Living the Lie
Mar. 3rd, 2019 11:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
feredarStory: Living the Lie
Year: 981 FY
Rating: R
Characters: Sorell, Kellom
Warnings: skipGenocide, espionage, violence, underground revolution, toxic family dynamics, implied murder. There's some language at the end that might come across as suicidal ideation. That should cover everything. If I missed anything I'm sorry, and please let me know so I can fix it.
Notes: This takes place in an alternate 981 FY, the morning after this.
Sorell tapped softly on the door to his father’s private study, and held his breath for a moment, waiting. He had no idea why he was so nervous. He met with the king several times a day, after all, and there was no reason to suspect…
Father couldn’t know about what he and Nida had done last night. He simply couldn’t. And Sorell had come home after worse missions, harder missions, without this kind of stress.
“Enter.”
He let the breath out and obeyed, bowing carefully. “You asked to see me, Father?”
“Yes.” He finished the decree he was signing, then set it aside and looked up. “There was a raid, on one of the prisons last night.”
Sorell bowed his head, hoping Nida’s lessons on controlling his expression had stuck. “I hadn’t heard, sir. Was anyone harmed?”
“Not permanently,” Father said. “But nearly two dozen mages escaped.”
“Gods.”
“I won’t task you with tracking them down,” the King went on. “But I do want you to investigate.”
…gods. “Of course, sir.” He bowed again, and stood there, waiting for dismissal.
The seconds ticked by, and it didn’t come. “Sorell, is everything all right?” Father asked, dropping his usual cold formality.
And this was what made it hard, so hard, to do what he and Nida were doing. Because Father was a cold man, and lately a very cruel one, but he was just as capable of fierce loyalty, of fierce love. And in the moments when he showed it…
“I’m fine, Father,” he said quietly.
He sighed. “I know things have been…difficult, for you, since the Queen…” He trailed off. “Is there anything you need, that I haven’t given you?”
Gods. “No, sir,” he said. “Just…as you said, I think it’s been…it hasn’t been easy for me to…return to normal.”
“And Nida, and Deva, they are well?”
“Yes,” he said, relieved they were on a safer topic. He and Mother had been close, to a point, but it wasn’t so much her assassination as the aftermath, and the horrible suspicion that he didn’t quite dare actively entertain, that kept him up at night. “Quite well.”
“Good.” Another moment of uncertain silence, then Father sighed again. “You can go, Sorell. But I hope…I hope you will come to me, if something is wrong. I miss our old closeness.”
But I’m not a child anymore, nor am I as naïve as I once was, Sorell thought. “Of course,” was all he said aloud, then he bowed and left the King’s study.
He kept his head up and his steps steady, and tried to focus on his love for his wife, and his daughter, and not the confusing mix of feelings for his father, or the self-loathing that he couldn’t quite squash. He was a traitor--and, even worse, a secret traitor, every breath he took, every word he spoke, adding to his crimes--and, while he couldn’t support the Purge, and he couldn’t do nothing…
He could barely look his father in the eye. He could barely face his daughter, even though he knew the world they were building for Deva was a better one, a more just one.
But it was killing him by inches, the lie he and Nida were living, and he almost looked forward to when Father inevitably found out, and he didn’t have to hide anymore.
Year: 981 FY
Rating: R
Characters: Sorell, Kellom
Warnings: skipGenocide, espionage, violence, underground revolution, toxic family dynamics, implied murder. There's some language at the end that might come across as suicidal ideation. That should cover everything. If I missed anything I'm sorry, and please let me know so I can fix it.
Notes: This takes place in an alternate 981 FY, the morning after this.
Sorell tapped softly on the door to his father’s private study, and held his breath for a moment, waiting. He had no idea why he was so nervous. He met with the king several times a day, after all, and there was no reason to suspect…
Father couldn’t know about what he and Nida had done last night. He simply couldn’t. And Sorell had come home after worse missions, harder missions, without this kind of stress.
“Enter.”
He let the breath out and obeyed, bowing carefully. “You asked to see me, Father?”
“Yes.” He finished the decree he was signing, then set it aside and looked up. “There was a raid, on one of the prisons last night.”
Sorell bowed his head, hoping Nida’s lessons on controlling his expression had stuck. “I hadn’t heard, sir. Was anyone harmed?”
“Not permanently,” Father said. “But nearly two dozen mages escaped.”
“Gods.”
“I won’t task you with tracking them down,” the King went on. “But I do want you to investigate.”
…gods. “Of course, sir.” He bowed again, and stood there, waiting for dismissal.
The seconds ticked by, and it didn’t come. “Sorell, is everything all right?” Father asked, dropping his usual cold formality.
And this was what made it hard, so hard, to do what he and Nida were doing. Because Father was a cold man, and lately a very cruel one, but he was just as capable of fierce loyalty, of fierce love. And in the moments when he showed it…
“I’m fine, Father,” he said quietly.
He sighed. “I know things have been…difficult, for you, since the Queen…” He trailed off. “Is there anything you need, that I haven’t given you?”
Gods. “No, sir,” he said. “Just…as you said, I think it’s been…it hasn’t been easy for me to…return to normal.”
“And Nida, and Deva, they are well?”
“Yes,” he said, relieved they were on a safer topic. He and Mother had been close, to a point, but it wasn’t so much her assassination as the aftermath, and the horrible suspicion that he didn’t quite dare actively entertain, that kept him up at night. “Quite well.”
“Good.” Another moment of uncertain silence, then Father sighed again. “You can go, Sorell. But I hope…I hope you will come to me, if something is wrong. I miss our old closeness.”
But I’m not a child anymore, nor am I as naïve as I once was, Sorell thought. “Of course,” was all he said aloud, then he bowed and left the King’s study.
He kept his head up and his steps steady, and tried to focus on his love for his wife, and his daughter, and not the confusing mix of feelings for his father, or the self-loathing that he couldn’t quite squash. He was a traitor--and, even worse, a secret traitor, every breath he took, every word he spoke, adding to his crimes--and, while he couldn’t support the Purge, and he couldn’t do nothing…
He could barely look his father in the eye. He could barely face his daughter, even though he knew the world they were building for Deva was a better one, a more just one.
But it was killing him by inches, the lie he and Nida were living, and he almost looked forward to when Father inevitably found out, and he didn’t have to hide anymore.