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One
“The bond we shared will endure forever, in some small way.”
Alder doesn’t have to hear Tally’s response, feels it in her bones instead, and in the way she’s still looking at her now. So brave, not afraid to hold her General’s gaze, to speak the truth knowing they have and will both continue to feel it. Spoken aloud or in the depths of them, where their connection still lays entirely intact. She will have to do something about that, but not tonight. “I’m okay with that.”
And if there were any doubts left, earlier words would’ve brushed those aside as easily as leaves in the wind. I have missed you so much. Alder smiles, despite herself. There are lines not to be crossed, and from past experience she has made this one of them. Letting herself feel things. Affection.
But goddess, the way she’d looked at her. Alder knows, intimately, what it feels like to be glared at in hatred. To be judged with mere looks, to be despised. She’s felt suspicion cast upon her, has been gazed at through eyes half-lidded with desire. And yes, she’s been looked at in admiration by young Cadets. It comes with portraying someone like herself, an authority figure meant to inspire, but this feels different. This being Tally looking at her, comfortable enough to show vulnerability, trusting her enough to overstep all of the lines and then some, and knowing it will be okay.
Alder wants to prove her wrong, reprimand her, and doesn’t.
“I’m afraid you have no choice, at this point.” And if she’s smiling, it’s to be polite. To embarrass this young witch would only add to this mess they’ve already found themselves in, she tells herself.
But clearly, if someone were to believe this, it isn’t Tally. Now laughing softly to herself, eyes still fixed on Alder’s. Alder keeps her arms strictly at her sides, fists balled, because she came here to check up on Tally, and Tally is okay, and that should be that. But suddenly she wants nothing more than to reach out and pull the girl into a hug. She blames it on the other witch’s desire for physical affection, influencing her own feelings on the matter, but she knows that’s not fair, if partially true.
She’s about to turn and leave again, duty accomplished, when Tally boldly reaches out and grabs her hand, making her stop in her tracks. Alder turns, ready to question the Cadet for this sort of behavior, but when she does, Tally looks afraid. Just for a moment, as though it had just dawned on her what she was in the process of doing, before settling into a softer expression. Some amount of longing visible on her features only to someone like Alder who can feel the emotions simultaneously, as though running through her own veins.
“Will you… stay, please?”
The right answer would be “no”, Alder knows this. She still has things to do despite the late hour, a General is never not busy, and one of those things should definitely include figuring out how to sever their bond completely. Particularly so that situations like this one will never occur again.
Alder sighs, starts with “Craven…” and then realizes she doesn’t know how to proceed. Not once in her career has she felt less in control, and to think it’s because of something as simple as Tally Craven’s hopeful smile.
A smile that slowly turns into something a little more on the panicked side. As though Alder leaving the infirmary would be the worst thing to happen yet, in these troubled past weeks. “Raelle and Abigail were supposed to visit, but they’re busy with War College, and I know it’s not appropriate but I meant what I said, about… missing you. And it’s torture, just being alone in this room all day-”
“Okay,” Alder breathes out finally, chuckling a little both at herself and the girl’s antics. “Okay, I’ll stay, but only for a bit. You need to rest.”
They both know it to be a hypocritical attempt at an excuse, needing to rest. But a short time later Tally is back in her bed, Alder sitting in the chair meant for visitors, right next to her, the biddies on the opposite side of the room. They can both practically feel any trace of unrest leaving Tally’s body as she simply basks in Alder’s presence. Yet another problem Alder couldn’t have foreseen, even more so because it’s a problem that makes her smile. It’s hard not to when her cold presence is suddenly perceived as nothing but warmth and comfort.
“Tell me something.” Tally says, breaking the silence. She looks tired and soft, and it hasn’t escaped Alder’s notice that she’s lying on the far side of the infirmary bed, to be as close to her General as possible.
“What, like a story?” Alder laughs. Apparently this evening will just continue to throw things at her she’s never once had to deal with in her long life.
“Anything. Something about you, something I don’t know.” For the first time tonight Tally actually sounds hesitant.
“I’m sure by now you know everything there is to know about me.” Alder thinks about the few days Tally spent as her biddy, the constant sharing of emotions and thoughts, of memories. There’s not a lot she can think of Tally might not know already, or could figure out even now, and Alder knows it should scare her. It’s dangerous, for someone who is no longer a biddy to know these things, to have that kind of power over her. But Tally, eyes almost falling shut on their own accord, breathing deeply, still smiling at her, seems like the last person who would ever take advantage of any of it.
And so a part of Alder finds herself liking that their bond still remains intact.
“But I want you to tell me,” Tally whispers. Something in that whisper transcends what a General and her Cadet should be talking about, and how they should talk about it. So many lines not to be crossed, and Alder remains seated. “Because it’s something you want to share, something you want to give to me willingly.”
Something in Alder breaks. Was this really how Tally thought about their connection? Did she think herself an intruder, did she think the bond to be one-sided, when all Alder has wanted since Tally’s sacrifice was to share and to give and give and not take anything in return, if only that was possible?
Her hand that is not resting on Tally’s bed itches to reach out, to cup the young witch’s face and smooth away the lines of worry and sadness that she has put there.
Alder hesitates for a moment, then allows herself to. The infirmary might not be the most comfortable place, but the dim lights have created a deceiving notion of it nonetheless, make Tally look soft and warm. Alder feels… light , is the only way she can think to put it. The heavy burden of everyday life has been forgotten and instead been replaced, by this inappropriate exchange, with the kind of comfort she hasn’t felt in years.
Her fingertips brush against soft skin just as Raelle, who else, barges into the room, causing Alder to jerk her hand back and Tally to turn with a big grin.
“Sorry Tal, I-” A sudden stop, a head tilted in confusion. An awkward nod. “General. I can come back later.”
Alder shakes her head and makes to stand, and there’s a short moment in which Tally reaches out subtly to her other hand still resting on her bed, like asking her not to leave. Alder smiles softly, ignores the warmth radiating from where Tally’s fingers are now resting against her own. “No, that’s okay. I was just checking in on Cadet Craven, I’ll get going.”
She takes a second to look at Tally, and realizes she can’t just leave like she usually would, hands behind her back and without any parting words. “Goodnight, Cadet,” she says instead, her voice treacherously soft. She makes up for it with a harsh “Collar” and a firm nod in the other Cadet’s direction.
As she leaves she hears Raelle’s teasing, “uh, Tally? You and Alder?” and has to take a moment to herself. Alder leans against the wall outside of the infirmary, closes her eyes and just breathes, feeling nothing like a witch of over 300 years. All of the experiences she’s accumulated, the emotions she’s felt, and they led her to this, standing here giddy like a fool and unable to get a grip on herself.
And then that teasing implication. You and Alder? She’s worked with countless people over the years, has partnered up with many of them, for the greater good, for pleasure. But no one person has ever been close enough to her for people to refer to them in this manner. You and Alder. It’s nothing, but the implication of a them , of a we, an us, makes Alder’s next exhale come out shakily.
“General.” And of course the last member of their unit was soon to follow. Alder shouldn't have stood there, should have left immediately.
With another inhale Alder pulls herself together, nods at Abigail with a simple “Bellweather” and leaves with her head held high.
She doesn’t listen in on purpose, but the unit’s words are impossible to miss, echoing through the empty hallway and following Alder even as she walks away from the infirmary.
“Guys, what’s going on? I just saw Alder outside and she looked like she-” Abigail.
Raelle interrupts, and something in Alder feels the loss of those unspoken words. A part of her would’ve liked to know what exactly she had looked like to Abigail in this moment, because for once it was bound to be something other than heartless, or strict, or cold. “I’m pretty sure I just walked in on Tally flirting with Alder.”
“So? Keep up, shitbird, she’s been doing that for ages.”
“I have not! ” Alder smiles at the playful outrage in Tally’s voice, and at the lie.
And so it goes. There’s laughter and teasing and Alder doesn’t listen to the rest, feels like she’s overstepped enough lines today already, but it makes her feel warm once more. Cadets talking about her like this, her name used with Tally’s, her name used for loving teasing and, for once, not spoken with cruelty in mind.
Two
The connection is undeniably stronger, the perceived feelings more precise, the closer they are. It’s not like Alder paid any special attention to it besides the denying, the not thinking about it, but it’s impossible to ignore the breach of said assumed truth as she feels all of Tally’s anger even though the girl isn’t physically present in Alder’s office. Feeling it is an understatement, feeling the anger as though it is her own closer to accurate and yet not all-encompassing enough to describe the way it has her pacing the room.
It’s been a long day and all Alder needs is a strong drink, but instead she clenches her jaw and waits for Tally, who she knows is coming. Must already be on her way here. She pours herself the much longed for drink and turns on some civilian music not only to keep herself busy, but also in the hopes to regain some semblance of control.
It’s hard to feel the authority she usually holds when her entire body wants to shake with someone else’s pent up emotions.
Alder has felt a lot of hatred directed towards her, in her long life. From personal vendettas to rivals wanting to relieve her of her position. She’s had people want to burn her alive and yet this is worse. For the longest time she’s been convinced nothing could ever match the hate she feels for herself and it still holds truth, but this comes dangerously close. Impossibly, it does.
And in that revelation Alder notices her mistake, finally. A big one, obvious, easy to make and easier to avoid. She’s had too much training to have found herself in this position, but she still is, whatever she chooses to ultimately blame this failing on.
Her big mistake was to assume, falsely, that Tally Craven could never hate her. That she’d always stand behind her no matter what, that the hero worship and admiration would be enough to let her look past Alder’s many, many shortcomings.
It’s impossible to know how she could be this foolish, to believe this so deeply within herself, to take the Cadet’s trust for granted. Something inside her that has already broken many times breaks yet again as Alder laughs at herself. What else is there to do, really? Presuming something like this, so rarely given, when all she ever made was mistake, after mistake, after mistake.
She’s still smiling self-deprecatingly to herself when Tally finally barges in just like Alder knew she would, eyes betraying what trembling fists are trying to hide. All that Alder has felt already, prepared herself for. Seeing her now, Alder isn’t sure she could’ve handled it otherwise. This look in the Cadet’s eyes could’ve taken her off guard, badly so.
Tally doesn’t waste time. She, oh so bravely, asks about Nicte, and Alder lies. Tally asks about Liberia and Alder lies. Alder lies, lies, lies. She barely even asks herself where Tally knows these things from, barely asks anything at all, because her instinct is to evade, to deny.
She’s become so good at it over the years, it shouldn’t be any different now. And yet, even though she has her reasons — she always has her reasons — she finds that they don’t play a role here. Alder doesn’t care about her image as the General of this army, usually what she’s telling these evasive half-truths for. She doesn’t care about strategy.
What she cares about, suddenly and undeniably, is what Tally might think of her, knowing about this in particular and all of the other things Alder’s managed to hide even during the brief time Tally was her biddy. The blood on her hands still feels fresh and oh so visible to everyone, but there’s some of the things she’s done — had to do — she doesn’t dare risk sharing.
Anger is good. Tally being reckless and walking into her office unannounced is good. Tally glaring, yelling, hating — it’s all so much better than the deep disappointment Alder fears she might feel finding out that, no, there aren’t parts of Alder that are bad, that balance out the good she’s done. That, actually, she’s all bad, through and through.
“We all have our prideful failings,” she says, voice deceivingly steady. She needs them to fuel more of that anger she’s suddenly come to appreciate. “For instance, your belief that you can barge in here, in the dead of the night no less, to make accusations of conspiracy and nefarious intent against me.”
The irony. If only she could speak aloud how much she enjoys the barging in, and has even before this night. How much she enjoys having someone challenger her like this, fuck her authority, fuck her righteousness. Please, she wants to say, call me out on this and let me tell you. Make me. But of course she can’t.
“I just… wanted answers.” If there was a way Alder could avoid looking right at Tally in this moment, she would. The tears forming in the girl’s eyes are hard to handle, knowing it’s just the beginning of what she wants to achieve here.
“And what makes you think you are owed any?”
Alder knows, by the look of her, that the words that will follow it are going to hurt. They do. “We… are connected.”
And they are, but it’s not enough and too much, and Alder has to put a stop to it.
“That time has passed.”
“Then why have I been seeing these memories, ever since the surgery? I thought they were dreams, at first-”
There should be a much larger amount of her who worries about the exact implications of this, of the knowledge the Cadet might hold despite all the desperate hiding. It’s hard to worry though, tears pricking her eyes and overwhelmingly needing to get her out of here.
“I’ll have Izadora give you something to make sure that the connection is well and truly severed. Dismissed.”
Tally, admirably, nods and leaves, apparently able to follow orders after all. Alder isn’t sure what she would’ve done if she hadn’t, doesn’t think herself strong enough to have pushed it, or even tried.
She wonders how this, all of it, could’ve gone so terribly wrong so terribly quickly, wonders how long it’s been since she last cried and if she can allow herself to now. What pushes over the edge, in the end, aren’t her own feelings but Tally’s, so strong that they reverberate through Alder’s entire being, anger shifting to that disappointment she was so scared of earlier.
There at last, despite the lies she’s been trying to uphold for decades. They were never going to be enough against a force like Tally Craven.
And the dreams, her memories. Thinking about Izadora severing their bond forever irrationally makes her want to break something, and she can’t quite tell if that’s still remnants of Tally’s anger or her own instinct, the need , to feel a different kind of pain to the one already haunting her.
She doesn’t break something, sits down instead and drinks. And cries.
And of course keeping this moment of peace and self-hatred to herself is too much to ask for, as shortly after Anacostia walks in, seemingly noticing Alder’s state only once she’s already past marching into the office and is standing in front of her desk.
“General. I-”
“Permission to speak freely.”
“Are you okay?” Anacostia asks, not unexpected, and isn’t that the question. Alder wants to nod in denial. She’s always been great at this, hiding her feelings, building walls, not letting anyone in. But she is failing now and she is past caring.
And she notes the way Anacostia is looking at her, like she’s truly concerned, and so- “It’s Craven.”
Alder expects a follow-up question, expects to have to explain everything that just went down and exactly why she is letting a mere Cadet’s actions get to her like this. Instead Anacostia nods, like she understands. As though she ever could. “She passed me on the way, looked all kinds of angry and sad. I take it she just barged in here?”
Alder nods, sighs. She doesn’t want to get into why that’s not as much of a problem as it should be, why she almost likes it, why Craven, of all people, is the only soldier who will ever get away with it.
There’s no need, apparently, because instead of asking her to explain Anacostia simply smiles knowingly. Which should be dangerous in its own right, if it wasn’t for all the comfort it brings as well. “Don’t worry, we’ve all got a soft spot for Craven.”
And if that isn’t the biggest understatement Alder’s heard in the last three centuries.
Three
Seeing Nicte like this is… comforting. Not Nicte herself, precisely — weak, captured, at her mercy. A part of Alder shudders at seeing a witch this powerful so close to death. A part of her, buried deep, deep down within herself, recoils at seeing Nicte like this. Still sneering of course, smiling like she’s actually winning whatever game they’re playing, and yet so close to her end. Decades spent together are beyond even what Alder can push aside like they meant nothing. No matter how much she’d want to.
But what this moment symbolises, that makes Alder want to sigh in relief. Nicte’s death will not only send a powerful message to every witch in this nation and beyond, but it will strengthen her own standing as well. No one will know about Liberia, the things she had to do there. Soon, she tells herself, it’ll all be over.
Many would call it selfish, what she’s doing here, but Alder isn’t sure she can agree. Yes, she is trying to save herself. She is trying to uphold the heroic image these witches have of her. A glance at Tally and she winces, fearing she might have to revoke her last thoughts. The heroic image some of them have of her.
But this mistake, this sacrifice, she has made years ago. She’s suffered for it and will continue to do so, in all her waking moments and then in her dreams, intermingling with the countless other choices she thinks she should, perhaps, regret. Alder has paid for them, pays for them every night she wakes up drenched in sweat and unable to breathe. Pays for them every time she looks into someone's eyes and sees what they really think of her.
She simply doesn’t understand what good it would do, to anyone, to rob the army of a capable General at this moment of time. When what they truly need is to be strong, to have a competent leader help them fight the real enemy. Not her. Not Sarah Alder, who has given her entire life to this cause.
So she tells herself that this is the right decision to make, the only decision. To protect all of her daughters and sisters. What will one more lie change, one more death?
Alder tries to muster the anger she doesn’t quite feel, because what she needs to do most of all now is show everyone how passionately she believes in this execution and what it will do to help them as a nation. She needs to inspire rage against the Spree, against their leader. Needs to make it clear that Nicte, deceivingly calm and innocent — small — , that she is the enemy.
Soon, this will all be over.
And there’s a reason her eyes never stray to Tally during all of this, not once.
“I take no pleasure in ending a witch’s life, but this woman is no mere witch. Nicte Batan is a murderer. Her crimes against the citizens of the United States cannot go unanswered.” And she hopes, desperately, that she sounds more confident about her decision than she feels. “With her death, we send a signal to Spree cells around the world, that we will hunt them, we will find them, and we will end them.”
The resounding stomping of feet let her know that she is succeeding, that her words resonate with the witches around her, specifically the higher ranking soldiers behind her. It’s enough to encourage her further, let herself bask in the anger, in theirs and her own. Well, it almost is.
She knows, even without looking — she won’t look — that the Bellweather unit’s feet are still. Instead of letting it distract her, she channels Tally’s anger towards her into this speech, into her actions. It’s too much, and perversely it’s really useful. A part of Alder wants to smile, realizing that she’s found yet another way to exploit someone else’s emotions. Of course she would.
“She will not be burned, because even our most rank, vile enemy deserves better than that. With three strikes Nicte Batan will meet the Goddess.” Even just speaking the words hurt, something she doesn’t want to feel, let alone admit. She readies herself, takes a step forward. And another. Tells herself she can do this, and knows that she can. Their entire relationship, she knows now, has always been leading up to this. “One for the heart.”
And she can feel Tally’s anger rise, resolving into panic.
“One for the head.”
She knows what will happen next, the signs in herself undeniable, but she tries to continue nonetheless. Maybe, just maybe, the Goddess will have mercy on her and prevent this.
“And one for the soul.”
“Stop!” And silence. Hushed whispers. Every head in the hall turns to look at Tally, fear and shock written all over their faces. Because who, except Alder herself, could’ve expected this public show of disobedience? And who could ever guess Alder’s true feelings about that ?
It all could’ve been so easy. She was so close to ending it once and for all, to move on, to use this mistake of hers to make things right. But apparently the Goddess has no mercy left for her, and who is to blame but herself. So close.
But wasn’t Alder the one who told Tally to always seek the truth? Isn’t this her own doing, all of it? Isn’t she guiding Tally’s feet forward to stand opposite of her, steps confident and strong and not the smallest bit hesitant? And isn’t she proud?
“What are you doing?” she asks, as her brain catches up to what Tally’s next words will be, as she realizes what that means. What she’ll have to do.
“I declare Right of Proxy!” Tally states in mothertongue, and Alder can tell she is no longer sure. And how brave she must be, to still go through with it. “My life for hers.”
Alder has to stop herself from trembling as Tally’s fear curses through her, as their eyes meet. Tally is scared and it hurts, impossibly, so much more than even the disappointment did. Because she realizes that Tally Craven losing all hope in her is nothing compared to Tally Craven thinking Alder is going to kill her.
“Craven,” she whispers, for Tally, but loud enough for everyone to hear. Don’t let her go down as someone who enjoyed this, who did any part of this willingly and not because it was her only choice. Her only one. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Alder isn’t sure one truth in between all those lies will be enough.
And she hates how desperate she sounds, but she needs Tally to back down. A part of her would beg for it. Because if it comes down to it, she knows she will have to try. There’s no other choice now. To back down herself, to stop lying, is no longer an option, if it even was to begin with. Not when she’s come this far.
“You’re gonna have to. Unless you want to tell everyone why we are really here.”
Something inside of Alder breaks just like Tally’s voice. Of course she doesn’t back down. The Cadet she’s come to know too intimately would never. The Cadet she admires would never. And Alder realizes that, even now, she wouldn’t want her to. For Tally to renounce all of her values and strong-held beliefs for someone like her, someone like Alder, would be treasonous in itself, would be a reason to grieve.
There are tears in Tally’s eyes now and Alder can feel the chaos inside the girl’s chest, the fear, the disappointment, now one big concoction that makes her feel as though perhaps Tally herself would like to beg now, for this to be over. Instead she baits, threatens her by giving her an out, to tell the truth after all. Alder can’t take it.
And when she turns around to think, to just think for a moment without looking into those tear-filled eyes and knowing it’s her fault, Tally lashes out. She, unbelievably, actually does. It should be enough to count as treason, should be enough to have her executed instead. But that’s not what Alder thinks about.
She feels the blood on her cheek, warm, and thinks that no matter what happens next, no matter what foolish thing she does next, at least Tally Craven has left her mark on her.
Alder doesn’t think she’s ever met anyone this brave.
In the face of insubordination there’s only one thing to do. She attacks. It’s the last thing she’s wanted to do tonight. She wanted to leave all of this behind, not hurt one of her own. One of her own so much more her own, even, than any of the others. But there are witches watching, so many of them, who are her sisters and daughters and, most importantly, her soldiers. She can’t let a reckless action like this go unanswered.
Another step forward and another strike, evading Tally’s. One more strike. Another one. Alder barely feels her own movements, thinks she would stop the second her mind really, truly realized what she was doing. She’s in a trance, and she has to get this over with, and in between all of that Alder realizes that, ironically, she feels closer to Tally now than she has in days, maybe weeks.
They are fighting against each other, yes, but also with each other. And with their eyes they have conversations that they could never even attempt with words. For a second, Alder almost thinks it doesn’t matter what will happen next, because they have this moment, and the next, and they’re still fighting and it’s better than glares and quiet seething.
Alder is sure that once Tally is on the floor, and she is now, it would only take one more strike to kill her. One flick of her hand. There’s a moment leading up to this in which neither of them breathe, in which perhaps no one in the entire room breathes.
Alder tries to channel the anger she’s felt before, to let it fuel her enough to get through with this, to actually do it. But there’s no anger left. Not even the fear, or the disappointment. No worries for her own station. There’s absolutely nothing left where all of that had once so comfortably settled in both her and Tally’s chests. Nothing.
The way Tally looks up at her tells Alder that she’s not the only one feeling… empty. And something comes over her, so unexpected that all she can do is sink down to her knees. She reaches out to Tally blindly, her eyes filled with tears, unable to think anything but what have I done.
Alder doesn’t care who is watching as she pulls Tally close, cradles her to her chest, and starts to cry in earnest once she realizes Tally lets her. That she’s not pulling back, like Alder thinks she ought to. She doesn’t care what they think, either, because suddenly she doesn’t just have this moment with Tally, and maybe the next if she’s lucky, but so many more.
The realization hits slowly, that there was not a single moment in this fight in which she would’ve actually been able to kill Tally. She was a fool to believe, to convince herself, that she might.
Alder gently cups Tally’s cheek once they’ve both stopped trembling, stopped crying quite so hard, and the rest of the world continues to be nothing but a blur, ceases to exist entirely.
“I thought you were… I really thought you were going to kill me,” Tally whispers. Almost too quietly, but Alder can hear her, imagines she feels the words shift something within her, kicking loose realization after realization.
“I thought so too,” Alder admits.
She hopes the way their eyes linger on each other, their inability to let go of each other, conveys some of the unspoken parts of that statement. The but I didn’t. The I couldn’t, I would never.
Finally, after several long moments, Alder stands up, tries to compose herself as much as she is able to. Her uniform is a mess, her face still wet with both blood and tears. The officers, all of the witches, are looking at her in a way she can’t quite interpret. In ways that could mean anything in between being grateful she didn’t kill one of her own daughters and wanting her to retire as quickly as possible.
But she doesn’t linger to analyse any of that further, because she knows what to do.
Her eyes are on Tally as she speaks.
“For years, I have been lying to you all,” she starts, her voice somehow stable and strong enough to carry through the hall and reach everyone.
After decades of this, it should take more than an encouraging nod from a mere Cadet to stop lying.
“Unlike what my previous statements conveyed, I was present in Liberia. I made mistakes there, big ones. Sacrifices at the expense of civilian lives. Before I continue, I want you to know that all of the choices I have ever made, and ever will make, I have made in order to protect my fellow witches, and the entirety of this nation.”
It’s impossible to say what will happen next, but Alder, despite her best judgement, continues to speak. Dares to hope. No more lies, if she can help it. After decades of this, it should take more than a sliver of hope, glimpsed in wide eyes, that she thought forever lost, but it doesn’t.
Four
It’s not exactly a celebration more than it is a sigh of relief.
Nothing that happened is worth celebrating, at least not in Alder’s eyes, but after several hard weeks and the hardest few days, it’s like everyone collectively decided that this is just what they need: music, alcohol, and to forget. Even if just for this one night. Soon, maybe tomorrow, things will be difficult again, but for now they are bearable at the very least, and everyone is appreciative of that.
General Sarah Alder is still General Sarah Alder, Nicte Batan is in prison, the army will — hopes to — find a way to work with the Spree and fight against their real enemy, and- Alder has no idea how any of that actually happened. With so many ways for it to go incredibly wrong.
Tally’s maybe-restored hope in her was, embarrassingly, enough to make the whole ordeal worth it no matter what, made telling the truth so much easier. Alder just didn’t believe it would go over that well with just about everyone else, particularly people like Bellweather or the president, who were out to get her anyway. And there she stood, casually giving them so much ammunition.
It didn’t go over easy with them, not at all. There were power struggles, discussions late into the night, but eventually they settled on the one thing they could all agree on: they needed to decimate the Camarilla, quickly, and Alder in command was their best chance to get them there.
So now General Sarah Alder walks her dark gardens as she thinks, processes, the music audible but no more than a dull background noise, shrieks of laughter discernible from where people are having fun in the distance.
More fun, she assumes, than she is having. It’s not something she can afford to do right now, allowing herself to relax. There are strategies to think about, arrangements to be made, things to think about and things to ignore and others to never be examined too closely and-
General Alder didn’t want to go to the party so, apparently, the party came to her instead.
Alder wonders how she didn’t feel her nervous energy from a mile away, so obvious now, and looks at Tally. She’s wearing her uniform, though with her jacket unbuttoned, a non standard-issue top beneath. Her movements are clumsy and explained by the red solo cup she is holding, her face is flushed, and she is… smiling at Alder? She looks happy, disheveled. She looks good.
After all of her truths, Alder expected that same sliver of hope she’d seen in the girl’s eyes the day prior, expected respect or maybe not even that. Instead the look Tally is giving her comes eerily close to the way she’s looked at her before, well, everything happened. Back is the girl looking up at her with big eyes, admiring her and not bothering to make a secret of it. Alder wonders who exactly Tally is looking at in this moment, the General or Sarah Alder. And wonders why it matters to her.
Alder is certain she doesn’t deserve to be on the opposite end of a look like that, and she is certain that the contents of Tally’s cup have encouraged it at least somewhat, but she’ll take it. After everything, maybe she needs an evening of forgetting, of rest, too. Maybe to her that doesn’t mean getting drunk, just Tally looking at her with anything other than hate. Something like this.
“G-general, hi…” Tally smiles, takes another few clumsy steps forwards, closer to Alder, and Alder instinctively reaches out with a steadying hand. That Tally definitely needs. Alder can feel the nervousness, the tipsy energy buzzing inside of her.
This is nothing but another line crossed, but Alder doesn’t have it in herself to send the girl away, or to not smile back at least a little.
“Cadet Craven,” she acknowledges. It’s what she’s supposed to call her, so why does it feel inadequate after the events of the previous day? It’s a problem. “Shouldn’t you be having fun with your friends?”
“I just… wanted to say thank you,” Tally breathes out, and if she didn’t continue to speak right away, Alder would’ve had to state all kinds of objections as to why she is the last person to be thanked right now. She did nothing to deserve that. If anything, she should be the one apologizing. “I’m really happy you are still General. And I’m glad you didn’t… you know.”
“Kill you?” Alder lets out a self-deprecating laugh, though a part of her wants to cry. How twisted the Cadet’s views of these events and of her are, and how badly Alder hopes it’s just the alcohol messing with her perception. That she’ll come to her senses. Because she does not deserve this level of devotion.
But Tally just hums, her nod accompanied by a soft smile. It’s… too much, somehow. Alder clears her throat and begins walking, just to do something, but also to be able to avert her gaze from the younger witch. “Take a walk with me?”
It’s painful how eager Tally is, and entirely too endearing. Alder walks with her back ramrod straight, hands clasped behind her back, uniform pristine. Tally is practically bouncing alongside her, and goddess, how she wishes she could ever be that carefree again. And… where did that come from, suddenly?
“Do you want…?” Alder doesn’t realize what Tally is asking until she notices the girl’s outstretched hand, offering Alder her cup.
Alder takes it skeptically and brings it to her nose, grimacing immediately. “What is that?”
Tally, apparently having studied her face, bursts out laughing at whatever expression this foul-smelling concoction induced. She shrugs, “I’m not sure, actually, Raelle made it.”
Alder, despite herself, snorts. “Of course she did.”
It takes a fair bit of convincing, but eventually Alder does take a sip. She would never admit it aloud, but a certain pair of dimples can be hard to say no to. And she chuckles into the cup as she drinks, because why not say it aloud, when by now everyone must know already? She’s never favored any one soldier before, so hiding said favoritism isn’t necessarily one of her strong suits.
“Do you like it?” Tally asks, and Alder laughs. Honest to goddess laughs. She didn’t think it possible after the past few days, and she can’t even blame it on the alcohol yet.
“I don’t, I really don’t. Next time we’ll go with my bourbon instead.” Alder doesn’t even think, clearly she doesn't, about the words she’s just spoken until she feels their effect on the private, whose beaming smile has, impossibly, become even bigger than it already was before.
“Next time?” Tally asks. It’s one of the only times Alder’s ever heard her be shy.
Alder clears her throat again. So many crossed lines. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of opportunities, what with you having made it a habit to barge into my office at all times of the day.”
“I’ll try not to do that anymore.” Tally smiles, and they both know it’s a straight-up lie. Alder swallows nervously when the girl suddenly becomes visibly more somber, like sobering up, wringing her hands together. “I… our connection. It’s still there.”
“It is,” Alder acknowledges softly, and once again their fellow witches have chosen exactly the worst moment to disrupt this little moment of peace they’ve created. Maybe it’s for the best.
Anacostia looks quite exasperated, the two soldiers she’s towing along anything but.
“We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Raelle exclaims, definitely more drunk than Tally.
“Yeah where were you?” Abigail chimes in, and it’s seemingly only then that she takes note of Alder’s presence.
And suddenly it’s like all of them are looking at her, at her and Tally both. Wondering. It’s fine, because they’re drunk, but Anacostia isn’t and she isn’t even trying to hide her knowing smile. She’ll deal with her later.
Alder has to thank the short attention span of drunk people, because only seconds later Abigail and Raelle are both convincing Tally to join them back at the party again. Only that Tally is still looking at her, and looks like she’s about to say or do something possibly stupid. Alder decides she liked all of this better when there weren’t other people watching, assuming things.
“Do you- I mean… do you want to join us too?”
For a second time that night, Alder laughs out loud. She can’t remember if she’s ever been asked to drink with cadets, doesn’t think so, and the thought of herself, mostly sober, in between a crowd of young, drunk witches is entirely too awkward. She’s too old for this. When she speaks, though, her voice is soft. “No thank you, Tally. Go have fun.”
Tally, not Craven.
Alder can feel a spike of joy, then of disappointment, that is probably Tally’s, but the girl nods. For a second she looks like she’ll say or do something else, and Alder is relieved when instead Abigail and Raelle nod awkwardly at her and then, pulling Tally along with them, leave.
Just as they’re about to be out of view, Tally turns one last time, hesitantly. “Oh, and General? I’m really sorry.”
Alder nods, swallows. She doesn’t trust her voice, but she smiles at Tally who, by then, is already gone again. Alder doesn’t want to look after her, then the empty spot where she was, but she does.
“Maybe you should give it a try, you know?” Anacostia chimes in, pulling Alder out of her thoughts, stepping closer.
“Try what?” Alder asks.
“Drinking with them, it’s kind of fun.”
Alder raises her eyebrows, smiles. “Is this your way of telling me you have been engaging in inappropriate activities with your subordinates?”
“I told you, you’re not the only one with a soft spot for Craven.”
Alder doesn’t know how many times she’ll have to hear those words, or how many times she’ll want to deny them and yet doesn’t. It’s wrong, but she’s had a few bad days, months, years. Centuries. She’s still General, Nicte has been dealt with, but there are too many other variables, things that can still go wrong.
Soon they’ll be back to fighting, soon many of them will die, and Alder thinks for the first time that maybe even if she doesn’t deserve it — not in the slightest — she can have one good thing.
Five
General Alder is convinced that even if she didn’t know the date, she’d know it to be Beltane simply by walking these hallways. There’s no mistaking the anticipation of hundreds of witches thrumming in the air, the collective power that even the mere thought of the coming ceremonies brings.
She basks in that power as she goes about her day, and is reminded over and over again why she loves this day. Beltane is the perfect representation of what she loves about magic. Magic at it’s best, used not to divide but to unite, to take power and power and show how much stronger one can become through sharing it.
Alder can’t, not quite, share the other witches’ giddiness, but she can revel in it all the same, soaking up their united strength.
For her, the ceremonies are a formality more than anything. There’s no wondering who she might end up with when, for years now, it has been Witchfather. The obvious choice, only his powers able to compare to hers. Sometimes seeing the younger soldiers, the cadets and privates especially, she almost wishes she could celebrate Beltane like they do. Thinking, hoping, wishing that maybe this person — but never quite certain. In the end, though, it’s nice to know what will happen, and to find comfort in it.
Alder arrives a bit late, like she usually does, knowing her presence of authority might hinder some of the carefree nature of the event. It shouldn’t, but the young witches do tend to get awfully nervous around her. There’s just enough time to make a few rounds and say hello to Witchfather before the reel begins.
As always it’s a blur of motion, of not thinking but just being. The choreography feels like a part of herself, more so than she assumes it does to any other witch present, and every step feels just right, brings her closer to the person she’s supposed to be with for today. Brings her closer to exactly who she needs right now.
She sees him a few times, as they’re changing partners, having fun, but it’s never more than small glimpses here and there. There’s never room to manipulate the dance, to choose. The reel knows your heart.
The end, as it always does, comes faster than anticipated. A few last movements, an exhilarating high, a- a redhead in her arms, just as they complete the dance with the last performatory dip.
It happens so quickly, and only once the dance is truly over and everyone is standing still again, breathing heavily, does she realize what just happened. Decades, centuries of this. And this is the first time she’s been truly surprised.
Alder barely knows what to think, looking down at Tally Craven.
Tally Craven in her uniform, Tally Craven looking up at her with wide eyes that Alder thinks must mirror her own. She fights the instinct to look around, to find the witchfather and ask him how this possibly could have gone wrong, and then realizes that it didn’t. It didn’t go wrong. The dance knows your heart. And she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Tally’s even if she wanted to.
“General,” Tally whispers, breathless. It’s too quiet and it’s all too confusing for Alder to really know what her tone means, what she thinks about this, but her eyes, at least, convey a significant amount of worry.
What finally pulls Alder out of the moment is this worry, paired not with any sound but rather the sudden lack of it. She clears her throat and apologizes, pulls Tally up to stand but then doesn’t step away like she had meant to. She knows it’s Beltane, their connection, and maybe something else — something more — that causes her inability to truly pull away, but it’s still inconvenient.
Looking around, she sees that most couples have already left to have more fun somewhere else, but there’s many witches still here, including all of the higher ranking officials that have chosen not to participate. And they’re watching them. All eyes seem to be on them, just like the hushed whispers, the smirks, seem to be caused by their current predicament.
Alder sees Petra Bellweather glare, sees Anacostia smile. She sees Tally’s unit mouthing something that looks suspiciously like we told you so. But through it all she can also still feel Tally’s nervousness and… something else, and despite everyone still watching them and herself not knowing what she intends to do, Alder takes Tally’s hand to lead her somewhere more private.
“Come with me, Cadet,” she says, gently. And why, exactly, is she making a rank sound like a term of endearment?
Tally follows her as she leads them through her gardens. The sun has begun to set during the dance and it is almost dark by the time they reach her spot reserved for Beltane, pillows and blankets, wine and plates of food, candles, all carefully arranged under a beautiful, old tree.
Their walk was mostly silent, but apparently Tally’s had enough time to think and now breaks the silence, still sounding slightly mortified. Which Alder can’t blame her for, but which is also something she wishes desperately she could help go away, somehow.
“I- oh goddess, General, I’m so sorry…”
“What for?” Alder hopes her voice sounds at least somewhat composed. She raises her eyebrows at the same time she motions for Tally to sit. A part of her wonders if she will, if Tally even wants to be here, and a sense of humiliation rushes over her worrying if maybe something did go wrong during the dance after all, if maybe it doesn’t know Tally’s heart the way it knows hers, but-
“I… I think this is my fault,” Tally admits softly, pulling Alder out of her spiraling immediately and making her smile instead. Because suddenly she knows where Tally will take this and it’s entirely too endearing, but also couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Why do you think that?”
The blush creeping up Tally’s neck is incredibly pretty. “Because I… wanted this. I hoped for it.”
Alder chuckles softly as she leans against the tree behind them, looks at Tally in the soft twilight haze. A kind of tentative hope emerges somewhere deep inside of Alder upon hearing these words and she doesn’t blush, has not blushed in over a century, but maybe her cheeks do feel a little warmer than they did before.
“That’s not how the reel works, Craven. This is what the dance chose, it shouldn’t feel…”
“Wrong?” Tally asks, and Alder nods. The word alone almost makes Alder wince.
There’s a few moments of silence, of contemplating, when suddenly Tally, surprisingly, reaches out and takes Alder’s hand. Doesn’t say anything for a while, just gently strokes her thumb along the back of Alder’s hand, causing the latter to shiver involuntarily, before she finally looks up at her, eyes still wide.
“I don’t think it feels wrong,” Tally whispers, makes it sound less like a statement and more like a plea. Please don’t let it be wrong, please let us have this. And Alder, with a start, realizes that she, too, wants them to have this.
Alder feels a sudden surge of panic, Tally’s, that she can’t quite find a reason for until seconds later the girl is straddling her lap. Alder smiles up at her, because Tally is still so brave. And because she can feel a semblance of desperation in the girl’s action that is endearing, as though she thinks Alder might run away, put a stop to this, if she didn’t make it clear how mutual the wanting is. Admittedly, Alder still might have.
But Tally is right in front of her, on top of her, their breathing labored, eyes locked, and she couldn’t put a stop to it now even if she wanted to. It’s the magic of Beltane, it’s their connection, it’s- there are, again, entirely too many things to blame these feelings on when all it really comes down to is Sarah Alder wanting Tally Craven.
Alder knows she should absolutely, under no other circumstances, actually give into this wanting. But this is Beltane, and it is right. There is consent, and then there is Tally Craven’s entire being buzzing with anticipation and want and need, and it’s like Alder can feel it herself, her fingers on Tally’s skin, cupping her cheek, and what it does to the young witch.
Alder’s fingers find Tally’s uniform next, no longer performing a soft caress but a desperate bunching of fabric and pulling her closer until their lips are almost touching, and in the second she hesitates it’s Tally who surges forward to bridge that tiny gap.
Tally’s lips are soft and Alder’s careful against them, even as she feels Tally’s desire and hears it too, a soft little whimper against her own skin. She wants to pull the girl even closer and closer and closer until there are no gaps at all and just the two of them as though they might be one instead. But Tally is so… Tally, and Alder puts the self-restraint of over three centuries into this kiss as she forces herself to go slow.
But Tally is still Tally, and moments of this turn the desire to explore into impatience. It’s her whose tongue swipes along Alder’s lower lip, who whimpers once more when Alder opens her mouth in response and deepens the kiss.
It’s torturous to hold back, a low growl in Alder’s throat as she restrains herself from flipping them over and taking Tally apart, piece by delicious piece. She doesn’t stop to think that maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what Tally would want.
“Please,” Tally moans, and she doesn’t specify exactly what she is begging for, but the slow and sensual grinding against Alder’s thigh gives the latter a pretty good idea.
Alder hums in acknowledgement, feeling Tally’s ragged breathing against her skin, mingling with her own, as she starts to, slowly, unbutton Tally’s uniform. By now it’s no longer restraint that is stopping her from just ripping the jacket open, it’s the way Tally rocks against her, mewls into her mouth every time Alder’s fingers play with a button instead of just opening it quickly and efficiently.
Every new sound Alder can draw out of Tally is a delight, and so she will take her sweet, sweet time with the unraveling.
“Why did you wear this to the dance?” Alder asks as she toys with the dark blue fabric, finally taking it off and leaving Tally in just her grey top.
“I didn’t think…” Tall starts, gets momentarily distracted by Alder’s lips on her jaw and what that does to her. “I wasn’t going to take part in the dance, I didn’t think... “
“Didn’t think there was anyone there for you?” Alder asks and lets herself drown in Tally’s smell, the way her skin feels under her fingers, so that she doesn’t have to think about Tally, sweet Tally, thinking she was going to end up alone when Alder is right here.
Tally nods, and her mind also seems to stray elsewhere when Alder playfully pushes her thigh up to meet Tally more firmly between her legs.
“Please, I just need-” Another push cuts Tally off, her words turning into an almost obscene moan. Alder grins deviously, her hands balled in the fabric of Tally’s top, ready to take it off but not wanting to break their kiss to do so. Only when they finally pull back to breathe does she take pity on her cadet and takes it off in one swift movement.
And she smiles at what Tally is wearing underneath, not the standard bra they’re all provided by the army, but something that is all pink lace and very, very beautiful. Alder takes some moments to just take Tally in, because she looks divine, skin flushed in the moonlight, and if Alder tries really hard she can imagine Tally wore it only for her. She is all soft skin and even softer curves that Alder can finally, finally, touch. And the General is done holding back.
A shiver runs through Tally as Alder’s hands, cold, find her warm skin and start to explore teasingly. For a while Alder’s gaze barely strays from the lace, but when she does eventually look up Tally’s face is redder than she’s ever seen it before.
“Are you okay, Cadet?” Alder chuckles.
“I-I’m sorry, I know I’m not supposed to wear something like this on base, but-”
Alder shakes her head, laughs again, the chuckle low in her throat. She dips down for her lips, her tongue and teeth, to find hard nipples through the fabric she’s so enamoured with.
“It’s Beltane, you can wear whatever your heart desires,” she mumbles against Tally before looking up at her again with a smirk. “And besides, does it look like I’m complaining?”
Tally shakes her head, but Alder’s mouth and where it has found itself have caused Tally to throw her head back in a moan, and now Alder takes advantage of the newly exposed skin and lets her teeth roam Tally’s neck instead, drawing out more whimpers with each playful bite.
Tally’s hands in her hair, fingernails against her scalp, are what finally push Alder to turn them around in one swift movement so that she is now on top, Tally flat on the ground below her, out of breath and eyes quietly asking for all kinds of inappropriate things.
Too impatient now to take it off properly, Alder pushes aside Tally’s bra, exposing her breasts, nipples hard in the chill air. And Tally is an absolute vision beneath her, hair a mess, exposed and ready, arching her back as Alder finally puts her hand down Tally’s pants and between her legs.
There Alder finds her wet and wanting, and if she’d had some restraint left to begin with, it would all be gone now. The sounds Tally makes as Alder teases and then finally pushes into her drive Alder mad with lust, as does the way Tally tries to hold her gaze and fails, eyes fluttering shut on their own accord with each deep thrust into her.
With Witchfather, this was a formality. A dance they’ve performed many times over the years, perfectly choreographed to get them both what they need, followed rigorously and with a determination that didn’t leave much space for true intimacy.
With Tally, Alder feels as though she’s never done this before. As though this were her first Beltane and she a young witch who is only just learning what she really wants, how she likes to be touched and touch in return. How exactly she would like to take Tally apart.
For years this was about control, and now General Alder is rocking desperately against Tally’s thigh with each thrust of her fingers, the rhythm frantic and undecipherable. She feels needy just as this feels messy, and she wants to draw it out just as much as she wants, needs, to find release, to push Tally over the edge with her. And she kind of wants to cry.
One day, one day she wants Tally Craven to cry out her actual name, but for now the girl’s moans consist mostly of broken “General”s, and Alder would be back to lying if she said it didn’t do things to her. If she said it didn’t make her fuck her harder, faster.
“You’re being so good for me, Cadet.”
And she didn’t mean for that to be the thing to push Tally over the edge, but it does.
Alder can feel Tally’s orgasm almost like it is her own, and she smiles because maybe the two of them have managed to become one, after all. This, alongside Tally crying out in pleasure, crying out her rank still, causes Alder to grind harder, so close, until she is right there with Tally.
Alder wants to kiss her, to be even closer, but she also wants to watch Tally. Wants to watch through half-lidded eyes how Tally comes undone beneath the touch of her fingers, wants to see each little spasm, each little smile as she softly fucks her through the aftershocks, movements slow and gentle.
And when Tally finally opens her eyes, Alder is there with her already, unable to hide her own smile mirroring Tally’s, or the fondness in it. Their connection strong as ever, there is no need for words.
It is only later that Alder recalls the thunder and lightning, the storm they’ve both summoned. And if she was still hoping to hide her favoritism, brush all of this aside with a we just spent the evening talking, this is what makes that impossible. Power on a scale only the General could unleash, though not on her own.
and the one time she didn't even try
Another fight, and so many bodies.
Dead ones on the ground, Camarilla, but also theirs. Too many of theirs. And living ones, checking on each other, on the wounded. Going through the motions, feeling like bodies more than people, in the midst of all this slaughter. The endless slaughter. And it had been so close.
Alder saw her throughout, glimpses of her, saw a knife at Tally’s throat and neglected to notice the blade on her own. She knows it’s a distraction she can’t allow herself to get caught up in, not when so much is at stake, but in her mind she saw Tally die over, and over, and over again.
But now it is quiet again and she’s all adrenaline and Tally is okay. Tally is okay. This is not hiding, this is the opposite, but Alder’s eyes meet Tally’s and she starts to push through the throng of bodies, her movements frantic still. It takes a while to brush off the fight, afterwards. It’s a kind of desperation she’s never known before, because Tally is alive and it had been so close way too many times.
Alder has never felt like a worse General, stumbling over the bodies of her sisters and daughters, to seek out one that is still alive. Even if it is just to break down in her arms and mourn.
When they reach each other, finally, she can see the hesitance on Tally’s face, can feel her wanting to reach out and yet not dare. But Alder doesn’t care, for once she doesn’t care, pulls Tally close and kisses her.
They’re alive and she can’t stand another second without feeling it, feeling Tally’s breath against her lips, her heartbeat thump uncontrollably where she’s put her hand on Tally’s chest. Just to make sure, she catches herself thinking with a laugh, as if Tally’s hands on her, her smile, aren’t enough proof.
It’s not professional, far from it, but after well over three centuries, after so many bodies that fought alongside her just moments ago, she realizes she doesn’t care. About rules and protocols and a clean image that is clean only because it doesn’t include her kissing the woman she loves.
There’s no way she can take her eyes off of Tally’s, but she hears some of the reactions of their fellow witches, and smiles. The common consensus of those around them seems to be “fucking finally”.