Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ivan's frown.
He knew that look--had taught him that look.

Battlefield triage. It was of the utmost importance that his Corporalki could command triage decisions, which meant knowing how to make the call. When a fallen soldier's injuries were too grievous to save, or too costly in terms of other lives that could be saved instead. How to tell when it was time to move on to the next.

Only, there was no next.
Not here, in the deep snowdrifts far into enemy territory.
There was only her.

Ivan's eyes flickered up to meet his. The man nearly flinched at the realization that his expression had betrayed his thoughts, his assessment of her condition. Ivan's expression tightened before smoothing out to its usual stern but unreadable façade. The one becoming of the right-hand man to the Black General.

Ivan's fingers continuing to work, outstretched above her form, where they'd laid her atop the other Heartrender's kefta.

"I'll get her, moi soverenyi," he vowed, his eyes trained on the Sun Summoner. 

She looked... lifeless.

He followed Ivan's gaze, to her chest, to where her heart still wasn't beating, beneath what should have been a kefta.

He watched as Ivan grimaced in concentration, brows furrowing as he forced more of his Small Science through her bloodstream.

Trying to restart her heart.

"I'll get her."

He was too late.
They'd arrived a moment too late.

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Weeks of searching, closing in on her trail.

The fewest he'd travelled with in years--Ivan, Zoya, Kostyk, an Inferni, a second Heartrender, and three oprichniki.

Nine in total.

Three oprichniki was half his minimum private guard, Ivan had reminded him, none too pleased with the change in procedure.

But they needed to be fast and light on their feet.

They couldn't afford not to be, he'd told Ivan, not when they were trying to make up ground.

And, although he had had a sinking feeling he knew where she was headed, what she'd intended to do next... he hadn't been entirely sure where precisely to plot their coordinates.

Thankfully, it hadn't taken long at all to acquire the right lead, the right bit of information. To close in within the mile that Kostyk needed to track that ring's signature, to lead them to Alina.

He had done well, in choosing unique metals for all of the jewelry offered to her during her time at the Little Palace. Metals with unique, 'loud' signatures.

Well done, David. Well done, indeed.

Chapter Text

Thick-barked trees and foot-deep snowdrifts.
Finally, they'd crested the hill that Kostyk had led them towards.

Directing his Inferni melting the path ahead, it had still been bitter cold to traverse, but it had allowed them to close in quickly. But, when Kostyk indicated they'd reached the last quarter-mile, he gave the order to approach with all due stealth.

Surveying the snow-capped forest just beyond the hill looked, considering options for their approach. Perhaps that small clearing where--

And then, a dome of blinding, shimmering sunlight. His Grisha all froze for a moment, rooted in place like one of the frozen trees, in awe.

And then, the sound of gunfire.

The light had winked out.

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A shot. Again, and then one after another, after another again. The uniquely recognizable sound of the Fjerdan repeatable rifle.

He'd already begun sprinting towards where her light had been, to where now a plume of gunpowder was rising above the tree line.

As he ran to her, the sound of gunfire continued. Or perhaps it was the thundering of his heart in his ears. Everything whizzed by in a blur of white.

He sprinted ahead, long legs carrying him faster than his Inferni could blaze ahead.

A quick flash of light, and then another. Different than the warm buttery light from the dome a moment ago, these felt searing, desperate.

He stumbled in the snow.
He righted himself, just in time to hear the stag bleating and taste the gunpowder in the air, along with a bitter metallic taste he knew all too well.

He arrived at a bloodbath.

The unmistakable smell of burnt flesh.

The Stag, fallen on its side, kicking and mewling as its blood continued to seep out onto the snow.
Its antlers were covered in blood. And what looked like a length of intestine.

Three Druskelle, dead.
Rifles and axes lay abandoned on the ground.

Two with gaping holes in their chests, straight to the sight of the snow floor, right where heart and spine should be.
Palm-sized holes, instantly cauterized.

Assuredly Alina's doing--Hope bloomed in his chest.

The third, a few feet away, gored to death by the Stag.

But Alina--
He spun around desperately.
No sign of Alina.

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He scanned the treeline.
Nothing.
No movement.

Closed his eyes, tried to block out the Stag's screams, the heat at his back from his Inferni catching up to them.

Sent his shadows out into the trees in all directions.
Tried to listen for the sound of... anything.
Anything that sounded like Alina.

Or another Druskelle.

If she'd been carried off--

He clenched and swallowed tightly as he failed to block the weight of knowledge of every vile act he'd borne witness to. Images flashing behind his eyes of every time he'd found one of his Grisha--
bloody and battered
in the woods

skirts rucked up--

No no no no--

He felt his hands lock, his forearms shake.
Now was not the time to loose control.

A sputering groan from his feet snapped him from his thoughts. "Vron...che."

His eyes flew open, scanning the three dead Druskelle.
Locked on the one with the missing length of intestine.
Barely breathing.
Still alive.

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"Ru… Ho-vig," Druskelle tried to speak, his croaks unintelligible, as he tried to swallow, as he coughed up even more blood instead.

Aleksander raised his hand, beckoned his two Heartrenders forth.
He'd have one stem the bleeding while the other interrogated. There was always some part of the body they could target without bleeding the subject out.

He opened his mouth to give the order.
A tug in his chest.
A twist. A wrench.
He other hand flew to his chest.

"General?!" Ivan hastened to his side.

He waved his Second off. Motioned for silence.

He closed his eyes.
No time to question it.
He knew it was her.

The hand on his chest, he pressed as hard as he could against his fast beating heart, trying to feel–
to chase the thread–
to tug back–

He knew it was her.
It had to be.

Please, Alina. Pleeease.

…

...

...

A-leks–

Alina, where--

And then, the pull–the tug–the connection–
It was gone.

Chapter Text

Out of everyone, it was Zoya's voice that cut through the panic.
"General?"

He'd all but forgotten about Nazyalensky.

He blinked back to awareness. The familiar dark brown eyes staring back at him.

He tried to shake himself to his senses.
Needed to act fast.
Command.

"Find her," he managed to grit out.
He tore his eyes from Zoya's to find Ivan's.
"Now."

Thankfully, the rest of his Grisha hadn't halted their efforts.

His oprichniki defending their perimeter, allowing the others to focus on their tasks.

In red, the second Heartrender stood atop the disemboweled Druskelle, hands working to restarting his heart once more–

He blinked back to Ivan.
Standing there, beside Zoya.
Not heartrending.
Not searching for a pulse.

Why had he stopped?!

Incredulity, denial, roiled in the pit of his stomach.
Rage flooded his veins.

Before he thought better of it, he stepped forward.
Close enough to strangle him.
Heard himself hiss, "Why aren't you searching?!"
Felt his vision narrow, darkening at the corners.
Ivan twitched.

Before Ivan could reply–a cry from Kostyk.

He'd located the ring.

Korigan lowered his hands--when had he raised them?--and focused on where Kostyk stood, in the middle of their position, facing him, some distance behind Ivan.

Watched as Kostyk grabbed at the blue kefta beside him, the tall Inferni who had been melting snow in a different direction. Kostyk all but spun the Inferni around, seeking to orient him in the direction of–
Behind where he stood.
He turned over his shoulder.

Nothing but more snow, more blood-drenched snow.
And, beyond that, a snow bank.

He whipped back around to Ivan, demanding an answer.
Jaw clenched, his Second shook his head, rigidly. No heartbeat.

"Inferni!" Ivan commanded, careful not to turn away, knowing better than to break from his gaze.

His voice low, he growled at Ivan. "Check again."

Ivan was wise enough to lift his hands, to put on the show that both of them knew had long since been unnecessary for him.

Kirigan didn't wait.
Needed to turn back to the snowbank.
Cloak heavy as it swung around him.
The Inferni's heat hot on his back as his boots slushed through melting bloodsnow.

There, beneath the snow–
In a frozen river of blood, there they were.

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One didn't have to imagine to see their final moments.

The tracker, riddled with bullets.
Bled out.
His form curled around her.
Protecting her, even in death.

Alina beneath him.
Drenched in blood.
Hopefully mostly the tracker's.
But not breathing nonetheless.

Alina shot in shoulder once, the tracker would have pushed her out of the way, into the snow drift. Out of the line of fire. Himself now the target, the Fjerdans let loose their repeating rifle, the rounds piercing his torso through and through. Stumbled back from the sheer force of the assault, falling back to cover her, even as he bled out.

The river of blood where Kirigan stood.

The snow drift that rose up against the bark of a great Fjerdan evergreen ended where a Fjerdan axe lay wedged in the bark. Would have shaken the rest of the snow from the branches.

He didn't need to glance to see the branches, greener than the rest.

Wouldn't take his eyes off of her anyway.

Ivan had rushed ahead of him, his hands working fast and furious.

He should have noticed the greenery.
He should have brought a Healer.
He should have never chased her this far north.
Into enemy territory.

He did this.

His Sun Summoner.
Still not breathing.
No movement.
No sound.

Chapter Text

Ivan's frown.
He knew that look--he had taught Ivan that look.

Battlefield triage. It was of the utmost importance that his Corporalki could command triage decisions, which meant knowing how to make the call. When a fallen soldier's injuries were too severe, or not worth the cost to those who could be saved. How to tell when it was time to move on to the next.

Only, there was no next.
Not here, in the deep snowdrifts far into enemy territory.
There was only her.

Ivan's eyes flickered up to meet his, only for Ivan to flinch at the realization that his expression had betrayed his thoughts, his assessment of her condition.

Ivan's fingers continued to work, outstretched above her form, where they'd atop the other Heartrender's kefta.

She looked... lifeless.

"I'll get her, moi soverenyi," he vowed, his eyes trained on the Sun Summoner.

Trained on where her heart still wasn't beating, beneath what should have been her kefta.

He watched as Ivan grimaced in concentration, brows furrowing as he forced more of his Small Science through her bloodstream.

Trying to restart her heart.

"I'll get her."

Kirigan lost count of how many times he heard the Heartrender mutter the vow before all he could hear was the ringing in his ears.

He was too late.
They'd arrived a moment too late.

All this time waiting.
All this time wanting.

His thoughts unfurled, he couldn't think--

Too late.

Just let himself slip down into oblivion.

All this time.
Too late.

And let himself drown in it.

Chapter Text

Before he could think better of it, he let out half a chuckle – mirth, disbelief, and irony in equal measure.

Sounded different to his ears.

His voice, but not.

No matter, though. She was worth it.

She was in his lap now, gathered in his arms.

Alive.

Asleep, but Alive.

Wrapped up in his fur cloak.
Lips still tinged a little blue.
Her skin still a touch too cold.

Felt himself frown. She should be warmer, given–

Drip, drip.
Forced himself to ignore it.
Told himself it was just snow melting.

A tilt of the head from Ivan drew his eye up. Standing a few feet farther back than usual. A request to approach.
Granted.

His Heartrender knew better than to hesitate. Watched carefully as his Heartrender kneeled down and reached out to his Alina–to adjust the heavy cloak. Telegraphing his movements more than usual, repeated glances seeking reassurance. He watched as his Heartrender lifted the heavy cloak just enough to allow her to be shifted, drawn closer – to let his body to help warm hers.

Finally--something felt right.

Kept an eye on the Heartrender--who held his breath as he adjusted the cloak, overlapping as much of the thick fabric as possible. Watched him step back to his position, an overly respectful distance. Cautious. Afraid.

Didn't miss the hands before him raise to form a basic Corporalki summoning position, but only just. Recognized it for what it was: an offer to assist. The Heartrender's expression was clear: he'd go no further without receiving his general's order. His Heartrender looked… frightened.

He probably was. And for good reason.

Had no excuse not to put it all together now.

He'd always been a smart one. Probably why he'd spared him. That, and he knew he'd need a Corporalki to get her home safely. Better him than the other one in their party. Drip. Cursed himself once more for not bringing a Healer. An oversight he'd not make again. Not that he'd permit this to occur ever again. Drip. Drip. Drip. He couldn't pay attention to that. He focused the rise and fall of her, in his arms. Alive. Asleep, but still alive.

Her breathing was even, at least, her breath wafting softly across the fur strands where they stuck out from the cloak. So softly.

Too softly.
Too faintly.
–but there. It was there.
She was there.

He tightened his hold, pressing his fingers into her skin. Only once she sighed and nestled herself against him--his heart stuttered at the sight--only then did he let his grip relax.

Drip – told himself to pay no mind to yet another drip on the leather sleeve of his surcoat.
Knew it would stain even the black leather. The abject darkness dripping from his nose, his mouth. Soon, his eyes as well.
Drip.

Knew his Heartrender had never seen him like this.
… Some time since he'd had to call upon his grandfather's incantation.

Felt his hands stroking up and down the length of her arms.

A simple trade.
He wouldn't repeat his error four centuries ago.
Wouldn't let it be too late for her.

Of course, that meant some sacrifice.
He'd paid his part.
It just hadn't been… sufficient. It called for more.
He let his eyes scan the snowy terrain around him.
Joining the bullet-riddled otkazat'sya now laid another seven.
Beneath sapphire, crimson, amethyst, and pewter keftas, each like a pearl in an oyster of black.

He drew his eyes back down to his Sun Summoner slumbering peacefully in his arms. Permitted his gaze to trace the curve, the gentle swoops, of her lips. Breathed a little easier seeing the blue tinge recede in favor of a dusty pink.

Couldn't allow it to be too late for her.
A moment too late for the others, perhaps–
–but not for her.
Never for her.