Chapter Text
Step, step, turn, strike. Force Captain Selkis moved through her forms with practiced ease, and reset into the beginning stance as soon as her final strike was complete to begin again. Step front, twist, step side, strike forward, strike back, pivot. At this point, the movements came as natural as breathing, but she still practiced longer and harder than any of her peers. She was the best, but she didn’t get that way from sitting idle, and she wouldn’t stay that way without work, either.
“You’re allowed to take a break, you know.”
Selkis was balanced on one foot, her other leg held in position to kick, with her new spear extended outwards in a thrusting strike when Princess Ishara spoke. “No can do, Princess,” she replied. Hold for three, two, one. “Practice makes perfect.”
Ishara feigned a noise of annoyance and leaned back in her chaise. “You must have done it a hundred times already.”
Selkis dropped to one knee and made a sweeping motion with the spear, following it by an upward arc with her tail that also returned her to a standing position. “Thirty-seven,” she clarified, and began a series of complicated strikes with spear and tail. “Grizzlor has probably done it a hundred times, though. Can’t let him get ahead of me.”
The princess snorted. “I don’t think Grizzlor can even count that high.”
Selkis chuckled as she went through the next few motions of her form. Jump back, sidestep, pivot, pivot, strike. “You have a point there.”
It was a typical day in the Fright Zone, or as typical as days went when a kingdom and its paramilitary-force ally were at war. Hordak and his senior force captains had spent the morning in meetings with King Weha and his generals, making ready to move on a strategic pass outside of the city of Devlan. After a brief respite, the Horde’s forces resumed their training while Hordak himself disappeared into his laboratory. Selkis oversaw most of the cadet training, which left her little time to train herself; it was only moments like this, when she was in between afternoon training and evening debriefs, that she was able to practice her own combat skills. Ishara had sent for her earlier, but didn’t seem in any particular hurry to say why. The two young women were relaxing in the princess’s private courtyard outside her chambers, or as close to relaxing as they ever got: Ishara was reading an official-looking scroll, and Selkis, who had been incapable of holding still for more than a minute ever since she was a child, practiced her fundamentals. The important thing was that they were together. The obligations of both were increasing as they advanced in age and standing, and neither wanted their friendship to suffer for it.
“What’s with the spear, anyway?” Ishara asked, breaking the chain of Selkis’s thoughts. “It seems a bit… overkill.”
“It’s mostly for show,” Selkis admitted as she began another series of strikes and spins. “That, and proof-of-concept. Lord Hordak’s been experimenting with new ways to refine irridulium, and he made this spear as a prototype.” She thrust the spear forward in the form’s finishing move, held the position for a moment, then relaxed. “The plan is for me to use it in battle to signal my troops, and fight with it if I need to.”
Ishara sat up, suddenly alert. “That’s irridulium? You’re joking.”
“Nope. Here, check it out.”
She closed the short distance between them with three lengths of her long stride and passed the spear to the princess. Ishara turned it around to examine it from several different angles, eyes wide with fascination. The shaft shone bright in the afternoon moonlight, and minimal nicks and marks were present on the surface despite being handled extensively by sharp pincers. “Wow,” Ishara whispered. “I would have never thought…”
Selkis could understand the reaction; she hadn’t believed it at first, either. Irridulium was abundant in the Fright Zone, but it was full of impurities and had little practical use. They had to import most of their metal from other kingdoms, or journey into unsettled lands far beyond their borders to mine. This had been something of a sore subject between Hordak and King Weha lately; the materials were necessary to build weapons and armor, but obtaining them was expensive, and the royal treasury was quickly being depleted. Selkis knew Hordak was interested in studying irridulium more closely for himself, and had even accompanied him on an excursion to a mine almost a year ago. It would solve several problems at once if the metal could be made viable for the war effort, but no one expected anything to come of it. We should know better by now , the young force captain found herself thinking as she recalled the memory. Hordak improves everything he touches
She herself was an example of this. Selkis did not follow Hordak blindly: he won her allegiance the day he saved her life, and her respect and admiration for the stranger in a strange land had only grown since then. It was certainly true that no one loved Hordak for his personality - he was sullen and haughty, and his temper was a force to be reckoned with - but he was not cruel, exactly; rather, he had high expectations, and when they were met, he gave freely. The Horde, and by extension, Hordak, gave her purpose, a chance to prove herself, and the opportunity to be part of something greater. For all his faults, he was not a bad person, and Selkis was grateful to him. Someday, all of Etheria would be made to see this.
Ishara handed the spear back to Selkis, but as she did so, she bumped her scroll and knocked one end off the chaise. It hit the floor and rolled, unraveling as it went. Selkis jumped up and chased it, stopping it with the point of her spear after it had gone much further than it should have. "This scroll is a lot longer than it looks," she said, handing it back to her friend. "Or is it new wallpaper for your room?"
"It's my invitation to the All-Princess Ball," Ishara explained. "It came earlier today." She rolled the scroll back up and slipped it into a fold in her gown. "I'm thinking about going, actually."
For the first time all afternoon, Selkis fumbled her grip on the spear. She managed not to drop it, but it was a near thing. "You are?" She didn't know why this came as such a surprise. Ishara was a princess. Princesses went to princess balls. "That's… yeah, that's a thing that happens." For some reason, she couldn't find it in her to look Ishara in the eye. "Sounds nice, if you're into that sort of thing, I guess."
Ishara tossed her silver-white head in a dramatic fashion and made a show of picking the scroll back up again. "Well, I was going to ask if you'd like to come as my plus-one, but if you're not 'into that sort of thing,' I could always ask that new recruit, what's-her-name... Huntarrie? Hunterra?"
"Huntara," Selkis corrected - a little too quickly, based on Ishara's subsequent smirk and raised eyebrow. She felt her cheeks grow hot, and twisted the butt of her spear against the stone floor. "Yeah, sure. I mean, I didn't know you'd ever talked to her or anything, but if that's what you want-"
"Selkis!" Ishara interrupted, half-laughing. "Will you go to the ball with me?"
She knew her cheeks had to be as red as her exoskeleton, but this time, the glow was from pleasure. "I'd like that."
"Great!" The princess jumped up and hooked her arm around Selkis's, pulling her in the direction of her dressing room. "This year's theme is Masquerade Carnival. Let's pick outfits!"
Selkis felt a little dazed as Ishara tugged her along. I'm going to a princess party. With a princess. What would it be like? If Ishara was there, nothing else really mattered. It would be nice to spend a few hours together without the clouds of obligation hanging over their heads. It suddenly occurred to her that she probably should have checked with Hordak and made sure it would be all right to be excused from her duties before she accepted the invitation, but what if Ishara had changed her mind if she hadn’t said yes right away? Just the thought of her taking someone else to the ball made her stomach churn with jealousy. It was a diplomatic event as much as a party. Surely Hordak would understand.
Ishara released Selkis’s arm once they were in her dressing room, and flung open the doors of an armoire. “The ball’s in Plumeria this year,” the princess said as she pulled a seemingly-endless variety of dresses, scarves, and hats out of its depths. “Princess Artemisia is only a few years older than us. I’ve never met her, but people say she’s really nice.”
Selkis pulled a garment off her face, and examined it briefly before dropping it; she thought it might have been a skirt, but as it seemed to be composed entirely of ruffles with no distinct form, she couldn’t be sure. “That’s… good, then.”
“I’ve been looking forward to the ball for ages,” Ishara went on. “My father wouldn’t let me go last time. He said I was too young. It’s only held once every ten years, and all the princesses of Etheria are invited.”
A slinky black garment caught Selkis’s eye, and she pulled it out from the pile to examine it more closely. “Including Salineas?”
Ishara stopped pulling things out of the armoire. “Yeah,” she said, oddly distant with her tone. “They’ll be there, I expect.”
“And the fact that we’re at open war with them won’t be an issue?”
Ishara clasped her pincers in front of her, took a deep breath, and turned around. She was trying to look calm, but Selkis knew better. “The ball is neutral ground. All conflict is left at the door.”
Selkis was not entirely reassured by this. Maristela, crown princess of Salineas and the daughter of King Marinus, was one of the people directly responsible for the attack on Arachnis five years ago - the attack that started the war, took her family from her, and marked the arrival of the Horde. She set the dress down and touched a pincer to her Force Captain badge. Go with them, Sobek, she had told her little brother as the crowds were retreating into the tunnels that had saved them before. You’ll be safe. I’ll see you on the other side, I promise. Even then, she’d known it was a lie, though she expected she would be the one to fall at the hands of their enemies while the children and families escaped unscathed. She hadn’t been strong enough to save them. She looked at Ishara, and a swell of something resembling protectiveness and adoration without exactly being either surged inside her. If the need arose, would she be able to keep her princess out of harm’s way?
“Actually, I’m hoping they’re there,” Ishara continued. Her voice was bright and cheerful again, though the strain of doubt flowed beneath the surface. “With it being neutral ground, no one is allowed to bring up the war. We can talk to each other like people, not enemies. Maybe we could even become friends.”
Selkis smiled too, but it quickly darkened into a frown. “You really think you could end the war by making friends with the other side’s princess?”
“Why not? It’s happened before.” She pulled the scroll out from the fold she’d stashed it in and let it unroll to nearly the end. “Three hundred years ago, before the various villages around the Whispering Woods were united under Bright Moon, they were always fighting over one thing or another. Bright Moon hosted the ball that year and invited the village elders. They ended up being so pleased with how they were treated that peace terms were negotiated within a year. And a hundred and seventy years ago, Dryl and Halfmoon were at war. Their princesses met for the first time at the ball and hit it off. They were married a few years later, and joined their kingdoms at the same time.”
Selkis was a student of history, too, and she noticed that Ishara skipped over a few important bits. “That didn’t work out so well for Halfmoon, if I recall,” she pointed out. “Didn’t they try to declare independence fifty years ago and have it lead to-”
“Their runestone being destroyed and the people scattered into the mountains, yes, yes,” Ishara finished, tossing the scroll over her shoulder. “Not my first choice of outcomes, either, but my point remains valid: all throughout Etheria’s history, Princess Prom has been a critical juncture of diplomacy.” She stepped away from the wardrobe, crossed the room, and took Selkis’s pincers in hers. “We could end the war, Selkis: not with weapons and bloodshed and the Horde, but with friendship and understanding. Isn’t that what you want?”
Selkis wanted whatever it took to end the war, but she knew Ishara’s idea wasn’t part of Hordak’s plan - or King Weha’s, for that matter. The majority of their followers subscribed to the same view. The Fright Zone had been shunned and sidelined by the other Etherian kingdoms for as far back as anyone could remember, and Hordak’s mission of conquest was an outlet for their deep-rooted resentment. She also saw how much Ishara hoped for her vision of elysium to ring true, and could not bring herself to shatter that dream. She gave the princess’s claws a squeeze. “If you think it could work, then I’ll support you - whatever it takes.”
Ishara grinned and gestured at the stacks of clothing. “Come on! We need to pick our outfits!”
Every garment the princess owned seemed to be scattered on the floor. She opened another chest and began to empty its contents over her shoulder. It proved to be an impressive collection of masks: sequins, feathers, glitter, intricate designs, gemstones, ribbons, whatever a princess could desire. Selkis shifted through the pile and found one far more understated than the others - plain black, with no decoration or design - and fitted it to her face. “Ishara.” The young woman looked up, and Selkis made the split-second decision to lean into her joke. “Who am I?” She dropped the tone of her voice as deep as it could go and made a growling noise. “Hrrrrr. Get out!”
Ishara’s cackle of amusement rang through the rafters. “Oh, you have to let me have a go,” she said, holding out her pincer. Selkis passed her the mask, and Ishara put it on her face. “Hrrrr,” the princess said in an attempt at Hordak’s low growl. “Glory be to Horde Prime!”
“Oh, oh!” Selkis said, motioning for the mask. As much as she respected Hordak, she was not above a little good-natured humor at his expense. It wasn’t like he would find out. “Let me do him from the Force Captain meeting.” She put the mask over her eyes and lowered her voice again. “Your ability to comprehend strategy never ceases to underwhelm me, Octavia.”
Ishara clutched her stomach, laughing so hard she nearly fell over. When she straightened back up, her dark eyes were sparkling. “I’m really glad you’re going with me, Selkis,” she said. “We’re going to have a great time, and make new friends, and nothing will go wrong.”
Despite her doubts, Selkis felt her heart lift. Maybe the ball would be everything Ishara hoped for, and maybe it wouldn’t, but if that ended up being the case, it didn’t matter. As long as they had each other, everything else would find its way. All storms might be weathered in the safe harbor of that smile.