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runicloreTravels and Tribulations
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: January 27 - confusion that is so hard to be avoided
Series: Fire Emblem: Sacred Stones
Characters: L'Arachel, Dozla
Rating: K
Words: 1659
Notes: for simplicity's sake, I assume L'Arachel is eighteen when Sacred Stones begins. In this story she's thirteen or so. This is really just an experiment, an attempt to nail her voice down, so, er... >_> If you have comments on how to improve that, I'd be ecstatic.
................................................................
If darkness was indeed man's greatest enemy, Princess L'Arachel discovered sand to be nearly its equal - a metaphor for evil, in its singular talent to exert its insidious influence on the forces of light by gritting in unpleasant places, finding its way into one's food and water uninvited to crunch between one's teeth, attempting to discourage her from reaching her destination by throwing up vicious wind storms that clotted the air with dirt and buried entire horses, tents, encampments. Her delegation, bound for Jehanna hall, was forced to take shelter twice against sudden whirlwinds, and while she lay in bed those nights, squirming against the prodding of straw and chafing at the indignity, she heard Dozla and the commander of her escort discuss the loss of a thirty man diplomatic party some years before her birth, sent on the occasion of her parents' death, and never heard from again.
That was a terrible year for Rausten, the commander said, and she recognized Dozla's gusty sigh. The Pontifex and his queen, a thousand soldiers along the wood line-- almost the princess, too. But nothing on earth could stand up to the princess, he continued to say, and if L'Arachel had not been feigning sleep, she would have told him that was exactly right. She would bow to death in her own time, not his, and meanwhile, there were miasmas to disperse, revenants to defeat--
--and a queen to greet, on her first diplomatic mission outside of Rausten. They were so close she couldn't sleep! It was almost enough to make her forget she was lying on a straw mattress.
Morning brought them an obscenely high bill from the travel lodge and a desert that had remapped its dunes and glittered pale under the sun, yellow against the horizon and the deep blue sky. "I've never seen such a beautiful color," she said, her face turned up as she mounted and gathered her reigns from the pommel. The air was already warm enough to make her elbows and the backs of her knees feel moist. "One would never think to see such a deep azure, the way desert weather flings sand about."
"Jehanna's night sky is one of the wonders of the world," said the commander, Gregory. "The Milky Way comes out bright as any river in Rausten. Desert men can navigate simply by the brightness of starlight - so I'm told."
"I must see it," she said, and Dozla's thick hand pet her elbow as if to counsel patience. "Surely tonight--"
She nudged Opal into motion when Gregory signaled it was time to go, and Dozla marched at her side, chuckling, his axe strapped across his back. He hadn't drawn it once, and she found herself glad; she'd seen it dripping with blood before, and the memory made something curl and twist in her stomach. "Queen Ismaire is said to have a magnificent spyglass, Princess. As soon as you make your interest known you're sure to receive an invitation."
L'Arachel sighed, covering her nose and mouth with the bell sleeve of her travel cloak. The hostel gates stood open, big, ugly things made of palm trunks and rough, scratchy rope. Flies buzzed past her ears, camels snorted; the area near the gate smelled like spice and grease, horses, straw, the most unpleasant scents lingering beneath, but once past the gate, a steady breeze dashed it all away. "I hope it will be cooler in Jehanna hall," she said, waving her sleeve to cool her face. "You didn't forget the parasol this time, did you Dozla?"
"Nope. It's right here, Princess!" He slapped his hip, where it hung like a sword, the lace fluttering in the wind. "Just let me know when you need it."
The sun was only two lengths above the eastern horizon, and she feared the parasol would be necessary before it reached three. If only someone had perfected a warping staff - a real one, capable of leaping over more than a field or a fortress. This desert sun was doing horrors to her complexion. Neither Dozla nor Gregory said anything, but she'd looked at her reflection in the wash basin that morning and saw how red her nose and cheeks had become - she looked like a child who had daubed her mother's rouge all over without a care, like a fisherman's wife-- her skin was peeling. How utterly embarrassing! If she had to meet the queen like this, she would just die.
Jehanna required two more days and nights of tribulation from L'Arachel's party before she saw the great hall on the horizon, and a blur of green that could only be trees. Energy pulsed from her heart to her very toes, winding her up until the plodding of their horses felt like a snail's pace and she wanted to bounce in the saddle, demand they hurry. Such wouldn't have been dignified - and L'Arachel was always dignified - but Opal sensed her energy and frisked, and Gregory did his best to hold her attention with a story about the queen's ascension and the mysterious disappearance of her son. He vanished five years ago, when your highness was only eight. It was not long before that his father died and left the throne to Queen Ismaire. Heat waves made the shape of Jehanna's capitol shimmer like an image on the surface of a lake. Has she re-married? L'Arachel's eyes flitted from the oasis before her to the bare white dunes and murmured what a desolate place in which to be alone.
They arrived at nightfall, and were met at the gates by the chamberlain and several dignitaries whose names she didn't bother to remember. Each and every one wore a sword belted over his coat, and they wore their hair in long tails, even wore jewelry that gleamed in the torchlight. Elaborate metal lanterns hung from the sandstone ceilings in every corridor; the Hall smelled of dust and incense, though she saw no lingering pall on the green drapes, the screened windows, or in the corners. Dozla and Gregory took rooms near hers, and three of the queen's own servants were sent to attend L'Arachel in her chambers. One prepared her dinner, another unpacked her trunk, and the youngest, whose auburn hair peeked from beneath the veil pinned to her hair, demonstrated how water was pumped into the brass bathtub - straight from the lake, she said, and they had aloe gel for her burns, oil for her skin, soap that smelled rich and resinous and lingered long after she'd bathed, eaten, and gone to bed.
The bed was hard - more of a cushion than a mattress, which in L'Arachel's experience were always filled with down and feathers, but it was not straw. She fell asleep staring at the sandstone ceiling turned gray, and woke at dawn to see silvery light peeking through the screen over her window, which cast an image of peacocks and lilies on the far wall.
Now that she was here, she didn't know what to do. They couldn't meet the queen before breakfast; she'd read only family shared that meal, here, and while the queen had no family L'Arachel knew of, that did not preclude the presence of some other friend or confidant. She could hardly eat her own once she'd dressed, even once she called Dozla in to share; she ate a few walnut halves while he layered his flat bread with tomatoes and cheese, urged her to eat, they had a long day ahead--
"Dozla," she said, twisting her fingers together in her lap, where they were hidden beneath the table. At least they had normal tables here, so her legs wouldn't go numb from sitting on cushions. "What if I..."
She heard nuts crunch between his teeth, crunch, crunch, swallow, and he wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. "What is it, Princess? Do you feel ill?"
Oh did she! L'Arachel nudged the hem of her dress with her toes. The skirt spread over her knees and cascaded down to the floor, snow white and silky, the hem trimmed with satin ribbon and scalloped, so it seemed to froth over the floor like sea foam. She didn't wear such costumes at home - there was the formal occasion now and then, when custom demanded she don the robes of her office, or the ermine-trimmed mantle of royalty, but-- "Dozla, what if I trip? My sandals have heels. What if I--"
He laughed before she finished, his guffaw loud enough to bring tears to her eyes, and he barely noticed when she slapped the table with her palm. "You, Lady L'Arachel? You're the embodiment of grace! You won't trip." She bit her bottom lip, fingers curled over the edge of the table like claws. Her face felt hot, and it couldn't have been the sun. Dozla cleared his throat, lowered his eyes. "My apologies, Princess. I didn't know you were so worried."
"Well I'm not," L'Arachel said, shifting in her chair and turning her face away. The sun had risen high enough it no longer cast its rays directly through her screen, and she saw Jehanna's azure sky and the glittering surface of the lake between the gaps in the wood. "I'm here representing all of Rausten, Dozla. I must be sure they see my best qualities. We have to leave behind more pleasant memories than the visits you told me about."
"You won't trip, Princess," he said. "You'll have my arm, no matter what happens."
"Naturally." L'Arachel decided she would look at him again, and reached over to steal one of his walnuts. "Where else do you have to be?"
.
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: January 27 - confusion that is so hard to be avoided
Series: Fire Emblem: Sacred Stones
Characters: L'Arachel, Dozla
Rating: K
Words: 1659
Notes: for simplicity's sake, I assume L'Arachel is eighteen when Sacred Stones begins. In this story she's thirteen or so. This is really just an experiment, an attempt to nail her voice down, so, er... >_> If you have comments on how to improve that, I'd be ecstatic.
................................................................
If darkness was indeed man's greatest enemy, Princess L'Arachel discovered sand to be nearly its equal - a metaphor for evil, in its singular talent to exert its insidious influence on the forces of light by gritting in unpleasant places, finding its way into one's food and water uninvited to crunch between one's teeth, attempting to discourage her from reaching her destination by throwing up vicious wind storms that clotted the air with dirt and buried entire horses, tents, encampments. Her delegation, bound for Jehanna hall, was forced to take shelter twice against sudden whirlwinds, and while she lay in bed those nights, squirming against the prodding of straw and chafing at the indignity, she heard Dozla and the commander of her escort discuss the loss of a thirty man diplomatic party some years before her birth, sent on the occasion of her parents' death, and never heard from again.
That was a terrible year for Rausten, the commander said, and she recognized Dozla's gusty sigh. The Pontifex and his queen, a thousand soldiers along the wood line-- almost the princess, too. But nothing on earth could stand up to the princess, he continued to say, and if L'Arachel had not been feigning sleep, she would have told him that was exactly right. She would bow to death in her own time, not his, and meanwhile, there were miasmas to disperse, revenants to defeat--
--and a queen to greet, on her first diplomatic mission outside of Rausten. They were so close she couldn't sleep! It was almost enough to make her forget she was lying on a straw mattress.
Morning brought them an obscenely high bill from the travel lodge and a desert that had remapped its dunes and glittered pale under the sun, yellow against the horizon and the deep blue sky. "I've never seen such a beautiful color," she said, her face turned up as she mounted and gathered her reigns from the pommel. The air was already warm enough to make her elbows and the backs of her knees feel moist. "One would never think to see such a deep azure, the way desert weather flings sand about."
"Jehanna's night sky is one of the wonders of the world," said the commander, Gregory. "The Milky Way comes out bright as any river in Rausten. Desert men can navigate simply by the brightness of starlight - so I'm told."
"I must see it," she said, and Dozla's thick hand pet her elbow as if to counsel patience. "Surely tonight--"
She nudged Opal into motion when Gregory signaled it was time to go, and Dozla marched at her side, chuckling, his axe strapped across his back. He hadn't drawn it once, and she found herself glad; she'd seen it dripping with blood before, and the memory made something curl and twist in her stomach. "Queen Ismaire is said to have a magnificent spyglass, Princess. As soon as you make your interest known you're sure to receive an invitation."
L'Arachel sighed, covering her nose and mouth with the bell sleeve of her travel cloak. The hostel gates stood open, big, ugly things made of palm trunks and rough, scratchy rope. Flies buzzed past her ears, camels snorted; the area near the gate smelled like spice and grease, horses, straw, the most unpleasant scents lingering beneath, but once past the gate, a steady breeze dashed it all away. "I hope it will be cooler in Jehanna hall," she said, waving her sleeve to cool her face. "You didn't forget the parasol this time, did you Dozla?"
"Nope. It's right here, Princess!" He slapped his hip, where it hung like a sword, the lace fluttering in the wind. "Just let me know when you need it."
The sun was only two lengths above the eastern horizon, and she feared the parasol would be necessary before it reached three. If only someone had perfected a warping staff - a real one, capable of leaping over more than a field or a fortress. This desert sun was doing horrors to her complexion. Neither Dozla nor Gregory said anything, but she'd looked at her reflection in the wash basin that morning and saw how red her nose and cheeks had become - she looked like a child who had daubed her mother's rouge all over without a care, like a fisherman's wife-- her skin was peeling. How utterly embarrassing! If she had to meet the queen like this, she would just die.
Jehanna required two more days and nights of tribulation from L'Arachel's party before she saw the great hall on the horizon, and a blur of green that could only be trees. Energy pulsed from her heart to her very toes, winding her up until the plodding of their horses felt like a snail's pace and she wanted to bounce in the saddle, demand they hurry. Such wouldn't have been dignified - and L'Arachel was always dignified - but Opal sensed her energy and frisked, and Gregory did his best to hold her attention with a story about the queen's ascension and the mysterious disappearance of her son. He vanished five years ago, when your highness was only eight. It was not long before that his father died and left the throne to Queen Ismaire. Heat waves made the shape of Jehanna's capitol shimmer like an image on the surface of a lake. Has she re-married? L'Arachel's eyes flitted from the oasis before her to the bare white dunes and murmured what a desolate place in which to be alone.
They arrived at nightfall, and were met at the gates by the chamberlain and several dignitaries whose names she didn't bother to remember. Each and every one wore a sword belted over his coat, and they wore their hair in long tails, even wore jewelry that gleamed in the torchlight. Elaborate metal lanterns hung from the sandstone ceilings in every corridor; the Hall smelled of dust and incense, though she saw no lingering pall on the green drapes, the screened windows, or in the corners. Dozla and Gregory took rooms near hers, and three of the queen's own servants were sent to attend L'Arachel in her chambers. One prepared her dinner, another unpacked her trunk, and the youngest, whose auburn hair peeked from beneath the veil pinned to her hair, demonstrated how water was pumped into the brass bathtub - straight from the lake, she said, and they had aloe gel for her burns, oil for her skin, soap that smelled rich and resinous and lingered long after she'd bathed, eaten, and gone to bed.
The bed was hard - more of a cushion than a mattress, which in L'Arachel's experience were always filled with down and feathers, but it was not straw. She fell asleep staring at the sandstone ceiling turned gray, and woke at dawn to see silvery light peeking through the screen over her window, which cast an image of peacocks and lilies on the far wall.
Now that she was here, she didn't know what to do. They couldn't meet the queen before breakfast; she'd read only family shared that meal, here, and while the queen had no family L'Arachel knew of, that did not preclude the presence of some other friend or confidant. She could hardly eat her own once she'd dressed, even once she called Dozla in to share; she ate a few walnut halves while he layered his flat bread with tomatoes and cheese, urged her to eat, they had a long day ahead--
"Dozla," she said, twisting her fingers together in her lap, where they were hidden beneath the table. At least they had normal tables here, so her legs wouldn't go numb from sitting on cushions. "What if I..."
She heard nuts crunch between his teeth, crunch, crunch, swallow, and he wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. "What is it, Princess? Do you feel ill?"
Oh did she! L'Arachel nudged the hem of her dress with her toes. The skirt spread over her knees and cascaded down to the floor, snow white and silky, the hem trimmed with satin ribbon and scalloped, so it seemed to froth over the floor like sea foam. She didn't wear such costumes at home - there was the formal occasion now and then, when custom demanded she don the robes of her office, or the ermine-trimmed mantle of royalty, but-- "Dozla, what if I trip? My sandals have heels. What if I--"
He laughed before she finished, his guffaw loud enough to bring tears to her eyes, and he barely noticed when she slapped the table with her palm. "You, Lady L'Arachel? You're the embodiment of grace! You won't trip." She bit her bottom lip, fingers curled over the edge of the table like claws. Her face felt hot, and it couldn't have been the sun. Dozla cleared his throat, lowered his eyes. "My apologies, Princess. I didn't know you were so worried."
"Well I'm not," L'Arachel said, shifting in her chair and turning her face away. The sun had risen high enough it no longer cast its rays directly through her screen, and she saw Jehanna's azure sky and the glittering surface of the lake between the gaps in the wood. "I'm here representing all of Rausten, Dozla. I must be sure they see my best qualities. We have to leave behind more pleasant memories than the visits you told me about."
"You won't trip, Princess," he said. "You'll have my arm, no matter what happens."
"Naturally." L'Arachel decided she would look at him again, and reached over to steal one of his walnuts. "Where else do you have to be?"
.
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no subject
Date: 2010-01-26 05:28 pm (UTC)Crit:
"a desert that had remapped its dunes"-- that phrase didn't ring right, somehow. Good line, but it seemed more a "Seth" line or even an "Eirika" line than a "L'Arachel" one.
"and while the queen had no family L'Arachel knew of, that did not preclude the presence of some other friend or confidant"-- That seems awkward... perhaps because we know the queen does have a confidante.
Also... tomatoes in the desert? It's not impossible, but it seemed an odd choice.
Loved the part about the desert sky at night and Ismaire's spyglass... astronomy is one of my passions.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-26 11:13 pm (UTC)All three of your crit points are taken. (And I have to scrape up some kind of Seth fic to use that line, now.) I'm erring on the side of L'Arachel's ignorance of the actual goings on in Jehanna hall, but it's very possible the sentence needs help anyway, so I'll try to find something else to say there.
As for tomatoes... it'd be possible in my vision of Jehanna hall. Given the right kind of soil (imported) and enough water and care, the plants should survive. Since there's a huge palace sitting there in the middle of the dunes, I assume that somehow that lake beside it manages to keep everyone watered. (The map doesn't show any kind of river feeding it at all, and I have to imagine one there for my own peace of mind.)
It may have been a bad choice, but assuming we're not restricted by real-world historical circumstances, the only major roadblock to having tomatoes in Jehanna is the weather, and having grown up in a desert with vegetable gardens, rose gardens, a wide variety of green trees, etc., I say it's possible. These things could be grown in one's own back yard with care, and didn't require any special attention besides soil and water. A palace with its full compliment of servants and other staff should be able to manage a few tomato plants.
These are the pitfalls of posting a first draft, though. I'll think about all of this.