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rainbowfic2014-03-17 03:12 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2014-03-17 03:12 pm
Admin Yellow #26, Gold #7
Hi! Could I have a color tag for Gold, please?
Name:kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Admin Yellow #26 (the higher up you go the harder it is to tell the good guys from the bad guys), Gold #7 (the art is not in making money, but in keeping it)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Seed Beads, Pastels (fororigfic_bingo prompt "magic")
Word Count: 761
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Martyn reflects on Atro.
Note: Been a long time since we heard from these guys. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Martyn put aside the account he was working on and stood to stretch his legs, turning to look out the window as he did so. It had been far too long since he had taken any exercise, and despite the amount of work he still had to do, the outdoors tempted him. It was a soft, late spring day, a gentle breeze stirring the tree right outside the window while blossoms drifted lazily to the ground two stories below. The pool surrounding the fountain in the courtyard reflected a deep blue, cloudless sky, and the eastern horizon was just beginning to show hints of purple, evening not yet arrived but not far away.
He wanted so badly to take a stroll through the orchard. He also needed to get back to work. Caught between desire and duty, he remained at the window and watched another blossom fall.
Movement down below caught his eye.
Atro. His son, followed closely by the salkiy, who was talking. Atro only seemed to be paying half attention, his focus on the fountain for some reason. Martyn allowed himself a small smile. It was good to see his boy out of bed, walking under his own power again. No hint of illness remained.
The salkiy had been true to his word. He had saved Martyn’s heir, and with it, Martyn’s family’s legacy. For that Martyn would always be grateful.
But it bothered him, up there in his office, separated from his only child by thick glass and a long fall, that he could not hear what the salkiy was saying. What he was filling Atro’s head with. The salkiy had made it very clear what his terms were: it was not enough merely to save Atro’s life this time. He had to remain and teach the boy magic. That was, the salkiy claimed, the only way to keep Atro from falling ill again.
Martyn did not like to think it was so. But he was also the first to admit that he knew nothing about salkiys, and especially nothing about this particular salkiy, who had only agreed to take payment reluctantly. All he needed, he had said, was a place to live. For a little while. And Martyn had seized on that little while, because it meant the salkiy did not mean to stay permanently.
But what damage could he do even in a short time?
Below, Atro climbed onto the stone bench surrounding the fountain and spread his arms wide, almost tipping backwards into the water in his enthusiasm. Martyn’s breath caught in his throat, but he could do nothing but watch helplessly as Merrus stepped forward and pulled Atro upright again. And, judging by his gestures, began lecturing him for carelessness.
Merrus was as good a guard for Atro as any, and better than most. Not even the Emperor could boast having a salkiy protector for his son. He was, Martyn knew, the talk of the empire and beyond, whispers and rumors running ever more rampant the farther they got from the Court. How he, the inoffensive and forgettable current Lord Councilor, the one without any great deeds to his name, had somehow captured and tamed one of the demon salkiys.
If only they knew the truth. But let them think him capable of some mysterious power over the salkiy. It was only in his best interests.
Despite it all, though, despite that his boy had been saved, despite that he could rest easy knowing his son had such a powerful guardian, despite the newfound respect he saw in his people’s eyes, Martyn was still deeply troubled. And it all came back to the salkiy.
Teaching the boy magic was bad enough. Atro was the heir to the councilorship, the only heir, and his first priority was to the city he would one day rule. A city of people who distrusted and feared magic. They would never follow a man with salkiy blood. They must never find out about Atro’s heritage.
Martyn had to make Atro understand that. His greatest fear, now that his son was well again, was that he wouldn’t be able to do that. Not with Merrus around, filling Atro’s head with salkiy things.
Martyn reached up and touched the glass, splaying his fingers so that they seemed to envelop the small figure down below. “You are human,” he whispered. “You will remain human.”
He had so much work ahead of him. The salkiy had saved his son’s life. But it was Martyn’s job to save his soul.
Name:
kay_brookeStory: The Myrrosta
Colors: Admin Yellow #26 (the higher up you go the harder it is to tell the good guys from the bad guys), Gold #7 (the art is not in making money, but in keeping it)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Seed Beads, Pastels (for
origfic_bingo prompt "magic")Word Count: 761
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Martyn reflects on Atro.
Note: Been a long time since we heard from these guys. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Martyn put aside the account he was working on and stood to stretch his legs, turning to look out the window as he did so. It had been far too long since he had taken any exercise, and despite the amount of work he still had to do, the outdoors tempted him. It was a soft, late spring day, a gentle breeze stirring the tree right outside the window while blossoms drifted lazily to the ground two stories below. The pool surrounding the fountain in the courtyard reflected a deep blue, cloudless sky, and the eastern horizon was just beginning to show hints of purple, evening not yet arrived but not far away.
He wanted so badly to take a stroll through the orchard. He also needed to get back to work. Caught between desire and duty, he remained at the window and watched another blossom fall.
Movement down below caught his eye.
Atro. His son, followed closely by the salkiy, who was talking. Atro only seemed to be paying half attention, his focus on the fountain for some reason. Martyn allowed himself a small smile. It was good to see his boy out of bed, walking under his own power again. No hint of illness remained.
The salkiy had been true to his word. He had saved Martyn’s heir, and with it, Martyn’s family’s legacy. For that Martyn would always be grateful.
But it bothered him, up there in his office, separated from his only child by thick glass and a long fall, that he could not hear what the salkiy was saying. What he was filling Atro’s head with. The salkiy had made it very clear what his terms were: it was not enough merely to save Atro’s life this time. He had to remain and teach the boy magic. That was, the salkiy claimed, the only way to keep Atro from falling ill again.
Martyn did not like to think it was so. But he was also the first to admit that he knew nothing about salkiys, and especially nothing about this particular salkiy, who had only agreed to take payment reluctantly. All he needed, he had said, was a place to live. For a little while. And Martyn had seized on that little while, because it meant the salkiy did not mean to stay permanently.
But what damage could he do even in a short time?
Below, Atro climbed onto the stone bench surrounding the fountain and spread his arms wide, almost tipping backwards into the water in his enthusiasm. Martyn’s breath caught in his throat, but he could do nothing but watch helplessly as Merrus stepped forward and pulled Atro upright again. And, judging by his gestures, began lecturing him for carelessness.
Merrus was as good a guard for Atro as any, and better than most. Not even the Emperor could boast having a salkiy protector for his son. He was, Martyn knew, the talk of the empire and beyond, whispers and rumors running ever more rampant the farther they got from the Court. How he, the inoffensive and forgettable current Lord Councilor, the one without any great deeds to his name, had somehow captured and tamed one of the demon salkiys.
If only they knew the truth. But let them think him capable of some mysterious power over the salkiy. It was only in his best interests.
Despite it all, though, despite that his boy had been saved, despite that he could rest easy knowing his son had such a powerful guardian, despite the newfound respect he saw in his people’s eyes, Martyn was still deeply troubled. And it all came back to the salkiy.
Teaching the boy magic was bad enough. Atro was the heir to the councilorship, the only heir, and his first priority was to the city he would one day rule. A city of people who distrusted and feared magic. They would never follow a man with salkiy blood. They must never find out about Atro’s heritage.
Martyn had to make Atro understand that. His greatest fear, now that his son was well again, was that he wouldn’t be able to do that. Not with Merrus around, filling Atro’s head with salkiy things.
Martyn reached up and touched the glass, splaying his fingers so that they seemed to envelop the small figure down below. “You are human,” he whispered. “You will remain human.”
He had so much work ahead of him. The salkiy had saved his son’s life. But it was Martyn’s job to save his soul.
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