Fic: Web of Fate, Prologue
2026-05-25 05:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rodoTitle: Web of Fate
Fandom: Carnival Row
Author:rodo
Chapter: prologue/17+E
Length: 558 words (77,000 in total)
Rating: 16+
Genre: Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence, Worldbuilding, Adventure
Characters: Rycroft Philostrate, Jonah Breakspear, Vignette Stonemoss, Runyan Millworthy, Darius Prowell, Absalom Breakspear
Pairing: Philo/Vignette
Warnings/Labels: war, and mentions/occasional depictions of associated atrocities; canon-typical fantasy racism
Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to Amazon, of course
A/N: I started this story in August 2021, and I finished the draft in 2022, so this was all written prior to the second season. So some of the worldbuilding contradicts what was shown in season 2. Still, I had so much fun re-reading this lately that I thought I’d polish it up some more and post it anyway, in case some of you will like it as well. Since it’s an AU, the plot of the second season is not that relevant anyway.
Summary: A year after the attempted assassination of Chancellor Absalom Breakspear, The Burgue is at war, and it’s not going well. In order to break the stalemate at the front, some unlikely soldiers are recruited to fight in a place nobody expected, and Philo and Jonah find themselves caught up in it against their expectations.
Prologue
The Year of the Martyr 647
“Mister Winetrout, sir?” a feeble voice asked. When Nigel Winetrout turned to face the speaker, he saw one of the timid young secretaries who roamed Balefire Hall – one of the myriad small cogs and gears that kept the machine of the Republic turning. Nigel Winetrout had been one of them himself, once upon a time, a long time ago. He didn’t miss those days. Neither would the poor, unfortunate soul that had come to him bearing bad news on a day like this.
“What is it?” Winetrout inquired curtly.
“It’s one of the journalists, sir. He said he needs a statement from the Chancellor, or, or from the government. Regarding his health. There’s rumours that the Chancellor’s dead, and he said he’d run it in an hour if he doesn’t hear otherwise from the Chancellor himself.”
Winetrout wanted to curse, but he possessed better manners. Instead, he turned on his heel, ignoring the young secretary and his stammering. The Chancellor needed to be informed forthwith – even if Winetrout had left him just moments earlier. With a brisk pace, he walked back to the Chancellor’s sickbed, nodding at the guards stationed at the door. His mind was on the rumours, the statement he was already drafting in his head, the consequences, should rumours of the Chancellor’s death spread beyond the confines of Balefire Hall…
“Chancellor—” he began, then he was cut off by the impossible scene unfolding before his eyes. The Chancellor was grasping desperately at the pillow pressed onto his face by none other than Lady Piety. Her eyes were full of madness when she turned to stare at the interloper. For a moment, it seemed as if the world stood still. Then Piety and Winetrout moved simultaneously. Winetrout moved to the side. Lady Piety tried to hurl herself at the space where he had stood a moment before. When she missed, she grabbed a knife off the bedside table as Winetrout moved his body between her and the Chancellor, knowing his effort would be in vain if she used the knife.
“Guards!” Winetrout called. The men in front of the door obeyed. Whatever madness had possessed Lady Piety, the hopelessness of her situation no longer escaped her; she cast one last glance past Winetrout’s shoulder at her husband before turning to face the guards in a desperate attempt to flee.
“Stop her!” Winetrout ordered. “She tried to kill the Chancellor!”
They did. It all happened so fast that Winetrout couldn’t tell precisely what happened first. Neither could the two guards. Later, when the inspectors questioned them, they’d say they had expected another puck and were taken aback by Lady Piety running towards them, wielding a knife. All anyone knew was that one moment, Lady Piety was trying to lunge past the guards, and the next, a gunshot echoed through the room. She collapsed on the floor, bleeding and gasping, as if she couldn’t believe what had happened either.
The shot summoned other people. Winetrout vaguely remembered ordering them to fetch a physician and to keep quiet, to keep the scandal from spreading. The Chancellor was still breathing. Winetrout could hear him, despite the chaos. But he kept his eyes on Lady Piety, who defiantly stared back.
“Why?” Winetrout asked her.
Lady Piety remained silent and angry until her last breath.
Chapter 1: On the Row
Fandom: Carnival Row
Author:
rodoChapter: prologue/17+E
Length: 558 words (77,000 in total)
Rating: 16+
Genre: Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence, Worldbuilding, Adventure
Characters: Rycroft Philostrate, Jonah Breakspear, Vignette Stonemoss, Runyan Millworthy, Darius Prowell, Absalom Breakspear
Pairing: Philo/Vignette
Warnings/Labels: war, and mentions/occasional depictions of associated atrocities; canon-typical fantasy racism
Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to Amazon, of course
A/N: I started this story in August 2021, and I finished the draft in 2022, so this was all written prior to the second season. So some of the worldbuilding contradicts what was shown in season 2. Still, I had so much fun re-reading this lately that I thought I’d polish it up some more and post it anyway, in case some of you will like it as well. Since it’s an AU, the plot of the second season is not that relevant anyway.
Summary: A year after the attempted assassination of Chancellor Absalom Breakspear, The Burgue is at war, and it’s not going well. In order to break the stalemate at the front, some unlikely soldiers are recruited to fight in a place nobody expected, and Philo and Jonah find themselves caught up in it against their expectations.
The Year of the Martyr 647
“Mister Winetrout, sir?” a feeble voice asked. When Nigel Winetrout turned to face the speaker, he saw one of the timid young secretaries who roamed Balefire Hall – one of the myriad small cogs and gears that kept the machine of the Republic turning. Nigel Winetrout had been one of them himself, once upon a time, a long time ago. He didn’t miss those days. Neither would the poor, unfortunate soul that had come to him bearing bad news on a day like this.
“What is it?” Winetrout inquired curtly.
“It’s one of the journalists, sir. He said he needs a statement from the Chancellor, or, or from the government. Regarding his health. There’s rumours that the Chancellor’s dead, and he said he’d run it in an hour if he doesn’t hear otherwise from the Chancellor himself.”
Winetrout wanted to curse, but he possessed better manners. Instead, he turned on his heel, ignoring the young secretary and his stammering. The Chancellor needed to be informed forthwith – even if Winetrout had left him just moments earlier. With a brisk pace, he walked back to the Chancellor’s sickbed, nodding at the guards stationed at the door. His mind was on the rumours, the statement he was already drafting in his head, the consequences, should rumours of the Chancellor’s death spread beyond the confines of Balefire Hall…
“Chancellor—” he began, then he was cut off by the impossible scene unfolding before his eyes. The Chancellor was grasping desperately at the pillow pressed onto his face by none other than Lady Piety. Her eyes were full of madness when she turned to stare at the interloper. For a moment, it seemed as if the world stood still. Then Piety and Winetrout moved simultaneously. Winetrout moved to the side. Lady Piety tried to hurl herself at the space where he had stood a moment before. When she missed, she grabbed a knife off the bedside table as Winetrout moved his body between her and the Chancellor, knowing his effort would be in vain if she used the knife.
“Guards!” Winetrout called. The men in front of the door obeyed. Whatever madness had possessed Lady Piety, the hopelessness of her situation no longer escaped her; she cast one last glance past Winetrout’s shoulder at her husband before turning to face the guards in a desperate attempt to flee.
“Stop her!” Winetrout ordered. “She tried to kill the Chancellor!”
They did. It all happened so fast that Winetrout couldn’t tell precisely what happened first. Neither could the two guards. Later, when the inspectors questioned them, they’d say they had expected another puck and were taken aback by Lady Piety running towards them, wielding a knife. All anyone knew was that one moment, Lady Piety was trying to lunge past the guards, and the next, a gunshot echoed through the room. She collapsed on the floor, bleeding and gasping, as if she couldn’t believe what had happened either.
The shot summoned other people. Winetrout vaguely remembered ordering them to fetch a physician and to keep quiet, to keep the scandal from spreading. The Chancellor was still breathing. Winetrout could hear him, despite the chaos. But he kept his eyes on Lady Piety, who defiantly stared back.
“Why?” Winetrout asked her.
Lady Piety remained silent and angry until her last breath.
