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rainbowfic2014-07-21 08:25 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2014-07-21 08:25 pm
Crane White #6, Gold #11
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Crane White #6 (America can't say no), Gold #11 (money often costs too much)
Styles/Supplies: Pastels (forgenprompt_bingo prompt "enemy")
Word Count: 827
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: War is coming, whether Atro wants it or not.
Note: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
He’d barely stepped foot outside the Private Hall before he was accosted by a flush-faced page, a chubby young boy in an ill-fitting tunic, his dark curls sticking out in all directions. Atro tried to remember his name or which nobleman he belonged to, but he couldn’t place the boy. There’d been so many new fosters and squires and pages in the last few months that he’d lost track.
“Lord Atro,” the boy gasped, panting.
“Yes, what is it? I was just on my way to breakfast with Sir Quann.” Not a meal he was so eager to make, as he knew Quann would take the opportunity to remind him that he still hadn’t made a decision on whether to marry Quann’s daughter, as he did every time he found himself alone with the Lord Councilor these days.
“A messenger awaits you in the Main Hall,” said the boy, regaining a measure of composure.
“A messenger? Find Sir Keyn.” Atro couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice; the page may be new, but even he should know that the Councilor wasn’t to be bothered for every messenger who stepped through the front gate.
“I’m very sorry, Lord Atro,” the boy stuttered, his face growing even redder, “but I already did. The messenger insists on seeing you. Both he and Sir Keyn await you.”
Gods, that kind of messenger, and almost certainly with bad news. Atro rubbed his temples. “Then you should have told me that to begin with.”
The page gave a quick bow. “Apologies, my lord.”
“Just remember for next time.” Atro strode off toward the Main Hall, leaving the poor page boy behind. He didn’t stop or even look around him until he burst through the double front doors into the empty Courtroom. Sir Keyn stood about halfway down the center aisle, next to a man in dusty riding leathers who immediately dropped to one knee when he saw Atro.
“Lord Councilor,” he said.
“This man has an urgent message,” said Keyn, anxiously twisting his fingers around each other. His gaze darted back and forth, as if he was afraid he would be attacked any moment. “Very ill news, I’m afraid.”
“I gathered,” said Atro dryly. Taking pity on his advisor and his nervous disposition, he said, “That will be all, Sir Keyn. You may return to whatever you were doing.”
“My lord.” Keyn gave a quick bow but hesitated slightly before leaving. Atro frowned. That was a very bad sign, news so awful that Keyn almost couldn’t bring himself to leave despite clearly wanting to. Atro foresaw many advisor meetings in the future.
“Yes?” he said to the messenger once they were alone. “What is this urgent news?”
“Orile has been taken.”
For a moment the words refused to make sense. Atro blinked, swallowed heavily, and said, “What?” Just in case he had misheard the first time.
“Cottocks.” The messenger’s face was nothing but grim. “They came out of the mountains, thousands of them, a whole army. Set up camp outside the walls. Orile prepared for a siege. But they had…” he stopped and swallowed, his throat bobbing. His voice came out as a rasp. “It is said the catapults they had were like nothing seen in the empire. There was no siege. They breached the walls in less than a day.”
“Orile,” said Atro slowly, “is being held by the Cottocks?” None of it made sense. Oh, it wasn’t the first time the Cottocks had raided the northern villages, nor even the first time they had attempted a bigger prize. But to take one of the largest cities in the north… “How is this possible? Where did they get the catapults?”
“No one knows,” said the messenger. “But that is what I heard, from the witness who came to the Emperor.”
“So the Emperor sent you.”
The messenger nodded. “He is calling all the Councilors and their advisors to the palace, for war meetings. The first will take place one day from now, for whomever can make it in that time.”
Atro looked away. War, and on their native soil. Proper war, too, not petty skirmishes between the provinces. It had been hundreds of years since that kind of fighting in Ceenta Vowei.
But if the Cottocks had gained enough strength to take Orile, it seemed war was the only option.
“Thank you,” he told the messenger. “I’ll gather my advisors presently.” He waited until the man had left before sagging against the bench behind him. Yes, lots and lots of meetings in his future.
And fighting, probably.
He would give anything, now, for his biggest problem to be Sir Quann haranguing him about marriage.
Taking a deep breath, Atro stood up. There was no time to waste, and a trip to the palace to prepare for.
kay_brookeStory: The Myrrosta
Colors: Crane White #6 (America can't say no), Gold #11 (money often costs too much)
Styles/Supplies: Pastels (for
genprompt_bingo prompt "enemy")Word Count: 827
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: War is coming, whether Atro wants it or not.
Note: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
He’d barely stepped foot outside the Private Hall before he was accosted by a flush-faced page, a chubby young boy in an ill-fitting tunic, his dark curls sticking out in all directions. Atro tried to remember his name or which nobleman he belonged to, but he couldn’t place the boy. There’d been so many new fosters and squires and pages in the last few months that he’d lost track.
“Lord Atro,” the boy gasped, panting.
“Yes, what is it? I was just on my way to breakfast with Sir Quann.” Not a meal he was so eager to make, as he knew Quann would take the opportunity to remind him that he still hadn’t made a decision on whether to marry Quann’s daughter, as he did every time he found himself alone with the Lord Councilor these days.
“A messenger awaits you in the Main Hall,” said the boy, regaining a measure of composure.
“A messenger? Find Sir Keyn.” Atro couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice; the page may be new, but even he should know that the Councilor wasn’t to be bothered for every messenger who stepped through the front gate.
“I’m very sorry, Lord Atro,” the boy stuttered, his face growing even redder, “but I already did. The messenger insists on seeing you. Both he and Sir Keyn await you.”
Gods, that kind of messenger, and almost certainly with bad news. Atro rubbed his temples. “Then you should have told me that to begin with.”
The page gave a quick bow. “Apologies, my lord.”
“Just remember for next time.” Atro strode off toward the Main Hall, leaving the poor page boy behind. He didn’t stop or even look around him until he burst through the double front doors into the empty Courtroom. Sir Keyn stood about halfway down the center aisle, next to a man in dusty riding leathers who immediately dropped to one knee when he saw Atro.
“Lord Councilor,” he said.
“This man has an urgent message,” said Keyn, anxiously twisting his fingers around each other. His gaze darted back and forth, as if he was afraid he would be attacked any moment. “Very ill news, I’m afraid.”
“I gathered,” said Atro dryly. Taking pity on his advisor and his nervous disposition, he said, “That will be all, Sir Keyn. You may return to whatever you were doing.”
“My lord.” Keyn gave a quick bow but hesitated slightly before leaving. Atro frowned. That was a very bad sign, news so awful that Keyn almost couldn’t bring himself to leave despite clearly wanting to. Atro foresaw many advisor meetings in the future.
“Yes?” he said to the messenger once they were alone. “What is this urgent news?”
“Orile has been taken.”
For a moment the words refused to make sense. Atro blinked, swallowed heavily, and said, “What?” Just in case he had misheard the first time.
“Cottocks.” The messenger’s face was nothing but grim. “They came out of the mountains, thousands of them, a whole army. Set up camp outside the walls. Orile prepared for a siege. But they had…” he stopped and swallowed, his throat bobbing. His voice came out as a rasp. “It is said the catapults they had were like nothing seen in the empire. There was no siege. They breached the walls in less than a day.”
“Orile,” said Atro slowly, “is being held by the Cottocks?” None of it made sense. Oh, it wasn’t the first time the Cottocks had raided the northern villages, nor even the first time they had attempted a bigger prize. But to take one of the largest cities in the north… “How is this possible? Where did they get the catapults?”
“No one knows,” said the messenger. “But that is what I heard, from the witness who came to the Emperor.”
“So the Emperor sent you.”
The messenger nodded. “He is calling all the Councilors and their advisors to the palace, for war meetings. The first will take place one day from now, for whomever can make it in that time.”
Atro looked away. War, and on their native soil. Proper war, too, not petty skirmishes between the provinces. It had been hundreds of years since that kind of fighting in Ceenta Vowei.
But if the Cottocks had gained enough strength to take Orile, it seemed war was the only option.
“Thank you,” he told the messenger. “I’ll gather my advisors presently.” He waited until the man had left before sagging against the bench behind him. Yes, lots and lots of meetings in his future.
And fighting, probably.
He would give anything, now, for his biggest problem to be Sir Quann haranguing him about marriage.
Taking a deep breath, Atro stood up. There was no time to waste, and a trip to the palace to prepare for.
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