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rainbowfic2016-04-08 09:18 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2016-04-08 09:18 pm
Fluorite #14, Liver #2, Crimson #9
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Gathering Intelligence
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Fluorite #14. Proof/Suspicion, Liver #2. eye, Crimson #9. They're fueling their missiles, we don't have time to fuck around!
Supplies and Materials: canvas
Word Count: 1014
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Amassa, Kesshare
Warnings: Discussion of imminent war, discussion of deaths of family members.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
Amassa had raised Kesshare as his own, and loved her as he did his own daughters. And yet lately, he found it hard a little to look at her. He found it hard to see her wearing the rose glass circlet of the Crown Princess.
Certainly she was capable. More than capable. If he were honest with herself, she was more suited to ruling than any of his own children had been, save perhaps Minalu. And he loved her, he did, this child of his beloved sister, this child he had raised.
But it was less than a year ago that his last son, the last of his direct bloodline, the last child of his late and much-lamented wife, had sat across from him as his niece did now.
However much he loved Kesshare, however much he valued and respected her skills, seeing her in Odaki’s place still hurt. Perhaps it always would.
He shook off those ghosts, and returned to the question at hand. He hadn’t had as successful a reign as he had without learning to suppress his emotions when the situation did not allow him to feel them. And this situation--the possibility of declaring war on Feredar--did not allow for private grief.
“I think that, if we were to move now, as you suggest, we would be overreaching.”
Kesshare frowned faintly. “You’ve seen the intelligence reports, Uncle.”
“Sorell has not yet made any aggressive maneuvers.”
“No, but it’s only a matter of time.”
Amassa knew she was right. She had been hinting as much for years. He had hoped she would be wrong, even after how things had shifted only a few years ago. He had, at the time, expected the King of Feredar to return to his previous moderation once the grief of Queen Nida’s murder had faded.
But Sorell had not. He had only grown more entrenched in the intervening years. And even if he began to relax his restrictions again, even if he continued to turn a blind eye to the less-than-perfect enforcement of his laws outside the immediate area of his capital, Sorell was mortal.
And Crown Prince Kellom was a true radical.
“I know,” he said. “And I know that we are likely to become his primary target, when that happens.”
“A preemptive strike on our part could shorten the inevitable war considerably.”
“I know,” he said again, then paused to consider. Of course, on the other hand, whatever threat Feredar posed in potential, until Sorell or one of his agents acted, any attack on their part would be seen as interfering with a sovereign nation’s internal affairs. For Amassa to authorize such a drastic action, the situation within Feredar’s borders must be proven to be so far gone as to demand it, beyond any reasonable doubt.
He sighed, and pushed the reports away. “A preemptive strike could also allow him to cement a coalition against us.”
Something like annoyance flickered across his niece’s usually-impassive face, but she couldn’t deny it. “The council would agree with you,” she admitted instead.
“And these reports are not enough to sway them to your point of view.”
Riluke, coordinating from the other side of the world, had done a wonderful job consolidating existing intelligence that painted a grim picture indeed. But even with his granddaughter’s formidable talents in play, the information was not comprehensive. And, more to the point, the more isolationist and paranoid of his advisors would distrust it on principle, since few of the agents Riluke had cultivated had any direct ties to the desert.
Glass was, in theory, an absolute monarchy, the royal line imbued with a divine right to power. But in practice, without the cooperation of his council and the political, spiritual, and economic interests they represented, Amassa would be unable to accomplish much of anything. No king would. Certainly he would be unable to wage war with a wealthy, heavily-armed nation like Feredar without their support.
Kesshare nodded. “Then I suggest we send an agent of our own.”
“Into Feredar?”
“Yes.” She drummed her nails lightly on his desk. “Someone to confirm these reports, and assess the situation inside Feredar properly. Someone whom the council will be unable to brush aside.”
It was the solution to their problem. Such a report could sway the council, and then he could declare war. Hopefully, the war could be won before Kellom became King and escalated matters further.
“You have someone in mind?” he asked.
“My son.”
She said it simply, as if it was of no great moment, but the words hit Amassa like a pair of bricks. Her idea was a sound one. Isshiri was bright and charming, clever and inventive. His rank made him impossible to ignore. And, if the worst should happen, losing him would not destabilize the succession further, but would still provide a justification for war. The boy was the best possible choice for such a mission, despite his youth and occasional lack of any self-preservation instinct.
But oh, to hear her offer up her child for what could very likely become a suicide mission with so little feeling…
She was watching him now, waiting for his response, her face impassive.
“Very well,” he finally said. “We will speak with the boy tomorrow. If he’s willing, we will see what he can learn.”
She rose and bowed before sweeping out of the room.
Amassa watched her go, full of that strange mixture of love and concern that his too-talented niece so often inspired.
Kesshare was a brilliant woman, and would be a brilliant queen. Her loyalty to and fierce protection of her nation knew no bounds. And she could be ruthless, as she had just demonstrated, in ways that he only rarely could. In ways that were all too often required of a monarch.
Yes, she would, in all likelihood, be one of the greatest queens his nation had ever known. He knew that well. But he found himself wondering, and not for the first time, what he had done wrong, to raise such a brilliant woman who was so utterly cold.
Story: Gathering Intelligence
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Fluorite #14. Proof/Suspicion, Liver #2. eye, Crimson #9. They're fueling their missiles, we don't have time to fuck around!
Supplies and Materials: canvas
Word Count: 1014
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Amassa, Kesshare
Warnings: Discussion of imminent war, discussion of deaths of family members.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
Amassa had raised Kesshare as his own, and loved her as he did his own daughters. And yet lately, he found it hard a little to look at her. He found it hard to see her wearing the rose glass circlet of the Crown Princess.
Certainly she was capable. More than capable. If he were honest with herself, she was more suited to ruling than any of his own children had been, save perhaps Minalu. And he loved her, he did, this child of his beloved sister, this child he had raised.
But it was less than a year ago that his last son, the last of his direct bloodline, the last child of his late and much-lamented wife, had sat across from him as his niece did now.
However much he loved Kesshare, however much he valued and respected her skills, seeing her in Odaki’s place still hurt. Perhaps it always would.
He shook off those ghosts, and returned to the question at hand. He hadn’t had as successful a reign as he had without learning to suppress his emotions when the situation did not allow him to feel them. And this situation--the possibility of declaring war on Feredar--did not allow for private grief.
“I think that, if we were to move now, as you suggest, we would be overreaching.”
Kesshare frowned faintly. “You’ve seen the intelligence reports, Uncle.”
“Sorell has not yet made any aggressive maneuvers.”
“No, but it’s only a matter of time.”
Amassa knew she was right. She had been hinting as much for years. He had hoped she would be wrong, even after how things had shifted only a few years ago. He had, at the time, expected the King of Feredar to return to his previous moderation once the grief of Queen Nida’s murder had faded.
But Sorell had not. He had only grown more entrenched in the intervening years. And even if he began to relax his restrictions again, even if he continued to turn a blind eye to the less-than-perfect enforcement of his laws outside the immediate area of his capital, Sorell was mortal.
And Crown Prince Kellom was a true radical.
“I know,” he said. “And I know that we are likely to become his primary target, when that happens.”
“A preemptive strike on our part could shorten the inevitable war considerably.”
“I know,” he said again, then paused to consider. Of course, on the other hand, whatever threat Feredar posed in potential, until Sorell or one of his agents acted, any attack on their part would be seen as interfering with a sovereign nation’s internal affairs. For Amassa to authorize such a drastic action, the situation within Feredar’s borders must be proven to be so far gone as to demand it, beyond any reasonable doubt.
He sighed, and pushed the reports away. “A preemptive strike could also allow him to cement a coalition against us.”
Something like annoyance flickered across his niece’s usually-impassive face, but she couldn’t deny it. “The council would agree with you,” she admitted instead.
“And these reports are not enough to sway them to your point of view.”
Riluke, coordinating from the other side of the world, had done a wonderful job consolidating existing intelligence that painted a grim picture indeed. But even with his granddaughter’s formidable talents in play, the information was not comprehensive. And, more to the point, the more isolationist and paranoid of his advisors would distrust it on principle, since few of the agents Riluke had cultivated had any direct ties to the desert.
Glass was, in theory, an absolute monarchy, the royal line imbued with a divine right to power. But in practice, without the cooperation of his council and the political, spiritual, and economic interests they represented, Amassa would be unable to accomplish much of anything. No king would. Certainly he would be unable to wage war with a wealthy, heavily-armed nation like Feredar without their support.
Kesshare nodded. “Then I suggest we send an agent of our own.”
“Into Feredar?”
“Yes.” She drummed her nails lightly on his desk. “Someone to confirm these reports, and assess the situation inside Feredar properly. Someone whom the council will be unable to brush aside.”
It was the solution to their problem. Such a report could sway the council, and then he could declare war. Hopefully, the war could be won before Kellom became King and escalated matters further.
“You have someone in mind?” he asked.
“My son.”
She said it simply, as if it was of no great moment, but the words hit Amassa like a pair of bricks. Her idea was a sound one. Isshiri was bright and charming, clever and inventive. His rank made him impossible to ignore. And, if the worst should happen, losing him would not destabilize the succession further, but would still provide a justification for war. The boy was the best possible choice for such a mission, despite his youth and occasional lack of any self-preservation instinct.
But oh, to hear her offer up her child for what could very likely become a suicide mission with so little feeling…
She was watching him now, waiting for his response, her face impassive.
“Very well,” he finally said. “We will speak with the boy tomorrow. If he’s willing, we will see what he can learn.”
She rose and bowed before sweeping out of the room.
Amassa watched her go, full of that strange mixture of love and concern that his too-talented niece so often inspired.
Kesshare was a brilliant woman, and would be a brilliant queen. Her loyalty to and fierce protection of her nation knew no bounds. And she could be ruthless, as she had just demonstrated, in ways that he only rarely could. In ways that were all too often required of a monarch.
Yes, she would, in all likelihood, be one of the greatest queens his nation had ever known. He knew that well. But he found himself wondering, and not for the first time, what he had done wrong, to raise such a brilliant woman who was so utterly cold.
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Amassa is a sweetie, yes.
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I really like the political... wrangling's the wrong word but it's similar, in this story, and I also really like how Amassa is consciously setting aside his emotions to rule as he knows he must.
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Yeah, she more or less was. But Amassa still worries.
(And the emotion thing--he's very good at it, because he's been doing this for a very long time, but it's always very much a conscious thing for him, you know?)