally flat in the Blade Dancer’s formal bow. Nearly all of these Elves wore leathers and their blades were the Nyamase Miljem, they Blade Dancers. But speckled amongst them were Elven clerics, Elven mages, scholars and it could be seen also that a even few humans of different professions dotted this crowd who honored these two in death.

"We stand before the grave of a Protector and his Protected. But that is to simple, too plain. We are here honouring the love of two bonded, an Elf man and a human woman. As Elves and Blade Dancers both we feel more keenly the loss of our brother and the woman that he loved."

And Riq’ua through this memory allows You to feel what he meant by the gravity of those words. Just the tiniest sliver blossomed, for more then a splinter to un accustomed minds could be dangerous to fragile chalices. The webbing of the mind, the links that ran from the Blade Dancing Grand Master and branched out like tree roots and webs to his Blade Dancers, from the Blade Dancers to the students, and from Blade Dancers to their mates. From those outer edges it looped back, for all the mates were connected to one another through the students and Blade Dancers too.

"The loss of one life is like a trickle, and with each life this trickle grows stronger, for no life is more precious then another. We are all each other’s sworn brothers, fathers, lovers and friends. To live is to suffer, but to die, is to protect."


The gravestones are slow to fade away and Joscelin tries one last time to explain, a clear desperation at last in depths of lavender as they opened to once again look at You.

"We were always connected and we loved the mates of our Masters and our brothers.  Can You now begin to comprehend our loneliness? That Riq’ua and I are the last? The grieving that I fought through as I lead my brethren into War and felt, Oh by the Goddess of Mercy! Felt  inside the tearing of the roots from a great and ancient tree? The webbing cut from Our mind, Our Heart, Our Soul! We honored and respected, nay, we loved them, brethren and mate alike for they had been chosen by a Blade Dancer ire regardless of them being Elven or human. To be the mate of a Blade Dancer bonded them to us all."

It was the strength and the weakness of the Blade Dancers, the ability to move and act with one purpose and one mind. But to feel also the shocking pain and death of each and everyone of your brothers-in-arms. To feel too the overwhelming grief of the mate of the man lost to the beyond pulling you down to drown. The reasons the Blade Dancers had been respected and feared for millennial but in one savage war nearly lost everything.

"We were Connected."

nathanialroyale: (Nathan)


Rating: PG-13
Notes:The Scourge War devastated Camar’a Sere’th, a war that would have seen all the life and beauty snuffed out, the destruction of the very world. Nearly forty percent of the known world was killed during that war, and the man who had lead the undead army, Drefan Robert Royale, Prince of Royale was forgiven for his part in the events and as far as most know has gone into hiding. Most just wish him dead. This is 21 years later. 


"I understand war Mylord, every scar seen and unseen on this shell is from war." Shnorhik rebuked her eyes on Drefan’s turned back. “I know the hate, I know the ignorance. But how much longer do we have to wait? They will wait, your people will wait till the day old age takes their souls into the stream and their blood nourishes the land. But must they? You are our heir," she implored.

Words would grow louder as the warrior tried to get her point across, “Camar’as’ terror at our loyalty should not stop us from being free. What did we fight for? What did those women die for if not for our God Nanqa, if not for you!?”

“Which is precisely why I can’t rule!" Drefan spun to face her, his eyes black fire now, but even so she would not back down as he tried to make her understand. “Damn it, it is my fault that nearly my entire people were eradicated and you want me to take the throne?!"The words hissed out through grit teeth.  Shnorhik’s arms crossed as she watched him, her brown eyes on his black, and “…Is that what you really believe?" she asked at last and the Royalian shook her head at him a deep sadness to her eyes.

“No Mylord, we knew, in our hearts," her scarred hand laid on her breast. “Through the darkness, we could feel the grief weighing down and you slipping away from us. But you were too far afield, we could do nothing from here," and the grief was huffed out, eyes hardening, starring at Drefan unafraid of her liege, daring to challenge him with her next words. “You never had to ask for our forgiveness! To us there is nothing to forgive!"

“Nothing??" Drefan snapped but Shnorhik would not give up ground, "Nothing. We marched north into the lands of light; we fought beside Islay, Daranigh, Jharrik and Gaelian because you were lost. If we could stop you then maybe we could stop the world’s suffering, free the northlands holy city, and with that perhaps you would be freed too. Honor dictated no less then stand beside our enemy because they would never do such a thing for us!"

Drefan starred at Shnorhik, at the woman who had died and risen moments later to keep on fighting in a seemingly endless war more times than could be comprehended. She shook her head, not having lost that same strength twenty one years after the fact, “We were not going to give up on you, or give up on Nanqa. Never."

She stepped another solid step forward, eyes still boring into his unerringly, “You never had to ask anything of us, we give ourselves freely. That has always been our way; we die upon our blade to give our lives for you, for Royale, our homeland. You then bring us back to fight anew in the legions of undead and we are proud to have that honor to serve our kingdom and our King. We give up our first born child, returning that precious life to Nanqa so he may remain strong in the void so someday he can come back to us. We wait! We have waited two thousand years, when by the Lord of Darkness and Honor does the waiting end? When can I take my blade to the stomach of the next Camar’ian fool who dares shove and spit on one of us?"

Drefan began to shake, the wisps of darkness crawling up his arms and slowly he would lose his human appearance, showing the skeletal undead beneath.  Shnorhik continued, “You are a Liche Mylord, we consider that the greatest honor bestowed to man, to attain immortality and search for wisdom and knowledge for eternity. Is this all forgotten by the lack of having a soul?" She sounded pained and suddenly exhausted, “Perhaps it is not only the Camar’ians who need to learn of Royale," and the fire went out in her and she at last turned away. “Fear not the deity that created you Mylord, for that is the greatest of sorrows, to lose faith in what only meant to protect you."

Drefan hissed through his teeth softly, hands curled into fists by his sides, “Nanqa through my hands was what dealt all the death and destruction that took place during the Scourge War!"

Sudden bitter laughter from Shnorhik and her eyes closed hard, head shaking, back still turned to him, “No, no. That was insanity, not Nanqa. Not you."

Drefan fell silent.  All of it just sounded like excuses.

"I cannot explain it well enough, I do not know enough to explain, but we believe. Our Lord Nanqa came back to us when the war ended when for three years no prayers were answered. But even during that while, roses bloomed for the souls sacrificed to protect our lands; people came back from the dead time and time again. No other deity has want of us; no other deity has given so much to us. We are Nanqa’s and Nanqa’s alone, though we honor all Sixteen, even Reinn Anon who wants us wiped off this planet like an infestation." Shnorhik turned slowly to look through her dark brown curls at the man who had nearly destroyed the world. Drefan Robert Royale, descendent of Nanqa,undead liche, bitter and tired after his mind was restored from grief stricken hatred, the man that should have been the Royalian King, their King.

Drefan huffs,"Alright, then who do I speak to now?"

“There is a little girl Mylord, she is favored by Nanqa, a vessel for our Lord of Darkness, she would be able to explain better. I am a warrior, not a priest."

“…Then I will attempt to find her,” Drefan mumbled, so it seemed her words had shaken him and he would go looking for this girl after all. Nathanael had been right, even if others forgave you themselves; if you did not believe yourself worthy of their forgiveness you would never be forgiven.  Perhaps he needed to do the forgiving, to forgive his deity in return so that he could be free?

It was worth a try he supposed…

nathanialroyale: (Nathan)

Rating: (M)
Warnings: Mentions of Abuse,Manipulations, Insanity.
Content Notes: Rene's inner voices can be absolutely horrible sometimes.


You need to get away from this place, you know this isn’t right…

“I cannot just abandon her!”

She has no need for you, she had no need for James either. Why did Nilec keep him, not just kill him at the start? You need her, your mother, but she has no need for you. She never has, you play the same game, dance the same dance with her that she did with him..

Claw length fingernails dug into his scalp as Rene battled with the voices of the abyss in a palace hall where no one else tread.

Your daughter needs you, Siliv needs you to be whole and unbroken, how can you be a better man then James when you allow yourself to be manipulated and strung about whichever way your mother pleases?Just like she did to him!

Why did the voices always sound like Mallie when they spoke of his mother? Joscelin when they mentioned the children? Was it to cause his ire to rise? Mallie had left! She had run away leaving him to this hell alone! Rene was caring for Siliv and Kcri, he protected them, fathered them as best as he could. Better then Joscelin who seemed to not even try!

“I never was whole,” the vampire mumbled bitterly to no one but the shady figures of the Twisted Realm that laughed at his pain.

Why do you remain Nilec’s hound? Play the game, take the blame and tell yourself it is for everyone but yourself. You have never been that selfless, that compassionate. Your a murderer! Why do you stay where you know you will eventually lose your mind? You will break into a thousand crystal pieces, following the path of destruction your father wrought beneath your mother’s hands.

A silent scream off endless white walls, agonized. Nails gauged tracks through white hair pulled in clumps as blood began to slide down the bridge of Rene’s nose. Silence followed and the question was raised again by the whispering chorus.

Why do you not take your daughter and leave if you are stronger then I? If you are not me, then leave, just simply walk away…

A strangled laugh answered as limbs began to shake. It had been a while sense the splintered glass and backbiting abuse had taken on that voice. James answered for him.

You have no where to go, my son…

Scarlet eyes flashed open to stare at the marble floor speckled with blood as his vision swam red.

“I…I go.”

It appeared that the shouts and whispers, bites and sound began to quiet as the only truth he knew breathed air.

Once there was a mother, a father and a son.
A tormented boy whose mind they were to destroy.
They meant to create within him a perfect mirror.
No dreams could heal all that shattered glass.
All his resistance, it seemed, only surrendered more screams.
The monster was caught inside a web the mother and father had spun.
But after so long had grafted to his own lies.
Rene had no where to run.

nathanialroyale: (Nathan)

Rating: (G)
Warnings: None.
Content Notes: It is the first snow's fall and the first time that Kallion, Mallie and Raunien have ever seen snow.
Kallion is 4, Joscelin is 3 and Mallie is 2. Raunien is 6 months.


Kallion gave an excited cry and small fingers pointed out through the castle window at the white that was falling from the skies.  Mallie, who had slept beside him in the crib as neither toddler would sleep away from each other when they were in the same place, blinked sleeping dust from her eyes.

The Princess’s green eyes widened seeing fluff of white as she had never seen before, being from the northern desert lands. Joscelin laughed and clapped his hands seeing the snow, the one who although a toddler in body was an adult in the mind. The heir was a reborn Elvish soul who was the eldest in spirit and cared for his brothers and cousin like his own after their mother’s death. The nursing maid looked out at the morning, “Well, very well then.  Get ye all some food and get ye all dressed for the cold. Then ye can see the snow.”

Mallie at two years old clung to Kallion’s side feeling his protection and overwhelmed by the new experience. Her hand had snow on its palm and she stared at it wide eyed in wonder. This was the first time she, Kallion and Raunien had ever seen the snow. Kallion at four had his white angel wing around Mallie holding her to his side instinctively protective laughing as the snow fell onto his tongue. The youngest, baby Raunien made noises and scrunched his nose swaddled in the nurse maid’s arms. Joscelin toddled his way to a bank of snow and began to compact it.

“Kally! Come here, bring Mallie!”

Kallion tilted his head but he helped Mallie through the snow on her little legs and Joscelin showed them how to compact the fluff into a big ball. Together they would make a miniature snowman with Joscelin giving the instructions as Mallie and Kallion were very quiet, scared children. Then he would pick up more of the white and toss it at Mallie who shrilly squeaked! She made a face before throwing some back at him. “Na Nice!”

Joscelin laughed and it soon turned into the three tossing hand falls of snow before falling together into the snow banks.  Mallie laughed alongside Joscelin and even scarred Kallion giggled with abandon in the first winter’s snow.

nathanialroyale: (Scream)

(I was too poor to get my girlfriend a valentine’s day gift so I wrote her a drabble instead. I couldn’t get my Marvel muses to work so it’s my OC’s instead. Material is heavy but she understood the significance of this. - Jay/Rene begins to understand and let go of the past.)

“I’m meant to; hate them I mean.”

“For what was done to you? Perhaps, it would be an understood response.”

“I feel as though if I do not hate him I am allowing him to win. I’m expected to hate him, supposed to curse his name and scrape goat them both for what happened to me.”

“Do you believe that Rene? Honestly? There is no winning or losing in this, only a wish to go on living. No one else has to live with this pain but you, it is your choice, and yours alone to embrace the suffering of your past and yet go on living.”

“What is the point of scrape-goating? Emile lost his mind to become James, insanity was his excuse. My mother Nilec was told by her Goddess to do what she did, and it was through her not knowing how to comfort Emile that he shattered. If I am not to blame my parents, the ones who were there, the one who abused me then who do I blame? Fate? The Gods?”

“Gods are Gods, and men are men. Gods are blamed often for the follies of man and elf alike, but they sit away making choices and watching events they do not comprehend. Must there be a scrape goat to lessen your pain?”

“No… But I fear having no one to blame but myself.”

“Yourself? Why would you be at the end of that thought Rene? You were the victim of abuse, of a breaking of trust that should never have been violated. You see with time, we as children love our parents unconditionally, but as we grow, we begin to judge them, our illusions of their perfection lost by reality. But it is those that can rise above the rest that go on in time…to forgive them their inadequacy.”

Rene’s brows furrowed his hands clasped hard beneath the wood table, red from the pressure of his fingers pressing down on bare skin.

Lord Riq’ua’s own hands were settled on his lap on the opposite side of the table from the young vampire, “But forgiveness is a higher calling that I would not expect of you until it is your time. Never do I dare assume I can understand your suffering. I am only an ear, a mouth piece of advice for you Rene Durand. You have already come so far from the man James wished you to be, and that is enough for me. You are reborn, and there should be required no further change in yourself perception.”

“I have tried to become a better man, be who Emile was, not James. The man my father used to be. But I would still like to be me.”

“And what are you then?”

Rene laughed a soft sad laugh and he shook his head, white hair falling before albino pink eyes, “That I do not know. There are titles given to me, titles I have taken. But what do they all mean. I am the son of a tyrant, with a mother who is a murderer, a manipulator. I told myself I would be nothing like them, but what did I become? What I feared, what I loathed. Everyone looks to me and still sees James, and for that reason there is a little hate in my heart for my father. I had no choice in this, to be looked at with loathing and judged for my parentage and the blood that runs through my veins. But for no other reasons then those will I give them to judge me. I’m a prince, a vampire of the clan of the Rose; I am a father and a husband.”

“And what of those are the most important to you? I would think the last two.”

“Yes. I’m a father to Siliv before anything else, and a husband to Joscelin, my love for him is still strong with all he has done for me.”

“Then make yourself from that, no one can expect of you more then what you are willing to give Rene. Hatred or love, forgiveness or scrape goating, it is your pain, your past. You know you are the one who makes your own choices and only they who have not taken chances in life can say they wish to die with no regrets. Everyone has regrets, but just do not allow them to keep you from living.”

“Thank you Riq’ua.”

The High Advisor inclined his head to the prince who stood and bowed to him in respect although Rene’s political position was higher and he watched the young vampire leave the library behind, the large room dead now expect for the sounds of the elder elf meditatively breathing.

nathanialroyale: (Masquerade)

(I have this headcanon where Steve’s son his born with his original health maladies and wants to grow up to be just like his dad - and Steve is confronted with all these feelings of inadequacy as a father because he realizes his son can’t grow up to be like him. But no kid will probably ever be better protected from bullies, considering who all his uncles are. It’s probably just a matter of time before Uncle Tony builds him some really sweet replacement braces (“Should they have spinning rims? I feel like they should have spinning rims.”) - Siffy

Steve’s son

The guilt and the feeling of selfishness are near overwhelming. All Steve had wanted was a semblance of normalcy, a partnership, a ‘family’. But his greatest fear became a reality when the weakness that haunted his dreams passed on to his skin and blood. It had always been a possibility, perhaps it was buried too deep in the recess of his mind where he pushed his insecurities when he had to be in control and command. But hiding behind the smile he always gives his handsome little boy are little pieces of him breaking.

Could things have been different? Was his illness and physical maladies going to affect any and all of his offspring? Should he have given up the foolish idea of having biological children? Just because the serum changed his hormones, changed his strengths did not mean immediately the transformation was genetic, he should have realized this! But agonizing would do nothing and he would always smile, because although the memories were brief of his own parents, he could remember them smiling. Giving him the only support they could when he accomplished the most trivial of things that to Steve Rogers had been an arduous mountain to climb.

Clutching to his chest a frail frame that shook with laughter Steve kissed the brow of his son and swung him up to play.

Nothing would stand in the child’s way even with the road blocks his body would surely make for him and Steve would help him strive and be there when the boy fervently declares his frustrations at his own limitations. At least this ill boy would have more than just a lifetime friend and a lone stranger believe in him and make him understand that strength wasn’t always the outside. More often than not, it was what was on the inside.

nathanialroyale: (Nilec)

There are days when I’m okay

And for a moment
For a moment I find hope
But there are days when I’m not okay
And I need your help
So I’m letting go

All the years of fearing men eying me, giving me a second glance, the wish to remain a girl forever and never become a woman.. If I’m ugly, if I’m a little girl they wont want me… Not like that..  The negative thoughts hit their pinnacle and then my fear and self hatred crashed down on me and buried me. That’s the moment I knew I would do anything to never feel those eyes on me again. That’s the moment I decided to do whatever it takes to not be that girl those men had thought beautiful. That’s the moment I became an anorexic.

I need you to know
I’m not through the night
Some days I’m still fighting to walk towards the light
I need you to know
That we’ll be okay
Together we can make it through another day

I was killing myself, but it was a slow death, a painful death. I was so sick of feeling hunger, and when those pains passed it became easier to go without. No one knew, I wore frumpy clothing so the men would have no want to stare at me. I would always like a mantra tell myself that I was a wraith, a ghost that no one could see, no one could touch. Your ugly, no one would want you...You become so good at lying, you begin with yourself and then when you believe the lies it is easier to have others believe them too…

- Nilec Quele (Nathanael's sister.)

(Song lyrics Courage by Superchick)

nathanialroyale: (Dance)

“I do not need your protection anymore!”

The words echoed off the cold stone of the royal bedroom, the argument that had proceeded them seemed pity in light of the sentence that punched the King of Camar’a and left him breathless. That was what Joscelin was; a protector. Everything he wanted to be, could ever be was wrapped within the blades he used to protect his family, his kingdom and his people.

Silence filled hollow wounds, Rene’s eyes afire with contention, starring at the man that he had married three years ago. Royalty; they both were, and the marriage had been arranged. They had come into this hoping for love, but everything fell apart, and Rene still knew he was to blame. The vampire flinched as the quiet became oppressive, and he buried his face into his hands. Again! Again I fall into the traps of who I used to be. Again, I wound him, let loose the temper I had sworn to hold in.


The Elvish King shook his head, the quick motion attempting to hold back the tearing of his heart that was so very visible in lavender eyes.

“Then I am of no use to you,” Joscelin’s arms folded over his chest in the traditional style as he gave the Blade Dancing bow, his face a mask of ice. Rene reached out toward the other though a table was between them both and the Elf shook his head once again. Rene’s lips opened in vain, but he let his eyes close. How can I make this right? Every time we speak, we fight, we have nearly killed each other through our love. How many times am I going to be sorry?

Blood stung in his eyes as the tears collected moist as he watched Joscelin step around him, no words between them now.

Regrets, so many regrets…

“Don’t protect me! Fight beside me Joscelin!” The words rushed with raw passion past pale lips, turning in a flash of vampire speed, his hand gripping Joscelin’s shoulder.

“You say I see you as prey, that you want to be my equal! Then we should be equals both. No possessiveness, no protectiveness, side by side, Joscelin! I say the wrong things, but I do not want to give up on this, on us!”

Joscelin had froze when his shoulder was gripped and a sigh left him,”Partners?”

“Yes, friends perhaps, someday. I do not ask for your love after what I have done, but together we are stronger then apart. Fight with me.”

Joscelin turned with sad smile,”I’ve been trying you stubborn vampire. But very well, again. We will learn to fight together, not against each other. I hope.”

Rene grips the shoulder harder,”Thank you. For another chance.” Again. What try was this? The sixth? The seventh? He could no longer remember…Let it be the last.


nathanialroyale: (Sad Angel)
I am Aghvani Herravor.

Angel of Reinn Anon.

Once I was a half elf, how and why I died I do not know. But I died, and Reinn blessed me with my wings. I am a Consecrated Harrier, bounty hunter of the Gods. If a price has been set on you by the divine I will find you, no matter where you stand. I have been told I am intelligent, wise beyond my time as a Yearling, but what does that matter when the words I speak are never heeded. I speak softly, I do not expect any longer for what I say to be heard. I am told that I am honorable, and I am proud that I was made a Celestian.

I met the Ai’Haran, the boy king as he walked the many roads to the restoration of his throne. I was ordered to kill The Betrayer, Drefan Robert Royale, who murdered the Court of Light, and destroyed the Le’Lis people. I was sure in my duty, convictions that of stone. But it was the brother of my heart, the boy who would be King, Nathanial, who showed me compassion and forgiveness.

There was will and strength beneath those calm ice blue eyes, hidden under the layers of altruism and abuse. I hope that the others, our companions, saw as I did, that they grew to respect him as dearly.

Little brother of my heart, I will follow you into hell, fight against impossible odds, not for power, honor or achievement but to see you through till the very end.
nathanialroyale: (Nathan)

Drefan, you tried to set me free and I do thank you and I know you did it the only way you knew how. You live what you learn you once said long ago. There is truth and lie to such a statement. You live what you have learned and wish to teach. To love and never have hated is to never have felt true passion; I think I am realizing that now. All emotions are flips of a coin, heads and tails, darkness and light.

I can feel hate, I used to deny it, I used to wonder why I couldn’t feel it. But that was not true, I can, but I have blocked it out, deep in my heart. But what has that done for me all this time? I tried to block out anger as well, and it has taken all this time, the loss and the abuse to realize that both emotions are only just that, emotions like the rest.  I thank you Drefan for what you did for me but I hate you all the same. I am angry at you for the years of my life you stole from me, the hopes and dreams you shattered because you had none yourself. You tried to destroy me, but you made me stronger. You tainted and liberated me. I thank you…and I hate you.

I am growing up, I’m not afraid anymore. I’m learning to love myself; I am an altruist, and a masochist. I may have been a monster, but now I am Damion’s angel. I was a broken china doll, but now I am someone’s salvation, their hopes and their dreams. I am looking to the future now not the past; I’m going to stop feeling sorry for myself now. I never realized by hating myself how much I was hurting people who loved me. I am sorry. I’m a hypocrite, wishing to not burden others, and to hurt them. I always ended up blaming myself, but I just didn’t want to blame other people, I did not want to hurt or sadden others.  

But the greatest pain is to see someone you love never forgive themselves, to believe themselves undeserving. I will stop hating myself and hurting others through that self deprecation. I will try to forgive myself for the things in my life I cannot change; I will try to love myself through all the pain and all the sadness. I will love, I will hate, I will cry and I will scream; I want to be whole. Like some  scattered puzzle I will find all of my wayward pieces so you, my love, can help me put myself together again. I want to be worthy and I know that I need to find myself worthy first.

Damion? Will you wait for me? I’m still learning even as I am dying, and I may fail… But what is important is trying right? So I will try. For Drefan who is my past, for Damion my present and for my son who is my future and at last…Myself too.

I will try.

- Nathanial Peter Quele Royale


nathanialroyale: (Default)

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