Kingdom of Gaelica (closed for QuirkyQuill)

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan held her gaze, his jaw tightening as she recounted her training, each detail striking him with the force of a physical blow. He listened, and even though his expression remained calm, a torrent of thoughts raced beneath the surface. Her account filled in the grim picture he had only begun to glimpse, bringing to life the bleak reality of her upbringing under her uncle’s rule in the South Seas. The man he had known only through the horrors he inflicted on his own people now loomed larger and more grotesque in his mind, his cruelty revealed in the harrowing stories of his niece’s training.

“Yes, Meya,” he replied softly, letting her see that he hadn’t flinched, even if every word had twisted his gut. “I want to understand.”

It was no surprise now why she bore herself with such distance, so much steel. To survive in her uncle’s domain, she had been forced to harden herself in ways that went against every instinct of human compassion. Cathal’s army might have known the brutality of battle, but nothing like what she had described—this deliberate, methodical breaking of people, an institutionalized cruelty that left no one untouched.

Aidan forced himself to unclench his jaw, aware that his own anger would do nothing to ease her pain. If anything, she needed his calm presence, not his outrage. But he couldn’t ignore the lingering question that had been gnawing at him ever since she had mentioned the “challenges” specific to women. That her uncle would subject them to further horrors was an abhorrent revelation, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Meya herself had withstood such trials.

He glanced down, his fingers unconsciously tracing the hilt of his sword, then looked back at her, his gaze steady. “I don’t pretend to understand the depth of what you’ve endured,” he began, carefully choosing his words, “but I understand the strength it took for you to survive it. That... resilience can be just as much of a curse as it is a strength.”

Aidan paused, taking in the sight of her eyes, now hardened in a way that reminded him of the cold steel of a blade forged in relentless fire. He wondered how often she let herself feel anything at all; for someone trained to endure such constant torment, emotions must have been luxuries she couldn’t afford.

“I suppose you know this, but you’re not there anymore, Meya. You’re free from those... methods.” He tried to keep his voice even, though his mind pulsed with anger at the thought of Ronin and his monstrous practices. “Here, strength isn’t measured by how much you can bear. It’s measured by what you do with the power you have.”

He saw her brow furrow slightly, as though she were absorbing his words with caution, almost skepticism. She had been made to believe that resilience meant swallowing suffering whole and letting it calcify within her, hardening her like stone. But in Gaelica, things were different; his father had taught him that strength was about loyalty, purpose, and the ability to extend one’s hand in peace even when war seemed inevitable. This was the kind of strength he wanted her to see in herself.

Aidan took a breath, lowering his tone. “The Gaelican way doesn’t demand that you lose your humanity in order to be strong. You’re allowed to be both—strong and vulnerable. You don’t have to keep locking yourself away from... everything.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “From me.”

He wasn’t entirely sure where that last part had come from, or if it was wise to say it, but he left it there, a simple truth hanging in the air between them. A cold wind swept across the clearing, rustling the trees, and he could see her shift slightly, but her face betrayed no emotion. Maybe she’d heard him, maybe she hadn’t; either way, he knew she wasn’t someone who easily let her guard down.

Setting his own bowl aside, he looked at her thoughtfully, piecing together a way to make her see that she had value here beyond the fierce training her uncle had drilled into her. She had skills and knowledge that no one else in Gaelica could claim, and that made her an invaluable ally in ways that went beyond brute force or cunning. Yet he sensed she had never been truly acknowledged for who she was, only for what she could withstand.

“Whatever else your uncle tried to take from you, he didn’t take everything,” he said after a moment, keeping his tone even but insistent. “The fact that you’re sitting here—alive, sane, ready to do what you think is right—it tells me that no matter how deep he tried to bury your humanity, he couldn’t quite succeed. Maybe he made you into someone even he didn’t expect.”

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya picked up on the way his jaw clenched as she spoke, unsure if she was giving him too much. It took, she realized, a great deal of effort to discuss this without providing all of the details but still giving enough to paint a picture of their reality. When he confirmed that he wanted to hear more, she nodded, her fingers running across the ring on her thumb.

“But I understand the strength it took for you to survive it.”

She considered his words for a moment before speaking. “My royal blood has afforded me a certain level of protection against the worst of it. The king knows that he doesn't have to assess the loyalty of his family. We still train, we still have challenges to overcome, but those are more selective because we also have to serve the crown as nobility. It would not do to have the nobility scarred and injured.” She had been given certain choices along the way. The outcomes were the same, but she had been grateful on more than one occasion that she'd been empowered to select her path to that outcome.

“From me.”

The very air inside her stilled when he spoke those words, and Meya met his eyes, trying to decipher his meaning. He bore so much sincerity that she couldn't help but feel the tiniest give in the wall she’d erected around herself. He was dismantling her brick by brick, and Meya wasn't entirely certain she accepted that. It was a dangerous game to play.

“Maybe he made you into someone even he didn’t expect.”

Staring at the ground, she mulled over his words in silence before eventually standing. Walking over to where he sat, she joined him on the ground, closing the distance between them before meeting his eyes, her brow creased.

“What you have to understand is that to be chosen to serve the king is considered an honor. It's not a punishment. To be skilled enough and have proven yourself to be invited into the king’s inner circle is not a task undertaken lightly. I imagine that very same thing is true here.” Her voice softened when she spoke, no longer completely devoid of emotion.

“Nothing is taken. It is freely given. People are not forcibly promoted to higher ranks in the South Seas, though I have heard that to be a method in other kingdoms. He recognizes that the only way to protect his crown is to ensure he does not entrust the wrong people. When people are driven into those roles out of fear and not loyalty, they will undoubtedly betray their king with very little prodding.

He has learned that oftentimes mental warfare can have far reaching impacts, so he values that fortitude in those he holds closest. It is just part of our reality, and when something is considered true from birth, there is no reason to question if it is the right thing.” Her eyes studied him, picking up the muscles tense and relax along his jaw, as though he were trying to internally control his physical reaction. She was assessing him, trying to decide what else to share.

“What specifically do you want to know about how we're trained?” Meya posed the question back at him, knowing she had purposefully omitted details, but enough for him to get an idea. He said he wanted to know, but
how much was enough?

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan felt his heart sink a little as he looked back at her, steadying himself against the turmoil swirling within him. Her words resonated with a disturbing clarity, as if they belonged to an ancient doctrine so ingrained that its principles felt unshakable to those within its grasp. And that, he realized, was the most unsettling part of all. Meya spoke of her reality as though it were unchangeable—as though there was a grim beauty in the very suffering she had endured.

The way she described loyalty under her uncle’s rule sounded cold, ruthless, and yet, to her, it was evidently something akin to pride. A sense of honor. And despite himself, he felt a stirring of respect for the way she had internalized it all, made it bearable, even noble. But how much of that pride was truly hers, and how much was the indoctrination of her upbringing? The answer lingered somewhere in the shadows she seemed almost desperate to keep hidden.

He shifted, running a hand over his jaw, feeling the tension there as he considered her question. What did he want to know? She’d told him more than enough to give him pause. The worst part was that he knew if he truly wanted to reach her, to understand her, he’d have to ask about the one thing she seemed hesitant to share—the training specifically designed for women.

Aidan’s fingers curled into fists as he braced himself to speak, his voice lower, almost reverent in tone. “You mentioned... different challenges for women,” he began, his gaze steady but his heart betraying his calm, beating a little faster than he liked. He searched her eyes, seeing a flicker of something—perhaps hesitation, perhaps wariness. “You don’t have to share the details if it’s too much, but I need to understand.” His words softened. “I need to know what you endured, so I can understand the weight you carry.”

He paused, looking down for a moment to gather his thoughts, then met her gaze again, his eyes intent. “Because I don’t believe anyone should have to carry something like that alone. Not here, not anymore.”

As he waited for her answer, he realized he felt almost afraid of what she might reveal. Her tone, her words—they all hinted at something dark and terrible that went beyond the typical horrors of war. He’d heard tales of cruelty inflicted upon women during raids, stories passed down by hardened soldiers who’d seen the brutality of other kingdoms, but even those had always been spoken of in whispers, as atrocities. Yet here was a woman, a noble of the South Seas, speaking of it as if it were simply part of life, something to endure without question.

For a moment, he could almost see her through her uncle’s eyes—a pawn, a tool forged to serve. She was a weapon, yes, but one that had been forced to bear unspeakable burdens. It felt both tragic and grotesque that she spoke of these things as if they were ordinary, an expectation of loyalty. Aidan’s heart clenched, a surge of anger prickling at his skin as he thought of what her uncle must have forced her to endure, all in the name of service.

“What was expected of you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a combination of dread and determination. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, but he knew he needed it. He had to understand what had shaped her, what had molded her into this fierce, guarded woman beside him. He needed to know if he was capable of breaking down the walls she had built so meticulously, piece by piece, until there was room for something other than pain and duty in her life.

Aidan knew that his own upbringing had been a world apart from hers, and while he had his share of scars, none of them were inflicted by his father or his kingdom. His father, Cathal, had always believed in the strength of character, the loyalty that came from mutual respect rather than fear. In Gaelica, they were taught that strength lay in compassion, in wisdom, in the ability to see beyond oneself and protect others. But the South Seas’ methods were a different breed of strength altogether—one that demanded sacrifices of a kind he could barely fathom.

He took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering as he waited for her to continue. His voice softened even further, as if he might coax the truth out of her with gentleness alone. “Please, Meya. Let me understand.”

There was a stretch of silence between them, and he used it to steel himself, the knot of dread tightening in his chest. He reminded himself that no matter how dark the answer, it was something she had endured and survived. And he wanted her to know, without a doubt, that he respected her resilience, even if he found the price of it abhorrent.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Her stomach knotted up when he asked the question, but she reminded herself that she had committed to sharing information with him. Nodding slowly, she looked down at the ground, studying the brown blades of grass that had started to wilt under the changing seasons.

“Everyone has to undergo rigorous training. The number of people who are selected for promotion within the ranks undergo that intensive training in steps. When one passes a step, they move on to the next, with each step progressively more difficult. Once a person gets high enough or if they are vying for a position of confidence, like a spy, those steps are designed to weed out those who are weak.” She knew she was reiterating what she had said previously, if perhaps worded differently.

“When a woman completes those steps successfully, they…” she paused, trying to find the right way to explain what she was trying to say. She started again, but tried a different approach, her words coming out slowly as if she were thinking through each word. “My uncle will not send a woman out into the field who is untouched. To do so would be to send a vulnerable agent into enemy hands, should she be caught. His captains use the same method for women as they do for training everyone in individual combat. When the king’s spies, assassins, and other specialized soldiers are trained, we're dropped into different scenarios to see how we get ourselves out. That idea, again, being to emulate what could actually happen.

If we know that we will be sent deep into enemy territory and have to get in and out of, say, a castle unseen, we are given a mission to sneak into his castle without getting caught. If we are seen, the guards protecting the palace know they are to respond just as they would if it were a real threat. The only caveat is that they can't kill anyone, but that is the only line that is drawn. They can attack and without mercy. The same is true for the individual completing the mission. The last step for women is similar. The only difference is that the guards and officers are ordered to extract information from her using her body against her. Because, many times, when women are captured in war, the odds are high that the enemy will turn to that method first and foremost. Ours certainly do.”

Meya looked at him briefly for the first time since she'd started speaking. “You might be one of the few exceptions.” Shifting her posture slightly, she dropped her gaze again, this time to her hands as she turned the ring in circles.

“Five is the number a woman has to pass to be given a mission. She is placed into five different scenarios. Four of those are planned, and those who are also trying to earn a place in the upper echelon watch to better learn from each other’s mistakes. They can take place outside in different environments, inside the castle, inside the dungeon. She will be intentionally set up to fail at least once.” Her words caught in her throat as images poured into her mind. Clenching her jaw, she took a moment to push the memories down. “The fifth challenge is always unplanned. It will come at a time she's not expecting an attack. If she fails any of them, she gets one additional opportunity to succeed. The one intended for her to fail is adjusted so that she is no longer guaranteed to fail. Her success comes down to her own abilities. The only restriction is that they cannot kill her.”

“What was expected of you?”

That question lingered in her mind as she spoke, and she grappled with how to answer it. Part of her still felt guilty, seeing so many other women at the mercy of unbridled men who had been granted permission to do whatever they wished. It was nothing compared to what she had actually seen in the field.

“I was given a choice,” she said, her voice softening slightly. “My uncle’s resolution would not be deterred, but he presented a different path forward for me. A concession given my birthright. I was told that I could either follow suit if I wanted to move forward, or… or I could agree to working through it with Ronin, which also granted me privacy.” She suddenly felt sick. Meya didn't regret her decision. It has been an imperative one, but she felt with some certainty that this would be the thing to cause Aidan's opinion of her to change drastically. After all, she was royal by birth, even if her status wasn't required to be acknowledged here. Ladies were meant to remain chaste and proper until they were married off to the most advantageous family, even that much was true in her uncle's territory. Swallowing, she chewed the inside of her lip for a moment, refusing to look at him. He’d given her too much credit, which she’d tried to tell him. This was the moment she was certain he would realize that she was just as low as everyone else.

“Since I had known Ronin most of my life, and was also aware that my uncle was hoping for an eventual marriage between the two of us, it made sense. So, that's what I did. I endured much less than many others.” Her tone was numb, as though she were recalling the story of walking into a store and purchasing a hat.

“I know this sounds barbaric to you,” she said. “But, this approach has worked for him for decades. It has protected his crown and, up until your kingdom's success, helped sustain his empire. He isn't just a king of one land, he is the ruler of many, and with that comes an inconceivable amount of threats. This is how he retains his place in this world by ensuring that the people he calls upon to do the most sensitive work can stick to their resolve regardless of whatever they may face.”