#two for insulting Sopho

[slowd1ving]

✦ I. PRINCE OF ARROGANCE, PRIDE HAS A HEAVY PRICE

"His fate was sealed the moment he could taste choleric resentment on his tongue, followed shortly by spite: for spite is the desire to thwart. The path he instinctually set out on—to seek knowledge about the abuses of wisdom in the palace—was one that would only end in despair. " • . * cursed prince ratio + alchemist m reader rough design for minoan fashion ratio here warnings: video game violence, death? kind of? tyranny (are we surprised), male-coded reader (or at least the in-game avatar is) wc: 1.5k

LAMENT OF OUROBOROS MASTERLIST

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Eight words rang clear on the Day of Silence against the backdrop of a fruitful year. Amidst the din of the crotalum, woven through the hordes of mute crowds, thus did the honourable Sophos Nous proclaim to His Highness: 

For all knowledge one must pay equal price. 

This was the first and last lesson Sophos Nous ever imparted unto the seventh prince of Metis before THEY left: as quietly as the noiseless festival-goers. Perhaps it would be the only lesson ever recorded to grace the Kingdom of Metis from the Sophos: a feeble mark to acknowledge the extraordinary scholar the seventh prince was. Though, the arrogant youth knew this was anything but; such an obvious deduction was no morsel of wisdom, but a reproachable grain of sophistry that any fool could have mimed. Mimed, because the Day’s hallowed silence had been broken for the first time since its inception, and perhaps that was the biggest insult of them all. 

In his wrought tower, the youngest prince of Elation’s lineage seethed. For the weeks following that sacreligious day, he barely ate, barely breathed: barely lived. From the moment of his birth to this summer, his efforts to earn the venerable Sophos’ acknowledgement had not borne fruit—and now, they probably never would. 

His damson locks tangled in his fingers as he pored over those eight words. They ripped, twisting and breaking and splitting in his desperate grasp. Those records were all he had left of the learnéd being: a measly report detailing the teacher’s crime, summarised in a single paragraph in the battered codex that was unceremoniously dumped on his desk at his request.

If he knew anything about his Sophos, it was that nothing could ever be taken at face value with THEM. Twined in all the manuscripts THEY had written—which Veritas Ratio Metis had reverently studied, every single one—were the buds of dialetheism and bivalence, threading and looping against each other like two snakes on a caduceus. 

Had he missed something?

Deconstructing the sentence literally, the price of knowledge was time and dedication. Nothing came from nothing; obviously knowledge was gained only through cogitation and learning. In less abstract terms, the hippocampus was a finite space and minute neuron connections were lost with each new wisdom gained. Though, such an axiomatic method of interpretation was sure to be fallible. 

Thus, his deft fingers wasted no time in penning a new heading: warning. Presumably, Nous wouldn’t be so kind as to bestow a lesson on the youth: not even out of pity for the erudite young mind who followed THEM around just for a glimpse into THEIR insights. No, Nous wouldn’t have spared him a glance. Therefore, it was not a teaching at all, but rather a last, merciful warning. 

Knowledge was burden. He knew this, Nous knew this—any respectable scholar in Metis knew that ignorance was more oft than not bliss, especially when it came to divinity and existentialism. This much, too, was a salient interpretation of these words. Don’t study things you aren’t ready for. The prince scoffed. A waddling baby knew as much—taking first steps primarily, before learning to run. 

Unless… Upon examining the wording, there was a critical sign in its structure. Four words on one side, four on the other—equilibrium. Life on one side, and certain death on the other. His breathing came in neurotic waves as his pen struggled to keep up with his intuition. It may have been foolish to follow his gut, but there was just something about how the lexicon flowed that dried his mouth and made his tongue leaden with foreboding. 

What is it? 

Seraphic beams of light cast their dappled rays on the gleaming equipment: bronze astrological instruments, beakers and shining ocular lenses; stacks upon stacks of manuscripts and codices, on everything from law to philosophy to anatomy; and the precariously balanced alembic and crucible in the corner, concealed by a large sheet for supposedly warding off dust. 

The gaze of cerise lingered briefly on the alchemical tools. 

Equivalent exchange. 

With a sigh so heavy it brought his youthful appearance into question, he buried his aggravated face in his trembling hands. Neither blessing or lesson was shrouded by the phrase; rather, Nous had lent him an equivocation as a final misrespect. One hint of information, and the other a warning. 

Translated, he gleaned that the Sophos referred to the rumours surrounding Aha and THEIR progeny. Archon basileus—the foolish sovereign and ever-so-foolish descendants. Though the capricious Aha had outlawed the ages-old practice of alchemy and other similar disciplines decades ago, there was hearsay in the stone-paved streets that the imperial family dabbled in activities now heretical to keep control over the populace. Whether it be through transmuting the dissidents to lustrous gold sculptures, or turning insurgents to mindless jesters through drugs and other disciplines, it was clear that Aha held keen interest in monopolising knowledge and ruling with an iron fist. 

Or, at least, that’s what Veritas heard through the reticent walls of his tower. There was no viable method of testing the theory: not when the seventh prince held minimal sway over politics in the gilt palace. 

This was the bitter fruit Nous had broken the sacred silence for. 

You are no match for your family, THEIR eye seemed to lament. 

This knowledge is far too heavy for you, boy, THEIR mouth appeared to rebuke. 

All these years, and you have still not broken from the alabaster coating of a fool, THEIR departure concluded. 

The prince had long surpassed the rest of his peers in mind and body alike, yet with this realisation he was a mere child once more: just another bastard of the lineage. Not to be taken seriously. 

His fate was sealed the moment he could taste choleric resentment on his tongue, followed shortly by spite: for spite is the desire to thwart. The path he instinctually set out on—to seek knowledge about the abuses of wisdom in the palace—was one that would only end in despair. 

But the blame could not solely be attributed to him—for despite his prideful erudition, he was no prophet. A clever mind like his had not yet tasted scholastic defeat yet, begetting carelessness. And to provoke an arrogant, clever, careless youth with no real world experience—yes, provoke, for that is what the esteemed Sophos did—was sure to birth a calamity. 

Indeed, the hubris of the seventh prince led to tragedy borne of his own making; yet, the fault also rested with another. 

This was the ‘price’. 

Two people, bound in impossible balance. 

Eight words, foretelling only disaster. 

This was ‘equivalent exchange’. 

One clever prince, seeking a knowledge far too cataclysmic to bear. 

This was the heresy known as ‘alchemy’. 

On that Day of Silence, the Moirai assigned a fate threaded bloody: all for the modest cost of one lonely prince’s grief. 

. 　⁺ ✦ 

“Oh dear,” the maiden crooned. “It looks like he’s made up his mind.”

The distaff held in HER graceful palms perpetually dripped crimson, though not a single drop bled into the spindle as SHE wove fate: pain, ecstasy, hopelessness, delight. 

“Just like the rest of them,” the matron uttered. “He is a fool.”

Unceasingly, HER rod measured out the new life-threads. SHE impersonally gazed at every strand—quantifying and fairly allotting time. Time, the most precious commodity of anything and anyone. 

The hag remained silent, for HER glinting scissors expressed HER thoughts. Snip. A thread was cut. Snip. A life was lost. Snip. Yet another soul crossed in the afterworld. 

But there was one sanguine allotment of fate that wouldn’t be cut with HER shears. Many a mortal wished for such a boon: bartering with the divine for an extension of their pathetic lives. That was a paradox SHE witnessed time and time again: humans wishing to prolong their misery through staying awake in the raging current of the universe. Death was the true alleviation of suffering—this was the one mercy SHE could afford man and their kind. 

Living and the futile struggle was all humanity had known; SHE understood, in HER omnipotent way, how this stagnancy was a comfort for the lost souls. 

Though, SHE mused, staying alive would not do this particular prince any good. For what gift is evading death, when one cannot truly live?

“It would have been better for him to live under the yoke of his family and die as all mortals should.” The crone’s withered voice was dry from disuse. Under HER shroud, neither the mother nor the youth could see the aged path of tears that meandered down HER wrinkled face—for with age came sentiments, and the Moirai were the oldest of all in the cradle of the universe. 

“Atropos.” It was the maiden who finally replied. “Do you feel sorry for the boy?”

Snip. Another marked fate concluded—though not abruptly, for it had been ordained since the moment of their birth. 

“No,” the beldame answered. “The little prince was warned by a being far wiser than he, taking it only as affront.”

For the first time in centuries, HER shears ceased their steady rhythm. 

“Should I feel sorry for the hart that approaches the arrow out of its own volition?”

. 　⁺ ✦ 

[etirabys]

quick queen's thief reread notes, starting with book 2

spoilery!

the queen of attolia: 5/5

oh it's just too crazy not to give a 5/5 to. the perfect romance. she cuts off his hand for espionage and national humiliation, he comes back after recovering to blackmail her into marrying him.

I also really enjoyed the stretch of the book that's just high level descriptions of war movements. it's really amazing it doesn't feel dry. the talent...

the king of attolia: 4.3/5

more self indulgent than I remember but who cares

a conspiracy of kings: 4/5

the most forgettable one, for me. I was politely indifferent to the romance. I liked the first third of the book more than I remember –Sophos's relief to not have a future is so deftly done. technically he's being cowardly but I was never ever mad at him.

interesting climax featuring no clever victory – merely making unpleasant choices over and over again.

did not buy the strained friendship arc when Sophos comes to Attolia – it felt manufactured, and so did the resolution.

thick as thieves: 4.7/5

better and more interesting than I remember! the relatively isolated story... the stylistic shift into Mesopotamian mythology... a most excellent roadtrip romance novel. structurally closest to 1 but really its own thing

also awesome to see the author dialing the pagetime given to warfare up and down between novels – high in 2, 4, 6, low in 1 (no war), 3 (internal politics), 5 (intense two person journey culminating in a briefly described but hugely consequential military engagement).

return of the thief: 3.5/5

whatever. no it was still good. I'm not sure if using Pheris as a narrator was a good idea but I certainly liked it a lot.

the interpersonal dynamics were noticeably weaker than in the previous novels, where they were excellent. I don't buy the tight knit quartet of monarchs.

I thought the light touch with divine intervention in books 1-5 were great and didn't like the 10xification. I prefer as high a ratio of narrative relevance to plot relevance as possible, for divine intervention in fiction, and the series had achieved this so well up until the last book

overall notes

my goodness, such incredible storytelling economy. I went to a book signing event where she said she wrote (or could write?) a lot of banter, but cut it because it was making the book less streamlined. groaned with disappointment at the time but she's right, these books are sleek little sharks

great prose too: unflashy, elegant, unstrained.

gen is a less pleasant person than I remember. I don't really want him to be high king actually. I'm not sure to what degree his tantrums and... truancy?... are meant to be externalized ambivalence about his duties vs being a good yelly strong minded ancient king who tries to kill someone who gravely insults his wife even though it'll piss off the greatest continental power who'd send you military aid. I'm politely assuming it's the latter because it helps me enjoy

great variety between books in what kind of story they're telling & who's telling them.

[eponymiad]

Rating: T Word Count: 4450

1.

The first time Sophos asked the mountain queen to dance, it was his last night in Eddis. For formality’s sake, Eddis would not have declined, but it had taken him most of the night to work up the nerve. 

Punctilious in her hospitality, Eddis had arranged a banquet in their honor. His uncle who was Sounis had finally negotiated their release, though Sophos wouldn’t exactly have called it a harrowing hostage situation. The magus, ever a teacher, had made their captivity instructive, and the Eddisian court had been exceptionally kind, if a bit distant. 

Grasping for conversation as they danced, Sophos said, “I visited the god of thieves’ altar today. Those emeralds were even more impressive than you made them out to be.” 

Eddis laughed, then pressed her lips together. “You can see why the duchess was livid,” she whispered, sounding amused and a little conspiratorial. 

“Indeed. I’m surprised Gen made it out alive.” 

Her grin faltered, and Sophos worried he had inadvertently insulted her or her court. The lowlanders often painted the Eddisians barbaric, but Sophos had not meant his joke literally. Before he could fumble an apology, however, Eddis’s easy smile returned. 

She said, “Oh, Gen prevailed, he always does. Are you glad to be returning to Sounis?” 

Sophos blushed. “I have enjoyed my time in Eddis.” He had grown immensely fond of Eddis — both queen and country. 

The queen of Eddis was exceedingly kind. Sophos knew that another sovereign would not have been so welcoming of their prisoners. His uncle certainly would not have, and that Attolia had held them in a cell in her stronghold just weeks earlier was proof enough that she, too, thought prisoners belonged in a prison. 

Eddis smiled, and Sophos blushed harder as he returned it. He was acutely aware of where his hand rested on her waist, grateful the dance was one he knew well. He thought his nerves might fail him. 

“You must be excited to see your sisters again. From everything you’ve told me of them, they sound much like my more…rambunctious cousins.” 

“They are troublemakers, if that’s what you mean. I am sure to find my hair filled with twigs and leaves by suppertime the day I return.” Sophos laughed. “I cannot wait to see them.” 

Home also meant seeing his father, and explaining what had happened to Pol. The magus was sure to have sent word by now, but Sophos was dreading having to answer questions. The guilt was nearly too much to bear as it was. 

Eddis seemed to guess what he was thinking. “I am sorry about your guard captain,” she said carefully. 

“I will miss him very much. And I do not…look forward to having to explain what happened to him.” 

“I cannot believe your father could blame you for this, Sophos,” she said, even more gently, guessing again at his thoughts.  

“I see you have not met my father, your majesty,” he said wryly. 

She smiled again, an intoxicatingly slow-spreading one that filled her entire face. “I have, actually.” 

“Oh.” He was at a loss for what to say. It was not only his grief over Pol and Ambiades, still fresh and raw, but the concentrated power of her smile that rendered him temporarily speechless. The Queen of Eddis was perhaps the loveliest person he had ever met, and he’d discovered that her more brilliant smiles made it difficult for him to speak. A particular disappointment, as he was eager to talk to her as much as possible. 

Sparing him from scrambling for intelligent thought, Eddis changed the subject. 

“I hope we will have you back as a guest soon. I expect we will have a ceremony in the fall.” 

“For your wedding?” Now that she had no cause to marry his uncle, Sophos had been wondering when she and Gen would marry. 

She laughed. “No, I suspect we will have one more ceremony to honor Hamiathes’s gift, and we will of course invite our neighbors to attend.” 

Sophos wondered if he might persuade his uncle who was Sounis to bring him. He repressed a shudder at the thought of prolonged interaction with his uncle, but perhaps the magus would make a case for it on Sophos’s behalf. 

“I will hope to attend, then, and look forward to returning.” The music ended, and Sophos bowed. “Thank you for the dance, your majesty.”

She returned his smile, inclining her head briefly before turning to her next partner. Sophos returned to his seat, feeling light as air.   

2.

Sophos hadn’t realized he’d grown until he was standing in front of Helen, asking her to dance. He found he had to tilt his head now to look her in the eye. 

As they danced, they chatted, but Sophos could tell she was weary behind the smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.  

“How have you fared today?” he asked. 

“Very well. It was an important ceremony and I am glad to have the company of our neighbors and allies from further away to share it with. Did you enjoy the day?” Her formulaic response left Sophos unconvinced. An expert himself in court niceties, Sophos knew they were easy to wield when more natural conversation was stilted. 

He pressed again, as gently as possible. “I did, thank you. But I imagine it must have been a long day for you, especially.” 

She hesitated, before letting out a quiet sigh. “Yes,” she said, conceding the point. Her face relaxed at the admission. “I am rather exhausted.” 

He sympathized. “I find large events like this particularly draining myself, and I am not anyone nearly as important.” 

“I think heir to the throne merits ‘nearly as important,’ Sophos. But yes, they are draining. Frankly…” 

He waited, hoping she would speak, but she gave a small shake of her head as if letting the thought pass. He ventured a guess. “A lot of self-important, overly-dressed people?” 

Helen’s mouth opened in surprise before she let out a laugh. “That is an…apt description.” 

In the short time he had known her, Sophos had begun to suspect the queen of Eddis cared as little for frivolous courtiers as he did. He was delighted, both to have his suspicions confirmed and to have teased the admission out of her. 

“Just a gaggle of masks,” he said. 

She looked up at him, confused. “A gaggle of what?” 

“Masks, from the story of the fox and the mask?” he said, but she shook her head. “Surely you know Aesop?” 

“Of course I know Aesop, but I do not think I have heard that one. The only story I know about foxes is the fox and sour grapes. Tell me about the mask?”  

Smirking, he told her, “The fox stumbles across a beautiful mask, wrought from gold and inlaid with stones, perfectly molded for a mortal face. Contemplating it, he says, ‘so full of beauty, so empty of brains!’” 

“Oh!” She snorted, and slipped into a round of silent giggles. Sophos was unreasonably pleased to have made her laugh.

“Perhaps that one is popular in Sounis because of the invaders?” he said, wondering aloud. The Merchant Empire had been fond of their ornate masks, which were worn by okloi and patronoi alike during the festival months. “I did not realize there might be more stories. I wonder if I know all the Eddisian ones. What are some of your favorites?” 

She thought for a moment. “The Astrologer Who Fell into a Well and The Boy and His Nettles are two that spring to mind.” 

“Oh, I know the nettles. I have been made to remember that one often by my mother,” he said wryly. 

Smiling, she said, “But not the astrologer?” 

That one did not know, but the the music came to an end, and it was time for the queen to move on to her next partner. Sophos did not stop to think before he said, “Permit me one more dance and you can tell it to me?” 

Helen smiled the smile that Sophos was rapidly discovering buoyed his soul. “Very well,” she said, as Sophos, beaming, led them into the steps for the next dance. “There was a stargazer who spent evenings with his face upturned to the stars, oblivious to all else — the way I’ve seen you do with a book,” she added. Sophos blushed and nodded in agreement. “One night, as he walked through a field, looking up, he fell in a well.” Sophos cringed. “His neighbor came running at the shouts and, seeing the astrologer said, ‘Now you see what happens when you worry over the skies instead of that which is right in front of you.’” 

Sophos raised his eyebrows. “Is this an instructive tale about how I should worry less for the magus’s lessons on temple architecture, and more about hunting and sword fighting so that I might be a suitable heir?” 

“No!” With the hand already holding his shoulder, she slapped his arm gently. “More a reminder to myself.” 

The queen, as far as Sophos knew, did not have a particular interest in the sciences or any other academic subject. 

“A reminder of what?” 

“Not to make myself sick worrying about the plans of the gods and instead focus on the things I can control.” 

Sophos was not religious, did not believe in gods or myths. Despite what Gen had told them as they had camped in the mountain country a few months earlier, the Eddisians were much more religious than Sounisians. That much, at least, had become clear during his two trips. Foreign rulers and emissaries might have attended for the formality of the ceremony, but Sophos had heard the way the Eddisians spoke of Hamiathes’s gift — Gen and Helen had certainly believed in its sanctity. But still, he could see the wisdom in her words. 

“Ah. My cautionary tale is A Man with Two Sweethearts, though I rarely heed my own reminders,” he admitted. When her eyebrows shot up her head, he laughed and fumbled as he said, “The lesson is, those who seek to please everybody please nobody.” 

“I’d never heard that one either, though the lesson itself is a good one. It might carry a different message to my Eddisians though,” she said cryptically. Changing the subject, she said, “I did not realize there were so many more fables.” 

Sophos did not hesitate, did not even draw a breath before saying, “I have a large book of them that was given to me when I was learning to read. I could recopy some of my favorites and send them to you when I return to Sounis, if you’d like.” 

“That would be lovely.” 

And there it was, the chance he had been waiting for. Sophos had spent his faux-captivity over the summer in Eddis, and this much shorter trip, frantically searching for an opening to write to Helen. He had grown increasingly dismayed as the day wore on that he might not find a good reason. The excitement and nerves pounded against his rib cage in equal measure as they moved through the last steps and the song came to an end. 

“Thank you for the dance.” Sophos bowed, knowing it would do little to cover up the blush spreading across his cheeks as he willed his mind away from the rapidly unfolding fantasy that she might respond to his letter, that they might strike up a real friendship, that that might… “It is always a privilege to to spend time in your company.” 

She returned his smile with one of her own, the slow-spreading one that was, Sophos was certain, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. It made his heart sing. 

“I will look forward to the Aesop stories.” 

“I will get working on them as soon as I arrive home,” he promised. 

3.

They had danced nearly every night that he was in Attolia. 

They were both a little clumsy in their dancing, both in different ways. Helen was stiff, her soldier’s march no less pronounced in the fluid steps of a dance. Sophos, for his part, had grown taller since regular balls in Sounis, and found it hard to adjust to the length of his gait. But as the days wore on, punctuated by walks in the gardens and, if he was lucky, meals together, they had found their rhythm. By now they moved almost as one. 

Sophos had felt something shift, in the way she looked at him, the way she touched him, the way she moved her body in time with his. He may be cow-eyed, but he wasn’t oblivious. As he fspun out further and further, head sick with plans and worries about retaking his country, the sole thought buoying his hopes was that he might come back not to a political marriage but — 

“What are you thinking about so hard?” Helen teased, smiling up at him. She smiled at him often, and it still caught him off guard, left him feeling both completely off kilter and as if everything was right in the world. His heart swelled. 

“How very lucky I am that you dance with me.”

“Plenty of women dance with you.”

“But none nearly as beautiful as you.”

She flushed then, cheeks darkening, mouth half-open in surprise. “Flatterer,” she said when she recovered. 

“Not at all. I am incapable of lying, as Gen has made sure to remind me several times a day.” She shook her head, still smiling. He asked, “Are you looking forward to returning home to Eddis?” He led her into a spin. 

She spun back. “Immensely,” she admitted wearily. “I miss my mountains.” 

Sophos did not fail to notice that as she had landed back into his arms, her body was a little closer than it had been. Sophos slid his hand around, from her waist to her back, and pulled her even closer. 

The music changed and he cursed his luck as he and Helen broke apart. That move had taken all his nerve, and he did not know if he would risk it again. 

But the next song was different, and with the drum came the trill of a mountain pipe. Helen glanced over her shoulder at Gen, who was looking at his wife with such a fondness that it warmed Sophos’s heart. It was the first time Sophos had heard a traditional Eddisian tune since he had been in Attolia. He suspected they were avoided since both hands were needed, but the Attolias seemed to be getting into position to dance. Helen looked back at Sophos.

“You know the square dances?” 

“Helen,” he said dryly. “I am good for very little, but I do at least know Eddisian court dances. Have a little more faith in me than that.” 

She rolled her eyes. “If I had so little faith in you, I would be more worried for the future of our little peninsula.” 

“Point taken,” he said, grimacing. As he moved into position, Sophos faltered — he realized that he had not danced the Eddisan dances in years. “We’ll have to see how we fare with the height difference.” 

She laughed. “Everyone is taller than me. I barely come up to Boagus’s sternum. It will be fine.” 

The dance required partners to grab each other’s hands and Sophos, seizing the opportunity, laced his fingers between hers. That the dance was easier when performed with clasped hands was of little importance to him at the moment. 

When it was time for her to spin, Sophos released Helen’s hands as she spun away and back to him, fingers sliding back into his when she returned, the skirts of her dress following suit. 

“This dance is the only time I prefer a dress to trousers,” she said.

“I don’t remember this dance being so fun,” Sophos said, just barely holding onto his breath as the music sped up for the next cycle. 

“Have you ever danced it with an Eddisian before?” He hadn’t. “It takes practice for it to really flow.” 

It was certainly more fun than any of the continental dances at the Sounisian balls, or even the more out-of-fashion dances brought to the peninsula by the last invaders. There was a thrill in the way the pace picked up, quickened your heartbeat and chased the air from your lungs as you stepped faster and faster with your partner, until the only things you could focus on were the tapping of your own feet and your partner’s body, mirroring yours as you tried desperately to keep the pace. 

Their fingers unwound only for the last spin, Helen’s hands small in his as he gripped them tight. And as they spun together, Sophos so much larger than her that he thought he might lift her off the ground with his force, their eyes held one another’s. In that moment, Sophos was sure there was no one else in the room, in the palace, in Attolia, and maybe not even the world. 

The music ended and they came to a halt, both of them breathless and bubbling with mirth. Pulling one hand from hers, Sophos gently pushed back a curl that had flipped free of her crown, tucking the short strand behind her ear. His hand lingered there, and Helen held his gaze. Sophos was acutely aware of how close they stood. Close enough, he thought, that if he bent down, he could kiss her. 

He considered it, his mind running away as he imagined, for an instant, tilting her head up at his and kissing her here, in front of everyone, propriety and the whole court of Attolia be damned. 

But he was not so reckless — though he might have been had they been in the gardens alone — and slowly he lowered his hand from her face, their other hands still clasped tight. Never once did she take her eyes off his. 

And as he lay in the dark later that night, restless over his journey and the hard, perhaps fatal plan that lay before him, he thought of Helen, of the dance, and of the look she’d given him he had touched her face. 

This was not his imagination, he was sure. There was something between them. 

Thinking of her, he drifted to sleep. 

+1

“Is the dress all right?” Gen asked as he and Helen stepped together. His tone was light, but Helen knew her cousin too well. His hook lay at her waist, blade carefully turned away to spare her dress — or her — any harm. 

“It’s perfect, thank you, Gen. And thank you for sparing me from whatever awful gown Aunt Livia would have inevitably chosen.” She would have complied, her worry over the future of her country and the imminent threat of her barons making it easier to say yes than to argue for her own self-interests. Instead, Gen had insisted on handling it. The resulting wedding dress was beautiful, both as simple as Helen preferred and cut with a neckline to show off her tattoos, making clear to those watching that she was still Eddis. She was overwhelmed, as always, for his careful consideration and fierce loyalty. “And the wedding has been lovely. You are the consummate host. Maybe you are better as a frivolous trophy husband, planning parties and selecting gowns,” she teased. 

“I told you all, I make a much better figurehead than king. I also told you that I thought you would marry him,” Gen added, gloating, as the dance continued. 

She rolled her eyes, but could not stop her smile. “Do you never tire of being right?” 

“No.” He grinned at her, and she was glad for it. Eugenides had not smiled much these last few days, not since her barons had arrived and their cousins had begun complaining about his ascension to Annux in earnest. 

The last notes of the song faded, replaced with sounds of drums and a single mountain pipe. Before she had time to consider whether she was willing to risk a one-handed dance with Gen, her husband appeared at her side, tugging her by the hands into an empty space with him.

She and Sophos finished the dance with the last spin, as breathless as ever after a square dance, and the music master paused before the next song to allow people to compose themselves. Sophos grinned down at her. She reached up to touch his face, his head ducked to bring it closer to her. 

“You look so handsome today.” 

She watched his cheeks, already flushed from dancing, turn redder still, the color blooming dark across his face. His blushes were always easy, but he had glowed like the fires of the sacred mountain today, the joy radiating off of him mirroring the feeling threatening to burst out of her own chest. 

Helen thought of the first time she’d danced a square dance with him. While he had been in Attolia, she had been so wracked with worry and guilt, over saving her country and manipulating Sophos, that she had not even noticed herself falling in love with him. 

But, the night before he had returned to Sounis, they had danced one last time, and she had felt it then. Their bodies had drawn closer and closer like magnets as they’d danced, and when he had held her face, she’d been struck with the thought that she really might like to kiss him. 

In hindsight, it was obvious that she was in love with him. But at the time, she had written it off as a reaction to the dancing. That happened sometimes with dance partners, the magic of the music and the movement of bodies against one another sparking a flame that flickered and died with the end of the song. 

Well, she thought, as the flame inside her grew brighter and brighter, so much for that. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked. 

“How very much I’d like to kiss you.”

He blushed more still, suddenly endearingly shy. “You could.” 

They had kissed plenty by now. It had taken ten days from their engagement to assemble their barons in Attolia for the wedding. Sophos had not once slept in his own bed. 

“Not when you’re all the way up there, I can’t.”

He stooped low so she could pull him close, and she kissed him, quick and sweet. 

Sophos rested his forehead against hers and murmured, “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

He kissed her forehead and took one hand in his, his other resting lightly on her back. The music had picked up again, and they began the slower steps for one of the Continental dances. 

Helen wiped the sweat from her brow. The fall had not yet arrived in Attolia, and it was hot in the packed courtyard. That her dress was stifling did not help. Gen had been careful in his selection, but there was only so plain wedding clothes could be. It might have been fine had they had the wedding in Eddis, but the layers were oppressive in the lowlands. 

Fussing with the heavy cloth of her dress, she said, “I cannot wait to get out of this godsforsaken gown.” 

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” 

She bit back her grin. “I meant because of the heat.” 

“I didn’t,” he said, boyish grin consuming his face. She pressed her own face into his chest briefly to hide her blush. 

They were both quiet for several moments. When she looked back up at his face, she could see worry lines on his forehead. 

“What’s worrying you?” she asked. 

“It’s nothing.” 

She raised her eyebrows at him. Sighing, he said, “It seems your barons have been putting ideas in my barons’ heads.” 

She closed her eyes briefly in frustration. “The bastards never miss an opportunity for drama,” she said, freely swearing away from prying ears. “I am sorry.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for. You did warn me they were contentious.” 

“You do not know the half of it,” she said, thinking of the bloody and nearly-bloody history she had not yet revealed to him. She would have to tell him soon, of her failure to keep her barons in line, and of how their trip to steal Hamiathes’s gift had saved Gen more than it had saved her. 

His frown lines deepened and he glanced around. “A conversation for later?” 

“For later,” she agreed. Shaking her head, she said, “But there is not much to be done about them, except make sure they stay in line. It’s the epitome of The Lion, the Flies and the Hedgehog.” 

“The what?” He looked bewildered.

“The Aesop story. It was one of the ones you sent me! The evil you know is better than the evil you don’t?” 

“Oh,” he said, face and voice tinged with wonder. “You remember that?” 

She smiled. “Of course I remember. I loved those stories. I hadn’t heard most of them.” 

Helen was sure no one had ever looked at her with as much fondness as Sophos was in that very moment. 

“I can’t believe you remember those. I was so nervous sending that letter. I had looked high and low for an excuse to write you. When you said you hadn’t heard some of them, I clung to it desperately.” 

“I am glad you did.” 

“Not nearly as glad as I am,” he said, beaming. “It feels like many lifetimes ago now.” 

“Indeed.” 

Not even in the beginning of her reign had Helen dared to hope for anything more than a peaceful political marriage. And later, when she had made her peace with marrying Sophos’s uncle, she had lost hope for even that. Her singular focus was saving her country; her wants and needs inevitably fell to the wayside. Such was the burden of being queen. 

Then Sophos had reappeared, like something straight out of the Eponymiad, and beneath all the relief and fear and guilt that had twisted together inside her, Helen had felt the first glimmers of hope igniting, that her marriage might be something more than just tolerable. She would at least be marrying her friend, she had thought. Followed immediately by the crashing waves of dread that her manipulation of him to save Eddis would be the end of that too. It had kept her up at night. 

But her imagination had not been big enough for the end result: a husband she loved as she loved Sophos. Even now, on her wedding day, it felt surreal that she could be so lucky. 

Sophos smiled down at her. “Are you happy?” 

“Beyond my wildest dreams.” 

Sophos blushed bright red. Swaying in his arms, Helen relaxed.

Crossposted on AO3 here!

[lady-feste-pendragon]

OPTION TWO: KING OF ATTOLIA: THE HIT BROADWAY MUSICAL (and this idea is mine so it’s a looooooong one warning you now)

WE OPEN with a huge ensemble cast song of heckin course in which all of Attolia COMPLAINS about this HUGE PAIN in their COLLECTIVE BUTTS, telling the story of how the thief of eddis DECEITFULLY and WRONGLY kidNAPPED their prECIOUS QUEEN who may have been bloodthirsty and barbaric but who careS she was ouR queen and she’s beAUTIFUL and we loVE her and we hATE the king who forCED her to marry him bOO to the king doWN with the king we hATE him he’s TERRIBLE and the song ends with Aris comes sprinting on stage, disrupting all the singers and sending the song to a skittering halt bc guys!!!! 

Costis punched the king!!! 

To which there is suddenly a lot of Whispered Talking about oh nO costis is so niCE and now he’s gonna diE bc he punCHED the kinG also what did the king do this time--inSULTed teleus no heckin wonDER costis punched him but still v tragic cut to scene 2 Costis in his cell, pacing, sitting, standing, pacing again, and there’s a knock at the door. It’s the king of attolia, approaching from Stage Right, a bottle of wine tucked under his arm and two cups in his one visible hand. Costis lets him in. The king sets the wine on the table. He lifts his right hand--no. It’s a hook, the audience can see for the first time. The King of Attolia is missing his right hand. 

The song neglected to mention that. There’s lots these songs neglect to mention plot twist Nobody talks about How the King lost that Hand it is a Forbidden Topic 

There is no song when the king tells costis he’s being promoted, only a stuff uncomfortable silence whenever the king is not speaking. Toward the end of the scene in strides Attolia asking if Attolis has decided whether to hang costis or behead him. Attolis answers neither, costis will be promoted, and Attolia makes a noise of disgust and leaves. 

A few songs follow as Costis settles into his new position and since this whole narrative is filtered through his eyes, the audience is lead to believe all the things about attolis from the first song are true. He dresses like a peacock, he has no dignity, he’s spiteful with his servants, he makes costis do stupid things. The queen pulls Costis aside and asks him to Keep an Eye on the King for her, to report back to her occasionally. He assumes the queen will one day do away with this idiot king and he is surprisingly conflicted about that. He gets his I Want song, which is mostly just “I Want This Stupid King To Leave Me Alone” lol. 

Another important note: One of the songs is a council song that’s v political and it’s mainly during this song that we learn 1) the king is a v good singer so what was the deal with people complaining about his voice/speech/accent in that first song, and 2) Oh, that’s it, the king can’t rhyme. Attolian formal speech (sung, in this case bc Holy Musical Batman) is traditional broadway style meter and end rhyme. Eddisian formal speech has internal rhyme, has specific meters and important in-meter repetition, but no end rhyme. When Attolis sings, he Never rhymes, although you can see him Trying, actively trying so hard and only getting as far as slant rhyme which makes everyone involved Wince terribly bc Ugh That Accent, This Stupid Backward Eddisian Goat. Attolis and Attolia as of yet have no duet, but they meet in hallways sometimes and greet each other in song and it’s awkward and weighted and Short. Attolis has a lovely I Want song in which he locks all of his attendants out of his room and sings to himself (while costis is Right There, Sir) how homesick he is, and how much he misses Eddis and his freedom. It’s v sad. Attolia also has a solo during the council scene, which is also short, her time is coming i swear

THE KING’S WEDDING NIGHT is a bawdy awful song and an Absolute Bop and dite is terribly proud of himself and everyone’s humming it on and off for the rest of the act. It makes gen horrifically mopey which makes costis’ head hurt but the king is starting to grow on him. like a fungus. after all he sang that really sad song about how much This Sucks and yeah, fair, everybody’s putting stuff in his food and bed and crap and Maybe if we were Nicer to him he wouldn’t seem so Awful (all of the guards make fun of him for this). There is a short “lilies i rule, heads you do” scene that takes place during another short council scene right before The Dinner of the Fateful Dance, and during that council scene Attolis doesn’t even Try to Rhyme and people keep interrupting the council song to hum The King’s Wedding Night and he gets visibly more and more agitated as the coin keeps flipping and the song keeps playing and he leaves in a huff. Attolia tells him as he stalks off that he Has to attend dinner and during dinner he Forces (!!!) the queen to dance with him to a lovely instrumental song, which seems to play first in slow motion while Phriesine sings of Attolia’s backstory, of her first marriage, of the importance of the king’s humor when the queen offers him her wine. Suddenly the song speeds up, and the queen’s hair tumbles past her shoulders, and she’s smiling, why is she smiling? Costis blinks as the king gives her back her hair pins. That was certainly telling, but only if you’re paying attention. 

Act One ends with Costis on his day off with a sense of unease, until he passes some guards who are struggling to put away the dogs and suddenly he knows! and he takes off running!!! bc where is the king!!!!!

Act Two opens with Costis desperately singing a prayer (Ten Golden Cups) as he runs and arriving in the garden just in time to see the king easily dispatch the second to last assassin. The third is apprehended as the rest of the court arrives, assuming Costis has done the deed. The assassin is questioned furiously with the king leaning against costis and he spits furious vitriol about the king, the same things everyone was singing about at the beginning but with more bitterness, and ends with “The queen should have kILLED you when she cUT OFF YOUR HAND!!!!” and if there are enough nonfans in the audience and if the actors are doing their job right it should feel like all the air has been sucked out of the room bc you don’t taLK about that!!! the queen arrives then and attolis kisses her and presses his forehead to her shoulder and suddenly everyone is rhyming as the royals are rushed up to the queen’s chambers. The king is put on a bed, spewing blood. The queen faints, the king is Distraught, everyone is shoved out of the room. Attolia is left alone with Costis outside the room and she Sings. It’s a short song, and mostly is Extremely Angery about the assassination attempt in her Own Garden in her Own Court to her Own King. When they’re let back in in the next scene it’s Duet Time Babey!!!!! Attolis and Attolia sing together about their relationship and their Love and their past and their present and how they’ve learned to step past it all and costis watches, feeling like an outsider but also So Stunned. He tells the king about the cups and the king swears they will be there

From here things start happening Very Quickly, It Seems. The king is ill. The queen is singing more often. The queen of eddis comes to visit, not just the king’s cousins as in the book. Unfortunately we have to cut out the part where sophos goes missing bc sophos can’t exist in this universe he adds too many variables we get one (1) storyline and we can’t mess this up. The king speaks with Relius and that’s Scary. There’s another ensemble song during which Costis is the only one to defend the king and he is Uncomfortable when the king’s wedding night motif plays again. And Then the king Destroys the house of Erondites and the queen has relius thrown in jail (also during that time the queen has a vicious, terrifying, short solo that’s more like a temper tantrum and a panic attack rolled into one and the king Soothes her) When the king is Destroying that baron’s house?? 

he rhymes. 

Perfectly, flawlessly, he rhymes. He matches Attolian cadence note for note, word for word, and then he folds Eddisian repetition and internal rhyme into the mix. Attolia joins in, her own musical style rising up to meet his. The exchange lines, ending each other’s rhymes, Attolia ends up using more Eddisian themes than even he does. He proves he could do it all along, he just didn’t want to, and now he proves he doesn’t have to by ending that proclamation in a purely Eddisian way. And the next scene? Relius. Attolis. The dungeon. The King’s Wedding Night: Reprise. Perhaps the most terrifying reprise ever written. And in the end, he lets him go. And Relius returns to Attolia and once again begs her forgiveness and Attolia gets her own terrifying, heartbreaking solo, and in this one? she uses Eddisian cant and Attolis isn’t even in the room. She forgives him in a blend of Eddisian and Attolian that becomes it’s own musical language, and the only one used by the royals for the rest of the show. 

Does that sound like the end? because it’s noT guess who haven’t had a duet yet!!!! it’s Attolis and Costis time!!!!! the attendants wake costis bc the king is drunk on a rooftop and he is supposed to Fetch the king. Costis learns to speak the language the king and queen have already been speaking to each other, and the king declares he has work for costis to do. And yeS the king slips, and tumbles, and falls--until it’s clear he can’t catch himself, his foot is off the parapet--and he flails and Something catches him, and pushes him gently back up, and a gentle rich chuckle fills the stage as the voice of a god says “go to bed, Eugenides.” Eugenides and Costis stare at each other, wide eyed, terrified. “The gods really do speak to you,” Costis whispers and Attolis confirms it and a Vow is made, “will you serve me and my gods for all your days?” In the end Costis agrees and asks him to come to sword practice tomorrow.

The final scene is fairly short, Attolis’ defeat of the guard and of Teleus and his being named Annux, and Attolia is there, and i actually am not sold on that as the actual ending, this scene could be moved before the rooftop or could be deleted altogether except we Need the annux line and i want attolia to be there ugh problems problems but either way the curtain closing song is an invocation of hephestia which, invocations should also feature bc i heckin love me an invocation song but that’s it that’s the play can u imagine these idiots singing in front of a live studio audience boy i die!!!!

[wyrmrest-poet]

Passion in Eversong

Presented by Sophos D’Cathra at the Fire Festival in Uldum on behalf of the Nearly Departed and Succulent Tarts. This is the first half of ‘Passion in Eversong’. The second half will be presented tomorrow at 6:30 Server (Pacific) time.

Hello one and all to the Mid-Summer Fire Festival! I am Sophos D’Cathra; storyteller, poet and your host for the rest of the night. I present to you stories, dance, and music brought forth by the Implicit Collective and Tattered Banners, or you may know us all as: The Nearly Departed! Each of our performers is renowned in their craft and will surely excite and amaze you! Let’s start with a story of my own telling: a tale describing the deepest love born of blazing passion. Where the heated touch of a lover’s embrace defies all odds and obstacles, and through trials and tribulations two souls become one.

We begin in the heart of Eversong Forest, where the blistering heat of the Quel’Thalassian sun bronzes skin, warms hearts and enkindles the fires of passion. At the decadent dinner party of Lord Halsterbrook, visiting Gilnean aristocrat and connoisseur of finest elven wine and women, our two protagonists meet: Altelion and Emalynde. These red-haired youths of Silvermoon embodied many of my kin’s traditional values: propriety, wit, intelligence and a penchant for learning of the world about them.

They encounter one another at the outskirts of the most impressive party of the summer season; exclusive to the nobility of the surrounding lands. Each carries about them an entourage of associates, trusted acquaintances, and confidants, all of whom fall silent as the two meet for the first time. Brows arch, furrow and the subtle curl of lips sends sparks into the sky. Is it uncouth to speak of such a connection fostering from a mere glance? Can curiosity turn into intrigue? And from that a longing for more? Perhaps some of you among the audience could speak of such affection and endearment, although certainly our lovers were in no rush…or so they thought.

Emalynde possesses a splendour spoken of in poems and mythic tales; where Paladins of old would lay down sword and sceptre to offer up hand in marriage. Her fiery tresses are the deepest crimson, shrouding a face of beauty rarely seen among my kin. An emerald gown is resplendent as it shimmers and delights in the waning sun of Quel’thalas. Her lithe, hour-glass figure entrances the eye and speaks to the proud heritage and grace of the Sin’dorei. And yet her eyes affix themselves on the man before her; her head tilting as a coquettish grin streaks across her face.

Altelion reciprocates that lascivious look with a curt bow as his pressed suit and attendant vest speak of fine tailoring and a physique made for war. His red mane is pulled back in an ornate tail that cascades behind him, revealing a handsome and youthful face. Broad shoulders support strong arms that heft sharpened blades in battle as easily as they dip seductive noblewomen in dance. As the young aristocrat gazes upon the woman, his heart inevitably flutters. When he rises from that formal bow, he smiles as warmly as the blush that rouges his cheek.

After the laughter and goading of attending friends, the two take one another in arm and begin to explore the curiosities and fantastic exhibits Lord Halsterbrook has brought to Eversong. From ashen maned lions roaring behind steel cages to the obedient display of training as Gilnean Mastiffs leap through hoops, the visiting nobleman lives up to his eccentric reputation. Each exhibit is more terrifying and intriguing than the last! The two forlorn adolescents enjoy heady conversation and brief glimpses that hint at something more, but soon it is with malice that fate casts its die.

When Lord Halsterbrook himself approaches the two, suspicions of the party becoming more than just fun and games is revealed. After pleasant conversation, the Gilnean noble tips his hat, taps his cane and remarks coyly, ‘Alteltion, my good friend, have you considered showing off your paramour to the crowds? Surely they would enjoy her beauty and shower her with gold.’ The young Sin’dorei male glowered at the man; cheeks flustering in surprise and then anger at the human’s cruel implication. Was Emalndye not what she first appeared to be?

‘You speak of her in such manner!?’ Altelion cried out, his slender fingers falling to the pommel of his rapier. Such an exclamation caused the mastiffs behind the Gilnean Lord to bristle and bark in anger, and within moments their master also had his palm on the hilt of an exquisite longsword. ‘Boy, you know not of what you speak. She is no highborn like you or I. Those below us deserve little more than contempt. They serve us!’ Whether it was aggression and adrenaline of two males butting heads over a female, or simply Elvish decorum in the crosshairs of another culture, Altelion would not tolerate the human’s insults any longer. Steel was drawn and then clashed and clamored with resounding shouts from bewildered onlookers.

The duelists fought their way behind the crowds of the party; weaving to and fro behind cages, carts and crates. Each strike of steel was drowned out by raucous cries and clinking of wine glasses from afar, but it was not long until the party began to gaze upon the fight that was now ascending wooden stairs to the main stage. The gaudy contraption was to host the night’s main events, but it appeared as if his guests would be treated to the most dangerous affair of all: their host’s prowess in battle. For all of Altelion’s house-born training, he realized too late he was no match for the battle-hardened human who exemplified swordsmanship by finally disarming the impetuous youth that stumbled before him. ‘You are defeated Sin’dorei,’ Lord Halsterbrook murmured, casting a triumphant glance across the awe-struck crowd. ‘Now hand her over,’ he whispered with a malicious glare. Emalynde had desperately tracked the fight, although could only watch helplessly as her new companion now lay prone and defenceless. What could she do to save to him?