Myra's Point of View

There were four valkyrie groups in total assembled on the Plain of Peregrine. The Hawk Mountains warriors made one, the groups from the Osprey and Falcon Mountains made three, and the host always assembled and ready to march on the Plain of Peregrine made four.

Regardless, there was a sense of unity amongst their fifty-thousand troops, perhaps because of the six hundred thousand that awaited them. Well, when she said there was a sense of unity that flowed through them all ...Jasper was the break in that bond.

He was human, and riding with Myra, which automatically made him hated and envied. None of the valkyries seemed to notice that he was a prisoner, and that Myra held a similar disdain for him. All they cared about was that he rode beside the High General, the heir.

They had marched swiftly to meet the elves, but it had felt like forever. This was because Jasper was constantly talking.

"You're quiet today," Jasper Merson sighed to himself, but she ignored him. A silence fell over them once more, but about half an hour later he added: "Nice weather today." She simply glared at him.

"Why do you hate me?" He pestered her.

"I don't see why a prisoner is so very talkative," she snapped at him.

"Why the mood change? You were nice enough to me before."  And by nice enough, he meant she hadn't thrown a dagger at his head as she had often contemplated.

"I don't feel like talking today."

"Why not? Isn't this meant to be what you thrive upon? Marching to war, and proving your killing-machineliness?"  She winced at that. "Why is it you're in a mood?

"I don't believe I have to explain my moods to you." She replied flatly, summoning up her general's voice.

"Did you not get a good night's sleep?" He asked. "I mean, we're probably going to lose this war, but that's never made you really cranky before..." Myra found herself reaching for her daggers, and wondered if killing him would be satisfying enough to risk jeopardising their relationship with the rebellion.

"This is none of your business." She snapped at him.

"Had a fight with one of your similarly dagger-obsessed friends? Got a headache? Missed a target in advanced archery? Lost a sparring match?"

"Shut. Up."

"Hmm...demotion?"

"If you must know..."

"I must."

"It's because I was paired with you for this trip."

"Touché. But please...what has put you in a foul mood? Have you left someone behind in whatever cities you valkyries have? A friend? Are you married?"

"Some valkyries don't marry, Jasper. All-female kingdom."

"How does an all-female kingdom have children, anyway? Everyone keeps telling me they crawl out of the sea, but I think they're just pulling my leg." Myra sighed.

"Do you really hate me?"

"No. I do not care whatsoever about your existence. You are useful, but nothing more."

"Come on. You have to be somewhat normal. Do you have a favourite colour?"

"Blue. Like the sea."

"Please. All you valkyries say that, because you're so obsessed with the ocean. Do you know what my favourite colour is?"

"I neither know nor care."

"Purple."

"Is there a reason behind this? Was purple the colour representing your rebellion?"

"No," he said.

"Then why?"

"Because it's pretty. Do you like music? Do you sing?"

"Sometimes they blow trumpets for the warriors returning from great battles. We also have a war cry."

"Right. So what does the name Myra mean?"

"It was the name of many great warrior queens before me."

"And Isidore?"

"It is a name passed down from the very first queens of the valkyrie, stepped in history and taken with pride. Given to us by Belle, Sarai and Lyra herself."

"Okay, but you weren't always Viktoria's heir...what was your name before that?"

"Lluvia. Myra Lluvia. It means 'rain'. Related to the ocean." It had been a while since she used that name. It brought bittersweet memories with it.

"I think Merson has something to do with the sea."

"In Miras, certain families are awarded names relating to water for great valor amongst them." She paused to consider. "If you were a valkyrie, we would have stripped you of the name Merson."

"Nice," he replied sleepily.

Myra looked up at the stars, and whispered a prayer to Belle, to watch over her Kestrel in the hard times that were to come.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Jasper

Despite the fact the army was moving more rapidly than he'd ever seen one travel, the rebellion's reply still found them, through what means it was still unknown. He felt a glimmer of pride when he saw the surprise on the valkyries' faces. They didn't let him read the letter, but Myra gave him the gist of it afterwards, riding before the dawn had come, across rocky terrain, heading towards the battlefield.

" They say they will be examining a potential source of intelligence who's very sympathetic to their cause-a donator, apparently, who's given them a very large sum of money. No note, no identity yet.

They confirmed everything they can of what you said, and we swapped some more information on the Empress-anything and everything we know. They've agreed to concentrate their efforts right now to destroy supply trains. They said they'd be happy to welcome you back into their ranks, glad that at least one survived-they brought our lie about your plotting."

He had listened to her in a daze, unable to believe that after two years of wishing and begging and hating, he could finally rejoin them-and not only that, come back as a hero, with a hero's welcome. There was still a voice in the back of his mind, saying that lying to them was wrong and selfish, but he ignored it. Repay them-that's what he would do. Repay them for each traitorous act, compensate every day for the lie he would always be weaving. Trick the valkyries into thinking the rebellion would gladly be their puppets was only the start of all this. He'd gather information on Miras and Asriel and when he finally returned, he would serve whatever rebels were crowned at the end of all of this.

Once upon a time, Jasper had betrayed them, had refused to ring that bell. But if he ever had a chance to again...he would. A thousand times, he would. He realised, then, what he wished to do: he wished to watch over the rebellion, to be a guard that might one day ascend to stand by the new King or Queen of the Deserted Lands. The thought filled him with hope, a determination, a reason to live. Not to survive, but to live.

"How long have you lived in the Hawk Mountains?" He asked Myra, wishing to fill in the silence and the time.

"Since I was nine. I was taken to train there, along with half the valkyries my age, although the training there was mostly getting used to the mountain range, and learning reading and writing, as well as casual archery. Only when we turned twelve did things start to become more trying."

"There was no real time when I started learning how to wield a sword or spy. I suppose I just...picked things up, and a couple of people started to teach me a few pointers, and then when I turned fourteen, I started really focusing on how to help my uncle and the rest of my group." Myra shrugged, as if to remind him that she didn't really care.

"So your parents were part of the rebellion before you were even born?"

"Yes. Years beforehand, though they died a few years after I was born. My aunt and uncle raised me. I grew up like that-always on the move, always taught to hate the empress and never believe the propaganda the rest of the kingdom was told."

"How old are you?"

"Nearly eighteen. I was nearly sixteen when they found my rebel group. How old are you?"

"One hundred and three," she said matter-of-factly. He gaped.

"One hundred and three? But-but-shouldn't you be dead? Or somewhere close, at least."

"I'm your human equivalent of twenty-though the aging process stopped when I was eighteen." He was still gaping.

"You don't seem...one hundred and three."

"I don't feel how your one-hundred-and-three-year-olds do." She replied. "I feel how your twenty-year-olds might feel. Look, Jasper, I am twenty. Think of me as twenty. Everyone does. I do."

"So...every valkyrie looks as though they're eighteen."

"More or less. When we say the aging process stops...it doesn't. It just slows down very suddenly. Viktoria, for example, is two-hundred-years-old, and she looks more like she's twenty-five." He was still staring at her.

"The elves age similarly, you know, except sometimes they slow their ageing process down even more with their magic."

"So eventually you'd die of old age."

"Yes. Eventually."

"Did you ever resent the fact that you didn't have a choice in becoming a warrior?" That was a question she hadn't expected, from the look on her face.

"It is my duty. It is my honour."

"That isn't an answer," he said.

"I have never known anything different." She admitted. "Do you resent the fact that your parents shoved you into treason from the moment you were born?"

"I've never known anything different. " He mimicked. Perhaps the sole similarity between them: both melded and forged; both forced into the role of soldier, even if they would have chosen that role anyway.

"Did you have a mother?" He asked her. Myra nodded.

"Not a mother...we do crawl from the sea...but an adoptive one. Her name was Ferius. Ferius Lluvia." There was enough pain in that word, in that was, that he didn't ask her about Ferius. "Do you have an obsessive need to talk?"

"Aye, that is me. Some struggle with alcohol, or grow addicted to their power...but alas, I face the worst of them all: an obsession with making small talk."  She laughed- a real laugh. Harsh and wild and barking.

"One day, you are going to be captured by a grumpier enemy, and they might decide they'd rather kill you then keep listening to your voice."

"But my voice is beautiful, is it not?"  She snorted.

Why are you called the Dragon?"

"Most people take the names of their animal forms but if a warrior distinguishes themselves they may be granted another. However, names rarely change after they are granted at initiation."

"So when did you get the name Dragon?"

"Upon my initiation. It is the highest of all names."

"How did you earn that before you were even a warrior?

"I uncovered two elfin spies intent on destroying the academy and the next generation of warriors and foiled their colleagues' assassination attempt on Queen Vera. So the War Queen of the time-Celia-allowed me to duel with her, an honour rarely granted to an initiate."

"Did you win?"

"I could have. But I stopped myself from dealing the blow that would have rendered her weaponless because it would destabilised her reign for an initiate to best her. She knew what I did and challenged me to another duel outside of prying eyes. I bested her again and she decided to name me Dragon at my initiation to prevent any further namings that she knew would have to come in future." He gaped at her.

"Wait...you said animal forms. Do you really have animal forms?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Like serpents and monsters and stuff?"

"No," she said sharply. "Who on earth told you that?"

"Most of my knowledge about valkyries comes from Medea's propaganda." Jasper shrugged. "It's not particularly reliable. So all the warriors have...forms they can change into at will."

"All valkyries," Myra corrected. "And yes. They vary in power and size, from mice to elephants to leopards to eagles, but everyone has a form."

"Mice? Are some people seriously mice?"

"Yes. They like to think it doesn't reflect on their personality, but your form has always has some relevance to who you are or your destiny."

"Do they ever change?" He asked.

"Never. The forms first reveal themselves when a valkyrie is about nine and never change afterwards."

"What's the biggest form?" Jasper demanded. Myra sighed.

"Is your curiosity ever satisfied?" He only shook his head. "The first warriors were rumoured to have dragon and sea serpent forms, but nowadays the biggest it gets is lionesses, tigers and bulls."

"How do people fight as animals in the Aerial Legion?"

"They don't, unless they're birds or other flying creatures. If they ever fight on land, they'll take an animal form, but otherwise they remain valkyries."

"What's your form?" Jasper asked curiously.

Myra simply shifted.

He gasped in surprise at the animal that suddenly took the warrior's place.

It was huge, reaching just below his collarbones. A scar slashed near her left eye, identical to the one on her body. Its fur was snow white-the palest white he'd ever seen-with dark black spots that stood out clearly.

A snow leopard.

The Mirasen breed, the ones as large as men. Leopards that were rumoured to eat people, to hunt them as their chosen prey. Burning suns, its-her-body was strong and powerful. The creature before him was capable of ripping a man to pieces with a single thought. The woman he'd been talking to, questioning so impertinently, was capable of ending him with a single flash of those long, sharp teeth.

And that was just her animal form. Now he realised how deadly her valkyrie one was. Lithe, corded with muscle, her very body a weapon. A thousand blades had hung on her body-and she knew how to use every single one. Had gutted people with them as easily as she might gut a fish.

Before, he hadn't noticed it. Before she had seemed friendly, if a little gruff. Before the leopard had seemed beautiful, majestic. Now he saw her long teeth, her razor-sharp claws, the blades she'd been wearing before. He heard the stories spoken about her, the gory descriptions of the valkyries' battles, remembered the legends about her ripping people apart and leaving them for dead until he could see nothing but those terrifying visions.

He took a step back, quaking furiously. He'd sworn never to be a coward again, but this was different. There was no one for him to defend now. There was just the pure-blooded predator, the camp of predators around him, the human instincts kicking in as he gazed at those pupilless eyes, those teeth.

The same thought rushed through him again and again: she could kill me. She could make up any excuse and no one would question her. She could forge my handwriting and figure out the code I'm been using with the rebels. She could kill me. Here and now. She could kill me and walk away, not caring.

In a flash of light, Myra shifted back into valkyrie form. Swords hung from her armour-where had her armour gone when she shifted?-sending another bolt of fear from her. Her dark purple cloak blew in the wind. It was the valkyries' colour. And those eyes-those pupiless eyes that every human was brought up to fear. Suns above, he was shaking with fear.

"Jasper," she said softly. "Jasper, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." She must have noticed his fear.

"Jasper," she repeated. "I would never hurt you. Jasper." He was still backing away, but his heartbeat had slowed. "Jasper, it's just my form. I don't actually eat people. Why would you think that I would hurt-" she stopped. "What has Medea told you? Valkyries don't hurt innocent people, Jasper. Not humans or elves or anyone."

"Diaz looks at me like she's just about to tear me apart," he protested.

"That's Diaz. She looks at everyone like that."

"There a dozen valkyries who want to kill me, Myra. You can't deny that."

"Want to and will are very different things. And that doesn't explain why you're afraid of me." He was still shaking. Still couldn't stop seeing those blades, those teeth.

"You're Myra Isidore!" He shouted. "Everything I've heard about you..."

"That's not me. That's legends and hearsay and propaganda. Why can't you see me?" Hurt. That was hurt in her face. Everyone must see her this way-elves and humans would be reviled and terrified at the sight of her, valkyires would see a figurehead, a god. Not a person. No one ever saw her as a person. And that hurt...

At the sight of it, all his terror disappated. Myra was human, valkyrie or not. A person. The killer faded away, replacing with the person he'd just started to know.

"I'm sorry," he apologised.

"It's not your fault. You've reacted amazingly, actually."

"Except for then."

"Except for then." Myra admitted. He slowly walked back toward her and settled down on his sleeping blanket. Burning suns, it was cold even in the south of Miras.

"I'm going to shift now," Myra warned. "Is that okay?"

"Yes," he said confidently. "I'm not going to be afraid again.""This has nothing to do with cowardice," she said firmly. "There was no one here for you to defend and nothing you could have done to stop me if I really wanted to hurt you. There's nothing cowardly about standing before someone who could destroy you without a second thought and who was ruthless enough to do so-as your legends led you to believe I was. Or at least, I assume that's what they say?"

"Oh, yes. And more. Some of them..."

"Tell me." She grinned. And so he did. He recited every wild, insane tale and she laughed uproariously at each one. When she at last grew tired of them, she shifted and snuggled into her blankets to ward off the cold. Jasper found he could finally see the beauty in her snow leopard form. Sleek, with beautiful fur and unblinking eyes. Honestly, her fur looked so soft he almost wanted to reach out and stroke it. As though reading his mind, Myra swiped him with her tail in warning.

             -------------

The dreams came again. A few days of holding them at bay, and they came again. The determination, the purpose that had shielded them from him could defend him no longer. It didn't matter if he raised the rebellion to the throne, it didn't matter if he served them until his last breaths, it didn't matter if he saved a dozen lives, or a thousand.

Because the blood of the twenty who had raised him and watched over him, the blood of the twenty who he had been sworn to serve-that was always on his hands, impossible to wash off, or forget.  He was still a coward; he would always be a coward. Their screams still rang in his head, his sweat after the nightmares still felt like their blood. He did not deserve to walk away, to be forgiven by himself and the ones he'd once called his own. No, Jasper deserved to relive his nightmares, relive his betrayal, relive it all forever. To suffer like they had done, because of him. .

He could not stand the sound of bells.

Sometimes, when he saw them, he had asked the dead the price he must pay, what he must do, for forgiveness. To compensate for their deaths.

They had laughed at him. Perhaps there was nothing he could do to make amends, or maybe his price was to drown in this hatred he held for himself.