[Complete]
A short story exploring the idea of the future of Terrasen with one small tweak; The New King is Dead.
All names and characters belong to Sarah J Maas
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When Elide woke up all her dirty dishes were gone and all the crumbs brushed to the floor. Manon pushed off the entrance way and strolled in like she owned the place.
"We're taking flight in ten minutes. Be ready."
Elide looked down at her hands helplessly. She wouldn't be able to do so on her own.
Manon sighed and wrapped Elides chest, washed her and dressed her. Manon's hands were cold as ice when her fingers scraped her skin and poured alcohol on her wounds. If possible they were even colder when Manon covered her mouth to muffle her pained scream. Naturally, Elide bit here.
"Fuck, ow!" Manon yanked her hand away even though it was obvious that it didn't hurt. "Fuck Elide that fucking hurt."
"I know." She had replied. "That was kind of the point."
Manon only glared at her. "Well fuck off and let me care for you."
After her wounds had been dressed in funeral black bandages, Manon bathed her being careful to not get the bandages wet. She scrubbed her back, arms and legs. Elide looked away, face a tomato, when Manon had to scrub between her legs and chest as well.
After listening to the 'don't bind your chest' speech when Manon spotted the slightly damaged tissue, she got dressed. Manon helping of course, first putting her into black undergarments.
"Why must my underwear be black as well?"
"You never know. Rowan was into some pretty weird stuff."
Elide rolled her eyes but obliged. Manon then put her in a beauteous evening gown. It consisted of a few different shades of black and an attached shawl.
When Elide looked in the mirror she realized her dress was a ravens. She rubbed the feathers between her thumb and forefinger.
"Is it real?" She asked, twirling her feathery dress in the mirror.
"We sent Abraxos and the others raven hunting. Imogen, Ghisaline and Linnea have been sewing them." Manon looked at her feet instead of her face or either reflection.
"Them?"
"All fourteen of us have the same dress. They are based off of the traditional funeral gowns of the Blackbeak coven. Only prettier and more uncomfortable. More for looks than war."
Elide grinned wide, or as wide as she could. "I bet they just love that."
Manon shrugged. "Rowan... He would have wanted us separate from the group but... he would kill us if we didn't come ready to fight so the material is strong but the dress can be shed at any moment. We will be wearing tight, flexible clothes underneath as a safety precaution."
"I didn't think you cared so much for Rowan?"
Manon spun around and stalked out the door leaving behind a rather confused Elide. "Asterin, she rides with you, lets go."
