[P] Thrones & Thorns

[Cordelia]

Cordelia

you are a vast forest
full of beautiful and vibrant stories

T

here was a sour man who came in after the King had introduced himself. He laid claim to the throne, and there were already hollow words being pried from the lips of this stranger. Delia in her tiny fury stares daggers at the boy. He might be bigger than her, and heck he might even look meaner than her. But she was no force to be trifled with. The small palomino woman with the crown on her head and a cape draped around her small frame step up to the bronc who came shortly after her. Her eyes narrow as she stands on her tiptoes to reach his eye level. There is a storm coming on her heels. "And who do you think you are? Who are you to cast stones of judgment and doubt when you did not thrust yourself forward to rectify the silent throne?" She demands of the bronc who looks like he was born from the stars.

He is beautiful, but his insides seem as though they are torn. She wonders what thorns have been raked through his garden. What they keep bound inside this man who is made of ire. "If you are a child of Solterra, as you say, why did you do nothing for these people you have so much pride in? Pull your weight, or silence your voice." The small, elderly woman chastises the man. Her fury is visible. "Where are your manners? My my, if you were my boy I would have taught you respect!" She snaps at him, but there is a warmth in her voice. It is not quiet pity, but disappointment. Cordelia knows this is a stranger, but she treats everyone the same. They are old friends or children who make up her family. Even the ones she doesn't get along with.

She adjusts her shoulders and the cape that is strewn across them as she comes down from her tiptoes. Cordelia is not a native to Solterra, but she'll fight anyone who tells her it is not her home. That she cannot care for its people with the same hot compassion as the natives. "I may not be a native, but I will fight anyone who tells me it is not my home and I do not love it as much as you. That I do not understand. Sonny, I have seen more in my lifetime than you would believe. I know someone who has too much pride when I see them. Have pride in your home, but don't you dare look down on someone for trying to make their home better. You're not the only one who loves Solterra." She huffs at him, finally growing quiet.

@Mernatius

[Mernatius]

mernatius

—
« If you must weep
Do it right here in my bed as I sleep
If you must mourn, my love
Mourn with the moon and the stars up above
If you must mourn
Don't do it alone
»

T

here is not a single ounce of surprise that fills you when you are accosted. You have been expecting it from the very moment that you opened your mouth, the words spilling like poison from your ugly, hateful insides. There is a thought, fleeting and terrible, that this new King will drag you into the dungeons, kicking and screaming. Perhaps he will have your head. Perhaps you will be locked away, forever, where no one will ever have to look at your wretchedness again.

As it turns out, retribution for your sins has arrived today in a small package, and you can only watch with glassy, dual-colored eyes as you are harried by a pallid woman of soft creams and stern, disappointed eyes. She accosts you, speaking far too rapidly and with such conviction and passion that you are unable to follow. Your mind has been muddled for far too long, the fever within you and your own wretched anger making it hard to follow whenever you are addressed. It has been so long, you realize, since anyone has addressed you that you nearly have forgotten that it could even happen.

The admonishing is familiar; the bite, the humiliation, reminding you of times when chains bound your legs and whips kissed your skin. One, two, three, four, five…

She demands, ’Who do you think you are?’ and you think, for one delirious moment of clarity, “What a wonderful question.” In the end, you do not answer, because it does not matter. It never has.

“Because it is not my throne to take,” you spit once more, heaving, sweating, and you can feel how your mane sticks to your neck and face. You are sick. You are dying. You wish the process would hurry up and kill you.

’Pull your weight.’

Pull your weight.

You heave, fevered, panicked, because you have, you did, in a land where you did not want to go because no one heard your screams as you were pulled from Solterra, from your home, from this land you once loved and held so much pride in, and not a single person here even tried to stop it from happening.

Perhaps it would be better if you left. Perhaps you did not belong here. You hate this petite woman in front of you, and you hate the King who challenged someone who was not there because he was too cowardly to do it when he was, but you hate yourself even more.

It is not their fault that you are this way, and yet you hate them all the same for it.

Please help me, a small boy screams, locked away in a prison far, far away to the south, Please. Please see that I am more than this anger. That boy is dead. No one saved him, and you are all that remains.

What a pity.

“I do not love this land,” you lie, but you are tired, so, so tired, and the lie tastes hollow and empty. Your body sags, trembling and weak, and the sickbed you have been confined to for months calls to you like a siren. They do not know you forced yourself to stand to come here, or how you fell twice along the way, scuffing your knees but standing again anyway. They do not know.

You truly doubt they even care.

« r » | @Cordelia

[Cordelia]

Cordelia

you are a vast forest
full of beautiful and vibrant stories

H

e does not speak at first. Cordelia realizes after a few moments of silence that she was momentarily blinded by her anger and disappointment. So much that she has not seen him. Really seen him. The kind woman peers up at him, her sad blue eyes still full of disappointment. When he speaks, she is pulled down again. Then anger boils and bubbles up inside her. It is born anew. The stranger claims it was not his throne to take. "It was anyone's to take. An empty throne does not decide who is deserving of it. Its people do." She refutes his point because it is not a good enough point. "It is another thing entirely if you did not want it for whatever reason or reasons that may be." The small gold woman does not care what his reasons are for not wanting the throne. She had her own reasons for that very same idea.

A few more moments pass as she feels her features soften for a moment as she studies him. Cordelia imagines that he has either lived a hard life, or perhaps it was thrust upon him by others. She cannot know for sure without asking. When he speaks again, he lies. He says that he does not love this land, but yet he felt the need to speak up against the new king. Cordelia laughs, but it is not as warm as she is. The softness of her face does not match the way she sounds. "Liar." She responds. The words are a little softer than her laugh. The small woman knows that she can be wrong, and perhaps he truly does not love this land. To her, that is the most unlikely scenario. 

"If you did not love Solterra... you wouldn't have spoken up. You wouldn't have all but crawled here just to share that with Soleterra. I am sorry I didn't see you were unwell before." The woman's voice has changed again. It is the sound of home to so many. Her concern is authentic because she cares about him in the same way she cares about all those she meets.

"Come on, I've got a tea shop just a few buildings down. I've got a guest room you can rest in... I'm not asking." She adds as she turns to lead him to her little shop on the edge of Solterra. 

@Mernatius