fighting_mad | Mirrorverse AU

Mirrorverse AU

The Countess Isplourrdacartha moves quickly down the corridor, an aide at either side of her, and two guards following and two moving ahead. For once, she is not dressed immaculately, her clothes rumpled and large chunks of her bangs falling out of her braid and into her eyes. Her hands have been bound up. Her face is drawn and exhausted, expression tight and pinched, and she is speaking quietly, giving rapidfire instructions to the aides.

One meeting to the next, one secure location to the next -- that is what life has been like, the past two days.

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It's been a long, hard two days.

The message. It had been Plourr's mother, the Duchess Einelfanden, who'd made the call. He's not sure what he expected when the message came in full holo, the Duchess dressed all in regal purple and grey, silent, foreboding.

(There's been an explosion. You need to come home

Isplourrdacartha, he'd said, Isplourr...

You need to come home, she'd said, and avoided his eyes.)

He'd given his notice to Wedge. Wedge had put a hand on his shoulder, gently, face full of apologies and sympathy that Rial couldn't look at. There were things to sort out, now, a planet to run. He wouldn't be able to come back. He'd have to stay home for good and run things the way a proper Emperor would, he'd have to decide the time for mourning only he can't think about that now.

So he packs his things and he books passage on a tiny, old freighter, under an assumed name and wrapped in a traveling cloak. The freighter drops him at a nameless spaceport where he transfers to a second old, creaky ship with peeling paintwork and a pervasive smell of rust. The official handling his ticket was quiet and kind and insisted on formalities.

(You're returning home?

Yes, he'd said. I am. There was a death in the family.

I'm so sorry, she'd said, we just need you to sign here, sir. Have a nice flight.)

He sat on a hard bench for fourteen hours and silently planned. The period of mourning, the funeral, the necessary changes in rank and promotions and finding someone to counsel him. He'd have to write a speech, probably. Isplourrdacartha Estillo was a good woman. The usual sort of thing.

He departs the freighter and rents a landspeeder that gets him to the palace. A guard waves him in when he shows the ID proclaiming him to be a lesser noble, with only the slightest of raised eyebrows at his clothing. He hasn't gone six meters when a ghost walks out into the hallway in front of him, surrounded by guards and aides. Rial puts a hand against the wall, silent, not making a sound, not moving.

Because it's not, it can't be, and he can't stand Fate for the cruel joke that she's playing on him.

The two tense guards in front step forward immediately, both beginning to raise their blasters, and the two behind come forward to block her -- but Isplourrdacartha shoves through them. "Oh, stop that-- Rial," she calls, and the situation is dire, but this is the first time that she has laid eyes on Rial in months.

It's the first time she has smiled in days.

Rial goes white, because up until that moment she could be nothing more then someone who looked like her, but that's Isplourr's voice and the way Isplourr moves and that. Is. Isplourr's face, all smiling up at him like a sun.

He doesn't know what to say so he doesn't say anything, for too long, hands clenched into fists, leaning on the wall, breathing in the heavy, sweet Eiattu air and looking at the woman he thought was dead these two days past.

Her steps stutter and slow, and then she starts walking toward him more swiftly, her smile replaced by concern and a sinking feeling in her stomach. She has never seen him look like that before, never seen him so pale and unsteady, and something in her chest seizes.

"Rial," she says again, a little desperately, and she's nearly to him.

He takes a step back, and then two steps forward. His hands, large and strong, go to her shoulders, holding her while he stares at her face.

"They told me," he says, voice rough, holding her like a vise, "that you were dead. Oh my gods. Isplourr, they said you were dead."

But she's not. She's not dead. She's not and everything's going to be okay and he wonders, for a second, at the relief sweeping through him, the overwhelming conviction that things are okay now. She's alive.

So is he.

She feels a momentary stab of happiness, that he would care enough to look so grieved now -- but it is followed swiftly by a stronger pang of guilt at the thought.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, and she wants to throw her arms around him but she doesn't know how it would be received and, in the end, she stands with her hands at her sides, looking up at him. His grip is strong (perhaps a little too much so), but she is grateful for it. "I'm so sorry-- Rial-- I knew that my mother had spoken to you but I had hoped you had heard the messages that I left you afterward--"

"It's okay," he mutters, looking down, finally releasing his grip on her shoulders. He brings a hand up, pinches the bridge of his nose, shakes his head as if to clear it and looks up with a much calmer expression.

"I was traveling incognito. I didn't want to risk picking up any messages. I'm - glad. That you were unhurt."

"I'm fine," she says, softly, and her bandaged fingers fall away just short of brushing his jaw. "Just knocked about and a little singed." Her mouth tightens, and she glances down. "They mistook Naeliana's body for mine, at first."

Rial's jaw tightens. "I'm sorry," he says, and he really is. He doesn't know the woman, but it's all in the way Isplourr says her name.

He runs his fingers through his hair, then, stifles a yawn. "Okay. We've work to do."

She tells herself that it is foolish to expect more from him for her, when there is so much at stake for their world now. She glances over her shoulder at the retinue awaiting them.

She turns back to him and lowers her voice, her eyes intent on him. "When was the last time that you slept, my prince?"

"A while ago," he admits, straightening his shoulders. Already he looks less frightened, out of place, and is recovering the stance of an Eiattu noble.

"There's not time, though. Do you have a current report on the situation."

"I do," she says, and she's standing tall, too, her face set stubbornly, "and I'm not giving it to you until you go and get a few hours' sleep."

He draws himself up to his full, impressive height, and glares.

"The report, Countess."

Oh, and he's gone from Isplourr back to Countess, and that makes her throat tighten, but she will not back down.

Isplourrdacartha sets her hand on her hip and does not quail, staring up at her husband resolutely. "I'll wake you in a few hours, and I will be perfectly happy to brief you on the situation then."

In the end it's a bit of a staring match, and in the end, Isplourr wins.

Rial takes a step backwards, glowering. "Five hours. On the dot."

"Five hours on the dot," she says, softly again, dark eyes steady and unblinking on him. "You have my word."

He nods, silently, and bows before sweeping off.

It's been a long, hard two days.

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Mirrorverse AU

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