Chapter Text
“Again.”
Roz pulled themself to their feet and swayed back and forth, before reeling their arm back, their fist colliding with their sister’s nose. A satisfying ‘crunch’ echoed throughout the tent, and a ‘crunch’ followed when Viola landed backwards onto her elbow. She gasped, but bit down on her knuckle so she wouldn’t scream.
“Vi!” Roz exclaimed. They went to rush over to her, but were pulled back by their father, who had a smirk towards Roz. “Father, she’s-!”
“Fine.” He spat. “She is fine. She will be fine. But you, you were excellent.”
A shudder ran down Roz’s spine as he smirked, as if they had just told a joke. They could feel the blood coating their hand, already starting to dry and darken from red to maroon. They could do nothing but stare as Viola’s whole body gave a lurch when she forced herself to sit up. “Vi..”
“Pathetic.” The man let go of Roz’s arm and stomped over to Viola, looming over her. His entire shadow engulfed her in darkness, and when she met his eyes, his mud covered boot collided with her jaw. Viola crumbled like a tissue, curling up on herself, but not letting out a single sound. No whimper, no cry, not even a prayer for mercy.
And Roz could do nothing but watch.
They wanted to run up to him, grab him by the arm and force him away from their sister. Their heart pounded in their ears as they spotted the pool of blood growing around the side of Viola’s head. Had she hit her head when she collapsed onto the ground? It hardly mattered- their father wouldn’t let them yield unless there was a risk of death- and even that was debatable.
“You! Are! Pathetic!” He roared.
Roz and Viola’s father was a large and burly man, with a farmer's tan and the freckles to match.
His arms could only be compared to the size of tree trunks, his fists adorned with copper rings. Despite living in the middle of the desert, he wore a black trench coat with a red bandanna wrapped around his arm- one he had been wearing since he was a young man from the obvious wear and tear. Under his coat was a simple brown tunic, brown slacks with tears around the knees and calves, and work boots that hadn’t been cleaned since he had first slipped them on.
A pair of silver spectacles hung around his neck, and his fiery red hair that had already begun to gray was thrown into a ponytail over his shoulder. Just like his children, he had pointed ears, but he had a knick in his left ear from a battle he recounted with much merriment whenever he’d had one too many glasses of the finest Rivendell wine that he had stolen and aged over the years. He had the starting of a beard, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get it to grow past the end of his chin.
If you had just passed him on the streets of any of the kingdoms, your first guess was that he might have been a pirate, which, compared to what he actually was, would’ve been a compliment. He was well put together, seemed to know someone wherever he went, and could charm the pants out of any man or woman he wanted.
Nobody would have ever guessed what Pierce Scarlett did to his own kin behind closed doors.
“You are NEVER going to uphold our legacy if you can’t beat your YOUNGER sibling in a fight!” He bellowed.
Viola said nothing, covering her head with her hands. She had rolled over onto her stomach, and was allowing her father to kick at her ribs, her back, and her spine. All she could do was suck in a wince at every steel toed jab, hiding her seething anger in the dirt. She didn’t dare spit out the clump of sand and soil that had gotten into her mouth, just letting it stew between her teeth. She couldn’t swallow, in case she swallowed blood, or another tooth.
“Father, please!” Roz exclaimed.
Pierce turned to them, a fire burning in his violet eyes.
“I-” Roz floundered for their words, before gulping, and holding their head up high. “I-I want to go another round.” They said, keeping their tone steady. “I want to prove myself again.”
Pierce lowered the foot he had raised slowly back onto the ground.
“You are just like your mother, Roz.” He said, giving them a rare smile. The smile he reserved only when referring to the woman who had managed to capture his heart, before leaving with it again.
At Roz’s request, he stepped away from Viola.
“Get up.” Pierce said. He would’ve pulled her up by the hair if not for Roz’s request. “I said GET UP!”
Viola dug her fingernails into the ground, scratching against the pebbles and possibly crushing an innocent pill bug. She pulled her knees up and lifted her head until she was sat up.
Roz tried not to gasp at her condition.
Viola would definitely have to go to the infirmary to see the healer. Her nose was bent in two separate places, blood coating the lower half of her face. Not to mention the red coating her hairline. When her eyes fluttered open, her steely gaze planted on Roz, which made them take a step back.
At Pierce’s narrowed eyes, they quickly made it look like they were simply getting into a proper fighting stance. It was easy to disguise a sigh of relief as a focused huff.
Some days Roz didn’t know if it was better or worse to have their fathers favor.
“Viola Esme Scarlett. I won’t ask again. Get. Up.”
Viola spat out a tooth. It smacked against a rock and ricocheted across the tent, landing at the opposite side, right in front of the entrance. She could’ve just spit it out right in front of her, but no.
She had to prove a point.
She could push past the pain, no matter how intense.
Viola rose to her feet, her arms limp at her sides. She dug her heels into the dirt, first looking up at the tent, able to feel the rain beating against the animal skin. Her eyes rolled until they landed on Roz, her teeth bared like a wild beast.
“Begin.”
“DIE!” Viola screamed at the top of her lungs as she lunged at Roz, ready to dig her nails into their throat.
Only for Roz to grab her by the wrist, and flip her onto the ground.
They immediately gasped and let go of her wrist when they heard her head smack against the heel of their shoe. They fall onto their back, before sitting up, hands hovering over her. “Vi!” They felt tears pool in their eyes, and looked up at their father, expecting to see his anger rise.
Instead he was smiling.
“Well done,” Pierce said, as if his eldest daughter wasn’t bleeding out on the ground, unconscious and missing her tooth. He had his hands stuffed into his pockets, and thumbed around until he pulled out a thick cigar. He didn’t light it, he just let it rest against his lips as he leaned against one of the wooden poles holding the tent up. “You’ve improved.”
“Father, she needs the healer! Please, she’ll die!”
“Not if she’s strong. If she’s weak, then she’ll die. No skin off my back.”
Any objections Roz had to their father’s treatment were swallowed when they heard the way he spoke about Viola. Cold as the icy mountain tops of Rivendell, and hard as the redstone imported from the Grimlands.
“You’ve done well. Your mother would be proud.”
If their mother was proud of this, then Roz was glad she was buried in the dirt. They were glad she didn’t have to witness her children being turned into soldiers, their own father having them battle it out day after day, until only one of them stood.
“You look so much like her, you know.” He said. He moved from the pole and was only inches away from them, Viola’s unconscious body being the only thing between them. He reached out, not bothered at all by how Roz flinched, and twirled the streak of gray between his fingers. “You have her hair, and her eyes.”
Roz pushed down the urge to pull away. To spit in his face, heave their sister over their shoulder, and carry them both away from this wretched place. If they stole one of the horses, they should reach the Mezaelean markets by sunrise.
Instead, they just smiled. One perfectly rehearsed, perfectly crafted.
“Thank you, father. I wish I could have gotten to know her.”
A half truth.
His normally cruel smile softened at his edges, and for once, Roz found a brief glimpse of humanity. “She would have adored you.” He said. “As I did her.”
So, their father was capable of love.
Roz never would have thought, if not for these brief windows into his soul. When they could the dying ember of a man long gone. Maybe in another life they could’ve been a proper family. If they had enough money, or were born in a different kingdom, on a different server. Maybe if their mother was still alive.
But no.
Aria Scarlett died when she gave birth to Roz, fourteen years ago.
The man their father had once been was buried beside his betrothed.
“Father…” Roz started, hoping to catch him in a good mood. “Please. Please let me take her to the infirmary.”
Pierce sighed, before standing up, and looking down at Roz, cradling their sister’s head in their arms. “Alright.” He said. “Only because you won. This shall be your reward. I would have gone with a cake but-”
“Thank you, father.” They said.
They were able to heave Viola up like a scarecrow, and put her arm over their shoulder. Roz barely even gave their father a glance before carrying her out of the tent, and into the rain and hale. They yelped, as pellets the size of marbles bounced against their skull, which was already throbbing from when they had hit the tent earlier.
“C’mon Vi.” Roz muttered under their breath. “It’s not far, just hang on.”
This wasn’t the first time Roz has had to carry their big sister, and it almost certainly wouldn’t be the last.
“You two are going to be the death of me!”
The camp's only healer, Terrence, was a scrawny 20 something year old with a mop of curly blonde hair and eyes darker than charcoal. He was rarely seen without his moon shaped spectacles and a book in hand, which caused frequent injuries for himself when he would bump into anything that crossed his path. Up his arm was a tattoo of the flag of the kingdom he hailed from- having come all the way from The Gilded Hilenthia in search of somewhere where his tendencies for medical malpractice would be better…appreciated.
He wiped his hands on his apron for the millionth time as Roz laid Viola down on top of the cot. With how often she was in the infirmary, and for being the leader’s daughter, she got the cot with the most pillows, and the one that was closest to the window.
“Alright, let’s see the damage this time.” He said, pulling up a stool to sit down at her bedside. He took the stethoscope from around his neck, lifted her arm, and pressed the cool metal to her wrist, listening for her pulse.
Roz briefly wondered why he didn’t press it to her heart, but thought now wasn’t the time to ask questions like that.
“Is she going to be okay?” Roz asked, sitting on a cot across from Viola. This one wasn’t as nice, and was a bunk, but Roz liked climbing up high. Their legs dangled back and forth, their right sandal nearly slipping off their foot.
“As okay as she has been every time she’s been brought in.” He continued to examine her, before standing up and going over to his medicine cabinet. He unlocked the tin cabinet with a janky metal key, the rust from the hinges making the door open with a rickety creeeeak.
Inside the cabinet were rows and rows of potion bottles, each with their own color, consistency, and level of fizz. Terrance plucked one off the top shelf before reading the label, scrunching up his nose, and then putting it back.
“No, not that one.” He muttered, shaking his head. He squinted at the label. “Is this-? I can’t see a thing. Where are my glasses?”
“Around your neck!” Roz chirped.
Terrance looked down, and his face lit up, seeing his spectacles were indeed around his neck on a red string chain. “So it is!” He exclaimed in delight, propping his glasses up onto his face. “Thank you Roz, I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached to my neck!”
Roz giggled at that.
“Honestly, your father would've gotten rid of me sooner if I wasn’t such an asset.” He tuts, and shakes his head. “Not to mention your mother personally employed me.”
That made Roz perk up.
“Really?” They asked.
“Oh yes!” His eyes scanned across the cabinet, now able to more thoroughly read the labels thanks to his glasses. “Ms. Scarlett brought me into the camp! I thought your father was going to shoot me on sight when he saw me, but she told him of my skills.”
Roz leaned over the wooden railing of the bunk, hanging onto every word.
“It was the strangest thing- not in a rude way of course, but just fascinating. Your mother had this magnetic pull on him, I’ve never seen anything like it before. He might be the leader, but Ms. Scarlett was the one really in charge! If the boss was upset, all she had to do was look at him and he’d calm down. It was incredible.”
“Woah. I didn’t know my father was like that.”
Terrance’s face fell immediately.
“Her death changed everything.” He said. But then he noticed Roz’s expression cloud, and he tried to back pedal. “But-But that’s no fault of yours, Roz! She wasn’t in the best health to begin with.”
Roz didn’t say anything, just giving a nod.
Terrance gulped, and tried to put on a smile. He plucked a fizzing blue potion, giving it a swirl before plucking a roll of gauze from the top of his desk, and moving over to sit beside Viola. He uncorked the potion with a ‘pop’ as if it were a bottle of celebratory champagne, and began to pour it onto the bandages.
“Aren’t you supposed to drink potions?”
“Normally, yes, but with external wounds like this, it’s best to let it seep in through the skin.” He said, wrapping up Viola’s arm, which had a dark purple bruise shaped like a boot.
Roz had noticed something about Terrance. With how many times the two of them had been brought into the infirmary, he never asked the cause of his injuries. He never questioned them, or their father. He just did his job with sadness behind his eyes.
Most people in the camp were like that.
If Roz snuck extra helpings for Viola from the bonfire, nobody batted an eye, or questioned why they needed the extra chicken bones or tin cup of coffee. If Viola started walking with a limp, nobody pointed it out, but Roz did notice lingering stares that they couldn’t quite pinpoint- was it pity? Remorse? Anger? It was hard to tell with their people, but Roz only knew that Viola detested it.
“Who do you think you’re looking at!?” She’d snap, trying to make her voice as loud as her father’s, except hers would crack, making her flush as red as her hair. “I will not be disrespected!”
That was the difference between the two of them.
Viola tried to do whatever she could to earn Pierce’s attention, but the more like him she was, the more he pulled away.
Roz tried to distance themself from Pierce, to the point of giving up old hobbies the two had shared together. Archery, hunting, whittling. But the more they pulled away, the more attention he gave them, with the same old line of, ‘you’re becoming more like your mother every day.’
It made their skin crawl.
“Alright.” Terrance said, breaking them from their thoughts, as if he could sense the storm cloud brewing above their head. “I’ll keep her overnight. Why don’t you go get some shut eye? Big day tomorrow!”
Oh yeah.
Roz forgot.
Tomorrow, the king of Rivendell would be coming to bargain for citizens their father had been keeping hostage. Pierce would demand a hefty sum of riches, before he and his guards would jump the king, robbing him of his crown, his territory and his title.
And he wanted Roz to be there by his side when King Scott was defeated.
“Can I check your temperature real quick?” Terrance asked. “You’re looking a little pale.”
Roz nodded , climbing down from the top bunk. They sat down on the bottom, and stuck their tongue out to hold the thermometer in. They wrapped their tongue around the glass, hoping to warm it up, and then they wouldn’t have to attend.
When Terrance plucked it from their mouth. At first he made a ‘tut’ sound, and his eyes quickly darted to the side- as they often did when he lied. “Hm.” He said. “It seems that you’re a degree below a fever.”
“A fever?”
“Yes. I’d rather you be safe than sorry, so I’ll go tell the boss and tell him you’ll be sleeping here with your sister for the night. If it gets any higher, I’ll tell him at once, and he’ll have to find someone else to be by his side.”
As Terrance walked off, Roz swore they saw him wink at them.
It must have been their imagination.
But hey, they could hope for someone in their corner.
“Do you need anything before I pop out?” He asked, stuffing his hand into his apron pocket, like he was digging around for something.
“Oh, um, I’m good. Thanks Terrance.”
“Of course.” From the pocket of his coat, he pulled out a lollipop wrapped in plastic. He smiled, handing it to them. “It’s strawberry, hope that’s alright.”
Roz cracked a smile. “That’s perfect.”
The rain continued throughout the whole night.
When Terrance came back, he told Roz to get some rest, because their father was quite worried if they had gotten a fever so suddenly. So for the past few hours they had been laying with their arms folded behind their head, listening to the pitter patter of rain drops.
Their eyes traced over every seam of the tent, able to see where deer fur was connected to creeper fur, and where the creeper fur was hurriedly attached to leather. Not many at the camp knew how to sew, seeing hunting as a much more important skill, but those that did take the time to learn, or already knew, had the highest of respects. Clothes often got torn in battle, so knowing how to mend or create new clothes was vital.
Roz reached up, their fingers just barely reaching the seams. If they could just lean a little closer-
Creeeeak.
Their hand fell to their side and they turned their head, eyes widening.
“Vi!” They whisper- yell, sitting up. “You’re awake!”
Viola didn’t say anything. She just sat up with her back to the wall, brows knit and a scowl across her face. She ran a finger across her bandages, before swinging her legs over the bed to stand up.
“What’re you-”
“Shut UP.” Viola snapped, not even bothering to look at Roz. She gripped the edge of the cot with her hands, feet digging into the ground. Since this tent was for medicine, the floor wasn’t dirt, or a tarp, but instead solid stone that was polished and disinfected regularly. There was the odd blood stain here or there, but it had been there for so long, that no matter how hard anyone scrubbed, it stayed the same rusted, coppery red.
Roz flinched back. “I was just worried about you.”
“Yeah, you seemed real worried about me when you were beating me into the dirt.” Viola stood up with a wince, groaning when she stumbled back onto the cot, her head spinning as if she had just stepped off the tilt-a-whirl. “Just- Just shut up.”
“Let me help you-”
“No! You’ve done ENOUGH!”
Viola attempted to stand up again, her chest heaving with every struggling breath. Her ribs had been wrapped in the same bandages as her arms, the side of her head, and her stomach. A thick bandage was plastered across her nose, making her voice thick and wheezy. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d have to get a bone popped back in from the continuous defeats, and if this kept up, it wouldn’t be the last time either.
“I’m-” She struggled to gain her footing, gripping the metal frame of the cot. “I’M going to be by the boss’s side tomorrow. Not you. ME.”
The Boss. That’s what everyone else in camp called him.
Including his own daughter.
“You’re too hurt!”
“Fuck off!” Viola staggered towards the tent exit, a limp keeping her from sprinting out into the heavy rain and hail. She was already beginning to sweat, and started to pull off the bandages, leaving them in bandages on the ground.
Roz started to climb down the ladder. “Viola, stop!” They exclaimed, grabbing her wrist and attempting to pull her back. “You’re going to-!”
SMACK.
Roz felt the stinging hot pins and needles against their cheek as soon as Viola’s palm made contact with their face. The ring on her middle finger snagged at their skin, making a trickle of blood pinprick just below their eye. They stared, wide eyed, searching for some hint of remorse in Viola’s eyes.
There was silence between the two of them. Nothing was said, the distant rumble of thunder doing more than words ever could.
Viola turned on her heel, and left without a word.
Roz was left standing stunned, with a hand on their cheek.
A million and one thoughts ran through their head when they slowly sat down on the cot Viola had just left. The sheets were damp with the condensation from the potion, making the air smell like cough medicine and citrus. They pressed their thumb against the opposite cheek to stop the bleeding, but they could still smell it. It made them woozier than they already were, and yet they made no effort to lie down or get themself comfortable.
All Roz could think about was how Viola was going to get herself killed.
In fact, the entire camp was most likely at risk.
Roz had been against this idea from the very day that their father proposed it. King Scott was known to wield magic, and they only had two wizards in their ranks. The King was bound to bring an entourage; they had no chance against the elves of Rivendell, even if it was just the one. They had all heard the rumors of the young king, who was able to control the ice and snow that coated his kingdom.
Attacking an Emperor was just asking for trouble. Especially an Emperor with such powerful connections!
“Everyone knows King Scott is allied with The Codfather, The Ocean Queen, and The Copper King!” Roz had exclaimed at the meeting, having leapt to their feet from the pillow they were sitting on- having been beside Pierce and his general around a wooden kotatsu in his tent, surrounded by maps and metal figurines. A dagger pierced where Rivendell was inked out on the map. “We’re asking for a war! We’ll be obliterated!”
One of the generals- an older man with a scar shaped like an ‘X’ across his nose- snickered. “You don’t believe your father can take them?” He jeered, making their face turn red. Roz typically wasn’t one to speak out of turn!
They cleared their throat, looking at their father, and they expected judgment.
But he gestured out to them, wordlessly saying, ‘the floor is yours’.
With a deep breath, Roz continued.
“King Scott- we’ve all heard the rumors! He could wipe our camp off the map! He could kill us all in one go! We- We have to be-” Their hands were shaking, and they could feel themself being laughed at. Of course they were, they were just a kid, even if they were the kid of their leader.
Pierce gave them a sympathetic look, the same one any regular parent would give to a child trying to explain why they had to check under the bed for monsters. “Roz, you know better than to listen to rumors. Have some faith in your old man, alright?”
The generals around him had all laughed. They weren’t mocking like the first, but it still made Roz feel like they were being talked down to. Their cheeks burned red, and they sat back down, tucking their legs under them till they were criss-crossed.
That was weeks ago.
Now it was the night before, and Roz had forgotten between the monotony of their day-to-day chores, and their sister’s constant beatings. It had completely slipped their mind, and now everyone in camp was going to pay the price of Pierce’s hubris.
Roz had to do something.
Another rumble of thunder shook the ground as soon as they stood up, a flash of lightning illuminating the otherwise dim tent.
They picked up the golden candlestick from Terrance’s desk, wax already dripping onto the copper plate. They winced, feeling a droplet drip onto the pad of their thumb- the same one that had been holding the cut on their cheek. The white wax stained pink from the blood.
Roz held the candle up to look around for an umbrella, or at the very least a jacket. They spotted an over-sized army green coat that had been hanging on the edge of one of the shabbier cots, and pulled it on, pulling the hood up to cover their face. It swamped them, dropping down to their knobby ankles and had to be rolled around their wrists four times before Roz could see the tips of their fingers.
They slipped their shoes back on from where they were left at the entrance.
And then they were off.
As predicted, the candle went out as soon as it left the warmth and shelter of the infirmary tent, the flame quelled by the heavy onslaught of storm. Roz didn’t know what god had taken temperament that night, but it was doing no good for their cause. They muttered a curse, and then yelped when the rumbling thunder turned into a mighty roar.
“Sorry, sorry!” Roz exclaimed, nobody able to hear them over the winds.
Each step caused them to sink into the sand, the feeling of wet grains between their toes causing them to gag. Why did they have to wear sandals? They reached down and slipped them off of their feet, stuffing them into the pockets of the massive jacket. They jingled with the sound of loose gold coins, wadded up tissues, and pieces of candies that had gone from hard to tooth-breaking.
They sprinted across the sand, barely able to see through all the rain. Bits of hail thumped against their head, bouncing off of the nylon hood and back onto the ground, Roz having to jump around and be careful of slipping. A flash of lightning very briefly lit up their path, and they sighed in relief seeing they were close to their father’s tent.
The tent at the very back of the camp, up against the large cliff side, looked like a cabin to some, so the words ‘tent’ and ‘cabin’ became interchangeable. It had the wooden foundation of a cabin, but instead of doors there were flaps of felt, a beaded curtain being the only thing between their father and any intruders. Of course he always had four guards posted around nightly and daily, just to be on the safe side. Most in the camp would lay down their lives before letting anything happen to the boss, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
So that’s why it was so strange for Roz to not find any guards as they approached from the front.
Roz didn’t know if the roaring in their ears was the rumbling thunder around them, or the pounding of their own erratic heartbeat. All color had drained from their face, and they were sure that with their hair sticking to the sides of their cheeks, and the wind nipping at their skin, that they looked like a ghost, pale as death. If they weren’t sick before, they were certainly going to be sick later. Oh well, at least Terrance was good company.
The stair creaked under Roz’s weight and they winced, looking around to make sure no one had heard. The intense onslaught of wind, rain, and hail must’ve sent the guards back to their tents- at least that’s what Roz was rationalizing. That, or having guards around the hostages was more important for just this one, singular night.
Another creak.
Then another.
And then they were at the front of the tent.
There was no way of knocking, since their father rarely expected guests he wasn’t anticipating. Why have a doorbell or a knocker when the only surprise visitors you have were either shot on sight or tied up for questioning? It made sense most of the time, but it would’ve made Roz’s life a whole lot easier if there was just something- as a precaution.
But no, of course not.
Roz was left to take the plunge.
They opened the tent flap.
And they wished they hadn’t.
The first thing they smelled was blood.
There was so much blood it was overwhelming.
They covered their nose and mouth with their hands, eyes widening at the scene in front of them, and they were only able to see it because of the lanterns in every corner of the tent, hung on rusted old hooks from when their father’s father had been leader.
Their eyes flitted around the room to find the source of the blood, and finally saw a small pool at the side of their father’s bed. With no one else in the tent, Roz felt safe enough to rush inside.
“Father?” Their voice cracked, and with a yelp, they stumbled back, falling onto the floor. They heaved like they were going to vomit, only for nothing to come up.
No. This couldn’t be right.
Roz slowly pulled themselves back to their feet, and after squeezing their eyes shut, opened them again, hoping it was some strange nightmare. A trick of the light. An illusion. Anything.
Pierce Scarlett laid in his own bed, with three bullets lodged into his skull. His eyes were still open and bloodshot, his mouth wide in a silent scream.
“Oh-Oh my gods.” Roz gasped. They covered their mouth, watching the stream of blood trickle from the center of his forehead, down his temple, and onto the floor in a steady stream. It seeped through the blankets and the sheets, permanently staining the white cotton with crimson red.
Their head swam with fear, and their own nausea overtook any sense they might’ve had to close his eyes and mumble a prayer to Lady Death. Instead they remained rooted to the ground, their hands covering their mouth so they wouldn’t add bile to the already bloody scene.
Roz slowly reached out with a trembling hand. They closed their father’s eyes, and pushed his jaw shut. If not for the bullet holes, he would’ve looked quite peaceful. He could have just been sleeping, and any moment he was going to wake up and instruct Roz to get him a glass of brandy with a cinnamon stick.
As much as Roz feared their father - hell, sometimes they even loathed him- he was still the man who raised him when Roz had no mother. He was the one who taught them how to read and to write, the one who got them the best math tutor in the camp, the one who insisted they learn to hunt.
“Even though as long as you’re in my camp you’ll never have to fend for yourself-” He had said as he wrapped the feet of a shot goose. “- it’s still an important skill.”
It was one of those rare moments that Roz had seen their father act like a person, as opposed to a leader. When he snapped the head off the goose to show them how to roast it properly over an open fire, it had been just the two of them, their only company being the suns and the lizards that skittered across the sandy desert floor.
Roz had only been a child when he showed them the skills they’d need for the rest of their life, and they knew damn well he didn’t apply the same courtesy to his eldest daughter. She had to learn to hunt on her own, the only thing Pierce provided being the gun, but he held Roz’s hands when they trembled over their mother’s old hunting pistol, and gently guided their pointer finger towards the trigger.
When Roz was six years old; that had been the first time they’d actually watched something die. Before that they had assumed all food could be grown- including the roasted ham and smoked salmon they so adored. But when they watched a flying goose fall to the ground like a brick, from a bullet they had shot?
Well, at first they were satisfied. It didn’t register to them at first they had just killed something, and Pierce made it all seem like a game. He had ruffled his hair, and then they got right to preparing it.
“Why do we have to hunt?” Roz asked, digging into the cooked goose meat with their bare hands, now covered in grease.
“Because it’s natural.” He said, sitting against a large boulder, picking the skin off from around the bone. He was able to pull off a perfect drumstick without any sort of carving knife or even fork. “We hunt the geese, geese hunt the fish, fish hunt the algae. It’s just how the world works, Rozalie.”
This was before Roz had decided to shorten their name. Just Roz was fine for them, but they had no way of knowing that yet. This was even before Roz began to pull away from him, much preferring the solace and silence of their tent than the crude words their father deemed them old enough to be allowed to hear.
“Does anything hunt us?”
Pierce had paused for a moment, cocking his head to the side.
Then he smirked.
“They can fucking try.”
Roz guessed somebody took his proposal seriously.
Roz had no clue how long they had been standing there, but it was long enough that the stench of blood settled into the background. The storm outside showed no sign of letting up, seeming to only get worse as Roz watched the body in front of them grow cold.
It wasn’t until they heard creaking footsteps outside that they had to move.
Their head whipped back and forth looking for a hiding place, but without walls to hide behind or closets to duck in, Roz found themselves floundering. It wasn’t until the tent flap was just about to open that Roz ducked under the bed, rolling onto their stomach and covering their mouth with their hands to settle their breathing.
“Apologies for the wait, boss. It’s hard to find a good-”
The voice stopped quite suddenly.
“Huh…now who found you before I could finish the job?” She walked closer to the bed, and Roz nearly shrieked.
They knew that voice.
They knew those boots coated in a layer of grime so thick it was like ice cream.
“Doesn’t matter.” Viola said with a shrug. “Soon you’ll be dead in the ground, and I’ll be running the show.” She hummed as she began to peruse her father’s tent, going through drawers and cabinets, searching for something. “Now where is it?”
Roz wished they could be surprised.
They desperately wished this could be the biggest betrayal. That they could have never possibly seen this coming. It would have been so much easier than accepting that this wasn’t a matter of if, but of when.
When would Viola snap? When would Viola finally decide enough was enough?
When would the kicked dog finally bite?
“There we go!” Viola’s giddy voice cut through the fog of thoughts that settled around Roz like a dark cloud. She sounded like she had just found a present at Hearth’s Warming. Roz couldn’t exactly tell what was going on from under the bed, so pressed into the corner that their back was under against the wooden beams holding up the tent.
A boom of thunder shook the foundation, and Roz had to bite down on their hand to prevent themself from yelping.
Viola was unbothered, and sat down at the floor table in the center of the tent. “Thank you, boss, for not using your enderchest.” Even in death, Viola didn’t call the corpse lying in bed ‘father’. Even in death he still had hold on her. “This will make this so much easier.”
Roz scooted just a little closer to the edge of the bed, trying to peak out of their hood at what Viola had found. She had already killed him, what more was there to do next?
They watched as she popped the wax seal off of a scroll of paper, holding it up to the candle that sat beside a bottle of ink. She slowly lowered the parchment onto the flickering flame, and watched in giddy, childish glee as it erupted into flame. She dropped it and then stomped it out until it was nothing but a pile of ash beneath their boots.
“Now for the fun part.” She cracked her knuckles, pulling out an identical scroll from her inventory. It landed on the table, Viola sitting criss cross in front of it.
She plucked the quill from the pot of ink, flicking the excess onto the polar bear skin rug. When she was satisfied with that, she leaned over the table, and began to scratch looped cursive onto the scroll.
“The last…will…and testament…of Pierce Scarlett…”
Roz had to get the fuck out of there. That was the only thought on their mind as they listened to Viola mutter to herself while forging their father’s handwriting- down to the shorthand he used when spelling his own name. Roz had to lay there with their head hidden under their hands like a dog, peaking out every so often to make sure Viola hadn’t caught sight of them.
She was too caught up in her own delusions of grandeur raveling into reality to notice the squirming presence in the corner of the room. She was practically giggling, and was actually smiling. Two things Roz hadn’t seen her do since they were children. They couldn’t remember the last time they had seen her this happy, but why did it have to come at their father’s expense?
Viola had always had a knack for the more mischievous talents. While Roz spent their days learning to hunt, to forage, to get into scraps be it with fists or sword- Viola was picking the locks to the icebox with bobby pins, snatching every document of her father’s to perfectly mimic his shorthand, and hoarding spare bits of gold like a dragon. It was the only parts of her life that made living it that little bit easier.
All Roz could do was watch as Viola changed the will of their father to that of her own. With just a few quill strokes, she had undone what Pierce had spent his life building up to. His legacy crumbled away into the sand, and its ashes were buried under what would be the reign of Viola’s empire.
At least that was what Roz could gather from her deranged mumblings. They didn’t know whether they should be grateful or not that Viola had a horrible habit of self narration. She had no one else in the camp to talk to, so she found the next best thing to actual company- herself. Roz had always thought of it as just white noise to lull them to sleep in the wee hours of the night, but now it just made their stomach churn as she tripped over her own words, tapping the feathered quill against her lip.
Viola’s hair hung in front of her face, and she didn’t bother tucking it back behind her ears. Unlike Roz, whose hair always got the neatest of trims, nobody was allowed to cut Viola’s hair but, well, Viola. So it was always pulled up into a high ponytail, bangs framing her face. She lacked the gray streak that connected her to her mother, that trait going to Roz instead. Another reason for Viola’s bitterness towards her sibling to burn and fester.
She chewed on the end of the quill as she held the scroll up to the lantern light, her eyes scanning over the words she had managed to scrawl out. Her hands were still shaking from the adrenaline, fingertips stained with the polish they used to clean off their weapons every other night. Fingerprints stained the paper at the edges, but unless you held it up to the light, they were completely unnoticeable from the rest of the yellowing of the paper. Viola had even made sure the paper was the exact same- looking like it had been sitting in a chest and aging for a dozen years.
The scroll was sat back down on the table, Viola using the ends of books and the ink pot to keep it lying flat. While the ink was drying, she stood up to putter around the cabin and look for the wax seal Pierce used for important documents such as this.
This is my chance, Roz thought to themselves, still tucked under the bed. Their arms dug into their chest and their legs were pressed together as if they were doing a plank against the floor.
While Viola’s back was turned, Roz could make a break for it. If their hood stayed on their head, then Viola would be none the wiser that it was Roz who had witnessed her forgery. If Roz could get to Pierce’s generals, his advisors, even back to the medical tent and get Terrance, Viola wouldn’t be able to get away with this.
But then their stomach turned.
Viola had been so willing to go so far as to kill her own father.
What would she do to anyone else who got in her way?
As long as Roz has known their sister, they have never known her to be merciful, a trait surely passed down from Pierce. Even as children she would pull the wings off of butterflies, only stopping when Roz would go crying to another adult. She would shove, push, kick, and bite, until she was pushed and kicked herself. For how hard Pierce had tried, the fight was never beaten out of her.
But this was the first time Roz had ever thought of their sister as merciless.
The word that often came to Roz’s mind when they were confronted with the fact that they were so different from their sister, that they were treated so differently, was ‘misunderstood’. Roz tried to extend an olive branch time and time again- to understand Viola. But each time it blew up in her face. Each time they were rejected out of hand, and Viola would continue on the war path that she had carved out for herself.
Roz’s train of thought was going to be the death of them.
It was now or never.
Viola’s back was still turned, looking through cabinets to find where Pierce kept his art supplies. She grumbled under her breath and blew her bangs away from her face. “Stupid old man, can’t organize for shit.” She grumbled. “Let’s see- maybe I’ll move this over in the corner? Why’s it here anyway- stupid place to put a filing cabinet.”
Creak.
Viola froze, gripping the handle of the drawer with one hand, and the other still shoved into the drawer. Her eyes blew wide, and she strained her ears to listen without turning around. If it was just the tent settling against the rain, then she didn’t want to jump the-
Creak.
She whipped right along, and came face to face with a hooded figure.
Without thinking first, Viola opened up her inventory and pulled the same pistol she had used to shoot her father to shoot the intruder. Three shots missed, each piercing through the beams holding up the foundation. The figure yelped and ducked before running out of the tent.
Viola was about to pursue on foot.
But then she paused.
She slowly turned the gun on herself, screwing her eyes shut tight. The barrel pressed right up against her knee. Her finger hovered over the trigger. She didn’t know what she was waiting for, she wasn’t going to hit anything vital.
“Don’t pussy out now, Scarlett.”
BANG.
Viola’s scream echoed throughout the camp. She kicked the gun under the bed and hobbled up onto her feet, leaning against the tent flap.
“MURDERER!” She shouted, letting the crocodile tears flow freely down her cheeks. “MURDERER!”
Roz gasped as she heard Viola shout into the night. They turned just in time to see Viola’s twisted grin turn to feigned despair, and their stomach sank as they heard a gunshot being aimed towards their head. Even through the rain and hail, they recognized the confused shouts of the people she had grown up alongside.
“SOMEONE’S MURDERED MY FATHER! GET THEM!”
Their heart raced against their ears and they stumbled backwards into the red sand, elbows sinking into the muck. The hood that had been covering their face pushed away, and they were thankful for the storm.
Viola couldn’t make out their face.
Roz quickly pulled their hood back up around their head, scrambling to get back onto their feet. They didn’t even think about what they were leaving behind- they just ran.
They just ran.