[prompt] the sea's wine red; this is the death of beauty

[apostatised]

"You'll wait," Martel said, brooking no argument, "until such time as I need you." He regarded Adus with frank disdain, and bearing the man's habits in mind added, "Don't so much as piss without my permission."

Adus not being much of a conversationalist at the best of times - if, he reflected, indeed he had 'best' of times - Martel didn't wait around longer than it took to make sure his instruction had got through into that thick, helmeted head, moving through Dabour's streets with the certainty of someone who knew exactly where he was going.

"Perraine!" Martel greeted his former brother with an unwholesomely cheerful grin, laughing when the knight went for his weapon. "Now, now, old boy - I just want to talk with you. And if you value Ydra's life whatsoever, you're going to put up your sword and listen to me very, very carefully." He waited only briefly for a decision to make itself apparent- "Ah, good. Sit down, Perraine. You don't want to waste my time or yours, I promise you that."

"What have you done to her?" he demanded - but he obeyed. Martel smiled faintly, remaining where he was - between Perraine and the quickest way out, hand casually at his own sword.

"What have I done? What have I done." The question seemed to almost amuse the former Pandion, but his knife-gleam smile never changed. He leaned towards Perraine a little, almost conspiratorial. "She's a beautiful woman, isn't she? The whole of your heart - very touching, I must say. A woman like that you'd die for. Wouldn't you?"

"Get to the point, if you have one."

"Oh, of course. Now, it stands to reason, does it not, that a woman you'd die for - well, you'd kill for her, too, wouldn't you? What have I done, Perraine? I've given her soul to Azash. Do you want it back?"

"That's impossible!" Perraine flared, rising, plain disbelief on his face.

"On the contrary."

So, Perraine travelled, albeit unwillingly, to Pelosia with Martel - northern Pelosia, where Ydra lived in her father's barony, adjoining Perraine's own. What he was shown there by a mercenary who'd once served the same god as he - perhaps she wasn't lost yet, but she looked it, revelling in the rites of the Elder God. Though Martel had never much cared for the twisted and orgiastic practises of Azash's servants and worshippers, he kept his distaste to himself and focused instead on the horror in the eyes of the man he'd brought to see her. This Pelosian woman that he so loved.

"You can obey me," Martel said, conversationally, "or you can let her be given wholly to Azash. It is, of course, your decision. A little of her soul, piece by piece, corruption that'll destroy any hope of getting her back. If you want to save her, you'll do exactly as I say without question."

The pitiful attempt to give his beloved a merciful death struck Martel as unspeakably funny, and his inability to follow through even more so. Love. Such devotion. Such an emotion.

It had its uses, now and then. Martel simply laughed.

prompt: specious [257]
word count: 527
warnings: gross blackmail.
note: set during canon.