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ironfoot-mothafocka · 2 years

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Dwarrowtober: Kingdom

The herald’s foot barely made it from the threshold before the door was slammed shut in his face. Rain like needles dampened the collar of his rich cloak and stung the exposed flesh of his cheeks, and his feet had frozen into numb blocks of ice. Already his presence was starting to turn heads. The Men of Esgaroth were a wary folk: anyone out of the ordinary was immediately noticed, and he had been questioned enough on his passage into this forgotten little town on the Lake. He caught the eye of a fish-peddler and quickly averted his gaze, at a loss for what to do. He cleared his throat and tried once more. “Your— Prin— my Lord…” he said loudly, gritting his teeth and glancing over his shoulder. It wouldn’t do to bring attention to his mission. “Ignig!” He was still waiting, then. The voice that had told him to leave was cold and commanding, roughened perhaps with lack of sleep. When the herald had caught a momentary glimpse of the prince’s face, his hair was dishevelled and he was dressed simply in an unbuttoned shirt, loose trousers and his eyes were glassy. Despite the inclement weather, it was, however, midday. What was he doing here? “Then take my missive, my Lord,” he called back, “and then I can at least leave you in peace. Do what you will, but read the message. Your decision is… yours.” He could do no more. The door opened slightly and a hand darted out. In one quick motion, the parchment, sealed tightly with a stamp of royal wax, was ripped from his hand before he had time to think, and once more he was left on the doorstep. Sighing in resignation, he turned to leave, signalling the member of the Royal Household bodyguard who was waiting carefully out of sight to follow him. “How long do we wait?” the guard asked tentatively once they were out of earshot. “A week,” replied the herald, “and if he doesn’t come… then we return to the East.”

—

Steam rose from their bodies as they huddled around the table in the corner of the pub. The scent of rotting, damp wood permeated the close air, mixed with stale beer and the whiff of cattle. A few broken lanterns provided light to see by, and visible through the press of bodies around the bar were the bright flames of a roaring hearth. They were out of the rain at least. The young prince’s dwelling, if you could call it such, had a hole in the roof and a bucket on the floor. Four Men and the dwarf slept in two rooms, and it was bitterly cold. “Why live like this, my Lord?” he questioned gently, peering at Prince Fara, the heir to the throne of Nazbukhrin. The dwarf had his late father’s bearing — a stern expression, square shoulders, intense, dark eyes and skin, and a full beard that fell down to his mid-chest, plaited and tied. His mouth twisted in indignation. “It is better than living in Nazbukhrin. Anywhere, even here, is better than living under the corruption that my father has brought to our kingdom.” “But,” said the herald, choosing his words delicately, “the Iron Hills is not so far away. Surely you could have lodged with Lord Dáin? It would be… ah…” What could he say? It would be better than living like a pig in a pen? Slumming with Men who had not even a bronze coin to their name, where in the East, Prince Fara had untold riches waiting for him? The dwarf’s eyes softened in the candlelight. The anger had drained out of them, leaving them bereft of any emotion. “Lodge with dwarves who would look down on me for leaving my homeland? And what would they then say about the runaway prince, who forsook everything? Weakness—” Prince Fara drew in a shuddering breath, gnashing his teeth together. “It was weakness, they would assume. But they didn’t know… you do not know… what it was like to live in that palace. To know what my father was truly like. Imprisoning. Exploiting. Threatening. Frittering away the kingdom’s wealth. Oh yes— I know Nazbukhrin is breaking apart, its grand facade falling away to expose the decay within. He’s left the people with nothing.” The herald was silent. His loyalty had always lain with the Crown, but couldn’t argue with the Prince when he was so obviously right. “So you came here instead. Why Esgaroth?” he asked. Fara shrugged, fixing the herald with a measured gaze. “I just… came here. Fell in with some of the Men who were causing upset to the Master’s injustice, and I stayed. A few dwarves still work in these parts, but most are transient. Passing through. Nobody knows who I am or where I come from. No tainted gold from my father’s vaults to weigh on me. That is how I wanted it.” He couldn’t help but laugh. “Causing upset? Have you dedicated your life to causing trouble for the past fifty years, then?” The young prince smiled wryly. “Injustice isn’t just a plague that Nazbukhrin has. It is everywhere, ground into every town and city and village like dirt. Here, the nobles exploit the workers, who have barely enough means to survive. Like somewhere I left a long time ago.”

The letter lay open on the table. The seal of the Kingdom of Nazbukhrin, once the glory of the Red Mountains, split. “Do the people mourn him?” Fara asked suddenly. The herald raised his eyes to study the prince’s face. There was no remorse or grief there. Indifference. He didn’t really blame him. “Some do. Many do not,” he said lightly. “Do you mourn him?” “I mourn the ending of his line,” the herald replied slowly. “When there was a King, there was certainty. But the people are worried now. They know you are… so to speak… not at home. And you are the only heir, the only one who has the right to rule the kingdom.” “I do not want that power,” Fara spat. “I have never wanted it.” “Will you consider it? You have the chance to repair the kingdom. If you see injustice, you have the power to mend it. If there is ill-advice and dishonesty in the King’s Court, you have the utter right to dismiss anyone whom you see fit.” He knew that he was throwing caution to the wind now. Though he did not state it outright, he knew that if he couldn’t change the headstrong prince’s mind, the struggle for power that would ensue among the dwarven nobility would plunge Nazbukhrin into even deeper turmoil than it was already buffeted by. He leaned closer, so that he could feel Fara’s warm breath on his cheek. The prince’s shoulders were rigid, and he stared right through the herald, his eyes fixed on some distant point. In the past. In the future. “You do not have to be your father. You can be King Fara’ouz. First of his name. First of his own line.”

#dwarrowtober #dwarrowtober 2022 #lotr #dwarves #orocarni #red mountains

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a-wartime-paradox · 2 years

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[Whumptober Day 9] Foggy Memories

Prompt: Tossing and Turning

Word count: 2k (I'll try and keep them shorter from now on I think)

-- Narrator is Xiantio fist --

I tossed and turned, and then lay down on my back. I could see the stars, and I could see their eternal beauty. The constellations of Zeus, Urion, and Avathorn took up skyward vision. Over to my right lay Lavender, and to my left Zachariah.

I got up from the hard forest floor - we weren't in Fimbletrex anymore, but in Greenstone - and walked over to the edge of the cliff, and sat down. Far down the edge of the mountain, past Fimbletrex Forest, I could see a ruined building. The building in which I grew up and learnt our history - or rather, the history the Capital wanted us to believe. The building the resistance - or a branch of it - started in, lead by Excellynia Croft. And the building the some terrorist Imperealis-sympathisers bombed in the 9th year of the War. I could still see the sycamore in the gardens where me and Xiantio used to lie together, telling each other stories of our lives. But we can't do that now. That's why I can't sleep today. She's gone now, they took her.

---

Three days prior, me and Abraytha were sleeping together under the trees of Retrex, next to the Red Mountains and Fimbletrex Forest, when a capital guard fell down from the sky, his black and purple armour glistening in the starlight of a myriad never-worlds. The guard moved swiftly and silently along the forest floor, burning every finely crafted leaf into a thousand pieces of ash and ember. This angel of death, this Apollyn, stood over us, and they knelt. Then they touched Abraytha on the head, and both of them were gone. I immediately felt it, the cold brought on by the sudden removal of his warmth, and I stood up. Shaking all over, I looked around, but could not see him anywhere. I called out to Zachariah, who was camping with me, and he helped look. When we started the sky was black, but by the time we had finished, the orange chariot of dawn had already risen over the hilltops. I lay down and cried, bawling my eyes out for I had lost my last connection to my life before the War, and my lover.

---

They could be doing anything with him, even bending and twisting his timestream. Oh, Ouroboros! I forgot about that! They could change his life so that he never met me, and then-

---

I walked back to camp to see my best friend Zachariah, and new comrade Lavender, lying on the floor. I joined them. Closing my eyes, I expected to call asleep quickly. But there was a thought nagging in the back of my head that I couldn't quite put my finger on, and it kept me tossing and turning all night until the sun rose and we began our walk towards the Red Plains. But I couldn't drop the feeling I was forgetting something, not when Zachariah talked to me about someone he loved he was meeting by the shores of Rostrand, beyond the Red Plains and the Tashrun Marshes, in fact I found myself shedding tears of sadness, but I could not understand why. I could not drop the thought when Lavender told me of all the wild things she had got up to previously to meeting us in the Betweenlands. Not even when I sat down to make us all lunch, boiling rock-potatoes over the fire, and serving with sweet leaves. After a while longer, when I had my head leaning on Zachariah's shoulder whilst we walked, Zachariah asked me what was wrong. I didn't know how to explain it, because even I did not know, so I just said I was tired.

--Switch to Abraytha's perspective-

I awoke in a cold sweat, lights glaring. I was in a room... No. I was in a white bed, in a black void, which had white light shining in from distant points. There was nothing around me, as far as I could see. As the lights faded I remembered my life. I was with a boy... A resistance... I loved....

A purple mist permeates the void in which Abraytha slept, covering everything

I awoke in a cold sweat, eyes dazzled by... Something. I slowly began to remember who I was. I was a member of the capital guard. A boy, I loved...

A purple mist permeates the void in which Abraytha slept, covering everything

I awoke in a cold sweat, and sat upright. There was a strange feeling of déjà vu, as if this had happened before, but I quickly dismissed it. I was a capital guard, and I must begin my journey.

I walk out of the black room I was in, and into a seemingly endless corridor. I know my way around, but can't recall learning. Actually, when I think about it for about 20 seconds, I do remember a coach teaching me all the ways around this complex. What was I doing? Oh yeah. I need to get to Convergence Room to do... A thing. Yes. A thing. Seeing an elevator ten metres away, I walked towards it and get in, pressing the button labeled "0". I arrived in a hallway resembling an ordinary business hallway in all ways except one. It was white, all over. Every single inch of the walls, floor, and roof were totally devoid of any individualism that defined life. If you'd ask me if there were windows, I'd say yes, although I could not describe them or what was through them. Just like the windows, I feel like there were people but have no idea who or how many or how they looked. No one questioned me.. why would they, I'm following capital orders, am I not? I'm confused...

-- Switch to Xiantio's perspective --

That night I slept alone. I have all my life, since I stopped sleeping with my mother when I was a small child, but for some reason I feel like there was a body missing from my side. He smelt of nature, adventure, and of familiarity. I would rest my nose into his shoulder every night and take in his scent with one big sniff before resting down for the night against him - No he didn't. Because he doesn't exist?? What am I on. Sleep, that's what I need. So I slept. Or at least tried to, because that nagging feeling of loss would just not disappear. Early in the morning a while before the sun had begun to rise, I woke up and decided to get up and take a small walk, to see if that would help. So I picked up my torch and wrote a small note on some paper and placed it next to the fire for Lavender and Zachariah, and made my way toward the cliff edge. The leaves crunched underneath my bare feet; I heard a krodeav* twit-tweroo'ing. I sat down, legs dangling over the gorge. A solitary tear trickled down my cheek, made its way down my body, and fell off, falling down and hitting a cliff-bound twig; it sagged and let the tear drop down through the gorge until it collided with the still lake at the bottom, and made a wave explode across the entire surface, turning over a leaf that had been stood still for over a month.

*a native flying bird of Gieakron which roughly resembled the earth bird "crow", although also sometimes twit-tweroo'ed like an owl, and flocked around gieakronians about to suffer a temporary "fatality", particularly when they reached 100 and were considered "adult"

I had been fixated on the pool so hard, that when a hand touched my shoulder I almost jumped off the cliff, but he managed to catch me, and got all flustered. Then when I was back to safety, I was confused as to why that was, as I'd never met this person before in my life. Or had I...? He smiled at me, and we sat down together on the cliff. I asked him who he was, and he just smiled, patting my hand (which peculiarly I rather enjoyed). We spent a long time, until the sun rose, talking to each other, and I started to remember who he was. His name was Abby, or Jasmine, or something like that. But then the sun rose, and he said he needed to leave, so I left also and went back to sleep for a couple more hours.

When I awoke, I felt slightly more tired then usual, which was weird because I did not remember getting up during the night or anything.

-- Switch to Abraytha's perspective --

I found the door, and I opened it, white light enveloping me as I looked into infinite alternity. Stepping forward, the door behind me closed, and I glided closer to the Convergence. I reached one hand out and spread my fingers, touching the light...

-- Switch to Xiantio's perspective --

In the next day, we made it to the Red Plains and set up camp in the edge of a clearing with a sycamore tree. As soon was my head hit the makeshift pillow I felt myself fall into a dreamscape of wild memories, before resurfacing after what felt like no time. But it must have been hours, because the sky no longer resembled an artist's brush of orange paints, but rather the ink of a spilled fountain pen. I made my way towards the sycamore, with a feeling of expectation that I couldn't quite pin down. After sitting with my back up against the tree for a couple of minutes, I saw him walk towards me.

"Help me, Xiantio" he said, his voice raspy and hardly audible.

"How do you know my name?" I asked, but even as I did I felt that I knew why. He knew me, and perhaps even I knew him.

"Please.", his voice sounded scared, and he sat down next to me. I welcomed him into an embrace, and he warmly excepted. I felt myself sinking my head into his rough shirt, and taking in his scent. This felt totally normal, almost a natural reflex, but I had never touched him before now. We stayed lying together, telling each other stories of our lives: me of my travels with Lavender and Zachariah, and him of his life working for the Capital. This facet of his life shocked me, but I felt no repulsion. Sometimes, though, we'd find ourselves telling the same story about both of us together as children. As this continued I felt even more strongly that I knew who he was, and in fact had almost solidified his name: Abraytha. It was around this time that I remembered the affairs of last night. Along with this continuation of memory came a wave of sadness and joy; emotions I could not figure out in this moment.

In the following days we met every night, with me always forgetting during the day but remembering more and more by night.

-- Switch to Abraytha's perspective --

And I stepped into the light...

And I saw him. Next to the cliff, by the sycamore tree, as children in the schoolyard. And I saw him, not the one I learnt had been my boyfriend in another life, but that other life itself. An alternate version of myself, locked away within the confines of the Metaphysic. I was not that boy, but that boy was greater than I could ever be. I tried to reach out to him, pull him toward me, but I couldn't reach. No matter how far I went, or how outstretched I hung my arm, he was always just out of reach. So I looked down and saw the one he - I, whatever- loved so dearly. So I delved into those spaces and I met with the boy - Xiantio - and I felt the other me surface more and more. It was scary, because I was loosing who I had known to be me my whole life, but it felt good because this boy found so much happiness in this other me. But every morning when the sun rose I felt myself disappearing back into the ether of that Convergence Room, so I excused myself.

Eventually I saw on the other side of that room not the boyfriend of Xiantio, but the capital guard. For I know was the boyfriend, and I was never taken by the capital. And as I wasn't taken - but kind of was, it's complicated - I could return through the floor of the convergence even in daylight. And that I did, and me and Xiantio lay in the grass until the sun set.

-- Switch to Xiantio's perspective --

That night I didn't sleep at all. But it wasn't because I felt like something was missing, but rather because I had found that very thing once more.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Thank you for reading my short story. Unless I change my mind, this one will be the last (for now) to feature Xiantio and Abraytha. The next should feature Rangda and Demayl - demonic and trans gay anarchists, respectively.

Mentions (request): @bookish-galaxy

Whumptober: @whumptober

#whumptober2022 #whumptober day 9 #tossing and turning #sleepless night #red mountains #oc: xiantio #oc: Jerem Abraytha McColl #xiantio x abraytha #Gieakronian Civil War #gieakorn

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