She agrees with him, slow and calm, all deliberate disapproval of his casual daring. He wonders what she would think if she knew the half of it, considers telling her of midnights made bloody and the thrill of war. (They lost, lost and bled and died for that war, but Anatoly will not pretend that he did not enjoy fighting it, for all that he sneered at its cause and its cost.) He wonders what she will think, if the word Davke crosses his lips, if she will pale and sway in terror like the courtly ladies, if she will bristle and bear arms like the soldiers, if she will understand what that means.
What kind of Queen was she? Did she cage and control? Did she stand back and watch? Did she rule justly, without overreaching her bounds? Talk in the capitals said she was a good leader, a fair leader, if not a bit inexperienced at times: in all a leader very much beloved by her subjects. But well, that was hardly a good judge of things was it? Even a tyrant could be loved by the right sort of people, having taken the correct precautions.
And ignoring that, the Davke were hardly just at the end of the day, and never would be. Anatoly is sure that many a good, loyal servant of the empire has fallen under their lust for battle. What kindly Queen would allow such a thing in her lands? What people could accept a Queen who turned a blind eye? Ah- but this was all conjecture. This was not a struggle she would have had to face before, the Davke having been disbanded or killed before she had ever started her rule.
But she is a clever thing, astute, picking apart his character to divine his utter lack of fear and the unlikeliness of it ever emerging. Not that he has made this hard, but many have taken his confidence for a front put up by a cowardly politician, when it’s always been one of the only true things about him. And she is kind too, in her way, warning him of the dangers he might not yet have heard without any sort of payment. Unless she hopes he will find the King so distasteful as to band up with her, unless she offers this information to test his mettle.
And the King having nothing he loves? Nothing he wishes to preserve? Now that is an odd assumption. Even if the only thing the King wants to preserve is the blood on his teeth, that is still something, and without that something he would not have cause, nor drive. But, let the Queen believe as she will. Obviously she is a soft touch, believing love to equate to loyalty, and loyalty to others to automatically be placed before loyalty to the self. Not a terribly uncommon affliction, but a disappointing one all the same. Though, that belief will do him well, should he ever gain her loyalty, as one hardly believes without following through.
The humour of her describing herself in third person is not lost on him, but it’s interesting nonetheless to hear her take on her rule. It’s refreshing, to hear a monarch speak so plainly on their own weaknesses without dismissal of their faults.
And this… oh this is interesting. The shapeshifting he had heard rumours of, but it seems news of the basilisk had not made it to his ears. Obviously taken as too fantastical to be true and discarded before anyone in the courts could hear and laugh at the gullibility of the teller. Or perhaps known by the higher classes and held quiet for fear, foolishly believing that if they do not look for it, it will not prove itself true.
“Bloodthirsty leeches or desperate ones?” He asks in a fit of inspiration. “Anyone will commit terrible deeds if promised enough of the right things.” The masses are strange things, love and loyalty all twined together, continuation of others being placed before the continuation of the self so long as those others were the right ones. As for the bloodthirsty? Well, Anatoly is not blind to his own nature - there's always a promise of some prize separate from blood that binds him to one path or another. “And the bloodthirsty stand to causes same as anyone else, otherwise they’d just be serial killers put down by the state.”
“The King has promised them something – wealth, freedom, power, safety – only they can say for certain what. And if that promise is only for a day, or a month, or until some shift in mood, well.” He shrugs. “It’s more than they had to begin with, isn’t it?”
“If his followers are naïve enough to believe that he’d think twice about throwing them under the knife the moment that it suits him… they’re more foolish than I anticipated.” He bows his head in acknowledgement to her point.
“Yes, one rarely thinks long term when the city is burning." He frowns pauses, considers. "My kin stand with him.” He admits, sighing, his head remaining low as if grieving, eyes hooded just enough to suggest pain, and gaze centered on the shadows between them. “It keeps them alive now, but…” He shifts, just so, as though uncomfortable. “They’re going to get us all killed, by the end of this.” He repeats the thought far less laughing than the first time, like it weighs on him, like a front has fallen.
None of it’s a lie.
Let her believe his sympathies, his beliefs, are held so dearly for love of his kin. Let her believe he counts them as desperate, that they fight for the King for the sake of survival instead of blood and power. Let him court her soft heart.
“I would like to think my allegiance lays with them.” It does. “But… there are more of us than what has flocked to his banner. And I would like for us to live, after all this is over.” If he has to prune the family tree for survival, it will not be a hardship. Rot is rot is rot, no matter how few of them remain.
He lifts his head at her question, stares her in the eye. He has laid what foundations he could for good will, for understanding. He has given what he can to have her believe that he is not so heartless, so monstrous as the (very true) stories depict them all to be. He will not be ashamed of his heritage, of his people, will not act it when he wants her trust moving forward. Still, he prepares for the worst.
“We are Davke.”
What kind of Queen was she? Did she cage and control? Did she stand back and watch? Did she rule justly, without overreaching her bounds? Talk in the capitals said she was a good leader, a fair leader, if not a bit inexperienced at times: in all a leader very much beloved by her subjects. But well, that was hardly a good judge of things was it? Even a tyrant could be loved by the right sort of people, having taken the correct precautions.
And ignoring that, the Davke were hardly just at the end of the day, and never would be. Anatoly is sure that many a good, loyal servant of the empire has fallen under their lust for battle. What kindly Queen would allow such a thing in her lands? What people could accept a Queen who turned a blind eye? Ah- but this was all conjecture. This was not a struggle she would have had to face before, the Davke having been disbanded or killed before she had ever started her rule.
But she is a clever thing, astute, picking apart his character to divine his utter lack of fear and the unlikeliness of it ever emerging. Not that he has made this hard, but many have taken his confidence for a front put up by a cowardly politician, when it’s always been one of the only true things about him. And she is kind too, in her way, warning him of the dangers he might not yet have heard without any sort of payment. Unless she hopes he will find the King so distasteful as to band up with her, unless she offers this information to test his mettle.
And the King having nothing he loves? Nothing he wishes to preserve? Now that is an odd assumption. Even if the only thing the King wants to preserve is the blood on his teeth, that is still something, and without that something he would not have cause, nor drive. But, let the Queen believe as she will. Obviously she is a soft touch, believing love to equate to loyalty, and loyalty to others to automatically be placed before loyalty to the self. Not a terribly uncommon affliction, but a disappointing one all the same. Though, that belief will do him well, should he ever gain her loyalty, as one hardly believes without following through.
The humour of her describing herself in third person is not lost on him, but it’s interesting nonetheless to hear her take on her rule. It’s refreshing, to hear a monarch speak so plainly on their own weaknesses without dismissal of their faults.
And this… oh this is interesting. The shapeshifting he had heard rumours of, but it seems news of the basilisk had not made it to his ears. Obviously taken as too fantastical to be true and discarded before anyone in the courts could hear and laugh at the gullibility of the teller. Or perhaps known by the higher classes and held quiet for fear, foolishly believing that if they do not look for it, it will not prove itself true.
“Bloodthirsty leeches or desperate ones?” He asks in a fit of inspiration. “Anyone will commit terrible deeds if promised enough of the right things.” The masses are strange things, love and loyalty all twined together, continuation of others being placed before the continuation of the self so long as those others were the right ones. As for the bloodthirsty? Well, Anatoly is not blind to his own nature - there's always a promise of some prize separate from blood that binds him to one path or another. “And the bloodthirsty stand to causes same as anyone else, otherwise they’d just be serial killers put down by the state.”
“The King has promised them something – wealth, freedom, power, safety – only they can say for certain what. And if that promise is only for a day, or a month, or until some shift in mood, well.” He shrugs. “It’s more than they had to begin with, isn’t it?”
“If his followers are naïve enough to believe that he’d think twice about throwing them under the knife the moment that it suits him… they’re more foolish than I anticipated.” He bows his head in acknowledgement to her point.
“Yes, one rarely thinks long term when the city is burning." He frowns pauses, considers. "My kin stand with him.” He admits, sighing, his head remaining low as if grieving, eyes hooded just enough to suggest pain, and gaze centered on the shadows between them. “It keeps them alive now, but…” He shifts, just so, as though uncomfortable. “They’re going to get us all killed, by the end of this.” He repeats the thought far less laughing than the first time, like it weighs on him, like a front has fallen.
None of it’s a lie.
Let her believe his sympathies, his beliefs, are held so dearly for love of his kin. Let her believe he counts them as desperate, that they fight for the King for the sake of survival instead of blood and power. Let him court her soft heart.
“I would like to think my allegiance lays with them.” It does. “But… there are more of us than what has flocked to his banner. And I would like for us to live, after all this is over.” If he has to prune the family tree for survival, it will not be a hardship. Rot is rot is rot, no matter how few of them remain.
He lifts his head at her question, stares her in the eye. He has laid what foundations he could for good will, for understanding. He has given what he can to have her believe that he is not so heartless, so monstrous as the (very true) stories depict them all to be. He will not be ashamed of his heritage, of his people, will not act it when he wants her trust moving forward. Still, he prepares for the worst.
“We are Davke.”
