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rainbowfic2015-05-12 02:17 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2015-05-12 02:17 pm
Or #1, Sedona Dusk #16, White Opal #19
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Or #1 (Nobility), Sedona Dusk #16 (do you know why it's called that?), White Opal #19 (When I was young I wanted to be...)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Pastels (forgenprompt_bingo prompt "Feudal Ties/Master and Servant")
Word Count: 1,376
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Merrus and Atro play question-and-answer.
Notes: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Atro came early to lessons that day, when the sun had barely breached the shadowed walls of the Court. Merrus was already there, by the fountain. He didn’t lay a bed the way Atro did most days, but he, too, had woken even earlier than usual, the late summer heat drenching his bed clothes even with the north-facing window open.
The stone walls were baking, and the Courtyard was one of the few refuges within them. Many of the servants and their families had gone into the orchard, to rest beneath the trees while the more heat-resistant children played hideaway among them. But the open Courtyard itself was also more populated than usual, with an especially high concentration around the fountain, drawn by a desire to catch a few drops of cool water.
Though almost every bit of stone bench was taken, around Merrus a wide berth was given, so that he had several lengths of bench all to himself, almost enough for him to lie down straight. The people of the Court avoided him. Demon they called him, behind their hands and far away from his chambers. Today they ignored him, heat fatigue overriding their fear for the moment, though not quite enough to close the gap.
Atro came out into the heat, too, and hesitated not once before plopping himself down in the empty spot next to his teacher. Merrus wondered if the boy thought the space had deliberately been kept for him. Atro could be both oblivious and surprisingly discreet for a boy of eight. He didn’t seem to notice the way the servants gave him sideways glances at his familiarity with the Court demon, but he had also failed to reveal Merrus’s true purpose there, which was the one thing his father had been worried about.
Indeed, today he sidled close to Merrus, so close their arms touched, and said in a loud whisper, “It’s quite crowded today.” He seemed worried, his mouth drawn into an old man’s frown that looked ludicrous upon his unlined face. “How will we--?” and he broke off.
“We can go to the library,” said Merrus. “I’ve found it cooler than the rest of the Court.” Which may also mean it would be more populated than usual, too.
“Why aren’t they working?” Atro said, as if he hadn’t heard anything from Merrus. He folded his arms over his chest and sent a glare toward each and every servant collapsed by the fountain. “Why are they wasting time out here?”
“It’s hot,” said Merrus.
“It’s my fountain,” said Atro. “Or it will be, when I’m grown. I should tell them all to leave.” But he only sat there, arms still crossed, and Merrus thought for the first time that perhaps the boy wasn’t a lost cause.
“We’ll do something different today,” said Merrus. “I’m new to this land, so how about we teach each other? You can answer questions I have about your city, and I’ll answer questions you might have about my land.” Martyn had only wanted him to teach the boy enough of the ethestras that it might not kill him, but there was so much more to the Gifts than that. Merrus intended to also teach Atro about the salkiys themselves, so that he might come to respect where the Gifts had come from. Martyn would not approve, he thought, but he could hardly stop his son from speaking to his teacher, could he?
Atro shrugged. “I suppose?” Perhaps savvy enough to recognize a ploy to teach history when he saw one.
Merrus surged ahead anyway. “I’ll start. Is it always as hot this time of year?”
“I guess,” said Atro, swinging his feet. He wasn’t tall enough to reach the ground from the bench. “Kersel says that’s why it’s called Middlewait, ‘cause everything’s still and the air holds its breath until it’s time for first harvest.”
“That’s apt,” said Merrus. “Your turn.”
Atro said, “It doesn’t get hot where you’re from?”
“Of course it gets hot,” said Merrus. “But not this hot. Perhaps because I come from a forest. This land is so open to the sun, there’s nothing to protect it.”
“We have forests,” said Atro defensively. Then, “Your turn.”
Merrus thought for a moment. “Do you really want to be Lord Councilor someday?”
Atro snorted. “Of course I do. It’s the reason I was born. That was a stupid question, Merrus.”
Merrus nodded, though he didn’t understand. He had left his village rather than live the life he was supposed to. But he had been born into far meaner circumstances than his young charge: Atro would be leader of the whole city someday, and that was far better than being its ridicule.
As if knowing the path of Merrus’s thoughts, Atro’s next question was, “Who is the emperor of the salkiys?”
Merrus frowned. He hadn’t been teaching Atro for very long, but he thought he’d established a firmer foundation than that. “There is no emperor of the salkiys.”
“Oh, that’s right,” said Atro. “You said every village was responsible for itself. So who is the Councilor of your village? Do you call him Councilor, or something else?”
“We have the arai, which I suppose is the closest we come to a Councilor,” said Merrus slowly. He didn’t want to confuse Atro with sloppy analogies.
“So the arai is a nobleman?” said Atro. “Are there lesser noblemen? What are they called?”
That was several questions in a row from Atro, breaking the rules of the game, but since it was all to Merrus’s purpose anyway, he made no mention of it. “No. We have no noblemen. The arain are not noblemen. They are only villagers, like the rest, who are chosen by the previous arai.”
“Then he’s higher than you,” Atro insisted.
“They are named, not born,” said Merrus. “The children of an arai do not themselves become arain.” Arain were to be lifelong celibate, but Merrus thought to say so would undermine his point. There would be time for specifics later.
“Then how does the arai choose?” Atro kicked his feet again, his heels connecting with the stone in low thumps. An even wider space had opened up around them; it seemed some of the servants had slunk off back to work once they noticed their young lord was among them.
“They choose from among their students,” said Merrus. “Every generation has a few students who have the talent and will to continue beyond their basic education.” Not him, never him. He had barely even managed the minimum. “The arain give them all their knowledge, and name as their successor the one they believe is most suited to follow them.”
“I don’t think that’s a good way of doing it,” said Atro. “What if he chooses wrong?”
“There are things that can be done if the chosen arai does not uphold their duty,” Merrus admitted. “The village as a whole must agree, though.”
“There is nothing anyone in this city could ever bring themselves to agree about wholly,” said Atro. “That’s what my father always says. He says that’s why we need Councilors, and that’s why we need noblemen, to tell the commoners what’s best.”
“Well, your city is quite a bit larger than my village,” said Merrus, stopping himself from telling Atro exactly what he thought of Martyn’s philosophy. It would do no good, and Atro himself may even run straight to his father to blab. “I imagine it would be harder for everyone to come to an agreement.”
Atro looked at him through narrow eyes. “Hey, you stopped asking questions.”
“You seemed interested. I didn’t want to interrupt you.”
Atro crossed his arms again. “I knew it. This was a trick to lecture me.”
It took great effort, but Merrus managed to keep a straight face. He wasn’t too disappointed; he’d managed to plant a few seeds, and hopefully they would grow. “Well, then. In a show of good faith, I’ll ask three questions in a row. How’s that?”
“Agreed,” said Atro slowly, as if he was expecting another trick. “Well, go on. I’m not going to sit here all day.”
kay_brookeStory: The Myrrosta
Colors: Or #1 (Nobility), Sedona Dusk #16 (do you know why it's called that?), White Opal #19 (When I was young I wanted to be...)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Pastels (for
genprompt_bingo prompt "Feudal Ties/Master and Servant")Word Count: 1,376
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Merrus and Atro play question-and-answer.
Notes: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Atro came early to lessons that day, when the sun had barely breached the shadowed walls of the Court. Merrus was already there, by the fountain. He didn’t lay a bed the way Atro did most days, but he, too, had woken even earlier than usual, the late summer heat drenching his bed clothes even with the north-facing window open.
The stone walls were baking, and the Courtyard was one of the few refuges within them. Many of the servants and their families had gone into the orchard, to rest beneath the trees while the more heat-resistant children played hideaway among them. But the open Courtyard itself was also more populated than usual, with an especially high concentration around the fountain, drawn by a desire to catch a few drops of cool water.
Though almost every bit of stone bench was taken, around Merrus a wide berth was given, so that he had several lengths of bench all to himself, almost enough for him to lie down straight. The people of the Court avoided him. Demon they called him, behind their hands and far away from his chambers. Today they ignored him, heat fatigue overriding their fear for the moment, though not quite enough to close the gap.
Atro came out into the heat, too, and hesitated not once before plopping himself down in the empty spot next to his teacher. Merrus wondered if the boy thought the space had deliberately been kept for him. Atro could be both oblivious and surprisingly discreet for a boy of eight. He didn’t seem to notice the way the servants gave him sideways glances at his familiarity with the Court demon, but he had also failed to reveal Merrus’s true purpose there, which was the one thing his father had been worried about.
Indeed, today he sidled close to Merrus, so close their arms touched, and said in a loud whisper, “It’s quite crowded today.” He seemed worried, his mouth drawn into an old man’s frown that looked ludicrous upon his unlined face. “How will we--?” and he broke off.
“We can go to the library,” said Merrus. “I’ve found it cooler than the rest of the Court.” Which may also mean it would be more populated than usual, too.
“Why aren’t they working?” Atro said, as if he hadn’t heard anything from Merrus. He folded his arms over his chest and sent a glare toward each and every servant collapsed by the fountain. “Why are they wasting time out here?”
“It’s hot,” said Merrus.
“It’s my fountain,” said Atro. “Or it will be, when I’m grown. I should tell them all to leave.” But he only sat there, arms still crossed, and Merrus thought for the first time that perhaps the boy wasn’t a lost cause.
“We’ll do something different today,” said Merrus. “I’m new to this land, so how about we teach each other? You can answer questions I have about your city, and I’ll answer questions you might have about my land.” Martyn had only wanted him to teach the boy enough of the ethestras that it might not kill him, but there was so much more to the Gifts than that. Merrus intended to also teach Atro about the salkiys themselves, so that he might come to respect where the Gifts had come from. Martyn would not approve, he thought, but he could hardly stop his son from speaking to his teacher, could he?
Atro shrugged. “I suppose?” Perhaps savvy enough to recognize a ploy to teach history when he saw one.
Merrus surged ahead anyway. “I’ll start. Is it always as hot this time of year?”
“I guess,” said Atro, swinging his feet. He wasn’t tall enough to reach the ground from the bench. “Kersel says that’s why it’s called Middlewait, ‘cause everything’s still and the air holds its breath until it’s time for first harvest.”
“That’s apt,” said Merrus. “Your turn.”
Atro said, “It doesn’t get hot where you’re from?”
“Of course it gets hot,” said Merrus. “But not this hot. Perhaps because I come from a forest. This land is so open to the sun, there’s nothing to protect it.”
“We have forests,” said Atro defensively. Then, “Your turn.”
Merrus thought for a moment. “Do you really want to be Lord Councilor someday?”
Atro snorted. “Of course I do. It’s the reason I was born. That was a stupid question, Merrus.”
Merrus nodded, though he didn’t understand. He had left his village rather than live the life he was supposed to. But he had been born into far meaner circumstances than his young charge: Atro would be leader of the whole city someday, and that was far better than being its ridicule.
As if knowing the path of Merrus’s thoughts, Atro’s next question was, “Who is the emperor of the salkiys?”
Merrus frowned. He hadn’t been teaching Atro for very long, but he thought he’d established a firmer foundation than that. “There is no emperor of the salkiys.”
“Oh, that’s right,” said Atro. “You said every village was responsible for itself. So who is the Councilor of your village? Do you call him Councilor, or something else?”
“We have the arai, which I suppose is the closest we come to a Councilor,” said Merrus slowly. He didn’t want to confuse Atro with sloppy analogies.
“So the arai is a nobleman?” said Atro. “Are there lesser noblemen? What are they called?”
That was several questions in a row from Atro, breaking the rules of the game, but since it was all to Merrus’s purpose anyway, he made no mention of it. “No. We have no noblemen. The arain are not noblemen. They are only villagers, like the rest, who are chosen by the previous arai.”
“Then he’s higher than you,” Atro insisted.
“They are named, not born,” said Merrus. “The children of an arai do not themselves become arain.” Arain were to be lifelong celibate, but Merrus thought to say so would undermine his point. There would be time for specifics later.
“Then how does the arai choose?” Atro kicked his feet again, his heels connecting with the stone in low thumps. An even wider space had opened up around them; it seemed some of the servants had slunk off back to work once they noticed their young lord was among them.
“They choose from among their students,” said Merrus. “Every generation has a few students who have the talent and will to continue beyond their basic education.” Not him, never him. He had barely even managed the minimum. “The arain give them all their knowledge, and name as their successor the one they believe is most suited to follow them.”
“I don’t think that’s a good way of doing it,” said Atro. “What if he chooses wrong?”
“There are things that can be done if the chosen arai does not uphold their duty,” Merrus admitted. “The village as a whole must agree, though.”
“There is nothing anyone in this city could ever bring themselves to agree about wholly,” said Atro. “That’s what my father always says. He says that’s why we need Councilors, and that’s why we need noblemen, to tell the commoners what’s best.”
“Well, your city is quite a bit larger than my village,” said Merrus, stopping himself from telling Atro exactly what he thought of Martyn’s philosophy. It would do no good, and Atro himself may even run straight to his father to blab. “I imagine it would be harder for everyone to come to an agreement.”
Atro looked at him through narrow eyes. “Hey, you stopped asking questions.”
“You seemed interested. I didn’t want to interrupt you.”
Atro crossed his arms again. “I knew it. This was a trick to lecture me.”
It took great effort, but Merrus managed to keep a straight face. He wasn’t too disappointed; he’d managed to plant a few seeds, and hopefully they would grow. “Well, then. In a show of good faith, I’ll ask three questions in a row. How’s that?”
“Agreed,” said Atro slowly, as if he was expecting another trick. “Well, go on. I’m not going to sit here all day.”
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