- The rain was soft as it thrummed against the window. Shiloh closed his eyes to the sound of the drum.
It was to no one’s surprise (or at least, not his) whenever he found himself sitting in a chair. The glossy lunar-white marble of Court shimmered underneath his shoes, and his head craned up to the top of the atrium. Overhead the moon was absent, nothing but a black circle for his audience. He heard the movement behind him.
“Beel.” His voice was tense and low. The fetch sulked out of the shadows, but he said nothing, not immediately. Instead he bowed his head, hands clasped in front of him like a church boy at the altar. Shiloh pursed his lips. “You brought me here; Why?”
“A question,” he said in quick response, “Perhaps a few.”
“And you expect me to answer them?” Shiloh raised a brow.
“Not necessarily, but it might give you food for thought.” Beel finally lifted his head, his black soulless sockets searching Shiloh’s face for any emotion, any clue, any key. Shiloh only shifted in his chair, otherwise silent, otherwise waiting for him to speak his piece. His first thought is that it’s more trite bullshit about becoming someone like Melany; Beel didn’t have to use his power to whisper nightmares into Shiloh’s ear. He was good enough with his own words.
Beel took the silence for invitation. “Would you ever take a tithe to court?”
“Absolutely not.” His response was immediate, effective. Shiloh hadn’t thought much on the concept, but that was because there hadn’t been much to be said. He would never subject someone to the same torment that he had. No, he wouldn’t be as cruel as Melany, he wouldn’t beat them for insubordination or work them like hounds, but even Aodelle—she hadn’t been cruel, and yet Hux still broke. It was strange. Shiloh would have murdered for her patronage; but that was also an after the fact thought. Being here, summoned to this world, unable to leave, unable to see his brother or Jamie or his friends… it does something to you.
“You answered quickly,” Beel purred “Why? What if it was their intention, their wish, their goal?” The fetch, so far, was being cordial at least.
“Because I wouldn’t let you wear another being’s face,” the moon was swollen overhead, “I wouldn’t let you ruin another person’s life. It isn’t whether they want it or not, it’s what you would do.”
“So it’s me, then?” Beel smiled, “You flatter me, Shiloh. But we could find another fetch, if I am truly the one holding you back.”
“It would still be the same. There’s still a fetch, and they’re still going to make it their goddamn goal to ruin what someone has.” He sat back, rubbing the space between his eyes, “I don’t care what they want. I’m not doing it.”
“But what if they have nothing to lose?” Beel only pressed further, careful, tentative, “I can recall your memories. You were there once. What could a fetch possibly ruin then?”
“Then what need for power does that leave someone with? Nothing noble. I wouldn’t give some pissed off kid this kind of power.” It’d only end badly if he did. Bitterness and resent were the most powerful emotions that Shiloh had ever experienced; had he the means to his ends at the time…
“But you could be there to understand them, guide them.” Beel mused, settling back against the walls of Court with an inquisitive hand at his chin. “It’s what nobles do. You mentor. You lead.”
Shiloh still didn’t understand that part. He hadn’t when Pax explained it and he wouldn’t now with Beel bringing it up, especially with how the fetch seemed so badly to want him to shift his mold, change his methods, become cruel and beautiful like the madam they both once served. “I wouldn’t.” Shiloh repeated, steadfast and firm in his decision. Beel considered this.
“Though what if they came to you, looking for power? Looking for answers?” there seemed to be something interesting about Beel’s fingertips, for he turned his attention to them. Perhaps it was a forcible habit. There were only gnarled nails and slightly too-long fingers. “You were there once too. You understand that permissible feeling of helplessness.” A pause, “Consider this. Had Madam not been the one to tithe you—had you found out about this position and not been involved as you were—taken against your will—would you hunger for it?”
The noble sighed, growing tired with the conversation, but Beel was being pleasant (as much as he could be, Shiloh supposed) so he rewarded the fetch with his patience and thought. Honestly, it was a good question; would Shiloh hunger for it? Would he yearn for it? Even knowing the dangers, would he go for it? He thought about Jamie, how he had been hurt that night, how he had been hurt that vague hazy night back at Blackfriar’s, and how Shiloh could do nothing about it. Yeah, it was a very frustrating feeling, that sense of incompetence. As he gave his undivided attention to the palm of his hand, he watched as a tiny sprout bloomed. All it would take was a whisper to bloom, and a murmur to strike, and even then it was a power he could take to the other side—his side.
On one hand, he wanted to say no, because he knew this sort of thing would have, hypothetically, hurt Jamie more in the long run. Having to explain that he’d been switched with a fetch and the inevitable damage it would have caused to their friendship; well, that had already happened, so it wasn’t that difficult to imagine. On the other—and he couldn’t remember much before his time in court, couldn’t well predict how he would have acted—but he felt like the answer from that Shiloh would be a resounding yes. He had once been someone with nothing to lose, bitter at the world and ready to make the choir sing.
Would Jamie do the same, he wondered, had he not spontaneously developed into a moonwalker? Would he have still sought that power out to help? Jamie was far different than Shiloh, but they were also almost one in the same. They both knew loneliness. They both knew that hungering absence of trust. Jamie seemed the type who was willing to throw everything away for that ability to protect; Shiloh knew that. Even if he seemed assuming or meek or weak, he was perhaps even stronger than Shiloh was. Jamie was the one who continued to get up time and time and time again, no matter how many times he was knocked down, and that resolve said something. Sure, Shiloh had survived this long, but that was just it—it had become solely about the survival and nothing else. Here he had forgot the very things he considered important to him. The very things that he claimed to give him his strength. Now, what did that say about him?
But his thoughts were rambling and Beel was still waiting on an answer. “I would have…” Shiloh finally agreed, arms crossing defensively. “…I think. Was I that kind of person?”
Beel seemed surprised by the remark; not the answer, no, because he predicted that. It was more the genuine question and the (dare he imply) trust in it. ‘You believe me to tell the truth?’ Beel mused silently to himself, ‘despite how I ruined your life?’
The fetch pondered this for a great while, rewarding the statement with actual thought and depth. “I think so.” He admitted after a long moment of silence, “If your memories are anything to go by. You would have sacrificed a great deal for power, for the… ability to protect.” His eyes—or rather the lack there of—glimmered in a reverse sort of way, like black holes that sucked all the light out of everything. “You would have done it for them—for Jamie, and for Oliver.”
“Oliver?” The familiar name rolled off of Shiloh’s tongue, confusion blooming across his expression.
“Your twin brother.”
The rain felt a little heavier then, as is pittered against the realm. Shiloh seemed to consider this admission a great deal, for the confusion turned to anger and finally reduced down to something between pain and disgust. “I wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t have forgotten if I had a brother.” There was convincing in that statement, and Beel recognized that it wasn’t for him.
For once, the fetch felt pity; but this is what being a tithe under Melany meant. Shiloh wasn’t the first, and he wouldn’t be the last—she took people and she broke them down and rebuilt them back up. She took their hearts and she gave them daggers and she fueled their fires with nothing but spite.
“But you did,” Beel said softly to the noble, glancing around as if his pseudo comforting was a crime, “You forgot the ones that hurt you the most. The ones that made your time here the more intolerable. The people that you missed terribly.” Beel didn’t know that for certain, but if Shiloh’s memories were anything to go by—if the fact that he had forgotten Jamie too of all people—
“The ones I knew wouldn’t come looking for me.” Shiloh said, his voice equally soft, though his was riddled with sorrow, “Who I knew wouldn’t come looking for me because I knew they were back in the real world with you.” He took a deep breath. “At first when I heard we had been replaced, I had just… convinced myself that, y’know, you’d be better than me. They always deserved someone better.”
“Ah yes, the self-loathing.” Beel looked pleased at Shiloh slowly remembering, feeling nostalgic in his vicarious memories. There was no venom in his voice, only pity, “That was such an integral part of your thought process. Almost a wonder how to managed to make it this far.”
“So you do still remember all my memories?” Shiloh questioned honestly, watching as Beel gave him a ginger nod of the head. He seemed satisfied with the answer.
But back to the question at hand, “The memories are still there, but they’re fading.” The fetch explained, “As they did with every other life I possessed. But that’s a topic for another night,” Beel smiled, “Tithes. So, under very specific circumstances, you would take one?”
“Very specific.” He admitted, though it made him sick to do so. “Very specific. I wouldn’t convince anyone to try and do this s**t. I wouldn’t offer it either,” He chewed on his lip, “But if someone came willingly to me, knowing what they could possibly lose, knowing the stakes… then, maybe. It still depends if they have potential or not.”
“A test of their resolve,” the corpse creature mused, “That’s basically what we’re for, the fetches. We bring out the worst in our hosts and force them to defeat it. A noble is not born; a noble is made.” The last part feels like he’s reciting something, and it makes him sigh, “But I am glad you’re open minded about this.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath. I still don’t plan on taking a tithe now or ever.” Shiloh warned, “Very specific circumstances.”
“Yes, yes. I know Shiloh.” He laughed at this, the sound hallow and raspy, “Just remember that it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. You do not have to be cruel if you are so averse to it; though I cannot recommend complete kindness. We all witnessed Aodelle.” The fetch tapped his chin, “Though, I cannot fathom why her tithe broke the way he did. Perhaps a cage was his worst nightmare. Still, he took the entire court thing much more poorly than you did—than any of them did.” he hummed in contemplation.
In a way, Shiloh agreed, because despite all of his loyalty and courage, there was a savage bitterness underneath. The other had been abused, used, tested; there was no doubt about that. But Thorne? Lady? Himself? They were all beaten, torn down, remade; well, perhaps Lady hadn't been, but Lady also played the game. She accepted her fate far before Shiloh had and far before Thorne had because the two of them had some stupid resolve and pride that made them think they could survive the collateral damage. Look at where that got them. He looked to the fetch.
"Do you praise her because you fear her?" he licked his lips, chapped, raw, no longer smooth like they were under Melany's watchful eye.
But Beel seemed somewhat taken aback by the statement. "I do not praise her—allow me to rephrase. I do praise her, but I do so out of respect." the humming ceased, the sound now eerie and silent in the back of his throat. "Fear is a healthy part of that, yes. She commands with grace. She takes what she needs. She has done what no other Noble has managed to do. She took this court and she built it back from the ground up. There is only one I respect more than her," the fetch seemed almost sullen to admit, "But I must confess that Madam Melany will always be my most favored patron."
"And who is the other?" Shiloh threw the comment out there.
"You call him The Enemy."
There was another moment of silence. Not even the rain made any sound.
"...You know, Beel."
"Hm?"
"Not every leader needs to be a tyrant." The rain picked up again, cascading over the dome of the atrium. Shiloh looked up at it, watching as the drops washed long black shadows along the glass windows. "You don't need to be feared to be respected." he was looking at his cuticles now, torn and shredded and bitten. Melany had worked that habit out of him too, once. "You can be kind, but strong."
The fetch was silent, as if this news was absolutely foreign to him.
"Not everything has to be total dogshit." Shiloh went on regardless if Beel was listening or not, "You can pour your blood and tears into something without suffering. If I ever tithe someone, you'd see." Shiloh made a little fist with his hands.
"Honestly? I hope I could see that day." The fetch responded, solemn, quiet.
Now Shiloh was the one taken aback, but he said nothing in response. Instead, he merely stood from the chair he sat in, legs popping at the knees as he worked all the kinks out of his body. All things considered, the talk with Beel hadn't been wholly unpleasant. Actually, it had been quite bearable. Tolerable. Something he didn't necessarily mind. "I'd like to talk again." it was an offer, not a command, "Actually, I might have a task you could help me with."
"Oh?" There was a note of intrigue in his voice.
But Shiloh only shook his head. "I have to think about it still." he popped his knuckles, "But I'll let you know. I want to ask about my memories too, before they grow too stale." as it was, Jamie was likely waiting for him in Ashdown, had he even noticed his absence at all. Shiloh didn't mean that in a bad way; they were relearning a healthy independence. There for each other, but giving space to one another too. "Take me home."
"I do prefer it when you command rather than ask." Beel drawled, but he still didn't look that bothered. Actually, he seemed rather calm, rather placated, rather content. "Until next time." He waved his hand, the air around them shimmering, and the surroundings melting back to the familiar sight of Jamie's guest room.
Actually, it was his room at this point, wasn't it?
word count: 2,622