The Beginning
Jan. 20th, 2005 09:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cinaedLook! My first 1,000 words of a story! Go me! *cheers and feels pathetic*
“Look to the princely one in the west, for together you two shall beget an empire.”
-The Oracle of Molimen
The Bardians liked to joke that even the gods had learned not to try and order Queen Farsiris around. She was a woman with an iron will; there was no doubt about that. The Bardians often said that Queen Farsiris had never complied with anyone’s wishes—ever—and that even as a baby she had refused to cry at birth simply because it was expected of her.
No one was laughing now. Today the queen was defying one of the oldest traditions, and the court knew that she was bringing doom upon them all. Who could laugh at a time like this?
“Please, my queen, think about what you’re doing,” one of the generals pleaded. The twelve generals ringed the bed on which the queen sat, regal despite her sweaty tendrils and hands that trembled slightly. “The gods have always looked upon us with favor. Do you truly mean to let the boy live and bring their wrath down upon us all?”
The queen fixed her previously favorite general with such a cold glare that the older woman shivered. Farsiris’s voice, on the contrary, was calm and didn’t betray her annoyance at the protests of her companions. “I shall not kill my son, and I have explained what is to be done. My daughter will be my heir, and once her brother has been raised to understand the culture of the Bardians, he will go to live with his father, Crown Prince Yardan of Kalili, to be his heir. It is a union of our lands.” Her tone indicated that this was the end of the discussion.
The tone was ignored by most of her attendants.
“Even I must protest, Queen Farsiris.” Jendayi was the only one who didn’t wear the crest of a general around her neck. She instead wore the lowly badge of a strategist. “We have gone through with this bloody tradition for hundreds of years. It will bring bad luck to you and your descendents if you refuse to sacrifice Manelin to the gods.”
“I tell you I will not murder my only son!” The queen shouted this, and several of her generals flinched but stood their ground. Her cold blue eyes narrowed. “And if my son is murdered or there is an ‘accident’ I assure you all that I will put everyone in this room to death.”
No one doubted for a second that she was serious.
Jendayi rubbed at a spot above her left eyebrow, a tell-tale sign she was exasperated and trying to hide it. “Please, Your Majesty, I beg of you….” When Farsiris glared, the strategist sighed. “Very well. If Bardia is overrun by our enemies tomorrow, I shall have earned the right to tell you that it’s entirely your fault, my queen.”
Farsiris snorted and waved her hand. “Leave. All of you.”
One by one, her generals filed from the room. Finally, only Jendayi lingered at the door. “Congratulations for Mantreh, my queen.” Then the strategist was gone, only the quiet click of a door closing proclaiming her exit.
The queen was silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed upon the door that bore the royal crest of Bardia. At last, she sighed and rose shakily to her feet. There was no one to see her wince and so she allowed herself to grimace, one hand drifting to her sore stomach. Still, she walked towards the identical cradles. Unheard during the fierce argument, one of the newborns was mewing.
Farsiris leaned over the cradle and looked down at her daughter. “So, Mantreh, you will be the queen of my kingdom.” She allowed a proud smile to form on her lips. “Just imagine—you will inherit all the lands of Bardia, and much more beside by the time you are of age.” A hard laugh escaped her. “You will ascend to my throne and take the bloody sword from me, Mantreh. Wield it well, for through you will emerge the empire that all the royalty of Bardia have dreamed of for centuries.”
She didn’t bother to check in on the other babe who lay docile in his cradle.
A timid knock on the door startled her and she whirled, going into an instinctive crouch like a leopard guarding her young. “Who is it?” she demanded.
“Shirin, Your Majesty.”
At the queen’s instruction to come inside, a young woman, only a year or two younger than the queen, entered the room. Her light brown eyes darkened with concern at the sight of Farsiris standing. “Shouldn’t you be resting, my queen?” There was a gentle reprimand in the question.
The queen didn’t bristle at the audacity of the other woman thinking Farsiris needed rest. Instead she smiled at her closest companion. “I wanted to look at my daughter before I took the sleeping herbs.”
“Ah.” Shirin seemed to understand, for the concern shifted to fondness. “I will watch over them while you sleep.”
Despite the other woman’s promise, Farsiris lingered by her daughter’s cradle. She spoke, the words low. “Do you think what I’m doing is wrong, Shirin?”
“Of course not, my lady. You are doing what’s best for the realm,” the woman assured the queen. “After all, the oracle said you’d build an empire!”
A dreamy smile appeared on Farsiris’ pale features. “’Look to the princely one in the west, for together you two shall beget an empire.’ That’s what the oracle told me,” she said, almost to herself. “Yes, through my union with Yardan, Mantreh will become the heir to an empire.” Farsiris finally peered down at her son and was surprised as how much alike her children were. Something close to love stirred in her chest, but she quickly stifled the emotion. “And Manelin will help me make it.” No, she would not love her son; he would simply be a pawn in her plan to create a Bardian empire.
“Of course, my lady,” was all Shirin said, but if Farsiris had glanced at her she would have seen that the woman was smiling a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course.”
“Look to the princely one in the west, for together you two shall beget an empire.”
-The Oracle of Molimen
The Bardians liked to joke that even the gods had learned not to try and order Queen Farsiris around. She was a woman with an iron will; there was no doubt about that. The Bardians often said that Queen Farsiris had never complied with anyone’s wishes—ever—and that even as a baby she had refused to cry at birth simply because it was expected of her.
No one was laughing now. Today the queen was defying one of the oldest traditions, and the court knew that she was bringing doom upon them all. Who could laugh at a time like this?
“Please, my queen, think about what you’re doing,” one of the generals pleaded. The twelve generals ringed the bed on which the queen sat, regal despite her sweaty tendrils and hands that trembled slightly. “The gods have always looked upon us with favor. Do you truly mean to let the boy live and bring their wrath down upon us all?”
The queen fixed her previously favorite general with such a cold glare that the older woman shivered. Farsiris’s voice, on the contrary, was calm and didn’t betray her annoyance at the protests of her companions. “I shall not kill my son, and I have explained what is to be done. My daughter will be my heir, and once her brother has been raised to understand the culture of the Bardians, he will go to live with his father, Crown Prince Yardan of Kalili, to be his heir. It is a union of our lands.” Her tone indicated that this was the end of the discussion.
The tone was ignored by most of her attendants.
“Even I must protest, Queen Farsiris.” Jendayi was the only one who didn’t wear the crest of a general around her neck. She instead wore the lowly badge of a strategist. “We have gone through with this bloody tradition for hundreds of years. It will bring bad luck to you and your descendents if you refuse to sacrifice Manelin to the gods.”
“I tell you I will not murder my only son!” The queen shouted this, and several of her generals flinched but stood their ground. Her cold blue eyes narrowed. “And if my son is murdered or there is an ‘accident’ I assure you all that I will put everyone in this room to death.”
No one doubted for a second that she was serious.
Jendayi rubbed at a spot above her left eyebrow, a tell-tale sign she was exasperated and trying to hide it. “Please, Your Majesty, I beg of you….” When Farsiris glared, the strategist sighed. “Very well. If Bardia is overrun by our enemies tomorrow, I shall have earned the right to tell you that it’s entirely your fault, my queen.”
Farsiris snorted and waved her hand. “Leave. All of you.”
One by one, her generals filed from the room. Finally, only Jendayi lingered at the door. “Congratulations for Mantreh, my queen.” Then the strategist was gone, only the quiet click of a door closing proclaiming her exit.
The queen was silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed upon the door that bore the royal crest of Bardia. At last, she sighed and rose shakily to her feet. There was no one to see her wince and so she allowed herself to grimace, one hand drifting to her sore stomach. Still, she walked towards the identical cradles. Unheard during the fierce argument, one of the newborns was mewing.
Farsiris leaned over the cradle and looked down at her daughter. “So, Mantreh, you will be the queen of my kingdom.” She allowed a proud smile to form on her lips. “Just imagine—you will inherit all the lands of Bardia, and much more beside by the time you are of age.” A hard laugh escaped her. “You will ascend to my throne and take the bloody sword from me, Mantreh. Wield it well, for through you will emerge the empire that all the royalty of Bardia have dreamed of for centuries.”
She didn’t bother to check in on the other babe who lay docile in his cradle.
A timid knock on the door startled her and she whirled, going into an instinctive crouch like a leopard guarding her young. “Who is it?” she demanded.
“Shirin, Your Majesty.”
At the queen’s instruction to come inside, a young woman, only a year or two younger than the queen, entered the room. Her light brown eyes darkened with concern at the sight of Farsiris standing. “Shouldn’t you be resting, my queen?” There was a gentle reprimand in the question.
The queen didn’t bristle at the audacity of the other woman thinking Farsiris needed rest. Instead she smiled at her closest companion. “I wanted to look at my daughter before I took the sleeping herbs.”
“Ah.” Shirin seemed to understand, for the concern shifted to fondness. “I will watch over them while you sleep.”
Despite the other woman’s promise, Farsiris lingered by her daughter’s cradle. She spoke, the words low. “Do you think what I’m doing is wrong, Shirin?”
“Of course not, my lady. You are doing what’s best for the realm,” the woman assured the queen. “After all, the oracle said you’d build an empire!”
A dreamy smile appeared on Farsiris’ pale features. “’Look to the princely one in the west, for together you two shall beget an empire.’ That’s what the oracle told me,” she said, almost to herself. “Yes, through my union with Yardan, Mantreh will become the heir to an empire.” Farsiris finally peered down at her son and was surprised as how much alike her children were. Something close to love stirred in her chest, but she quickly stifled the emotion. “And Manelin will help me make it.” No, she would not love her son; he would simply be a pawn in her plan to create a Bardian empire.
“Of course, my lady,” was all Shirin said, but if Farsiris had glanced at her she would have seen that the woman was smiling a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course.”
