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rainbowfic2015-07-26 11:42 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2015-07-26 11:42 pm
Milk Bottle #18, Sedona Dusk #5, White Cross #18
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Milk Bottle #18 (Daredevil), Sedona Dusk #5 (Red rock), White Cross #18 (Beautiful Alone)
Styles/Supplies: n/a
Word Count: 1,705
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Bediwyth has something important to discuss with Merrus.
Notes: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
“I want to show you something,” Bediwyth told him that morning, and Merrus followed him, puzzled that after nearly a month of silence the king’s youngest son was speaking to him again.
They had established a rapport, he had thought, during their journey to Byret, but once they had been within the castle walls the young human had disappeared. Merrus’s time had been taken up by King Havers and his new friends, and it hadn’t occurred to him that Bediwyth had been strangely absent the whole time until the prince woke him up just as the sun was breaching the horizon.
At the castle gate, Bediwyth handed him a small pack, which revealed itself to contain a water skin, a flint, and some kind of small pink fruit Merrus had never seen before. He raised his eyebrows.
“We won’t be gone long,” said Bediwyth, shouldering his own pack, “but it’s better to be prepared.”
Merrus didn’t need a flint to make fire, and he didn’t want to eat the fruit without knowing what it was, but the water, at least, might come in handy, especially as Bediwyth led him off the castle grounds and through the little village that crowded around the walls. Early morning, and the village was bustling, people visiting, drawing water from the well in the central square, a lively market on the outskirts. People watched them, and Merrus flinched, but none stared at him the way he had been stared at in Jaharta. It was merely curiosity, not mingled with fear or anger, and most of it, he realized, was directed toward Bediwyth.
They weren’t staring at the “demon,” he realized. They were idly wondering what one of their princes was doing out and about.
The realization almost made him dizzy. It had been like this when he was growing up, too, far to the north. The people of Okkand were more used to seeing salkiys. So much time spent in Ceenta Vowei, and he had forgotten.
“Come along,” said Bediwyth as Merrus slowed his steps in front of one market booth. The merchant eyed him, then noticed Bediwyth and opened his mouth. Before Merrus could hear what he had to say, Bediwyth’s fast clip had taken them too far away from the booth.
“Where are we going?”
“I told you, there’s something I want to show you.”
Soon, the little village was left behind, and they were out in the scrublands, flat and yellow and already heating up in the early hour. Stunted bushes were all that broke up the landscape, which disappeared without interruption into the horizon. They could have been at the end of the world, Merrus thought, and it was only because he had seen maps that he knew the land didn’t go on forever, that eventually a traveler would reach the sea. But right now, with even the village shrinking to a distant mirage behind them, it was almost like they were the only living creatures still in the world. Merrus didn’t like it, and he wrapped his arms around himself as Bediwyth led them deeper into the scrublands.
There was one feature that didn’t fit with the rest, a dark blot on the horizon, visible almost even from the village. Bediwyth headed toward it, and as the day lengthened, the blot resolved itself into a large rock sitting incongruously on the flat plain, and as they got closer, Merrus saw that it was a deep reddish-brown color, starkly contrasted against the yellows and beiges of the surrounding landscape.
“Is that where we’re going?” he asked. The only answer Bediwyth gave him was a quick nod.
Noon was upon them by the time they reached the rock, which, close up, loomed above them at least another five times Merrus’s height. Bediwyth stood in its shadow, his face glistening with heat and exertion, and took a long drink from his water skin. Merrus tentatively touched the rock: cool to his fingertips, and disturbingly almost the exact shade of dried blood.
As if he knew what Merrus was thinking, Bediwyth said, “It’s called Battleground Rock. The legends say it used to be yellow, same as everything else, until two great armies met on this plain and fought a battle so long and so bloody that it was stained crimson forever, blood baked into it by the sun.” He shoved his water skin back into his pack.
“Is that true?” asked Merrus, imagining the slaughter that must have occurred to cover this rock.
Bediwyth snorted. “‘Course it’s not true. There’s nothing unusual about this rock except for its location.” Off Merrus’s puzzled look, he continued. “It comes from the foothills of the Arkijti Mountains, almost five hundred runs south of here.” He shrugged. “At least according to the scholars I’ve read. But no one can explain how it’s here. Someone clearly brought it north, but who? And why?”
Merrus studied the rock for a moment, trying to figure out why Bediwyth had brought him all the way out there. “Do you think I know the answer?” he finally asked, carefully.
“No,” said Bediwyth with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter where the rock came from, what the stories say or the scholars tell. What matters is the purpose it serves. It’s a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“War,” said Bediwyth. He squinted off into the distance, as if he saw something in that flat, unending plain. “There was a great battle here. Historically, I mean. Several great battles. Before Okkand was united, this is where Byret defended its borders.”
Merrus closed his eyes and leaned against the rock. “Is there some reason you couldn’t have given me the history lesson back at the castle?”
“It’s not a history lesson!” Bediwyth turned to him, his eyes flashing in anger. “War isn’t history. War happens all the time, and will keep happening in the future. What this,” he put his hand against the rock, “reminds us is that we must do everything we can to prevent it. Even if it seems hopeless.”
“I agree,” said Merrus. “I still don’t know why I’m out here.”
“So we can talk without my father or his pet salkiy overhearing.”
Merrus blinked. “Naol isn’t Havers’s pet.”
Bediwyth regarded him through narrow eyes. “She is. She agrees with every word that comes out of my father’s mouth, regardless how foolhardy it is. He’s told you about his plans, right? To bring the salkiys together? To reaffirm his power over northern Okkand?”
Merrus shrugged. “He has. I don’t think he’ll get very far with the salkiys, truthfully. As for the north, isn’t that his right? He’s the king of Okkand. Northern Okkand belongs to him just as much as the southern. Isn’t that how you humans do things?”
Bediwyth scowled at him. “He’s already gotten plenty far with the salkiys, at least the ones in the south. That’s what he and Naol have been doing for the past five years.” He ran one hand down his face. “There’s this prophecy among the salkiys, something about a savior who will unite all the--”
“The myrrosta, I know it,” said Merrus with a sigh. “I didn’t know it was known so far south, but I shouldn’t be surprised.” Would he never get away from the specter of that damned prophecy?
Bediwyth nodded. “Well, my father believes he’s this savior.” Merrus blinked at him and he nodded. “We have salkiy blood in our family, it’s said, from generations back. Before Okkand even existed. My father hears the word ‘unification’ and believes it’s his destiny to unite the salkiys under our family the same way we united the humans.”
Part of Merrus wanted to argue--this was exactly the same plan Darmon had, only he had focused on Atro as his savior figure, not the Okkandian king. Havers was likely just as wrong as Darmon had been.
But a larger part of him didn’t care. Let someone else take the mantle of the stupid prophecy, someone who wanted it. And he found himself saying, “If he wants to be the savior, I wish him luck of it.” And good riddance.
Bediwyth shook his head. “He’s not a savior. Please listen to me. He’s going to start a war, either with the salkiys or the humans in the north, or maybe even both. He can’t just claim absolute rule over something that’s been neglected for centuries!”
“Can’t he?” said Merrus. “He’s king of all of Okkand. Or have I misunderstood how human royalty works?”
“That might be how it is in Ceenta Vowei or Kandel,” said Bediwyth. “But we’re not them, no matter how much they may wish it. We’re too big, too sparsely populated, too distinct from each other. The people of Okkand were forced together through a treaty signed at swordpoint, and it’s been three hundred years but no one’s forgotten. My father cannot rule his entire kingdom. He does well to keep the southern clans from killing each other.”
“So what do you want me to do?” asked Merrus, even though he knew the answer. “Do you think I can talk him out of it? Do you believe he thinks I’m a confidant? I’m a curiosity to him. I don’t think he ever hears a word I’m saying.”
Bediwyth shook his head. “I know you can’t talk him out of anything, not when he’s so determined. But I need your promise, Merrus, that you won’t help him. Whatever he asks you to do, whether it’s to be an envoy to a salkiy village, or helping him draw up maps of the north, or whatever, find some way to avoid it. He needs you. That’s why he’s letting you stay in the castle. Naol isn’t enough by herself.”
“That’s not going to stop him,” said Merrus.
“But it will slow him down,” said Bediwyth. “And I’ll take care of the rest.”
Merrus almost asked what he meant by that, but decided he didn’t really want to know. After a short silence, Bediwyth checked the sun’s position in the sky and signaled that they should get back.
They set off toward the castle, Battleground Rock fading away into the distance.
kay_brookeStory: The Myrrosta
Colors: Milk Bottle #18 (Daredevil), Sedona Dusk #5 (Red rock), White Cross #18 (Beautiful Alone)
Styles/Supplies: n/a
Word Count: 1,705
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Bediwyth has something important to discuss with Merrus.
Notes: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
“I want to show you something,” Bediwyth told him that morning, and Merrus followed him, puzzled that after nearly a month of silence the king’s youngest son was speaking to him again.
They had established a rapport, he had thought, during their journey to Byret, but once they had been within the castle walls the young human had disappeared. Merrus’s time had been taken up by King Havers and his new friends, and it hadn’t occurred to him that Bediwyth had been strangely absent the whole time until the prince woke him up just as the sun was breaching the horizon.
At the castle gate, Bediwyth handed him a small pack, which revealed itself to contain a water skin, a flint, and some kind of small pink fruit Merrus had never seen before. He raised his eyebrows.
“We won’t be gone long,” said Bediwyth, shouldering his own pack, “but it’s better to be prepared.”
Merrus didn’t need a flint to make fire, and he didn’t want to eat the fruit without knowing what it was, but the water, at least, might come in handy, especially as Bediwyth led him off the castle grounds and through the little village that crowded around the walls. Early morning, and the village was bustling, people visiting, drawing water from the well in the central square, a lively market on the outskirts. People watched them, and Merrus flinched, but none stared at him the way he had been stared at in Jaharta. It was merely curiosity, not mingled with fear or anger, and most of it, he realized, was directed toward Bediwyth.
They weren’t staring at the “demon,” he realized. They were idly wondering what one of their princes was doing out and about.
The realization almost made him dizzy. It had been like this when he was growing up, too, far to the north. The people of Okkand were more used to seeing salkiys. So much time spent in Ceenta Vowei, and he had forgotten.
“Come along,” said Bediwyth as Merrus slowed his steps in front of one market booth. The merchant eyed him, then noticed Bediwyth and opened his mouth. Before Merrus could hear what he had to say, Bediwyth’s fast clip had taken them too far away from the booth.
“Where are we going?”
“I told you, there’s something I want to show you.”
Soon, the little village was left behind, and they were out in the scrublands, flat and yellow and already heating up in the early hour. Stunted bushes were all that broke up the landscape, which disappeared without interruption into the horizon. They could have been at the end of the world, Merrus thought, and it was only because he had seen maps that he knew the land didn’t go on forever, that eventually a traveler would reach the sea. But right now, with even the village shrinking to a distant mirage behind them, it was almost like they were the only living creatures still in the world. Merrus didn’t like it, and he wrapped his arms around himself as Bediwyth led them deeper into the scrublands.
There was one feature that didn’t fit with the rest, a dark blot on the horizon, visible almost even from the village. Bediwyth headed toward it, and as the day lengthened, the blot resolved itself into a large rock sitting incongruously on the flat plain, and as they got closer, Merrus saw that it was a deep reddish-brown color, starkly contrasted against the yellows and beiges of the surrounding landscape.
“Is that where we’re going?” he asked. The only answer Bediwyth gave him was a quick nod.
Noon was upon them by the time they reached the rock, which, close up, loomed above them at least another five times Merrus’s height. Bediwyth stood in its shadow, his face glistening with heat and exertion, and took a long drink from his water skin. Merrus tentatively touched the rock: cool to his fingertips, and disturbingly almost the exact shade of dried blood.
As if he knew what Merrus was thinking, Bediwyth said, “It’s called Battleground Rock. The legends say it used to be yellow, same as everything else, until two great armies met on this plain and fought a battle so long and so bloody that it was stained crimson forever, blood baked into it by the sun.” He shoved his water skin back into his pack.
“Is that true?” asked Merrus, imagining the slaughter that must have occurred to cover this rock.
Bediwyth snorted. “‘Course it’s not true. There’s nothing unusual about this rock except for its location.” Off Merrus’s puzzled look, he continued. “It comes from the foothills of the Arkijti Mountains, almost five hundred runs south of here.” He shrugged. “At least according to the scholars I’ve read. But no one can explain how it’s here. Someone clearly brought it north, but who? And why?”
Merrus studied the rock for a moment, trying to figure out why Bediwyth had brought him all the way out there. “Do you think I know the answer?” he finally asked, carefully.
“No,” said Bediwyth with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter where the rock came from, what the stories say or the scholars tell. What matters is the purpose it serves. It’s a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“War,” said Bediwyth. He squinted off into the distance, as if he saw something in that flat, unending plain. “There was a great battle here. Historically, I mean. Several great battles. Before Okkand was united, this is where Byret defended its borders.”
Merrus closed his eyes and leaned against the rock. “Is there some reason you couldn’t have given me the history lesson back at the castle?”
“It’s not a history lesson!” Bediwyth turned to him, his eyes flashing in anger. “War isn’t history. War happens all the time, and will keep happening in the future. What this,” he put his hand against the rock, “reminds us is that we must do everything we can to prevent it. Even if it seems hopeless.”
“I agree,” said Merrus. “I still don’t know why I’m out here.”
“So we can talk without my father or his pet salkiy overhearing.”
Merrus blinked. “Naol isn’t Havers’s pet.”
Bediwyth regarded him through narrow eyes. “She is. She agrees with every word that comes out of my father’s mouth, regardless how foolhardy it is. He’s told you about his plans, right? To bring the salkiys together? To reaffirm his power over northern Okkand?”
Merrus shrugged. “He has. I don’t think he’ll get very far with the salkiys, truthfully. As for the north, isn’t that his right? He’s the king of Okkand. Northern Okkand belongs to him just as much as the southern. Isn’t that how you humans do things?”
Bediwyth scowled at him. “He’s already gotten plenty far with the salkiys, at least the ones in the south. That’s what he and Naol have been doing for the past five years.” He ran one hand down his face. “There’s this prophecy among the salkiys, something about a savior who will unite all the--”
“The myrrosta, I know it,” said Merrus with a sigh. “I didn’t know it was known so far south, but I shouldn’t be surprised.” Would he never get away from the specter of that damned prophecy?
Bediwyth nodded. “Well, my father believes he’s this savior.” Merrus blinked at him and he nodded. “We have salkiy blood in our family, it’s said, from generations back. Before Okkand even existed. My father hears the word ‘unification’ and believes it’s his destiny to unite the salkiys under our family the same way we united the humans.”
Part of Merrus wanted to argue--this was exactly the same plan Darmon had, only he had focused on Atro as his savior figure, not the Okkandian king. Havers was likely just as wrong as Darmon had been.
But a larger part of him didn’t care. Let someone else take the mantle of the stupid prophecy, someone who wanted it. And he found himself saying, “If he wants to be the savior, I wish him luck of it.” And good riddance.
Bediwyth shook his head. “He’s not a savior. Please listen to me. He’s going to start a war, either with the salkiys or the humans in the north, or maybe even both. He can’t just claim absolute rule over something that’s been neglected for centuries!”
“Can’t he?” said Merrus. “He’s king of all of Okkand. Or have I misunderstood how human royalty works?”
“That might be how it is in Ceenta Vowei or Kandel,” said Bediwyth. “But we’re not them, no matter how much they may wish it. We’re too big, too sparsely populated, too distinct from each other. The people of Okkand were forced together through a treaty signed at swordpoint, and it’s been three hundred years but no one’s forgotten. My father cannot rule his entire kingdom. He does well to keep the southern clans from killing each other.”
“So what do you want me to do?” asked Merrus, even though he knew the answer. “Do you think I can talk him out of it? Do you believe he thinks I’m a confidant? I’m a curiosity to him. I don’t think he ever hears a word I’m saying.”
Bediwyth shook his head. “I know you can’t talk him out of anything, not when he’s so determined. But I need your promise, Merrus, that you won’t help him. Whatever he asks you to do, whether it’s to be an envoy to a salkiy village, or helping him draw up maps of the north, or whatever, find some way to avoid it. He needs you. That’s why he’s letting you stay in the castle. Naol isn’t enough by herself.”
“That’s not going to stop him,” said Merrus.
“But it will slow him down,” said Bediwyth. “And I’ll take care of the rest.”
Merrus almost asked what he meant by that, but decided he didn’t really want to know. After a short silence, Bediwyth checked the sun’s position in the sky and signaled that they should get back.
They set off toward the castle, Battleground Rock fading away into the distance.
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Thanks for reading!
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Thanks for reading!
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Thanks for reading!