reliarobot | Entries tagged with fantasy

"...So you see, your majesty, without the river, our village may wither into nothing."

"I do see," said Princess Elyncia, resting her curled forefinger on her lip. "This dam project is more complicated than our advisors claimed to my father. I will beseech him on your behalf, and ensure that adequate supplies are sent to your village in recompense should that prove insufficient."

The villager's eyes widened. "Thank you, your majesty! That is... extremely kind of you. Truly, the stories of your graciousness are greatly undersold."

Knight Neren stepped forward, gently guiding the villager out of the audience room. When the door had closed, she turned to the Princess and stood at attention, awaiting her command. "What next, my Lady? To the King?"

Elyncia put her hands over her face and rubbed her eyes tiredly. "No. We both know he won't budge. Not to me. Let's go see the royal quartermaster and determine what supplies may be safely taken from other projects to support the village. Then I'd better set up a meeting with the foremen of the project and see if they can create some kind of smaller tributary to the villages downstream. Doubtless his isn't going to be the only village effected."

Her knight went to her side and offered her hand, assisting the Princess up from the large throne-like head chair of the table. Elyncia stretched, wincing as her back cracked. "Why does he insist on such uncomfortable chairs?" She smoothed her skirts and stepped forward, her knight by her side.

Neren couldn't help but notice a stiffness in the Princess's posture that had nothing to do with hard seating. It was only after they had descended the staircase that she noticed Elyncia was trembling, too. She caught her by the elbow, feeling the shudder. "My Lady? What's wrong?"

Princess Elyncia took a moment to respond, staring at the floor, shaking. Finally, Neren heard, just barely: "How dare they?"

"My lady? Did that peasant give some offence? I'll see to it that he's flogged, if he made light of your status-" She turned to find a guard, only to find herself arrested by the back of her tabard. She turned, a question in her eyes, but Elyncia still wouldn't meet them.

"It's not," she started. Neren waited, taking the Princess's shaking hand in hers. "You don't," she tried again. Swallowed. "How dare they call me kind?"

The heat coming off of the words made Neren step back. "My lady- What are you talking about?"

"I sit here in the lap of luxury. All my needs are attended to. I was allowed to- to stop being a Prince, despite the trouble it caused for the kingdom. I have maids. I have my own knight! I'll never have to worry about my food in my entire life. The troubles that man has, the worries he carries over feeding his family, over keeping his people safe, I'll never experience that. And what can I give him? False hope?! A few meagre supplies that mean nothing to the kingdom?" She laughed, a short, ugly sound with bile behind it. "Kindness. Out of what? The goodness of my heart? What a joke." She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. A tear dropped from her unseen eyes and landed with a small splash on her forearm.

Neren went down on one knee, to try and look her in the eye. Elyncia avoided her gaze, staring at her shoulder instead. Neren placed her hand upon the Princess's elbow and felt the tremors worsen. "My Lady. Elyncia. I don't know what else you would call it. You take these audiences when your father will not. You work to ease their problems and abate their worries. That you do so with a full belly and a comfortable bed has nothing to do with how kind it makes you."

"It has everything to do with it!" Elyncia shouted, startling a passing maid. "I do- I do the bare minimum. If I was stronger, more determined, truly kind, I would do more than this. More than... pretty words and infinitesimal gifts." She sniffed, and her knight offered her a handkerchief. She blew her nose, and the bells began to ring the hour. "Blast," she moaned. "The Baron. I'd nearly forgotten. We'd best get moving. He's had a difficult journey here, and I wanted to help him mourn his daughter before he had to meet with the King."

She wearily began to pick up her skirts to ascend the staircase again, but Neren stopped her, a hand on her corsetted waist. "What about you? You need rest, Princess, you can't just take all these feelings and shove them to the side every time-"

This time the laugh was a sad, aborted thing, more of a heave of air than any real sound. "I must. These feelings - they mean nothing. My feelings mean nothing. The only good I can do is the actions I take. He deserves this help, he's a good man and he takes care of his people. I want to make sure that someone acknowledges that, and his hurt."

"What about your hurt?" Neren spun the princess around and grabbed her by the shoulders, staring her in the face. "You deserve good things! You need help!"

Tears were now streaming down the Princess's face. She dabbed at them with the handkerchief. "I don't. I can only hope to make up for- for the crime of my birth." She sniffed again, took a shaky breath, and composed a fragile semblance of serenity. "Thank you, my knight, for the use of your cloth," she said, voice wobbling slightly as she folded it gently and handed it back. "Now, we must away. We shall be late."

Before Neren could stop her, she had turned up the stairs, her slippers gently cushioning the noise of her footsteps.

You kneel down next to your party's Mage, running your fingers over her cracked and broken porcelain, your magic flowing out of you to patch and heal. Your fingers almost brush against the fine red strings that trail from her limbs up into the air, always visibly taut regardless of what position she takes. Your eyes try to track the point where they vanish into the aether, but near the end the difference between "there" and "not there" is impossible to see. She stirs, and her eyelids slide open with a clacking noise. She sits up, slowly, her strings pulling her arms and back.

"Thank you," she murmurs, taking your hand in hers.

"Hold still", you say, not letting her go. "I'm not finished yet."

"But you're unhurt?"

You focus on healing her for a moment, until the weight of her soft gaze pierces your heart. "Yes, I'm fine." You meet her eyes, made of glass, dark hazel and entrancing. "But you shouldn't have leapt in front like that. Taking hits and getting hurt is my job."

"It was tactically efficient," she says, in those same soft tones. "And besides..." She lifts one hand, red string twisting as she flexes her ball-jointed wrist and her fingers clack against each other. "This doll is made for this, after all. To ensure no real people get hurt."

Your fist hits the ground before you realize you've swung it, the dull thud making her jerk in surprise. "YOU'RE real!" You shout, your other companions looking up in alarm from across the camp. "You deserve- happiness! Love! To not be forced into the middle of a conflict when you should be kept safe-"

"In a glass box, on a shelf, perhaps?" You flinch, but she continues to stare at you, unblinking and soft. Her dress rustles as she reaches out to stroke your arm, and it tingles where her strings rub against your skin. "No. This doll cannot be safe. But it can be near you-"

"And get hurt again?!" You grit your teeth, hissing like a wild animal trapped between a wall and a predator.

"My companion, please, do not get upset about this doll's fate. After all, it is only a-"

"Don't say it!" You shout, grabbing at her, to do what, you don't know. Shake her, maybe, or force her to lie down and rest, but you miss, and your hand grabs something that feels like a lightning bolt just ran down your arm, shock and pain with the inability to let go for even a second.

You've grabbed her string.

Her right wrist twitches as it dangles from your fist, then falls limp. She looks at it in shock, then at you, the lightning bolt still coursing down your arm. Slowly, your fist and her hand move, and you aren't certain who's moving who. Her hand caresses your cheek, and before you realize it you've pulled her into a kiss, her porcelain skin cool on your burning face. After a moment, you separate, still holding her string in your hand.

"There will be consequences for this," she whispers in your ear. "A doll may be disposable, but those that create them guard them jealously. Still," she - you? - presses her lips to you again, seams in her face cutting into your skin, her strings burning in your hand. "For as long as you want me, I'm yours. For what kind of marionette argues with its puppeteer?"

I peeled my face off of my desk and winced as pain lanced through my wing where it had been pinned by my awkward sleeping position. I stumbled to my feet and accidentally kicked an empty bottle of nectar across the floor as I made my way towards the office bathroom.

"Oh, good, you're finally awake." My secretary Cinnamonbell leaned against the doorjam, looking sharp in her leaf skirt and half-moon glasses. "You look like hell, Web, shake some of that fairydust off your wings and smarten up, you've got a client. I'll keep her busy for a minute.

"You're the best, Bells," I said, wincing against my headache as she slammed the door behind her. The "Diamondweb, P.I." logo engraved in the frosted glass shuddered in the loose frame of the door. I splashed some water on my face, shook off as much pixie dust as I could, and smoothed my rumpled suit. Just as I was sitting down at my desk and putting the nectar bottle away with the others, Bells opened the door again to reveal a sort of mousy-looking faerie. Small wings, maybe five and a half inches tall, unkempt hair with almost no shimmer, and an ill-fitting maple leaf dress. Out of season. Sparkly trails ran down her face; she'd been crying recently.

I opened a desk drawer and removed a pine needle from it, offering one to the lady. She declined, and I lit up, lungs pulling in the smoky scent. "What seems to be the problem, Miss...?"

"Mrs. Mrs. Cutesky. Please, Ms. Diamondweb, it's my wife. I don't know what to do. She comes home later and later every night, she hates my cooking when she used to love it, and her wings... I can't be sure, but I think the dust on them isn't always pixie dust. I don't want to think she's being unfaithful, but..." She took out a small moss handkerchief and blew her nose on it. "Please, Ms. Diamondweb, she denies it, but I have to know the truth."

I pulled out a small notebook and a hedgehog quill. "Where does your wife work, Mrs. Cutesky?"

She sniffled. "In the Meadow. She's a firefly catcher, so she's usually out late, but not like this."

"I see." I jotted down some theories. "Did your wife mention any new acquaintances recently? Work buddies, new hires, that kind of thing?"

"Well... she did say something about a new group of moths that had been hired. Immigrants from the other side of the pond, I guess." Her eyes widened. "You don't think she..."

"It's a possibility, Mrs. Cutesky, but just a possibility. You leave your address with my secretary, and I'll let you know what I find." I stood up to let her out.

"Oh, thank you, Ms. Diamondweb! Thank you!!" She dove at me, almost making me stumble, and tucked her head under my chin. My wings twitched. I waited an awkward moment before putting my arms around her and patting her shoulder. Thankfully, she took that as her cue to let go.

When she'd gone, I went out into the small reception area to talk to Bells. "What do you think?"

She closed the flap on the small hole into my office. "Her story stinks. The Meadow is a nasty neighborhood these days. Rumor has it that the groundhogs are losing ground to some new gang."

I nodded. "No prizes for guessing who, now. If the moths are looking to expand over here it's gonna be trouble for everyone."

"So what are you gonna do, Web?"

"What else? Grab the camera and head over to the Meadow. A gig's a gig, and we can't pay the rent with fairy dust."

"Actually, I know a guy who'd pay pretty well for the stuff," she said, dryly. "Seriously, Web, you could be walking right into a trap."

"Well, it's a good thing I told someone else where I'm going, then." I gave her a backwards wave as I turned to go. The air outside was cold, for October, and I turned the collar of my coat up against the drizzle. My wings fluttered as I left Little Fungitown, leaving my red-and-white spotted office behind me. It's a tough life out here for a P.I., but damn it, I'm good at it.

I am the Princess in the Tower.

You know, people hear that, and they say, "Oh, that poor Princess, she must be so lonesome up there. Some cruel fate must have befallen her, to be trapped so."

It's true, to a certain extent. I am lonesome. There's no shortage of princes and princesses - I have to wonder where they all come from - who come to try to rescue me from my captivity. None of them ever get particularly close, of course. The Tower is surrounded by a dark and tangled wood, monsters of flesh and stone stalk the grounds, invisible barriers and devious traps block all entry, and even if they got to the base of the Tower, they'd have to figure out how to climb up a sheer, frictionless vertical surface while automatically triggered fireballs rained down upon them... it's pretty well defended, is what I'm trying to say. Every single one of them gets sent packing, cursing the wizard who built the Tower and imprisoned me.

Which is, you know, pretty funny, when you get right down to it.

I mean, it's only natural to assume that, right? Wizards are mysterious, they pop in and out all the time. If one decides to suddenly vanish one day, well, he's probably just off calculating the angles of reality, or whatever, he'll be back. And if a girl appears in his Tower, well, of course he kidnapped a Princess for his own unfathomable wizard purposes.

It hardly matters that there aren't any kingdoms missing a Princess.

I don't correct them, anyway. It's safer for me if nobody knows who I am, or how I've changed. Safety was, after all, why I built the Tower in the first place. You think wizards do this for fun? Out in the middle of nowhere, forced to conjure food and water? Having to walk up and down twenty flights of stairs if I feel like going outside?

Wizards build towers when they are scared shitless.

See, I cast this divination spell when I was an apprentice, and I fucked it up. It constantly shows me visions of my own doom...

Not buying it?

Well, there was this devil, see, and I tricked him into thinking I'd signed my soul away, so now he stalks me forever, seeking vengeance through the very shadows themselves...

No good?

Well, I was cursed as a wee babe, and now all the world is my enemy, from the mightiest warrior to the softest blade of grass, and each one thirsts for my blood!

...I would have died to that one, like, immediately, huh.

Okay. Fine. I'm just... a coward. I built my Tower as far away from everything and everyone that could possibly do me harm as I could. I studied magic because it felt like the best way to avoid any and all hard work, conflict, and danger. I held off on telling anyone anything about who I truly was or what I wanted until I felt I could be absolutely safe.

And still, with "rescuers" at my door just waiting for my hand, I can't bear to look at them. The idea of one even getting close enough to attempt to climb the Tower (it's happened more than once) is terrifying. I could ask them to stop, but who would believe me? "Yes, I, the Princess in the Tower, am totes fine, please go away forever thanks, I am not an evil wizard." That'd go over well.

There's another princess that just made her way through the Woods and slayed one of my constructs. She'll be at the Tower base soon. ~~She's got really pretty hair~~

~~I wish~~

~~I hope that you~~

~~Please don't~~

I'm writing this down here, and then I'm gonna go hide. If you're reading this,

The blue-armored princess flipped the paper over to the other side. It was blank. Her hair smoldered from the fireball she'd almost dodged, and she drummed her fingers on the hilt of her blade as she reread the first side. Aside from the paper, the room - and, indeed, the entire interior of the Tower - seemed completely empty.