![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The Other Side
Story: The Other Side
Year: 984-990 FY
Characters: Mellir, Miva, Kellom, Rona, Sola, Keta, Sorell, Deflati, Andrell
Warnings: References to serious burns/the events of Flashpoint, references to adultery, references to character/familial death including parental death and death of small children, alcoholism, alcohol withdrawal involving creepy hallucinations, brief implied suicidal ideation, war, references to genocide. If I missed any, please let me know.
3. No, I don’t think I will kiss you, although you need kissing, badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.
“What happened?” Miva asked him, drawing Mellir into the little house he rented for her. He’d fled there, still smoked and stinging, because unlike his current mistress at court, she was outside it all, and she was smart—far smarter than him—and she’d figure out his next step for him.
“I think…” he said, then trailed off.
She offered him a glass of wine, and he pushed it away. “What’s wrong?” she asked, softer.
“I think I may have killed my sister,” he said, staring at the abandoned glass.
It still didn’t feel real. Somehow, each time he said it, it became less so, not more. Like he was one further step removed from it.
He hated that. He needed to remember.
Miva touched his hand briefly. “What happened?” she asked again, gently, so gently.
“I…there was a fire. I don’t…I didn’t set it, but I think I caused it. And she…she tried to put it out, but she burned.”
“Will she be all right?” Miva asked, keeping her voice steady by some willpower Mellir could never understand. “What did the doctors say?”
“I don’t…I don’t know,” Mellir admitted, and that cut him deep again. “I left before…gods, she was burned so badly…”
He turned toward her, he needed her in a way he very seldom needed a woman, for pure comfort and being held and—
She turned her face away. “No, love,” she said. “Not now, not like this.”
Which hurt as well, but he understood, almost. Because this—not Miva, but the way he’d been living—had started this, and there wasn’t any future for them, not anymore. And if he wanted to remember this right…
He shouldn’t have come. By coming, he’d ruined something else.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Don’t be,” she said. Because she was smarter than he was, and she’d understood it first, and better.
“May I stay?” he asked, feeling very small in her arms.
She nodded, and lightly stroked his cheek. “As long as you need to.”
10. Vanity was stronger than love at sixteen and there was no room in her hot heart now for anything but hate.
“Where the hell have you been?” Kellom snapped when Mellir finally found his way home.
“Out,” he replied, and tried to push himself past his older brother.
Kellom barred his way, as he always did. “Out where? Are you drunk again?”
“No,” Mellir said, and met his eyes.
He’d actually caught his brother off-guard there. Good, he thought, a little more savagely than was probably necessary.
“Let me by,” he said.
“Not until you tell me where you’ve been,” Kellom said. “She keeps asking for you.”
Mellir flinched a little at that, and looked away. “What did you tell her?”
“Tana wanted to tell her you were dead. I told her not to lie.” Kellom shrugged. “It would hurt Keta worse, and we had no proof.”
“Thank you for that,” Mellir said, without a trace of sarcasm—or gratitude.
“Where were you?”
“Healing,” Mellir finally said, and it was true enough.
Kellom watched him for a moment, then said, “If Keta didn’t love you, I’d find another way to keep Tana truthful.”
Mellir smiled, all teeth. “If Keta didn’t love me, you wouldn’t have to.”
His brother frowned, clearly not quite sure what to make of it, but he finally—finally—stood aside.
1. Burdens are for shoulders strong enough to carry them.
“Wh-who’s there? D-did someone knock…?”
Someone had, there was someone there, he knew it, someone besides the—
A small, high, far-away voice answered him. “Daddy? Daddy, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
He barely registered Rona’s voice. And he wasn’t crying, not exactly, but…
Gods, it hurt. more than he’d expected. He’d known it wouldn’t be pleasant, but—but this was…it was…
The worst of it wasn’t even the pain, but the dreams—except they weren’t dreams. Waking nightmares, of the walls coming alive and splitting into a hundred thousand poisoned creatures, crawling under his skin and into his eyes and devouring him from the inside.
“Daddy?”
Rona sounded frightened, and, gods, he couldn’t blame her. Why was she even here unless—unless she was another dream.
He shivered—he couldn’t stop shivering—and looked away from her. “Go away, sweetheart,” he croaked.
He squeezed his eyes shut and curled into a tiny ball, praying that she’d gone. He deserved this, deserved all of this, but he didn’t want his children to see it happen. Rona was only six.
Maybe she was a dream. He hoped she was a dream.
They’d started moving again, all over, clawing their little burrows in him, and he shivered and wept and prayed for it all to end.
8. You aren’t helpless. Anyone as selfish and determined as you is never helpless.
“When are you going to see her?”
Sola. Of course. Sola never stayed angry with anyone—or, if she did, she buried it behind layers and layers of charm until she could stab them in the back.
It was strange, but he had a feeling he was more like her than any of the others. Even if she was smarter about it.
“Go away, Sola.”
“You’ve been moping in here for days,” she said.
“I’ve been ill.”
“I can tell,” she said, dryly. “But you’re not anymore, are you?”
He had to admit that. He hadn’t felt anything crawling on him in the last two days, and while he still couldn’t reliably keep anything solid down, he wasn’t vomiting without such provocation anymore.
“She keeps asking for you,” his sister went on. “She’s worried.”
He flinched. “She shouldn’t be.”
“No,” Sola agreed, frankly. “By all rights, she should hate you. But she doesn’t. And the others will come around. It was an accident, Mellir. We all recognize that. Except maybe Kellom, but Kellom’s never liked you anyway.”
That surprised him. He turned to stare at her. “…you’re lying.”
Sola smiled. “Not this time, little brother.”
He just stared some more.
She sighed. “Your illness helped. Especially when Rona was hysterical and thought you were going to die. And you know Father, he never wants to think the worst of us, even with the evidence right in front of him. You may have taken stupid risks to get into a position where the accident would happen, but everyone knows it was an accident.”
“It was still my fault.”
Sola shrugged. “And it was your fault when you broke a window after your arm healed all those years ago, remember?”
He’d been trying to strengthen the arm Kellom had broken, throwing rocks. One had gone harder and wider than he’d expected. He’d been aiming for the wall, and hit the window instead, and it had shattered. No one had been hurt, and his parents had been angry, but they had acknowledged he hadn’t done it on purpose. “Yes, but—”
“Go see her,” Sola said, standing up and straightening her skirts. “I know you feel guilty, and I know you think you’re sparing her, but you’re not. And the others won’t be so forgiving if you keep hurting her like this.”
Mellir winced, but nodded. “I’ll go,” he promised.
“Good boy,” Sola said, then bent down and kissed his forehead—like Mamma used to, when he was sick as a child—and swept out of the room.
6. I’d cut up my heart for you to wear it if you wanted it.
Why didn’t you come sooner?
She didn’t say it out loud—couldn’t, not with the burns and the bandages—but Mellir knew his favorite sister well enough to know that was the question in her eyes.
Gods, it hurt.
It was worse, a thousand times worse, that that was why she was upset, not what he’d done.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Gods, Keta, I’m so sorry…”
She groped for him with her unburned hand and he took it, carefully, so carefully. She squeezed his hand lightly, and he knew what that meant, too—don’t be sorry, all is forgiven, I love you.
He squeezed back. “I’ve made a…I’ve done terrible things,” he corrected halfway through. “And I’m sorry for them, and I’m…grateful. More than grateful. That you…forgive me. And I’ll be better from now on. I promise. I’ll earn it.”
She looked slightly annoyed and squeezed his hand again, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“I know. But…I have to. If not from you, then…”
She considered this, then squeezed his hand again.
“I’ll stay with you,” he promised. “As long as you’ll have me. To hell with what the others said.”
That pleased her, he could tell. And she held tight to his hand as she drifted back to sleep. A part of him wanted to let go, and leave, when she did—because like hell he deserved her forgiveness, whatever she said—but he’d promised her. And he was going to be good.
So he stayed. And he couldn’t let go.
4. After all, tomorrow is another day.
“Why did you ask to see me, Father?” Mellir asked, even though he had a pretty good idea what he wanted. He’d asked Keta if there was anything big being discussed as soon as he’d gotten the summons—most of the time, his father left him on the edge of things, where he was mostly content to stay.
“Are you aware of how…tense things have become, abroad?” his father asked, after a moment’s contemplation.
And she was right. “At least vaguely, yes,” Mellir said. “What does that have to do with me?”
“I would like to shore up some of our alliances,” he answered.
Which was code for renewing treaties, which would need a seal.
“Who did you have in mind?” Mellir asked.
“Then you’re willing?” his father asked, visibly surprised he’d agreed that quickly.
Mellir shrugged fluidly. “As long as she comes here. I don’t want to be cut off from the children I already have.”
His father nodded. “I can ensure that. There are three princesses I’d like you to consider. I’ll have them described for you.”
Mellir bowed. “Of course. When do I have to decide?”
“By the end of the year would be preferable.”
He nodded. “I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.”
He bowed again and retreated, slightly relieved. He’d been expecting this, especially after Keta described some of the international political situation to him. He was just grateful he had a choice, and wasn’t going to be sent a princess with no knowledge or consent.
True, historically Feredar had avoided completely blind betrothals, but…
It could be worse. And he’d be able to stay close to his bastards, as well as maybe having a few legitimate children. Gods knew, his children were the only good things he’d ever done, and he loved them. Besides, having children seemed to be the one thing he could do that his older brother couldn’t.
All in all, a remarriage—assuming whoever he chose wasn’t horribly misrepresented—would be the best thing to happen to him in a very long time.
5. Perhaps – I want the old days back again and they’ll never come back, and I am haunted by the memory of them and of the world falling about my ears.
When would things stop going so horribly wrong? Father wasn’t even that old, he was only sixty-three, for the gods’ sakes. There had been no warning, he hadn’t been ill, there hadn’t been another attack—or even another fire.
He was just…gone. And, just like the fire, everything had changed in an instant. He felt like he was swimming through fog, unable to see, unable to get purchase on the water, wispy mist providing no resistance, no momentum.
He couldn’t go to Keta—Keta who always took care of him—because she’d lost her father too, after all, and…
Gods, he just wanted to get drunk and lose himself in the fog.
“My lord?”
Deflati. She still called him that, at least in public, which felt…one would think, after two years of marriage, she’d be a little less formal.
Her cool hands touched his forehead. “I’m so sorry, my lord. He was a good man, and a great King.”
He clung to her like a lifeline. “Lady…” he whispered, because as awkward as it felt, he took his cues from her.
“What do you need?” she asked, softly.
“Stay…stay with me. Don’t let me…don’t let me do anything stupid.”
She nodded. “I’m here.”
He curled against her, more desperate—he hoped—than she knew. It wasn’t oblivion, it wasn’t the same, but it was something, having her here. Something to keep him from drowning.
7. Death, taxes, and childbirth! There’s never any convenient time for any of them.
“Who do you think she will be?” Deflati asked, resting a hand on her abdomen.
“You’re so sure she’ll be a she?” Mellir replied.
“Yes,” she answered. “Haven’t your other mothers been sure?”
He thought for a moment. “If they have, they haven’t said,” he admitted. “I’m usually just hoping both of them come through it safely.”
Deflati nodded. “The women in my family tend to be.”
“You can never be sure, though,” Mellir said, then winced. “I’m sorry, that was probably bad luck to say.”
Deflati laughed. “I don’t think prudent caution can bring bad luck,” she said, then turned serious. “Have you ever…lost someone?”
He shook his head. “Not one of my children, or mistresses,” he said. “My first wife…she never conceived, but we were only married a few months.”
“But you have lost someone?”
Mellir looked away. “I was…very young, I don’t really remember it. But I had another brother. He only lived a couple of hours. My mother…well, she had nine other children and all of us were fine.” Though two of his little sisters had died in early childhood, that wasn’t what they were talking about at the moment.
She nodded. “I think we should just…hope. That things do not go badly. And try to plan for our little girl.”
He smiled wryly. “My children never go according to plan.”
She smiled back. “I don’t think any truly do.”
Mellir nodded, then changed the subject. He always felt…strange, talking about his dead siblings. “What would you like to name her?” They’d talk about boy names another time, probably.
She thought a moment. “The closest name in your country to mine is your oldest sister’s, probably.”
He made a face. “That would be strange.”
“Yes. But something similar to mine, I would like.”
“…Dila, maybe?” he asked. “My father’s grandmother was named Dila.”
“Dila.” Deflati tasted the name, rolling it around on her tongue. “Yes. I like that.”
He smiled. “Dila, then.” And…for the first time, he found himself hoping for something specific for one of his children.
Whoever she grew up to be, he’d like to meet this little girl named Dila.
2. My dear, I don’t give a damn.
“Where are you going?”
Andrell froze, and Mellir stepped from the shadows.
“I…” He stared at him, like a frightened rabbit caught between a hunter and his dogs, not sure where to go or what to do.
Mellir held up his hands. “Do you see me calling for the guards?” He gave his baby brother a crooked smile. “Where are you going?”
Andrell turned away, focusing on adjusting his saddle.
“You’re going to join the other army, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” Andrell said, into his horse.
“Why?” Mellir asked.
“I can’t just…you know how bad it is.”
“And it’ll get worse,” Mellir agreed. “But is handing the city over to our enemies going to be any better in the long run?”
Andrell turned to look him right in the eye. “Anything has to be better than what Kellom’s doing.”
Unless it’s the same slaughter with different victims, Mellir thought, but Andrell had a point. Whoever was in charge of the besieging army was probably not as fanatical as Kellom.
Probably.
On the other hand, history was behind Kellom. On the other other hand, most of the history behind him was near a thousand years gone.
He’d learned, since he stopped drinking, that one of the penalties of actually thinking was being able to see both sides of a question.
Sighing, he stepped aside. “You’re a grown man. I’m not going to stop you.”
Andrell stared at him, clearly confused. “…are you going to call the guards?”
Mellir thought for a minute. “I suppose I probably should.” His palms itched with the need for weight. Dice, ale, it didn’t matter.
As uncertain as things were, there was one thing he was sure of. If he played Andrell’s flight right, he’d be secure no matter who won the war. And he could make sure that Keta and Deflati and his children—and a few old friends he knew had Movement ties—were safe when the dust settled.
“…you’d better make it look good.”
Andrell blinked. “What?”
Mellir smiled. “Clearly, I tried to stop you, but I failed. I never was very handy with a sword.” Deflati would probably stab him again when she found out—because the alternative was letting her stab Andrell if he ever came back, and Mellir liked his younger brother too much to allow that.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Andrell objected.
“If you’re going outside the wall, you’d better get used to the idea,” Mellir said, probably more brutally than he needed. “If not me, then Kellom, or one of our nephews. Maybe one of my boys.”
Andrell flinched, but nodded. “Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t,” he answered. “Just—draw some blood before you knock me out. I don’t want to lose what little dignity I have.”
Andrell nodded again, grim, and drew a dagger.
It was blessedly sharp, at least, so Mellir barely felt it going in. Then the hilt connected with the back of his head, and he felt nothing at all.
9. Hardships make or break people.
“What will happen now?” Keta asked.
“I don’t know,” Mellir said, honestly. “But…” He sighed. “Whatever…look, you need to get out of the city. You and Tana both, and…well, mostly the two of you, but anyone else you think should go. Fera, I suppose.”
“What about you?” Deflati said, from the door.
“I’m staying,” he said, trying to sound braver than he actually felt. “Whatever happens, I’m staying. But Kellom’s dead, and things are going to be ugly for a bit. Keta, I need you to be safe.”
Keta didn’t look happy about it, but she nodded. “I’ll have Sola go to Fera. I’ll find Tana and we’ll go. Mellir…”
“Yes?”
“…you know why he did it.”
Mellir nodded. “I do. But to keep us alive, I’m probably going to have to undo a lot of it.”
She nodded again. “Don’t go too far.”
“I’ll try,” he said, “but you know me.” The joke fell flat, and they all knew it.
Keta brushed his cheek lightly—with her unscarred hand—and limped away.
“What do you want me to do, my lord?” Deflati asked.
“…keep Dila and the rest of my children safe, please?” he said. “I’m…whatever happens, I don’t want them—or you—used as hostages.”
She nodded. “It will be done.” She kissed him, very gently, then started off towards the nursery, gathering speed.
More than anything, Mellir wanted to follow her. Or Keta. Or…someone, so he didn’t have to deal with this. He’d wanted to be King, sure—who wouldn’t? All the glory and the power, and…
And now he had to end a war, and he had a very sick feeling he was likely to die trying.
He took a deep breath, and rested a hand on the scar he’d had Andrell give him a year ago.
He’d done enough running in his life.
Mellir crossed the broken hall to the throne, sat down, and waited.
Year: 984-990 FY
Characters: Mellir, Miva, Kellom, Rona, Sola, Keta, Sorell, Deflati, Andrell
Warnings: References to serious burns/the events of Flashpoint, references to adultery, references to character/familial death including parental death and death of small children, alcoholism, alcohol withdrawal involving creepy hallucinations, brief implied suicidal ideation, war, references to genocide. If I missed any, please let me know.
3. No, I don’t think I will kiss you, although you need kissing, badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.
“What happened?” Miva asked him, drawing Mellir into the little house he rented for her. He’d fled there, still smoked and stinging, because unlike his current mistress at court, she was outside it all, and she was smart—far smarter than him—and she’d figure out his next step for him.
“I think…” he said, then trailed off.
She offered him a glass of wine, and he pushed it away. “What’s wrong?” she asked, softer.
“I think I may have killed my sister,” he said, staring at the abandoned glass.
It still didn’t feel real. Somehow, each time he said it, it became less so, not more. Like he was one further step removed from it.
He hated that. He needed to remember.
Miva touched his hand briefly. “What happened?” she asked again, gently, so gently.
“I…there was a fire. I don’t…I didn’t set it, but I think I caused it. And she…she tried to put it out, but she burned.”
“Will she be all right?” Miva asked, keeping her voice steady by some willpower Mellir could never understand. “What did the doctors say?”
“I don’t…I don’t know,” Mellir admitted, and that cut him deep again. “I left before…gods, she was burned so badly…”
He turned toward her, he needed her in a way he very seldom needed a woman, for pure comfort and being held and—
She turned her face away. “No, love,” she said. “Not now, not like this.”
Which hurt as well, but he understood, almost. Because this—not Miva, but the way he’d been living—had started this, and there wasn’t any future for them, not anymore. And if he wanted to remember this right…
He shouldn’t have come. By coming, he’d ruined something else.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Don’t be,” she said. Because she was smarter than he was, and she’d understood it first, and better.
“May I stay?” he asked, feeling very small in her arms.
She nodded, and lightly stroked his cheek. “As long as you need to.”
10. Vanity was stronger than love at sixteen and there was no room in her hot heart now for anything but hate.
“Where the hell have you been?” Kellom snapped when Mellir finally found his way home.
“Out,” he replied, and tried to push himself past his older brother.
Kellom barred his way, as he always did. “Out where? Are you drunk again?”
“No,” Mellir said, and met his eyes.
He’d actually caught his brother off-guard there. Good, he thought, a little more savagely than was probably necessary.
“Let me by,” he said.
“Not until you tell me where you’ve been,” Kellom said. “She keeps asking for you.”
Mellir flinched a little at that, and looked away. “What did you tell her?”
“Tana wanted to tell her you were dead. I told her not to lie.” Kellom shrugged. “It would hurt Keta worse, and we had no proof.”
“Thank you for that,” Mellir said, without a trace of sarcasm—or gratitude.
“Where were you?”
“Healing,” Mellir finally said, and it was true enough.
Kellom watched him for a moment, then said, “If Keta didn’t love you, I’d find another way to keep Tana truthful.”
Mellir smiled, all teeth. “If Keta didn’t love me, you wouldn’t have to.”
His brother frowned, clearly not quite sure what to make of it, but he finally—finally—stood aside.
1. Burdens are for shoulders strong enough to carry them.
“Wh-who’s there? D-did someone knock…?”
Someone had, there was someone there, he knew it, someone besides the—
A small, high, far-away voice answered him. “Daddy? Daddy, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
He barely registered Rona’s voice. And he wasn’t crying, not exactly, but…
Gods, it hurt. more than he’d expected. He’d known it wouldn’t be pleasant, but—but this was…it was…
The worst of it wasn’t even the pain, but the dreams—except they weren’t dreams. Waking nightmares, of the walls coming alive and splitting into a hundred thousand poisoned creatures, crawling under his skin and into his eyes and devouring him from the inside.
“Daddy?”
Rona sounded frightened, and, gods, he couldn’t blame her. Why was she even here unless—unless she was another dream.
He shivered—he couldn’t stop shivering—and looked away from her. “Go away, sweetheart,” he croaked.
He squeezed his eyes shut and curled into a tiny ball, praying that she’d gone. He deserved this, deserved all of this, but he didn’t want his children to see it happen. Rona was only six.
Maybe she was a dream. He hoped she was a dream.
They’d started moving again, all over, clawing their little burrows in him, and he shivered and wept and prayed for it all to end.
8. You aren’t helpless. Anyone as selfish and determined as you is never helpless.
“When are you going to see her?”
Sola. Of course. Sola never stayed angry with anyone—or, if she did, she buried it behind layers and layers of charm until she could stab them in the back.
It was strange, but he had a feeling he was more like her than any of the others. Even if she was smarter about it.
“Go away, Sola.”
“You’ve been moping in here for days,” she said.
“I’ve been ill.”
“I can tell,” she said, dryly. “But you’re not anymore, are you?”
He had to admit that. He hadn’t felt anything crawling on him in the last two days, and while he still couldn’t reliably keep anything solid down, he wasn’t vomiting without such provocation anymore.
“She keeps asking for you,” his sister went on. “She’s worried.”
He flinched. “She shouldn’t be.”
“No,” Sola agreed, frankly. “By all rights, she should hate you. But she doesn’t. And the others will come around. It was an accident, Mellir. We all recognize that. Except maybe Kellom, but Kellom’s never liked you anyway.”
That surprised him. He turned to stare at her. “…you’re lying.”
Sola smiled. “Not this time, little brother.”
He just stared some more.
She sighed. “Your illness helped. Especially when Rona was hysterical and thought you were going to die. And you know Father, he never wants to think the worst of us, even with the evidence right in front of him. You may have taken stupid risks to get into a position where the accident would happen, but everyone knows it was an accident.”
“It was still my fault.”
Sola shrugged. “And it was your fault when you broke a window after your arm healed all those years ago, remember?”
He’d been trying to strengthen the arm Kellom had broken, throwing rocks. One had gone harder and wider than he’d expected. He’d been aiming for the wall, and hit the window instead, and it had shattered. No one had been hurt, and his parents had been angry, but they had acknowledged he hadn’t done it on purpose. “Yes, but—”
“Go see her,” Sola said, standing up and straightening her skirts. “I know you feel guilty, and I know you think you’re sparing her, but you’re not. And the others won’t be so forgiving if you keep hurting her like this.”
Mellir winced, but nodded. “I’ll go,” he promised.
“Good boy,” Sola said, then bent down and kissed his forehead—like Mamma used to, when he was sick as a child—and swept out of the room.
6. I’d cut up my heart for you to wear it if you wanted it.
Why didn’t you come sooner?
She didn’t say it out loud—couldn’t, not with the burns and the bandages—but Mellir knew his favorite sister well enough to know that was the question in her eyes.
Gods, it hurt.
It was worse, a thousand times worse, that that was why she was upset, not what he’d done.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Gods, Keta, I’m so sorry…”
She groped for him with her unburned hand and he took it, carefully, so carefully. She squeezed his hand lightly, and he knew what that meant, too—don’t be sorry, all is forgiven, I love you.
He squeezed back. “I’ve made a…I’ve done terrible things,” he corrected halfway through. “And I’m sorry for them, and I’m…grateful. More than grateful. That you…forgive me. And I’ll be better from now on. I promise. I’ll earn it.”
She looked slightly annoyed and squeezed his hand again, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“I know. But…I have to. If not from you, then…”
She considered this, then squeezed his hand again.
“I’ll stay with you,” he promised. “As long as you’ll have me. To hell with what the others said.”
That pleased her, he could tell. And she held tight to his hand as she drifted back to sleep. A part of him wanted to let go, and leave, when she did—because like hell he deserved her forgiveness, whatever she said—but he’d promised her. And he was going to be good.
So he stayed. And he couldn’t let go.
4. After all, tomorrow is another day.
“Why did you ask to see me, Father?” Mellir asked, even though he had a pretty good idea what he wanted. He’d asked Keta if there was anything big being discussed as soon as he’d gotten the summons—most of the time, his father left him on the edge of things, where he was mostly content to stay.
“Are you aware of how…tense things have become, abroad?” his father asked, after a moment’s contemplation.
And she was right. “At least vaguely, yes,” Mellir said. “What does that have to do with me?”
“I would like to shore up some of our alliances,” he answered.
Which was code for renewing treaties, which would need a seal.
“Who did you have in mind?” Mellir asked.
“Then you’re willing?” his father asked, visibly surprised he’d agreed that quickly.
Mellir shrugged fluidly. “As long as she comes here. I don’t want to be cut off from the children I already have.”
His father nodded. “I can ensure that. There are three princesses I’d like you to consider. I’ll have them described for you.”
Mellir bowed. “Of course. When do I have to decide?”
“By the end of the year would be preferable.”
He nodded. “I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.”
He bowed again and retreated, slightly relieved. He’d been expecting this, especially after Keta described some of the international political situation to him. He was just grateful he had a choice, and wasn’t going to be sent a princess with no knowledge or consent.
True, historically Feredar had avoided completely blind betrothals, but…
It could be worse. And he’d be able to stay close to his bastards, as well as maybe having a few legitimate children. Gods knew, his children were the only good things he’d ever done, and he loved them. Besides, having children seemed to be the one thing he could do that his older brother couldn’t.
All in all, a remarriage—assuming whoever he chose wasn’t horribly misrepresented—would be the best thing to happen to him in a very long time.
5. Perhaps – I want the old days back again and they’ll never come back, and I am haunted by the memory of them and of the world falling about my ears.
When would things stop going so horribly wrong? Father wasn’t even that old, he was only sixty-three, for the gods’ sakes. There had been no warning, he hadn’t been ill, there hadn’t been another attack—or even another fire.
He was just…gone. And, just like the fire, everything had changed in an instant. He felt like he was swimming through fog, unable to see, unable to get purchase on the water, wispy mist providing no resistance, no momentum.
He couldn’t go to Keta—Keta who always took care of him—because she’d lost her father too, after all, and…
Gods, he just wanted to get drunk and lose himself in the fog.
“My lord?”
Deflati. She still called him that, at least in public, which felt…one would think, after two years of marriage, she’d be a little less formal.
Her cool hands touched his forehead. “I’m so sorry, my lord. He was a good man, and a great King.”
He clung to her like a lifeline. “Lady…” he whispered, because as awkward as it felt, he took his cues from her.
“What do you need?” she asked, softly.
“Stay…stay with me. Don’t let me…don’t let me do anything stupid.”
She nodded. “I’m here.”
He curled against her, more desperate—he hoped—than she knew. It wasn’t oblivion, it wasn’t the same, but it was something, having her here. Something to keep him from drowning.
7. Death, taxes, and childbirth! There’s never any convenient time for any of them.
“Who do you think she will be?” Deflati asked, resting a hand on her abdomen.
“You’re so sure she’ll be a she?” Mellir replied.
“Yes,” she answered. “Haven’t your other mothers been sure?”
He thought for a moment. “If they have, they haven’t said,” he admitted. “I’m usually just hoping both of them come through it safely.”
Deflati nodded. “The women in my family tend to be.”
“You can never be sure, though,” Mellir said, then winced. “I’m sorry, that was probably bad luck to say.”
Deflati laughed. “I don’t think prudent caution can bring bad luck,” she said, then turned serious. “Have you ever…lost someone?”
He shook his head. “Not one of my children, or mistresses,” he said. “My first wife…she never conceived, but we were only married a few months.”
“But you have lost someone?”
Mellir looked away. “I was…very young, I don’t really remember it. But I had another brother. He only lived a couple of hours. My mother…well, she had nine other children and all of us were fine.” Though two of his little sisters had died in early childhood, that wasn’t what they were talking about at the moment.
She nodded. “I think we should just…hope. That things do not go badly. And try to plan for our little girl.”
He smiled wryly. “My children never go according to plan.”
She smiled back. “I don’t think any truly do.”
Mellir nodded, then changed the subject. He always felt…strange, talking about his dead siblings. “What would you like to name her?” They’d talk about boy names another time, probably.
She thought a moment. “The closest name in your country to mine is your oldest sister’s, probably.”
He made a face. “That would be strange.”
“Yes. But something similar to mine, I would like.”
“…Dila, maybe?” he asked. “My father’s grandmother was named Dila.”
“Dila.” Deflati tasted the name, rolling it around on her tongue. “Yes. I like that.”
He smiled. “Dila, then.” And…for the first time, he found himself hoping for something specific for one of his children.
Whoever she grew up to be, he’d like to meet this little girl named Dila.
2. My dear, I don’t give a damn.
“Where are you going?”
Andrell froze, and Mellir stepped from the shadows.
“I…” He stared at him, like a frightened rabbit caught between a hunter and his dogs, not sure where to go or what to do.
Mellir held up his hands. “Do you see me calling for the guards?” He gave his baby brother a crooked smile. “Where are you going?”
Andrell turned away, focusing on adjusting his saddle.
“You’re going to join the other army, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” Andrell said, into his horse.
“Why?” Mellir asked.
“I can’t just…you know how bad it is.”
“And it’ll get worse,” Mellir agreed. “But is handing the city over to our enemies going to be any better in the long run?”
Andrell turned to look him right in the eye. “Anything has to be better than what Kellom’s doing.”
Unless it’s the same slaughter with different victims, Mellir thought, but Andrell had a point. Whoever was in charge of the besieging army was probably not as fanatical as Kellom.
Probably.
On the other hand, history was behind Kellom. On the other other hand, most of the history behind him was near a thousand years gone.
He’d learned, since he stopped drinking, that one of the penalties of actually thinking was being able to see both sides of a question.
Sighing, he stepped aside. “You’re a grown man. I’m not going to stop you.”
Andrell stared at him, clearly confused. “…are you going to call the guards?”
Mellir thought for a minute. “I suppose I probably should.” His palms itched with the need for weight. Dice, ale, it didn’t matter.
As uncertain as things were, there was one thing he was sure of. If he played Andrell’s flight right, he’d be secure no matter who won the war. And he could make sure that Keta and Deflati and his children—and a few old friends he knew had Movement ties—were safe when the dust settled.
“…you’d better make it look good.”
Andrell blinked. “What?”
Mellir smiled. “Clearly, I tried to stop you, but I failed. I never was very handy with a sword.” Deflati would probably stab him again when she found out—because the alternative was letting her stab Andrell if he ever came back, and Mellir liked his younger brother too much to allow that.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Andrell objected.
“If you’re going outside the wall, you’d better get used to the idea,” Mellir said, probably more brutally than he needed. “If not me, then Kellom, or one of our nephews. Maybe one of my boys.”
Andrell flinched, but nodded. “Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t,” he answered. “Just—draw some blood before you knock me out. I don’t want to lose what little dignity I have.”
Andrell nodded again, grim, and drew a dagger.
It was blessedly sharp, at least, so Mellir barely felt it going in. Then the hilt connected with the back of his head, and he felt nothing at all.
9. Hardships make or break people.
“What will happen now?” Keta asked.
“I don’t know,” Mellir said, honestly. “But…” He sighed. “Whatever…look, you need to get out of the city. You and Tana both, and…well, mostly the two of you, but anyone else you think should go. Fera, I suppose.”
“What about you?” Deflati said, from the door.
“I’m staying,” he said, trying to sound braver than he actually felt. “Whatever happens, I’m staying. But Kellom’s dead, and things are going to be ugly for a bit. Keta, I need you to be safe.”
Keta didn’t look happy about it, but she nodded. “I’ll have Sola go to Fera. I’ll find Tana and we’ll go. Mellir…”
“Yes?”
“…you know why he did it.”
Mellir nodded. “I do. But to keep us alive, I’m probably going to have to undo a lot of it.”
She nodded again. “Don’t go too far.”
“I’ll try,” he said, “but you know me.” The joke fell flat, and they all knew it.
Keta brushed his cheek lightly—with her unscarred hand—and limped away.
“What do you want me to do, my lord?” Deflati asked.
“…keep Dila and the rest of my children safe, please?” he said. “I’m…whatever happens, I don’t want them—or you—used as hostages.”
She nodded. “It will be done.” She kissed him, very gently, then started off towards the nursery, gathering speed.
More than anything, Mellir wanted to follow her. Or Keta. Or…someone, so he didn’t have to deal with this. He’d wanted to be King, sure—who wouldn’t? All the glory and the power, and…
And now he had to end a war, and he had a very sick feeling he was likely to die trying.
He took a deep breath, and rested a hand on the scar he’d had Andrell give him a year ago.
He’d done enough running in his life.
Mellir crossed the broken hall to the throne, sat down, and waited.