Ireth
Myth Weaver
Okay, so I've been wrestling with this scene for several days now, and I have no idea what to do with it. There are a few paragraphs in particular that I'm worried about, which are bolded; the rest is just context.
Background: This scene takes place a few hundred pages into the story, as a lead-in to the climax. Ariel has been trying to escape her impending marriage to Prince Fiachra for over a week; Fiachra has resorted to chaining her to him with bronze shackles to ensure she does not escape him again before their wedding, which is scheduled for that evening (it was bumped up from its original date by several weeks after her most recent escape attempt). Ariel has just realized Fiachra's motivations for marrying her, and is trying (unsuccessfully) to bargain with him to delay their wedding, mostly to allow more time for either a) Ariel to escape again, for good this time, or b) her father and uncle to find and rescue her.
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Ariel took a shaky breath, tears that weren't entirely fake springing to her eyes. Her voice cracked when she spoke. "You took me from my family and friends, everyone I love--my entire world. I don't want to be here--I never wanted to be here. I just want to go ho--"
Fiachra backhanded her across the face, cutting short her protest. She stumbled back with a cry of pain, clutching her stinging cheek. He came toward her like a glacier, cold and unavoidable; Ariel backed away, keeping the chain taut between them. Blood welled in a small cut in her lower lip, but the pain was nothing next to what she knew she would shortly endure.
"Where will you run, cailÃn?"* Fiachra asked her. "There is no key to these shackles, and they cannot be removed by just any Fae. You must learn your place in this world, Ariel. You are fortunate--very fortunate--that I need you alive."
He gripped the chain and heaved hard on it, jerking Ariel forward into his arm's reach.
"You can't hurt me," Ariel told him, fighting to keep her voice from trembling as she tried to back away again. "You just told me you need me alive."
Fiachra nodded slowly, his face empty of emotion. "I did say that. I did not say that I need you whole. As long as your womb is intact once you have learned and accepted your place, I will be satisfied."
A blow to her solar plexus left Ariel winded and coughing; a kick to her shin dropped her to one knee. Then the blows fell hard and fast, and she had nowhere to run. She closed her tear-filled eyes and let the hail of pain thunder down upon her, her one tiny glimmer of hope resting in the fact that he couldn't or wouldn't kill her.
But as she huddled at her enemy's feet, head bowed and body curled up to protect her vital organs, something pounded in her head that was neither her heartbeat nor Fiachra's ringing blows. She was not a damsel in distress, nor a helpless dove. She was a Hawk, the daughter of Hawks, and she had the talons and beak to fight back even despite the bronze jesses that bound her to her enemy. Her eyes snapped open again, and narrowed in rage as three whispered words escaped her bleeding mouth.
"That--is--enough."
She lifted her head and thrust her body forward at the same time, the top of her head--and the three spikes on the crown she wore--connecting solidly with Fiachra's groin.
Fiachra howled in agony and sank to his knees, then fell to the floor. He lay moaning, both hands clutching the wound; his blood spread in a dark pool across the floor, the thick coppery scent of it tainting the air.
Ariel straightened up quickly and stood over him, panting. Her face twisted with rage and determination as her tears dried on her cheeks. She reached up and carefully took the crown down from her head, throwing it away--it hit the floor several feet from her with a sharp clatter.
"I've said it before, and I'll say it again," she told him, her voice cold and even as she looked down at him without pity. "I am not afraid of you. I am not yours, and I never will be. What I will be is free of you, one way or the oth--"
She broke off with a gasp when someone grabbed her shoulder and spun her around, forcing her to step away from Fiachra. All rage and defiance gave way to sheer terror as she stared up into the livid face of the Winter King.
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*Note on translation: cailÃn is Irish for 'girl'.
Notes on the passage in bold: I'm really not happy with how the part with Fiachra beating Ariel looks right now. I do not want to get rid of it completely, since it is consistent with his prior characterization and anything less would be a bit of a letdown; I also don't plan on giving a blow-by-blow account of the beating, as the focus is primarily on Ariel's internal reaction and gaining the willpower to stand up for herself and fight back.
For the bits where outside events are described, I'm worried about phrasing and making the scene clear in my mind and the reader's. I want to get a sense of how Ariel and Fiachra could be positioned so that that pointy crown can find its mark in Fiachra's manhood when Ariel stands up, without stretching plausibility of physics. If it helps at all to gauge their relative sizes, Ariel is five foot eight while Fiachra is six foot four.
Background: This scene takes place a few hundred pages into the story, as a lead-in to the climax. Ariel has been trying to escape her impending marriage to Prince Fiachra for over a week; Fiachra has resorted to chaining her to him with bronze shackles to ensure she does not escape him again before their wedding, which is scheduled for that evening (it was bumped up from its original date by several weeks after her most recent escape attempt). Ariel has just realized Fiachra's motivations for marrying her, and is trying (unsuccessfully) to bargain with him to delay their wedding, mostly to allow more time for either a) Ariel to escape again, for good this time, or b) her father and uncle to find and rescue her.
#
Ariel took a shaky breath, tears that weren't entirely fake springing to her eyes. Her voice cracked when she spoke. "You took me from my family and friends, everyone I love--my entire world. I don't want to be here--I never wanted to be here. I just want to go ho--"
Fiachra backhanded her across the face, cutting short her protest. She stumbled back with a cry of pain, clutching her stinging cheek. He came toward her like a glacier, cold and unavoidable; Ariel backed away, keeping the chain taut between them. Blood welled in a small cut in her lower lip, but the pain was nothing next to what she knew she would shortly endure.
"Where will you run, cailÃn?"* Fiachra asked her. "There is no key to these shackles, and they cannot be removed by just any Fae. You must learn your place in this world, Ariel. You are fortunate--very fortunate--that I need you alive."
He gripped the chain and heaved hard on it, jerking Ariel forward into his arm's reach.
"You can't hurt me," Ariel told him, fighting to keep her voice from trembling as she tried to back away again. "You just told me you need me alive."
Fiachra nodded slowly, his face empty of emotion. "I did say that. I did not say that I need you whole. As long as your womb is intact once you have learned and accepted your place, I will be satisfied."
A blow to her solar plexus left Ariel winded and coughing; a kick to her shin dropped her to one knee. Then the blows fell hard and fast, and she had nowhere to run. She closed her tear-filled eyes and let the hail of pain thunder down upon her, her one tiny glimmer of hope resting in the fact that he couldn't or wouldn't kill her.
But as she huddled at her enemy's feet, head bowed and body curled up to protect her vital organs, something pounded in her head that was neither her heartbeat nor Fiachra's ringing blows. She was not a damsel in distress, nor a helpless dove. She was a Hawk, the daughter of Hawks, and she had the talons and beak to fight back even despite the bronze jesses that bound her to her enemy. Her eyes snapped open again, and narrowed in rage as three whispered words escaped her bleeding mouth.
"That--is--enough."
She lifted her head and thrust her body forward at the same time, the top of her head--and the three spikes on the crown she wore--connecting solidly with Fiachra's groin.
Fiachra howled in agony and sank to his knees, then fell to the floor. He lay moaning, both hands clutching the wound; his blood spread in a dark pool across the floor, the thick coppery scent of it tainting the air.
Ariel straightened up quickly and stood over him, panting. Her face twisted with rage and determination as her tears dried on her cheeks. She reached up and carefully took the crown down from her head, throwing it away--it hit the floor several feet from her with a sharp clatter.
"I've said it before, and I'll say it again," she told him, her voice cold and even as she looked down at him without pity. "I am not afraid of you. I am not yours, and I never will be. What I will be is free of you, one way or the oth--"
She broke off with a gasp when someone grabbed her shoulder and spun her around, forcing her to step away from Fiachra. All rage and defiance gave way to sheer terror as she stared up into the livid face of the Winter King.
#
*Note on translation: cailÃn is Irish for 'girl'.
Notes on the passage in bold: I'm really not happy with how the part with Fiachra beating Ariel looks right now. I do not want to get rid of it completely, since it is consistent with his prior characterization and anything less would be a bit of a letdown; I also don't plan on giving a blow-by-blow account of the beating, as the focus is primarily on Ariel's internal reaction and gaining the willpower to stand up for herself and fight back.
For the bits where outside events are described, I'm worried about phrasing and making the scene clear in my mind and the reader's. I want to get a sense of how Ariel and Fiachra could be positioned so that that pointy crown can find its mark in Fiachra's manhood when Ariel stands up, without stretching plausibility of physics. If it helps at all to gauge their relative sizes, Ariel is five foot eight while Fiachra is six foot four.