Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Telling was wounded. 

The fraying edges of it writhed and coiled, screaming out like a mortal child with a fever, so much so that Belmaid heard it even within her ensorcellment.

And she had been ensorcelled, she admitted to herself. She had let her guard down and when the Maid emerged from the shadows, she had been close enough to drip poison in Belmaid’s ear, words that fogged her mind and stole her will.

(And if that poison tasted sweet to her - tasted right - that was a weakness she would confess to no-one but herself.)

And now she had awoken in her enemy’s stronghold, all alone, with nothing but the Telling to guide her, and the Telling was broken beyond all recognition.

There was no King at her side, no knights she could call upon. Sagrell - the mortal Sagrell - had proved, well, mortal. They did not feel the call of the Telling, nor the echoing wrongness of its incompleteness and had left the House of Ballads to fumble their way through the dark. 

The Telling needed an ending, and she was the only one left who could make one. 

At least it wasn’t the first time she had traversed these lands alone. 

---

When she’d had the opportunity to take up the role of the legendary Belmaid, she had been thrilled at the honour. She’d travelled alongside so many other hopefuls, so many others who had wanted it, and she’d finished the Ballard first. 

She had known it best, after all. She knew every line, every twist in the story and she had felt herself become Belmaid, the true and valiant Queen of the House of Ballads. She had been the one who everyone looked to for guidance, and wisdom, and to protect the Telling. 

And she was happy - she was. It was an honour she had worked towards for Cycles beyond counting. Preserving the Telling was a duty she took on gladly, and she rejoiced every time a story was completed.

(But sometimes, she couldn’t help but wonder why her predecessor had given up the role. Sometimes she wondered when she would do the same).

But Belmaind had a secret she could never tell anyone else, a secret that ate at her as she walked through the Maid’s empty castle alone. She understood the Maid, more than she would like, and far more than she would ever admit to. 

She pushed that thought away and kept walking. It didn't matter what she felt. 

She was Belmaid, Queen of the House of Ballads, and she needed to complete the Telling. 

She might pity the Maid, but that would not stay her hand. 

---

Belmaid drifted out from the room of the castle she’d woken in, avoiding the Wild Fae that the Maid had forced into service.

She knew from previous cycles that the land had been crawling with Wild Fae, and this time it was no different. The creatures that should have been attacking her, or each other, drifted amiably through the hallways imprisoned as they were by the magic of the Maid’s crystal.

Free the Fae, disrupt the Maid’s plans and leave her vulnerable. Belmaid had done it before, after all, even if this part of the story had not occurred when it should. She had lived this Telling before, and though this turn of the tale was different, she knew how to find one of Maid's crystals easily enough, and her sword felt easy and light in her hand.

The crystal though, looked different. Wrong, somehow, but still easy enough for her to destroy.     

“Are you sure you want to do this, sweetling?” 

The voice echoed from all around her, and she knew it, though they had never exchanged a word in any Telling before now. 

“Things are changing,” the Maid’s voice continued, bright with glee. “This Telling won’t be the same as the others.”

Belmaid ignored the Maid, cold anger steeling her resolve, and raised her sword. 

She expected the sound of shattering crystal, but instead her sword passed through the crystal that wasn’t there, and the room rang with the Maid’s laughter.

Belmaid scowled, thrusting her sword back into her scabbard, furious that she had allowed herself to be tricked once more.

“It won’t be so easy this time, Beloved.” Her voice was a delighted sing-song tone that might have made her smile if she had heard it reciting a tale in the House of Ballads. It didn’t make her smile now. “This is a new story to both of us. If you must fight me, then seek me out.”

“You will regret asking me that, Witch,” Belmaid replied, her voice echoing in the empty room. “This Telling will end, one way or another.”

The Maid's laughter faded away like distant rainfall, washing away whatever remained of Belmaid’s doubt with it.  

She continued onwards, and didn’t look back. 

---

Belmaid remembered sitting with Hallam the White, between Ballads and after the war had begun, long after they could no longer deny what the Winter Fae had become. 

“The Tellings are coming to an end, I fear,” Hallam had said to her, a confession both resigned and grieving. “Something has shifted in the sun, in the wind. War has come to us, our kind is changing as we should not. Our lore is fading from the very stones. I do not see a future for us in Amalur, not for much longer.” 

“Surely that cannot be true,” Belmaid had protested. She leant forward and placed her hand over his. “The House of Ballads has withstood challenges before, and will do so again, as the Great Cycle decrees.”

“Not like this one.” His voice was distant, but then he smiled, just a little. “You should enjoy your Tellings, your Majesty. Who knows when they will become nothing but a memory?”

Belmaid remembered the words as she stalked through the castle hallways, and they made her feel more cold than any exchange with the Maid could ever achieve. 

What if this was the last Telling of the House of Ballads? One that ended in their failure, their defeat? This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, but she wouldn’t let it end in ruin. 

If she was to be the last Queen Belmaid, she would mend the Telling, or pass on trying. 

---

The way to the Maid was blocked by magic. Belmaid was not surprised. 

“I thought this was a new tale,” she said into the listening silence. “And yet it seems you are full of nothing but old tricks.”

Belmaid threw her magic against the barrier, only to duck hurriedly when it rebounded at her.

Her head was ringing like a struck bell, though she wasn’t sure if it was the reverberating magic or the laughter of the Maid that caused it. 

She picked herself up with a scowl and dusted herself off. She was a Queen, and she wouldn’t crawl on her knees for anyone, especially not the Maid of Windemere. 

She retreated for a moment, to clear her head and to think of a new plan. She clearly could not take down the Maid’s barrier with her own magic. She could not destroy the Maid’s crystals as in her own Ballad. 

She must think of another way. 

As she walked through the deserted hallways, a glimmer caught her attention, and her eyes widened with surprise, then narrowed with rage. 

The King’s Token, one she had seen so many times before, abandoned in the dirt like it meant nothing. 

She bent and picked it up, wiping it clean, her mind racing. 

The Telling was changing, it could not be denied. A mortal had become a knight. A King had fled. They had both abandoned the House and their Ballads. But she had not. 

If the Telling had changed, so could she, and perhaps she could save it. She put the amulet around her neck and permitted herself a smile. 

---

It had just been her and Oleyn, alone after a hunt, she remembered. 

“You must be excited,” Oleyn remarked with a small smile. “To embark on your Ballad once more.”

“I am,” Belmaid said, but in truth she was restless, unsettled in a way she couldn’t quite define. “Perhaps some time on the road will give me some time to think.”

“Not too hard, I hope,” Oleyn said with a laugh, but sobered when she realised that Belmaid wasn’t smiling. “You aren’t thinking of passing on, are you?”

“No,” Belmaid replied instantly. She loved the House of Ballads, and she took great satisfaction in serving at the Queen. 

But sometimes she wanted something more. She couldn’t but wonder what it would be like if her Ballad wasn’t tied to Wencen’s - or what it would be like if this Wencen was… something more than he was. Perhaps she would feel something more than simply satisfaction.  

“Good,” Oleyn replied, nudging her fondly. “I hope to go through many more cycles alongside you.”

Belmaid smiled back, forcing down her disquiet. Personal desires had no part in the House of Ballads, she knew that well enough. If she went against that, she would be no better than the Maid of Windemere, and no matter her secret sympathy towards the Maid, she did not want that.  

She had her role and her purpose. It was enough. It had to be. 

---

When Belmaid returned to the barrier, it melted away as soon as she held out the Amulet.

“Now darling, where did you learn to do that?” The Maid said, from where she lounged over by the window. She saw the Amulet around her neck and smiled, slow and satisfied. “You are not entirely what I expected. I’m glad I let you get this far.”

“You let me?” Belmaid growled, and leapt forward with her sword. “I made my own way here!” 

The Maid didn’t move, but the plants surrounding her snapped viciously and forced her backwards, and Belmaid bared her teeth. 

“I know you did,” the Maid said. She waved her hand and the plants stopped thrashing. “That’s why you intrigue me so.”

Belmaid slashed again, avoiding the plants and forcing the Maid to stumble out of her seat. She scrambled backwards, sending a swirl of furious air towards her.

“Don’t disappoint me now,” the Maid laughed, looking delighted. “Not when we have more in common than we do not.”

“We have nothing in common,” Belmaid snapped. “I have heard your lies time and time again, and I am sick of them.” She spun her sword, preparing herself for her final strike.

“What lie have I ever told you?” The Maid asked, her smile as bright and cold as the first frost of winter. “That you are the equal - the better - of any King or Knight of the House of Ballad? If that is a lie, why are you here with me, not them?”

Her voice was coaxing, compelling, and Belamid shook her head, trying to deny the words, trying to pretend that she had not thought those things herself before. 

“We don’t have to fight,” the Maid continued, holding out her hand. “We can make our own ending, just the two of us.” 

“This Telling might not end the way it should, but it will end. I will end it.” She slashed the sword once more, but the Maid didn’t even try to dodge, just deflected it with air, without breaking eye-contact. 

“Why does it matter how the Telling ends?” The Maid asked, stepping forward, ignoring the threat of Belmaid’s sword. “Everything is ending, my love, this is the autumn of our kind. You must feel it, surely? The cycles are no more, so why shouldn’t we seek an ending to satisfy ourselves?”

Belmaid stared at her, sword in her hand forgotten in her disbelief. “Satisfy me? When the Ballads are unravelling and our time is fading away. Can you really think anything but your death will satisfy me?”

The Maid flopped to the floor, mystery and allure forgotten. She just looked tired. “Has it ever before? Replaying the same story again and again? What purpose is there in my death?”

Belmaid glared at her. “All stories need a villain.”

“But why does it have to be me!” Her voice was raw with frustration and sadness. “All I have ever wanted is a place to belong.”

Belmaid paused, her sword raised, her hand shaking, that cry making her hesitate. She understood that plaintive appeal, far better than the Maid could ever guess. She knew how it felt to fulfill your role yet long for something more, to want to belong in a way that went beyond a Ballad. Belmaid sighed, and slumped against the wall, the pity she tried to deny filling her heart. “I understand.”

“I know you do,” the Maid said, watching her intently. “You, more brilliant than any King or Knight who has sung the Telling in the Hall of Ballads, forced to reduce yourself to a supporting role.” She shook her head. “A waste of talent. A waste of the greatest Telling of all.”

“The Telling has to end,” Belmaid said. “One way or another.”

“Then end it,” The Maid said. “Go back to the House of Ballads a Queen in mourning for a false King - or go back as King yourself, with a Queen of your own, who sees you.” 

For a long moment, Belmaid was still, thinking of every moment of disquiet, every moment of doubt, every cry of the wounded Telling.

“I don’t trust you,” she told the Maid. 

There was something sharp in her smile when she replied. “Good.”

"I'd only be doing this for the sake of the Telling." Her voice was as cold as winter. She'd feigned love for the sake of a Telling before, and didn't want to dwell on why it felt different this time. "Not for you."

The Maid laughed. "We'll see, beloved."

"Don't call me that," Belmaid snapped, her face heating, and continued fiercely. “I will not let you harm my House. Any accord between us will end the moment you do anything that brings them harm.”

“I have no intention of that,” the Maid said, and somehow Belmaid believed her. 

She knew what the Maid wanted, after all. The same thing she did. 

To be loved. To be respected. To have a role that fits her. She didn’t like the Maid, but she understood her, down to her blood and bone, with all the magic in her. She didn't know what that said about her. 

Would the Maid’s death really fix the Telling? It had already changed beyond all reckoning.

She felt the disapproval of her predecessors, but none of them were her. None of them had to face the ending of all Tellings alone. 

Belmaid reached out her hand, and pulled the Maid to her feet. 

“I already regret this,” she murmured, but her heart was racing oddly, more quickly than it had in battle. 

The Maid only smiled.    

King Belmaid felt the Telling end, and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.