Name: shadowsong26
Story: Waiting
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Halloween Orange #9. When there's no redemption to be found, there are still a few who'll hold their ground., Spring Green #16. we stand for the living and we stand for the dead (with paint-by-numbers from bookblather: You can't save everyone.), White Russian #4. Где то́нко — там и рвётся. (Only as strong as the weakest link.)
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (Lilith Faire 2024 Day Five: Main Stage), photography, paint-by-numbers, chiaroscuro, eraser (Mellir AU), brush (dearth), yarn, seed beads, novelty beads ("Try again, fail again. Fail better." -- Samuel Beckett), parchment (Mellir AU),
Word Count: 417
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Mellir
Warnings: References to war/violence and a major fire; alcoholism.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. Previous (relevant) bits in this AU are here, and here.


The moments Mellir spent waiting in the throne room--his throne room, gods--after Kellom was killed were some of the longest in his life.

He hoped the warning had come fast enough. He wasn't so much worried about Deflati and the children. His wife was stronger than most people gave her credit for, if anyone could prevent hostage-taking, it was her. But he hoped there was time for Keta to get Tana and Fera out, for his sisters and his newly-widowed sister-in-law to get to safety.

Apart from Deva, who he was fairly sure would be fine, and Sola, who always landed on her feet.

Sola. He should--was there time to find Sola? To have her here with him when Andrell or the enemy commanders burst in? Sola would know what to do, what to say. This was the part she was good at.

But he hadn't spent the years since the accident learning how to not hide himself in dicing and drinking and dreaming to know that it was his word, his responsibility in the end. He was the one who had to save what was left of his city and his kingdom.

His. Gods.

A part of him still felt the old guilt, the old--he'd wasted so much of his life, so much time he could have spent preparing and why did he think the last few years had made enough of a difference? He wasn't ready. He wouldn't ever be ready.

What the hell was taking them so long?

He took a breath, another. Eased his grip on the arms of the throne. Because it didn't matter, really. Whether he was ready or not. He was here, so he had to fake it, and just hope that he didn't burn everything down trying to fix his too-damn-perfect older brother's mistakes. Hope that he could at least buy enough time for the people he loved.

Even if he didn't make it out, at least everything he'd done would be worth something in the end. His sisters, his children. As many of his people as he could.

The seconds ticked by, each one hitting him like a blow.

Then, after maybe an hour or maybe a day or maybe ten minutes, voices in the hall, shouting; hurried footsteps.

He took another breath, sending out a wordless prayer to gods he was pretty sure weren't listening, and straightened his spine.

Time to find out what King Mellir was really made of.