李杏 | Frances J., a lion-hearted girl (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
perfectworry) wrote2013-06-09 12:19 pm
perfectworry) wrote2013-06-09 12:19 pm
[original: alfheim] Someday We May See (short collection)
title: Woman King (or, Ascension)
verse: Alfheim
community:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
writerverse
prompt: Challenge #40: The Final Challenge (Challenge #25: Story Starters: "Write a story revolving around a song title.")
word count: 306
rating: PG
summary: Esyllt ascends as the Lady King of Alfheim.
notes: This is an entirely new 'verse and I am just making shit up as I go.
"Her Majesty, the Queen of Alfheim."
They ushered her into the room with a flourish and a bow. She walked with her head held high, shrouded in the regalia of the crown, and the crown itself: the heavy golden summer crown. She wore the crown of the King of Alfheim, not that of the queen. She carried the sword and the shield strapped to her arm, and high leather boots over her trousers. Her long autumn red hair she braided in a thick plait down her back, the only outward sign of her femininity.
"Counselors," she called, "I come before you as the King of Alfheim, the Lady King Esyllt, the hundred eighth in the unbroken line of kings to sit upon the Summer Throne!" She raised the sword, pointed skyward. "Do you challenge my inheritance or will you honor what is mine by birthright?"
Silence greeted her question; usually a formality, but given weight by her transgression, as with the ones that followed. "Do you trust to me this land, kingdom of my fathers? Do you love me as your liege and lord?"
Silence for a moment, then one lonesome voice: "I love you very well!"
She sheathed the sword and took a step towards the summer throne. None moved to stop her, not even a flicker of motion or a shift of heavy velvet robes, and she ascended the steps to the golden chair. The one who had cried out in acknowledgement of her title rushed forth; he bowed before her, and to him she handed the sword and shield.
Her counselors bowed, and the golden horns blew in acknowledgement of the Lady King Esyllt, hundred eighth in the unbroken line of kings to sit upon the Summer Throne, but the first woman born of the Autumn Court to rule the kingdom of Alfheim.
title: Interlude
verse: Alfheim
community:writerverse
prompt: Challenge #40: The Final Challenge (Challenge #25: Nothing's New Under the Sun)
word count: 256
rating: G
pairing: possible Esyllt/Tristram
summary: Tristram and Esyllt discuss her inheritance.
"You can't do this, Esyllt. You're not one of the Summer Court. You can't sit on the throne."
"Can't I?" she asked, tossing back her auburn hair. "My uncle has no heirs, and the Summer Throne cannot be left vacant if we want to keep the Winter Court at bay."
Tristram bit his fingernails. Esyllt's blood flowed from the Autumn Court on her father's side, and the Summer Court from her mother, but only distantly and diluted by centuries of human ancestors. Impure blood had never sat on the Golden Throne, but Esyllt spoke the truth: only she could occupy the throne if bloodline that had always ruled Alfheim by would continue. She had the tutoring, too, raised by her uncle, the King of Alfheim, she had studied warfare, and swordplay, and politics. She understood Annemark to the east, their neighbors, for she lived there as a child.
"Tell me, Tristram. If not I, then who else could sit on the Summer Throne?"
"No one, Esyllt."
"Will you follow me, Tristram? Do you love me as your liege and lord?"
She regarded him seriously. Of the ritual questions the king must ask before ascending the steps to the summer throne, this one held he most power. Tristram was only one of the seven councilors, but he was the one she loved the most, and who loved her.
"I love you very well, King Esyllt."
"Lady King of Alfheim," she said, tasting her new title. "Will they follow me?"
"I will," said Tristram. "I will follow you to the very ends of every earth."
title: Glittering Darkness
verse: Alfheim
community:writerverse
prompt: Challenge #40: The Final Challenge (Challenge #02: Cue Evil Laugh)
word count: 256
rating: G
summary: Eirlys of the Winter Court watches, and she waits.
"So Esyllt has ascended the Summer Throne," said Eirlys. She turned gracefully, and her long white dress swirled out in the water. The ripples disturbed the perfect surface that had reflected image of that which she had watched from afar: the ascension of an illegitimate, human-blooded brat to the Summer Throne of Alfheim, as King of the Western Realm.
"She claims the Golden Throne as her's by birth, but she is but a distant cousin of the past king, who has left behind no heirs, not even bastards." She sighed and wrung out her long golden hair. The drops glimmered like diamonds in the setting sunlight.
Eirlys had seen in her mirror pool the fall of the House of the Golden Flower, who had ever sat on the Summer Throne of Alfheim. Esyllt's ascension merely delayed her plans; the mirror pool never lied. Soon, the Silver Throne, the Winter Throne of Alfheim, empty since the founding of the kingdom, would be occupied, and Kingdom of the Western Realm would be the realm of the Winter Court.
Already the water had dried from her flowing gown, and it floated about Eirlys like a breeze. She stepped over the threshold out of the shrine and onto the battlements at the top of the tallest tower. She looked out towards the capital, too far over the horizon for human eyes to see, but not too far for Eirlys, who would, with patience, be the Queen of Alfheim, and occupy the empty Silver Throne.
The nerve of Esyllt, to claim the title of king, to carry the sword and shield. A queen could sit on that throne, but Esyllt sat there as the king, wearing an oaken crown. Eirlys turned on her heel down the flight of steps. Let Esyllt wear whatever title she chose for her rule, which would be short and soon ended to make way for Eirlys to ascend the steps to the twin chairs and sit in the Silver Throne as Queen of Alfheim.
title: Argument
verse: Alfheim
community:writerverse
prompt: Challenge #41: Quick Fic Amnesty (isolated island, reverse gender roles, icicles, in a ray of sunshine, chicken, beginnings and ends, clock, premonition, if anyone asks, silence)
word count: 1049
rating: G
summary: The Lady King Esyllt of Alfheim and weighs her councilors, and tasks the most trusted of them with a mission of diplomacy to their neighbors in the far north.
"Marama is my most trusted friend," said Esyllt, "and my most tested knight. To her alone would I trust this mission." If she had said it once that afternoon, she said it a hundred times.
She sat at the head of the table, not in the Golden Throne, but she had come before her councilors as their king. She looked from one to the other, measuring them up with a swift glance. As the king's counsel, they were tasked with disagreeing, with arguing, but not with disrespect, and it was disrespect she sensed from many of them. Esyllt understood why; the blood of the Summer Court was weak in her, many generations back and mixed in with human blood, and blood from the Autumn Court. from her father's side Her coup would have failed, had her father been a member of the Winter Court. As it stood, Esyllt had ascended to the Summer Throne when all other options had been explored: the blood of the kings flowed only in her veins, but although the councilors had vetted her claims and explored their options and found her the only choice, many of them were discontent.
Esyllt knew why. Tristram whispered to her of their talks, of the hopes of some for a weak boy prince to sit on the Golden Throne, sponsored by a councilor who would act as his regent and rule the Western Kingdom from behind. Esyllt was no boy prince, and would not be played like a puppet.
She also knew that this mission would be her only chance to prove herself. She would send Marama to the frozen island far out to sea, shrouded in mist and covered in ice, a kingdom ruled by the winter court, so far to the east it nearly turned around to the west again. Marama was tall, and fiercely proud. Her dark skin set her apart from the other knights of Alfheim, and her shorn head, but they trusted her. Those who had seen her fighting when the Winter Court attacked while the old king's health waned knew her to be the strongest knight of the realm, and the most loyal, but like Esyllt, she was an outsider, and the councilors were mostly old men, set in their ways, or young men well studied and cunning, who would use tradition to their advantage.
With all of this on her mind, Esyllt stood in a ray of sunlight pouring down from the high windows. "Lady Marama, Knight of the Summer Court and friend of the king, will journey to the Kingdom of Lumi, and there she will palaver with the Winter King as my delegate. Do'ee challenge me?" she asked, placing her hands down on the table. "Or will you accept my will as your king?"
Tristram, to her right, lay his hand palm up in acceptance of her demands. The others reacted more slowly, although Methuselah only a moment after Tristram and likely only due to his advanced age. His hand trembled upon the table, but he gazed fiercely around the room, challenging the others. In the end, the vote was split: four with her, three against. Celyn joined Tristram and Methuselah, and Sieffre. Against her, Llewellyn, and Bran, and Cællach; this she had counted on, though Llewellyn's early opposition came as a surprise. She expected he would follow her only to trip her up later.
Good, then, she told herself. Let him align himself against me now, that I will not fall for his façade of trustworthiness.
"Then it is decided," said Esyllt. "Lady Marama will travel to Lumi as the delegate of the king."
She turned on her heel and swept from the room, green cloak billowing behind her. Tristram followed after her shortly.
"Lady Marama?" he asked.
"You showed your palm," she reminded him.
"It isn't that I don't trust her, Esyllt. It's that they don't." Tristram spoke true, but Esyllt didn't like that any better.
"They've never seen her fight," replied Esyllt, shrugging her shoulders. "Cloistered in their towers. They weren't there when the Winter Court attacked. Cowards," she spat. Tristram, who had been by the beside of the king during the Battle of Solstice Eve, said nothing. She waved her hand apologetically, but he shrugged: his place was in scholarship, hers in war. He trusted her judgement in the fields. He could only hope the others would come around: a divided council spelled only doom for the king and her kingdom. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling, like a premonition, that this argument had gotten off easy - and although Tristram had voted in her favor, she knew he feared sending her best knight to the other side of the world, where she would not be there in defense of the king.
"Keep an eye on Llewellyn," she whispered. "Especially him. Bran is old, and set in his ways. He fought with my uncle as well, an obstinate old man, but a good devil's advocate. Cællach is young, and aligning himself where he thinks the power lies, and he thinks that Llewellyn is the council's center of gravity, the sun around which you all revolve." She quirked her lips at Tristram's disbelieving look, but continued. "He's not wrong, either. Methuselah is old. Sieffre and Celyn I trust, but they are too timid, too quiet. You are known to be my friend," she smiled again, softer this time. "They will not trust you as one of them again."
"I know, milady," said Tristram.
"But nor can they bar you from the council's talks, the libraries. Listen in your secret places, and watch Llewllyn like a clock."
Tristram nodded in agreement. He turned to go, but she placed a hand on his shoulder. "If anyone asks, Tristram, tell them what you will, but do not speak falsely."
He nodded, and gathered his scrolls and manuscripts, and disappeared out the door. She hadn't been speaking of the council meeting, he knew, or her command to keep an eye on Llywellen.
In the silence that followed Tristram's departure, Esyllt closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. She only allowed herself a moment of weakness before she composed herself, and went out of the inner sanctum to speak with Lady Marama.
title: Lover and Liege
verse: Alfheim
community:writerverse
prompt: Challenge #02: Weekly Quick Fic #1 (why me, lord?; hesitation )
word count: 228
rating: G
pairing: Esyllt/Marama
summary: Esyllt confides her secret reason for reversing the decision to send Marama north to Lumi as her delegate.
"Why me, lord?" Marama crossed her arms; standing, she towered over the Lady King Esyllt, herself formidable in height for a fairy woman. "I am your most trusted knight. Why do you keep me here in the castle when you send the others forth to Lumi?"
"It is because you are my most trusted knight," said Esyllt. She lowered her voice. "Lady Marama, the true danger is not to the north. The threat to my uncle's kingdom lies hidden within the palace walls." Marama, her eyes moon pale in the dim light, nodded, but said nothing. Speaking now in the faintest of whispers, Esyllt continued, "I need you here with me, while I send away their knights to the north." She raised her voice again, so that passersby might hear. "Lady Marama, do you accept my will as your lord and liege?"
Marama bowed her head so that she might show her humility. Esyllt placed a knightly kiss on her forehead, and after a moment's hesitation, she gave Marama a second, secret kiss on her lips. "I would keep you by my side," she whispered, "until the snows of Lumi melt and flood the Western Sea, as my champion and my friend alike."
"And I would stay, Esyllt who is called the Lady King of Alfheim, until the blood of my fathers stains the very seas."
verse: Alfheim
community:
writerverse prompt: Challenge #40: The Final Challenge (Challenge #25: Story Starters: "Write a story revolving around a song title.")
word count: 306
rating: PG
summary: Esyllt ascends as the Lady King of Alfheim.
notes: This is an entirely new 'verse and I am just making shit up as I go.
"Her Majesty, the Queen of Alfheim."
They ushered her into the room with a flourish and a bow. She walked with her head held high, shrouded in the regalia of the crown, and the crown itself: the heavy golden summer crown. She wore the crown of the King of Alfheim, not that of the queen. She carried the sword and the shield strapped to her arm, and high leather boots over her trousers. Her long autumn red hair she braided in a thick plait down her back, the only outward sign of her femininity.
"Counselors," she called, "I come before you as the King of Alfheim, the Lady King Esyllt, the hundred eighth in the unbroken line of kings to sit upon the Summer Throne!" She raised the sword, pointed skyward. "Do you challenge my inheritance or will you honor what is mine by birthright?"
Silence greeted her question; usually a formality, but given weight by her transgression, as with the ones that followed. "Do you trust to me this land, kingdom of my fathers? Do you love me as your liege and lord?"
Silence for a moment, then one lonesome voice: "I love you very well!"
She sheathed the sword and took a step towards the summer throne. None moved to stop her, not even a flicker of motion or a shift of heavy velvet robes, and she ascended the steps to the golden chair. The one who had cried out in acknowledgement of her title rushed forth; he bowed before her, and to him she handed the sword and shield.
Her counselors bowed, and the golden horns blew in acknowledgement of the Lady King Esyllt, hundred eighth in the unbroken line of kings to sit upon the Summer Throne, but the first woman born of the Autumn Court to rule the kingdom of Alfheim.
title: Interlude
verse: Alfheim
community:
writerverse prompt: Challenge #40: The Final Challenge (Challenge #25: Nothing's New Under the Sun)
word count: 256
rating: G
pairing: possible Esyllt/Tristram
summary: Tristram and Esyllt discuss her inheritance.
"You can't do this, Esyllt. You're not one of the Summer Court. You can't sit on the throne."
"Can't I?" she asked, tossing back her auburn hair. "My uncle has no heirs, and the Summer Throne cannot be left vacant if we want to keep the Winter Court at bay."
Tristram bit his fingernails. Esyllt's blood flowed from the Autumn Court on her father's side, and the Summer Court from her mother, but only distantly and diluted by centuries of human ancestors. Impure blood had never sat on the Golden Throne, but Esyllt spoke the truth: only she could occupy the throne if bloodline that had always ruled Alfheim by would continue. She had the tutoring, too, raised by her uncle, the King of Alfheim, she had studied warfare, and swordplay, and politics. She understood Annemark to the east, their neighbors, for she lived there as a child.
"Tell me, Tristram. If not I, then who else could sit on the Summer Throne?"
"No one, Esyllt."
"Will you follow me, Tristram? Do you love me as your liege and lord?"
She regarded him seriously. Of the ritual questions the king must ask before ascending the steps to the summer throne, this one held he most power. Tristram was only one of the seven councilors, but he was the one she loved the most, and who loved her.
"I love you very well, King Esyllt."
"Lady King of Alfheim," she said, tasting her new title. "Will they follow me?"
"I will," said Tristram. "I will follow you to the very ends of every earth."
title: Glittering Darkness
verse: Alfheim
community:
writerverse prompt: Challenge #40: The Final Challenge (Challenge #02: Cue Evil Laugh)
word count: 256
rating: G
summary: Eirlys of the Winter Court watches, and she waits.
"So Esyllt has ascended the Summer Throne," said Eirlys. She turned gracefully, and her long white dress swirled out in the water. The ripples disturbed the perfect surface that had reflected image of that which she had watched from afar: the ascension of an illegitimate, human-blooded brat to the Summer Throne of Alfheim, as King of the Western Realm.
"She claims the Golden Throne as her's by birth, but she is but a distant cousin of the past king, who has left behind no heirs, not even bastards." She sighed and wrung out her long golden hair. The drops glimmered like diamonds in the setting sunlight.
Eirlys had seen in her mirror pool the fall of the House of the Golden Flower, who had ever sat on the Summer Throne of Alfheim. Esyllt's ascension merely delayed her plans; the mirror pool never lied. Soon, the Silver Throne, the Winter Throne of Alfheim, empty since the founding of the kingdom, would be occupied, and Kingdom of the Western Realm would be the realm of the Winter Court.
Already the water had dried from her flowing gown, and it floated about Eirlys like a breeze. She stepped over the threshold out of the shrine and onto the battlements at the top of the tallest tower. She looked out towards the capital, too far over the horizon for human eyes to see, but not too far for Eirlys, who would, with patience, be the Queen of Alfheim, and occupy the empty Silver Throne.
The nerve of Esyllt, to claim the title of king, to carry the sword and shield. A queen could sit on that throne, but Esyllt sat there as the king, wearing an oaken crown. Eirlys turned on her heel down the flight of steps. Let Esyllt wear whatever title she chose for her rule, which would be short and soon ended to make way for Eirlys to ascend the steps to the twin chairs and sit in the Silver Throne as Queen of Alfheim.
title: Argument
verse: Alfheim
community:
writerverse prompt: Challenge #41: Quick Fic Amnesty (isolated island, reverse gender roles, icicles, in a ray of sunshine, chicken, beginnings and ends, clock, premonition, if anyone asks, silence)
word count: 1049
rating: G
summary: The Lady King Esyllt of Alfheim and weighs her councilors, and tasks the most trusted of them with a mission of diplomacy to their neighbors in the far north.
"Marama is my most trusted friend," said Esyllt, "and my most tested knight. To her alone would I trust this mission." If she had said it once that afternoon, she said it a hundred times.
She sat at the head of the table, not in the Golden Throne, but she had come before her councilors as their king. She looked from one to the other, measuring them up with a swift glance. As the king's counsel, they were tasked with disagreeing, with arguing, but not with disrespect, and it was disrespect she sensed from many of them. Esyllt understood why; the blood of the Summer Court was weak in her, many generations back and mixed in with human blood, and blood from the Autumn Court. from her father's side Her coup would have failed, had her father been a member of the Winter Court. As it stood, Esyllt had ascended to the Summer Throne when all other options had been explored: the blood of the kings flowed only in her veins, but although the councilors had vetted her claims and explored their options and found her the only choice, many of them were discontent.
Esyllt knew why. Tristram whispered to her of their talks, of the hopes of some for a weak boy prince to sit on the Golden Throne, sponsored by a councilor who would act as his regent and rule the Western Kingdom from behind. Esyllt was no boy prince, and would not be played like a puppet.
She also knew that this mission would be her only chance to prove herself. She would send Marama to the frozen island far out to sea, shrouded in mist and covered in ice, a kingdom ruled by the winter court, so far to the east it nearly turned around to the west again. Marama was tall, and fiercely proud. Her dark skin set her apart from the other knights of Alfheim, and her shorn head, but they trusted her. Those who had seen her fighting when the Winter Court attacked while the old king's health waned knew her to be the strongest knight of the realm, and the most loyal, but like Esyllt, she was an outsider, and the councilors were mostly old men, set in their ways, or young men well studied and cunning, who would use tradition to their advantage.
With all of this on her mind, Esyllt stood in a ray of sunlight pouring down from the high windows. "Lady Marama, Knight of the Summer Court and friend of the king, will journey to the Kingdom of Lumi, and there she will palaver with the Winter King as my delegate. Do'ee challenge me?" she asked, placing her hands down on the table. "Or will you accept my will as your king?"
Tristram, to her right, lay his hand palm up in acceptance of her demands. The others reacted more slowly, although Methuselah only a moment after Tristram and likely only due to his advanced age. His hand trembled upon the table, but he gazed fiercely around the room, challenging the others. In the end, the vote was split: four with her, three against. Celyn joined Tristram and Methuselah, and Sieffre. Against her, Llewellyn, and Bran, and Cællach; this she had counted on, though Llewellyn's early opposition came as a surprise. She expected he would follow her only to trip her up later.
Good, then, she told herself. Let him align himself against me now, that I will not fall for his façade of trustworthiness.
"Then it is decided," said Esyllt. "Lady Marama will travel to Lumi as the delegate of the king."
She turned on her heel and swept from the room, green cloak billowing behind her. Tristram followed after her shortly.
"Lady Marama?" he asked.
"You showed your palm," she reminded him.
"It isn't that I don't trust her, Esyllt. It's that they don't." Tristram spoke true, but Esyllt didn't like that any better.
"They've never seen her fight," replied Esyllt, shrugging her shoulders. "Cloistered in their towers. They weren't there when the Winter Court attacked. Cowards," she spat. Tristram, who had been by the beside of the king during the Battle of Solstice Eve, said nothing. She waved her hand apologetically, but he shrugged: his place was in scholarship, hers in war. He trusted her judgement in the fields. He could only hope the others would come around: a divided council spelled only doom for the king and her kingdom. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling, like a premonition, that this argument had gotten off easy - and although Tristram had voted in her favor, she knew he feared sending her best knight to the other side of the world, where she would not be there in defense of the king.
"Keep an eye on Llewellyn," she whispered. "Especially him. Bran is old, and set in his ways. He fought with my uncle as well, an obstinate old man, but a good devil's advocate. Cællach is young, and aligning himself where he thinks the power lies, and he thinks that Llewellyn is the council's center of gravity, the sun around which you all revolve." She quirked her lips at Tristram's disbelieving look, but continued. "He's not wrong, either. Methuselah is old. Sieffre and Celyn I trust, but they are too timid, too quiet. You are known to be my friend," she smiled again, softer this time. "They will not trust you as one of them again."
"I know, milady," said Tristram.
"But nor can they bar you from the council's talks, the libraries. Listen in your secret places, and watch Llewllyn like a clock."
Tristram nodded in agreement. He turned to go, but she placed a hand on his shoulder. "If anyone asks, Tristram, tell them what you will, but do not speak falsely."
He nodded, and gathered his scrolls and manuscripts, and disappeared out the door. She hadn't been speaking of the council meeting, he knew, or her command to keep an eye on Llywellen.
In the silence that followed Tristram's departure, Esyllt closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. She only allowed herself a moment of weakness before she composed herself, and went out of the inner sanctum to speak with Lady Marama.
title: Lover and Liege
verse: Alfheim
community:
writerverse prompt: Challenge #02: Weekly Quick Fic #1 (why me, lord?; hesitation )
word count: 228
rating: G
pairing: Esyllt/Marama
summary: Esyllt confides her secret reason for reversing the decision to send Marama north to Lumi as her delegate.
"Why me, lord?" Marama crossed her arms; standing, she towered over the Lady King Esyllt, herself formidable in height for a fairy woman. "I am your most trusted knight. Why do you keep me here in the castle when you send the others forth to Lumi?"
"It is because you are my most trusted knight," said Esyllt. She lowered her voice. "Lady Marama, the true danger is not to the north. The threat to my uncle's kingdom lies hidden within the palace walls." Marama, her eyes moon pale in the dim light, nodded, but said nothing. Speaking now in the faintest of whispers, Esyllt continued, "I need you here with me, while I send away their knights to the north." She raised her voice again, so that passersby might hear. "Lady Marama, do you accept my will as your lord and liege?"
Marama bowed her head so that she might show her humility. Esyllt placed a knightly kiss on her forehead, and after a moment's hesitation, she gave Marama a second, secret kiss on her lips. "I would keep you by my side," she whispered, "until the snows of Lumi melt and flood the Western Sea, as my champion and my friend alike."
"And I would stay, Esyllt who is called the Lady King of Alfheim, until the blood of my fathers stains the very seas."