FIN-3
Elpis
Ostensibly Hope
- Location
- Berlin
[X] "I could win this battle, but I would not see my people suffer." You point at the door. "Tell him I refuse."
###
[ ] Like a knife. Small, but sharp and just as deadly as the greatest blade.
[ ] Like a hammer. The opposition is left to pick up the pieces.
[ ] Like an arrow. Flying true, piercing through the heart of the matter.
###
Dear Diary---
My father once asked me a simple question.
I thought I found the answer today as I looked up at his painting in the office. He never liked them, but he made one for me so that I could remember him by more than the sound of his voice that grows ever distant in my ears.
I wonder, if he were in my position, would he have done the same?
Would he have chosen to fight, like a knight whose hands carried the hardness of a sword?
Or would he have chosen the coward's way like I did.
If he were here... would he let me know if he thought less of me?
###
They arrive just as you knew they would. In this case, a messenger from the prince. He looks nervous, dressed in those fine robes and adorned with the crests that announce his official capacity. You smile at him, offer him a seat, let Petra bring you some tea.
Regardless, he knows that he is to be the messenger of news that are not going to cause joy. You see it in those grey eyes, in that quivering lip, in the way he swallows every few seconds and keeps the door in his field of view at all times.
"Thank you for your... generous welcome, Duchess," the messenger says. You twitch. The title is not fresh, but few call you by it. Some out of your desire for normalcy, others out of disdain for the name your mother chose. You have never held much love for religious symbolism, especially not the one that can be bought with money. A generous donation to the church was needed to name a child after one of the three saints. Evangeline, Aldrin-- her.
You nod. "I assume that this is about Aldrin's latest announcement."
"Indeed, madam," the messenger says. The fact that his head is still attached to his shoulders despite your knowledge gives him reason to relax. "As you know, the situation of the empire has... deteriorated. The borders are under constant attack, as the nobles responsible for them are... unreasonable in their demands of the crown and cannot be supported."
You frown. "You mean the crown prince refuses to send men to fight an invasion, and the duchies at the borders are unwilling to accept the authority of a crown that would not protect them."
The man swallows, than nods. You nod back.
"You have nothing to fear from me, but know that I am not uneducated or new at this. I recognize your face, you were there when I met with the prince to tell him what needed to happen."
"Yet the price you ask for-"
"I ask," you say, truly annoyed for the first time. You tap the table, pointing at the documents. The one on top, prepared for this meeting, is older than the rest. "That your prince honors the agreement between my father and his, the Sun of the Empire. My hand in marriage, as empress, blessed by the church and whatever gods you believe in. Then all my riches, even the paint on these walls, can be sold and the bountiful coffers will feed an army for twenty years."
The messenger twitches, his neck vanishing under his chin as he flinches into the chair with a force that caused it to creak. "I understand, madam. Due to the... circumstances of his new betrothal, he has sent me to offer you a most... most generous alternative."
"Oh?" You tilt your head forward, braid moving over your shoulder. "And what is that?"
"Become queen, second wife to the emp-"
You stand. "No."
"You would go to war with the crown?"
"I could win this battle," you say, slapping the table. The man jumps up. "But I could not see my people suffer. I will not raise an army, I will not become some cheap consort."
You point at the door.
"Tell him I refuse."
You know, of course.
He had no intention to ever accept your demands.
He will find that seizing what is yours to pay off an army that has no respect for him will be harder than he thinks.
###
[ ] Like a knife. Small, but sharp and just as deadly as the greatest blade.
[ ] Like a hammer. The opposition is left to pick up the pieces.
[ ] Like an arrow. Flying true, piercing through the heart of the matter.
###
Dear Diary---
My father once asked me a simple question.
"Wouldn't you let me know if you were thinking less of me?"
"What-" you try to speak, but the spark in his eyes gives you reason to pause.
"I understand," he continues without missing a beat, "I'm old now. Older than the parents of your peers, my hands do not hold the sword the same way they used to. My eyes," he rubs them, and you can see that they struggle to focus on you. "Do not want to cooperate. My fingers are neither quick with the pen, nor does my tongue have the same sharpness that yours seems to have in debate with your teachers." He stands, on shaking knees and shivering shoulders that buckle under his own weight on top of his cane. "Yet I haven't felt old until that day a month ago, when I saw the way you look at me," he says. His eyes drift over to the window, and you catch yourself staring at his reflection. "Is this no longer a body that you can lean on for support? Am I that close to the grave that you look at me so?"
Your breath hitches in your throat. You stand, all decorum and discipline thrown in the wind as the chair falls over.
"What-" you try to speak, but the spark in his eyes gives you reason to pause.
"I understand," he continues without missing a beat, "I'm old now. Older than the parents of your peers, my hands do not hold the sword the same way they used to. My eyes," he rubs them, and you can see that they struggle to focus on you. "Do not want to cooperate. My fingers are neither quick with the pen, nor does my tongue have the same sharpness that yours seems to have in debate with your teachers." He stands, on shaking knees and shivering shoulders that buckle under his own weight on top of his cane. "Yet I haven't felt old until that day a month ago, when I saw the way you look at me," he says. His eyes drift over to the window, and you catch yourself staring at his reflection. "Is this no longer a body that you can lean on for support? Am I that close to the grave that you look at me so?"
Your breath hitches in your throat. You stand, all decorum and discipline thrown in the wind as the chair falls over.
I thought I found the answer today as I looked up at his painting in the office. He never liked them, but he made one for me so that I could remember him by more than the sound of his voice that grows ever distant in my ears.
I wonder, if he were in my position, would he have done the same?
Would he have chosen to fight, like a knight whose hands carried the hardness of a sword?
Or would he have chosen the coward's way like I did.
If he were here... would he let me know if he thought less of me?
###
They arrive just as you knew they would. In this case, a messenger from the prince. He looks nervous, dressed in those fine robes and adorned with the crests that announce his official capacity. You smile at him, offer him a seat, let Petra bring you some tea.
Regardless, he knows that he is to be the messenger of news that are not going to cause joy. You see it in those grey eyes, in that quivering lip, in the way he swallows every few seconds and keeps the door in his field of view at all times.
"Thank you for your... generous welcome, Duchess," the messenger says. You twitch. The title is not fresh, but few call you by it. Some out of your desire for normalcy, others out of disdain for the name your mother chose. You have never held much love for religious symbolism, especially not the one that can be bought with money. A generous donation to the church was needed to name a child after one of the three saints. Evangeline, Aldrin-- her.
You nod. "I assume that this is about Aldrin's latest announcement."
"Indeed, madam," the messenger says. The fact that his head is still attached to his shoulders despite your knowledge gives him reason to relax. "As you know, the situation of the empire has... deteriorated. The borders are under constant attack, as the nobles responsible for them are... unreasonable in their demands of the crown and cannot be supported."
You frown. "You mean the crown prince refuses to send men to fight an invasion, and the duchies at the borders are unwilling to accept the authority of a crown that would not protect them."
The man swallows, than nods. You nod back.
"You have nothing to fear from me, but know that I am not uneducated or new at this. I recognize your face, you were there when I met with the prince to tell him what needed to happen."
"Yet the price you ask for-"
"I ask," you say, truly annoyed for the first time. You tap the table, pointing at the documents. The one on top, prepared for this meeting, is older than the rest. "That your prince honors the agreement between my father and his, the Sun of the Empire. My hand in marriage, as empress, blessed by the church and whatever gods you believe in. Then all my riches, even the paint on these walls, can be sold and the bountiful coffers will feed an army for twenty years."
The messenger twitches, his neck vanishing under his chin as he flinches into the chair with a force that caused it to creak. "I understand, madam. Due to the... circumstances of his new betrothal, he has sent me to offer you a most... most generous alternative."
"Oh?" You tilt your head forward, braid moving over your shoulder. "And what is that?"
"Become queen, second wife to the emp-"
You stand. "No."
"You would go to war with the crown?"
"I could win this battle," you say, slapping the table. The man jumps up. "But I could not see my people suffer. I will not raise an army, I will not become some cheap consort."
You point at the door.
"Tell him I refuse."
You know, of course.
He had no intention to ever accept your demands.
He will find that seizing what is yours to pay off an army that has no respect for him will be harder than he thinks.
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