Are You With Me?
Mar. 4th, 2019 12:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
feredarStory: Are You With Me?
Year: 989 FY
Rating: R
Characters: Mellir, Andrell
Warnings: References to war, civil war, murder, possible fratricide, and genocide. Also, alcoholism.
Notes: The childhood incident Andrell mentions is related here.
“I need to…I need to…I need…you gotta be with me, Andrell, all right?”
Mellir was drunk, which was--well, not surprising, of course, but disappointing. Andrell had thought, or at least hoped, that the sudden responsibility of being King would have…for lack of a more respectful way of putting it, knocked some damn sense into his brother. “Of course I am,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He laughed. “I know you don’t respect me. No one does—not the Council, for sure, but they’re all Kellom’s so I dunno what I was expecting there.” He paused. “Sometimes I don’t even think Keta does, but at least she loves me. And my kids, my kids they love me and maybe respect but I don’t--that’s not what’s important here. And maybe it’s my fault, because of the drinking and the whoring and the--and the--not important. Are you with me or not?”
“I’m…not sure what you’re asking me to be,” Andrell said.
Mellir sighed, explosively. “With me. I said. Only--only--see, I’m trying to--what I’m trying to do is--is people keep dying, and I want it to stop, only no one listens to me.”
“I’m…I’m with you on that, I don’t want people to die, either.”
“’Course you don’t. You were always the nice one.” He poured himself another drink. “Only I think I’ve got a plan, but I need you to--I need to know that you’re with me, you’re behind me, and you don’t have a knife to stab me in the back.”
Andrell refused to read that as confirmation of something half the court believed--because there was no chance in hell that Mellir could have actually killed Kellom. He would never have even tried--or, well, maybe if he was drunk enough, because gods knew there was no love lost between Andrell’s brothers; but even if Mellir was drunk enough to consider it, he wouldn’t have succeeded, because Kellom was so much more skilled, and would have been sober on top, and…
Andrell refused to believe that one of his brothers had killed the other.
“I would never,” he said quietly.
Mellir snorted. “You say that now. But someday, maybe, you’ll remember you’re better’n me, or think you can do better, and then you’ll put me down. I need to know you won’t. You gotta tell me you won’t.”
“I won’t,” he said. “I promise, Mellir.”
“Say it.”
“I won’t stab you in the back. I’m with you.” If Mellir needed to be removed from power--there would be another way. Andrell would find another way.
Mellir stared at him for a long moment. “Good. So, here’s what I need…what I need you to do.”
“There’s more?” Andrell asked, his heart sinking. Mellir was in some kind of mood, and there was no telling what he’d ask. Well, if it’s that bad, I can always agree for now and hope he’s too drunk to remember in the morning…
“How long’ve you been thinking about defecting?”
Andrell froze. “I…wh-what…I…I h-haven’t been…”
“You’re a worse liar than I am,” Mellir said, amused, and poured more wine--for both of them, this time.
He accepted the glass, hoping his hand wasn’t shaking as obviously as it looked to him.
“Relax, relax, I’m not angry,” his brother said. “I know s’all politics, and I know you’re all about Mother’s politics, and it’s not about me--wasn’t ever about Kellom or Father either. People think I don’t know things, and then they don’t listen to me. Makes it sorta hard to be King.”
“I…y-yes, I can imagine it w-would…”
“Wasn’t asking for your pity,” Mellir said. “So, how long?”
“I…I…um….”
“’Cause, y’know, if you do…that could make things better. For the War.”
Andrell stared at him. “What--how--do you want me to spy for you?”
Mellir burst out laughing. “Oh, gods no. That’d never work. You’re too--too many people--you can’t lie and you’re too pretty and too many people know you too well. And they like you, too, which might help or might make it worse when you can’t lie and get caught. I just meant…if you defect, we’d be safe. All of us. No matter--doesn’t matter what happens. All of us’d be safe.”
He blinked. “I…I don’t follow.” He also didn’t quite follow what being pretty had to do with being a spy. And, really, pretty?
“We both want the dying and killing and all to stop, right?”
“Right,” he said, his attention caught.
“So, with one of us on each side…whoever wins, we win. Right?”
“I suppose.”
Mellir sighed. “You don’t listen to me either. Lemme try to explain.” He cleared his throat. “I stay here. I’m King. Maybe a miracle happens, and people listen to me for once, or Sola makes ‘em, or something. I dunno. Anyway, that happens, I get a cease-fire, we start negotiating, you can be my ambassador when that happens, ‘cause you’ll have all the contacts, right? That’s where people liking you’s a good thing.”
That made a certain amount of sense. But…well, Kellom wasn’t their only major, successful commander who’d died since the Purge had begun and escalated things. “Right.”
“Or--they--them outside--the other army--they win. Only you’re with them, to keep ‘em from slaughtering me and my kids and Fera and Keta and Tana and all. Right?”
“Right.” And he would do that, as much as he could. Though, given Tana’s direct involvement in the Purge, saving her might not be--
He could worry about that later.
“So, here’s how it goes. I stay King. You defect. Whoever wins, I don’t--I won’t--I pardon you, keep you alive, whatever, and you don’t cut me down, yeah? I stay King. I wanna stay King.”
Well, since Andrell didn’t especially want to be King himself… “Agreed.”
“Good.” Mellir poured another glass of wine. “I’m gonna make sure I don’t remember this tomorrow, ‘cause I’m not…um…don’t wanna say the wrong thing to the wrong person, right?”
He blinked. He hadn’t expected--no one ever thought of Mellir as smart like that. Smart enough to be aware of and consider and even use his own weaknesses to his advantage.
But then…
He thought back, years ago, to when Kellom had taught him how to win snowball fights. Mellir had been strategic enough to beat their brother, at least once.
“Maybe we should listen to you more,” Andrell said quietly, and a little ruefully.
Mellir laughed. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”
“You know, maybe if you just…if you drank a little less, or--”
“Hey,” he cut him off. “Didn’t ask for that. Just want you to defect, and keep as many people alive as we can, yeah?”
He sighed. So much for that. Worth a shot, at least. Maybe Keta or one of the others will have more luck, especially now that he’s King… “Yeah.”
“But I’m gonna write everything down, two copies. And we’ll both sign, and--I’ve got a place I don’t check much, for my copy. But you keep yours, so when this is over…when it’s over, we’ll fix it. Right?”
“Right,” Andrell said.
Mellir grinned at him, then pulled out two pieces of paper and wrote out the plan. It was legible--barely--and it took only a few moments for them to both sign and seal it. The King--gods, it still felt strange to give Mellir the title--opened one of the desk drawers and pulled a lever. One of the bookshelves moved, revealing a little panic room, secure against attack and just barely large enough to hold a grown man without too much discomfort.
He set one copy of the letter right in the middle of the panic room floor, then flipped the switch again and the bookshelf moved back into place.
“Go, quick,” Mellir said. “S’dark out tonight--no moon, right?--so s’probably your best chance to get away before either of us gets cold feet.”
Andrell nodded. “Mellir--”
He shook his head. “Just go. I’m gonna get drunk ‘til I forget, remember? And if you’re planning to say--I don’t want to forget it if you say goodbye.”
Andrell swallowed, and nodded. He sketched a bow--whatever his flaws and faults, Mellir was his King--and went to grab necessities before fleeing the city, the proof of his loyalty and purpose tucked up his sleeve.
Please, he prayed, to every god he knew--even the one the hard-liners like Kellom called a devil. Please, let this work. And let us both survive.
He fled the city in darkness, and, if not as quietly as he would have preferred, at least no one stopped him.
He reached the besieging army’s camp just as dawn was breaking.
The letter heavy in his sleeve, he took a deep breath, and quietly announced, “I am Crown Prince Andrell of Feredar, and I’m here to defect.”
Year: 989 FY
Rating: R
Characters: Mellir, Andrell
Warnings: References to war, civil war, murder, possible fratricide, and genocide. Also, alcoholism.
Notes: The childhood incident Andrell mentions is related here.
“I need to…I need to…I need…you gotta be with me, Andrell, all right?”
Mellir was drunk, which was--well, not surprising, of course, but disappointing. Andrell had thought, or at least hoped, that the sudden responsibility of being King would have…for lack of a more respectful way of putting it, knocked some damn sense into his brother. “Of course I am,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He laughed. “I know you don’t respect me. No one does—not the Council, for sure, but they’re all Kellom’s so I dunno what I was expecting there.” He paused. “Sometimes I don’t even think Keta does, but at least she loves me. And my kids, my kids they love me and maybe respect but I don’t--that’s not what’s important here. And maybe it’s my fault, because of the drinking and the whoring and the--and the--not important. Are you with me or not?”
“I’m…not sure what you’re asking me to be,” Andrell said.
Mellir sighed, explosively. “With me. I said. Only--only--see, I’m trying to--what I’m trying to do is--is people keep dying, and I want it to stop, only no one listens to me.”
“I’m…I’m with you on that, I don’t want people to die, either.”
“’Course you don’t. You were always the nice one.” He poured himself another drink. “Only I think I’ve got a plan, but I need you to--I need to know that you’re with me, you’re behind me, and you don’t have a knife to stab me in the back.”
Andrell refused to read that as confirmation of something half the court believed--because there was no chance in hell that Mellir could have actually killed Kellom. He would never have even tried--or, well, maybe if he was drunk enough, because gods knew there was no love lost between Andrell’s brothers; but even if Mellir was drunk enough to consider it, he wouldn’t have succeeded, because Kellom was so much more skilled, and would have been sober on top, and…
Andrell refused to believe that one of his brothers had killed the other.
“I would never,” he said quietly.
Mellir snorted. “You say that now. But someday, maybe, you’ll remember you’re better’n me, or think you can do better, and then you’ll put me down. I need to know you won’t. You gotta tell me you won’t.”
“I won’t,” he said. “I promise, Mellir.”
“Say it.”
“I won’t stab you in the back. I’m with you.” If Mellir needed to be removed from power--there would be another way. Andrell would find another way.
Mellir stared at him for a long moment. “Good. So, here’s what I need…what I need you to do.”
“There’s more?” Andrell asked, his heart sinking. Mellir was in some kind of mood, and there was no telling what he’d ask. Well, if it’s that bad, I can always agree for now and hope he’s too drunk to remember in the morning…
“How long’ve you been thinking about defecting?”
Andrell froze. “I…wh-what…I…I h-haven’t been…”
“You’re a worse liar than I am,” Mellir said, amused, and poured more wine--for both of them, this time.
He accepted the glass, hoping his hand wasn’t shaking as obviously as it looked to him.
“Relax, relax, I’m not angry,” his brother said. “I know s’all politics, and I know you’re all about Mother’s politics, and it’s not about me--wasn’t ever about Kellom or Father either. People think I don’t know things, and then they don’t listen to me. Makes it sorta hard to be King.”
“I…y-yes, I can imagine it w-would…”
“Wasn’t asking for your pity,” Mellir said. “So, how long?”
“I…I…um….”
“’Cause, y’know, if you do…that could make things better. For the War.”
Andrell stared at him. “What--how--do you want me to spy for you?”
Mellir burst out laughing. “Oh, gods no. That’d never work. You’re too--too many people--you can’t lie and you’re too pretty and too many people know you too well. And they like you, too, which might help or might make it worse when you can’t lie and get caught. I just meant…if you defect, we’d be safe. All of us. No matter--doesn’t matter what happens. All of us’d be safe.”
He blinked. “I…I don’t follow.” He also didn’t quite follow what being pretty had to do with being a spy. And, really, pretty?
“We both want the dying and killing and all to stop, right?”
“Right,” he said, his attention caught.
“So, with one of us on each side…whoever wins, we win. Right?”
“I suppose.”
Mellir sighed. “You don’t listen to me either. Lemme try to explain.” He cleared his throat. “I stay here. I’m King. Maybe a miracle happens, and people listen to me for once, or Sola makes ‘em, or something. I dunno. Anyway, that happens, I get a cease-fire, we start negotiating, you can be my ambassador when that happens, ‘cause you’ll have all the contacts, right? That’s where people liking you’s a good thing.”
That made a certain amount of sense. But…well, Kellom wasn’t their only major, successful commander who’d died since the Purge had begun and escalated things. “Right.”
“Or--they--them outside--the other army--they win. Only you’re with them, to keep ‘em from slaughtering me and my kids and Fera and Keta and Tana and all. Right?”
“Right.” And he would do that, as much as he could. Though, given Tana’s direct involvement in the Purge, saving her might not be--
He could worry about that later.
“So, here’s how it goes. I stay King. You defect. Whoever wins, I don’t--I won’t--I pardon you, keep you alive, whatever, and you don’t cut me down, yeah? I stay King. I wanna stay King.”
Well, since Andrell didn’t especially want to be King himself… “Agreed.”
“Good.” Mellir poured another glass of wine. “I’m gonna make sure I don’t remember this tomorrow, ‘cause I’m not…um…don’t wanna say the wrong thing to the wrong person, right?”
He blinked. He hadn’t expected--no one ever thought of Mellir as smart like that. Smart enough to be aware of and consider and even use his own weaknesses to his advantage.
But then…
He thought back, years ago, to when Kellom had taught him how to win snowball fights. Mellir had been strategic enough to beat their brother, at least once.
“Maybe we should listen to you more,” Andrell said quietly, and a little ruefully.
Mellir laughed. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”
“You know, maybe if you just…if you drank a little less, or--”
“Hey,” he cut him off. “Didn’t ask for that. Just want you to defect, and keep as many people alive as we can, yeah?”
He sighed. So much for that. Worth a shot, at least. Maybe Keta or one of the others will have more luck, especially now that he’s King… “Yeah.”
“But I’m gonna write everything down, two copies. And we’ll both sign, and--I’ve got a place I don’t check much, for my copy. But you keep yours, so when this is over…when it’s over, we’ll fix it. Right?”
“Right,” Andrell said.
Mellir grinned at him, then pulled out two pieces of paper and wrote out the plan. It was legible--barely--and it took only a few moments for them to both sign and seal it. The King--gods, it still felt strange to give Mellir the title--opened one of the desk drawers and pulled a lever. One of the bookshelves moved, revealing a little panic room, secure against attack and just barely large enough to hold a grown man without too much discomfort.
He set one copy of the letter right in the middle of the panic room floor, then flipped the switch again and the bookshelf moved back into place.
“Go, quick,” Mellir said. “S’dark out tonight--no moon, right?--so s’probably your best chance to get away before either of us gets cold feet.”
Andrell nodded. “Mellir--”
He shook his head. “Just go. I’m gonna get drunk ‘til I forget, remember? And if you’re planning to say--I don’t want to forget it if you say goodbye.”
Andrell swallowed, and nodded. He sketched a bow--whatever his flaws and faults, Mellir was his King--and went to grab necessities before fleeing the city, the proof of his loyalty and purpose tucked up his sleeve.
Please, he prayed, to every god he knew--even the one the hard-liners like Kellom called a devil. Please, let this work. And let us both survive.
He fled the city in darkness, and, if not as quietly as he would have preferred, at least no one stopped him.
He reached the besieging army’s camp just as dawn was breaking.
The letter heavy in his sleeve, he took a deep breath, and quietly announced, “I am Crown Prince Andrell of Feredar, and I’m here to defect.”
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Date: 2019-03-04 03:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-05 12:55 am (UTC)(As a note, I'm finally getting around to updating this archive, so there'll probably be a lot of posts here over the next week or so...I'm trying to space them out but there's quite a bit. <.< )