JiniverPart1Index | HomePage | Settings | TheEmpire | Jiniver | Story: The Contest on Jiniver: Part 1 The Contest on Jiniver: Part 1Drew knew he was going to die. He had had a lot of things that he was sure of before. Sure the sun was going to come up, sure his father would still terrorize his family - even though he had agreed to this....contest - Sure he was going to die. He rationalized it, tried to find the nice things about it. At the very least, his father wouldn't be able to kick him around any more. So he stood there, shifting slightly on his feet, feeling his face flushed slightly to be wearing so little in front of so many people. He had come up with several interesting things that the person who decided they should wear thongs could do to themselves; very few of his ideas actually physically possible. He looked up as someone bumped into him. He was staring at someone's nipple. Letting his focus shift slightly he saw that the nipple belonged to the very muscular chest of a young man who appeared to be close to six and a half feet tall. Craning his head back, he felt something pop in his neck once he finally made it up to the man's face. He reminded Drew of a tree stump he had back home, though the stump probably could carry on more intelligent conversation than the slab of beef in front of him. Drew smiled weakly, nodding his head as the man shows a row of uneven, rotting teeth. Drew saw the man start to say something, and before he could even really think said, "Listen, I know it's not your fault that god didn't give you a penis before you were born, but it's not my fault either, so don't trying out any of your aggressions on me." Drew almost smiled when he saw the man's face screw up in heavy thought, and he quickly took a step back, losing himself in the gathered mass of flesh awaiting the contest. So Drew moved to the edge of the crowd, looking around at the people that he would soon be trying to kill, and that would be trying to kill him. He scratched the back of his neck, thinking to himself *This is really fucked up.* _________________________ The slaves who bore the closed litter on their shoulders were lightly oiled with their own sweat. They did not wear a lot else - but in the hot dry atmosphere, this was not generally held a disadvantage. The people who were thronging the sandy walkways between the fighting courts murmured in surprise, and nudged each other even as they backed and made obeisance to the passing litter. It was rare for the Queen to attend the God Games, even though she would be so materially affected by the outcome. Some of the bolder speculated in more detail ... Which aspect of the Queen was it? The Maid, who might be eager to see the young men who risked their lives to win the honour of becoming what was believed to be her very first lover? The Lady, who held the reins of power in her strong and supple fingers ... or so rumour had it? Or perhaps the Wise Woman (who some called the Crone)? Perhaps more than one ... perhaps all three .... Or perhaps she had sent her litter empty .... Who could tell with the threefold Queen of Jiniver? Always spoken of as singular, yet all knew they were three women living in the seclusion of the Palace.... Maid, Lady and ... Wise Woman. The litter was carried to the Great Court of Honour ... where the climax of the God Games would take place - and there it was set down in the shady balcony. Those who looked closely could see a white hand part the thick curtains briefly and they turned and nodded to each other ... The Queen had come to see the God Games. __________________ Drew wasn't really there as the guard explained to them the contest, one more time. Something about killing, or incapacitating everyone, the last person standing the winner. He shook his head slightly, tasting something bitter in his mouth. He wanted to vomit so bad..... ......He blinked his eyes at the sudden brightness of the arena: so many people watching, screaming. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He had finally figured out that the bitter taste in his mouth was the fear. He wondered if he would actually last the first few minutes of the fight, or not. He kneeled down quickly, rubbing his hands in the loose powdery dirt of the arena floor, drying them off. He remained silent through the speeches that various officials were giving on the honor of the thing, what it would mean to the people, and the planet when their new god was chosen. He allowed himself a moment to wonder how his ripping some other guy apart would prove him a deity. He wouldn't be any different than before. He shook his head slightly, and then a question occurred to him. What would he do, if he were the best fighter on the planet? He rolled the question around in his mind as everyone fanned out in a circle around the periphery of the arena. They would run towards the center of the arena, and he assumed it would go down hill from there. What would he do if he were the best fighter in the world? It was becoming very important to him to find the answer to that, he was focussing on it, his mind wrapped around it. He started running at the signal, repeating the question over and over. What would he do.....Best fighter.....what would he do....best fighter...best fighter..best fighter...STOP Drew almost tripped at the sudden stop. Seeing the other contestants rushing towards the center of the arena. He winced at the crash of bodies as they finally all came together. He doubted the best fighter in the world would actually fight unless he had to. In the excitement of the first charge, not many people noticed the one compact figure that hung back ... Those that did nudged each other, laughed and pointed. But most people's eyes and hopes were fixed on the very centre of the arena, where all the excitement and drama was. Where all the blood was. Where all the death was. Where the sand was becoming slick with the blood and matter of the dead and dying. The curtains of the litter twitched slightly, and the white hand was briefly visible again ... Drew sat in the dirt, trying not to watch the spectacle before him. He scratched his jaw, wondering idly if he was going to live long enough to have to start shaving. He was actually pretty happy with himself. None of the contestants had noticed his absence yet, and were perfectly happy bashing each other. And when he really thought about it, he had probably the best seat in the house. He was actually a lot closer than he'd like to be. He reminded himself he didn't really enjoy things like this, in fact he found them pointless and idiotic. Too bad he didn't have much of a say in the matter. So, he sat there his knees drawn up against his chest, drawing circles in the loose dirt with the tip of his finger. Glancing up occasionally to check on the progress of the fight. He winced slightly when he saw someone's face practically ripped off; it looked like someone had inserted their fingers into the man's eye sockets and pulled, hard. It seemed to be quite effective, he would have to remember that one for later. The next time he looked up he saw that there were only two men left standing. Large, well muscled men, though both looked the worse for wear. Drew stood up, brushing off his ass, thinking off bad things to do to the one who thought of the thongs. Drew started trotting towards the combatants, watching as one of them landed a particularly violent blow - dropping the other man to his knees. There was a spray of blood, and the man fell from his knees, to the dirt of the arena. Drew started to jog, which turned into a run, which turned into a sprint, heading towards the battered and bleeding man who was still alive, standing over his fallen foe. Drew watched the man closely as he started to turn around. Drew was close, very close when the man finally realized he was there..... .....It almost felt like flying, when Drew launched himself through the air, the wind flowing around him. Then he hit the wall. Pain flared in his hand first, as his palm made contact with the man's nose. And then in his body, as he made contact with the mass of the man. His breath whooshed out of him when he landed on top of the corpse. He lay there for a moment, not even breathing heavily. Something was odd, then he figured out what it was. Drew stood up, hearing the absolute silence that had over taken the arena. He had a slight coating of blood over the side of his body that had hit the man, who had been covered in it. Besides that, and the dirt covering parts of him, he was no different than when he had entered the arena. Well, that wasn't exactly true either he thought..... Drew was now a god. There was an incredulous silence for a long, long time. Finally a child, perhaps pleased to see that the winner of the contest had been the one closest to her own age (and physical size), let out a shrill cry. "Hail the God King!" A few more voices took it up. "Hail the God King!" And slowly. more and more people joining in ... some reluctantly, others with vigour and enthusiasm. "Hail the God King!" And suddenly, all around the circular arena, people were on their feet, roaring for the dazed young figure that alone remained on his feet in the midst of the carnage ... "Hail the God King!" And the court officials were fiddling with the formal regalia ... the silken robes that would caress his sweaty, bloodstained near-naked body, the heavy gold collar of priesthood he would wear over his shoulders, the golden circlet that would round his head, pressing into his sweat damp hair ... all this before he could be lifted onto the open flower decked bier and carried in triumph to the palace ... his palace. "Hail the God King!" Within the curtained litter, the woman lay back among the cushions, as she had done throughout, listening to the cheers of the mob. Once again she parted the curtains with an idle hand ... but she did not bother to look out. It appeared that she too had a new King ... I'm screwed, Drew thought to himself as he heard the crowd picking up the chant. He backed away slowly from the priests, wondering if anyone would actually try to stop him if he made a run for it now. Instead he settled for standing up very straight, watching the approaching men. The anger was building inside of him, boiling just below the surface. They had made him leave his home by the river, the animals, his sister, his mother. They had made him kill. And now they were going to make him be a god. So when the high priest stepped in front of him, and began to give his little speech, Drew hissed "If any of you lay one fucking hand on me you'll get a lot worse than that bag of shit laying on the ground, do you understand?" The way he's looking into the older man's eyes lets him know that he would try his best to complete this threat. For a long, slow minute the High Priest stared down at the angry boy in front of him from his majestic height of over six and a half feet. Then he smiled. Slowly. "You are young, my King. But you will learn." "If you walk through the streets, you devotees will tear you to pieces in their frenzy to touch your body. Believe me, that we have seen. If you chose to ride through the streets clad only in that ... er ... garment, the roses that your adoring people threw at the bier will lacerate your skin cruelly. That too we have seen." He looked at Drew almost beneficently. "Of course, if you prefer to wear a thong and nothing more, once in the palace, that will be your choice. I daresay some of the younger and more impressionable priests may follow your lead. Personally, I shall stay with my ceremonial robes." "Now, we really should be going." "I need hardly add," he added, "that once we leave, the crowds have the freedom of the arena. Many like to ... ah ... take home a remembrance of today's events. A finger, perhaps. A eye. A little liver. Should that be a piece of the living god, they will be all the more pleased." "The choice is entirely yours," he said gravely, and beckoned a young priest who stepped forward, the kingly robes held in his arms. Drew gives the man a withering look, and looses none of his hostility as he nods his head slightly, keeping his mouth firmly closed. He could still feel his rage boiling, laying beneath the surface like some black thing churning and shifting inside of him. He felt like lashing out, giving the crowd something they would really enjoy. Instead he just stood there, waiting for them to take what they wanted from him. Whatever it is that that was. The young priest advanced, a little tentative. When the God King has been chosen by virtue of the fact that He has killed the brightest and best of the fighters on Jiniver, it is generally considered to be a wise move not to upset Him unduly. A second, and then a third priest moved forwards to assist. As Drew continued to remain motionless, they slid the soft white silk shift over his head and on his arm, and then the heavy red outer robes, richly embroidered with gold. The High Priest watched impassively. By this point, the victorious God King generally had a singularly foolish grin on his face, as the realisation of his triumph sank in. It was rare (although not unknown) for the High Priest to encounter a stare of such unrelenting hostility - at least it was at the stage of the annual cycle - and the High Priest was intrigued. Finally, the golden sandals were placed on the royal feet, and the crowd of shaven headed priests parted, displaying their God King to the people. Another roar of approval went up. The bier was brought forward, and the God King led to His throne. Then, it was hefted onto eight pairs of priestly shoulders, and the bier, surrounded by the white robed priests, borne around the arena. The crowd went wild, pelting it with flowers (the High Priest had not lied), until the flowers began to pile up in a vast mound at The God King's feet. The High Priest, watching, continued to feel intrigued. He had seen many reactions to his ceremony, from the dazed and incredulous grin, through the faces contorted with tears of pride, to the total idiots who beamed and waved and raised both arms in triumph (the crowds loved those most of all, of course). But he had never before seen one like this, who gazed down at his feet throughout, and then at the growing mound of flowers that covered them, his face impassive. The bier was led from the arena and began the half-mile procession to the palace. The route was lined with people standing five deep ... and still the flowers came. The High Priest followed at a safe difference - he had received a rose in the face before now, and entering the palace for the coronation copiously bleeding was not in keeping with his dignity. The great red wooden gates in the white walls were slowly opened to shouts of triumph, and the biers carried into the great sandy space before the steps. Slowly it was lowered, and the High Priest approached the silent figure on the throne and bowed low. "Approach, O Great King, your palace. Your Queen awaits you inside." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Back at the palace, the litter was set down in the Queen's Courtyard and then the servants left. After a pause, the curtains opened, and the Queen stepped out. She was covered from head to foot in a long translucent green veil of finest spun silk. As she moved unhurriedly up the steps to the Queen's entrance to the palace, there was no hint as to which manifestation she was. As she stepped through the door, two servants stepped forward and gently lifted the veil from her. They showed no surprise when her face was revealed ... but then they were blind; all the Queen's servants were, by tradition, blind and mute ... The Queen moved through her palace, a young girl, a pout on her lips. A Maid in truth, a virgin still, a girl on the cusp of womanhood, with all the awkwardness of the transition upon her ... The Queen moved through her palace, a voluptuous woman, a caressing smile on her lips, her hands lifting to free her soft curls from their braids and shake her hair carelessly back .... the pins falling with little clings to be heard and gathered by the sharp-eared servants .... The Queen moved through her palace, a mature but unbowed figure, a sad nostalgic smile on her lips, remembering so many young men who had died ... that one might be chosen to be God-King for a year and enjoy his threefold Queen .... The Queen moved .... moved ... moved .... The met in the Hall of Mirror ... a thousand Queens gathered together ... reflection, upon reflection ... "So, another one comes ... " "Which of us should meet him?" "Must it be me?" "Do we need to meet him at all?" A pause for consideration. "It will have to happen at some point." "But not today!" "No, not today." "We shall say ... we shall say we are consumed with grief for our dead husband." It seemed a breeze seized the room ... a thousand reflections shook ... but it was with gentle laughter. "So ... another fool with strength in his arm and none in his head comes to rule us all." "Or so he thinks." Again the ripple of reflections ... like a wind blowing through a cornfield .... "We could watch through the lattice ... and not be seen ... " "We could ... " "We could send three of the servants, veiled." "Three?" "Why not?" "Because we are more powerful ... more mysterious ... " "True." A thousand reflections bowed their heads ... a thousand reflections waited to hear the noise of the mob, bearing the God-King to the palace in triumph. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Drew stands up, and walks forward, his shoulders slumped slightly. He's looking down at the ground as he walks. The rage is slowly fading into an overwhelming feeling of despair, and more than anything else, loneliness The High Priest watches him ... a faint frown between his aristocratic brows. He has never before seen this in the God King. Awe, yes, sometimes unthinking pleasure, and sometimes even fear. But there is no fear here ... For the first time, he feels alarmed. Then he comforts himself - The Queen will be waiting to receive the God King. They move slowly, a stately procession up the great stairs and into the Great Throne Room. But there is no Queen ... neither Maid, Lady nor Wise Woman. Angrily, he beckons a servant across. "Where is the Queen?" The servant looks abashed. "Overcome with grief for her late Beloved, she keeps to the Queen's Quarters." The High Priest says nothing, but his eyes glint dangerously. Drew seems to ignore the conversation. He feels like he's going to cry. In fact he knows he's going to cry, it's just a matter of when. So he looks down at the ornate tiles of the floor, feeling his eyes start to glisten with unshed tears. The High Priest raps his stave of office on the floor. "The Queen should be present for the coronation! We will therefore hold the ceremony tomorrow, when she should have ... recovered." He snarls the last word and glares around at the assembled priests. Only one dares to venture a protest. "But ... but ... if we have no crowned King, who will lead us?" The High Priest turns on him with a wolfish smile. "Well, I daresay I can manage the government of our world for one day ... " He looks round at the silent figure of Drew. "Let our King be escorted to the Queen's Quarters. I daresay the servants will escort him to his chambers if the Queen's grief has prostrated all three of her manifestations." Drew is trying very hard not to think about anything right now. And is doing a very good job of it. Three of the younger priests advance and guide Drew gently to a screen door made of a intricately carved lattice. Very little can be seen beyond. The door is carefully opened, and a small square court containing a pretty garden is revealed. On the opposite side is a similar door. "There are the Queen's Quarters," says one of the priests. "We can go no further." He is very young, and he looks at Drew with pity as he urges him through the door. Then the door is closed, and Drew is left alone. Drew looks around for a moment, then sinks to the ground, sitting his back to a wall in the courtyard he draws his knees up to his chest, and rests his head against his knees. He can feel the tears streaming down his face, and his shoulders shaking. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It was a servant who brought the news. "There is a boy, crying, in the outer court." All this was laboriously signed to her. The Lady frowned. "How did he get there? Some kitchen boy, I suppose. He must be sent away before the Priests find him ... " She moved swiftly and silently through the Palace ... even the door slid silently open for her. She saw the crouched figure near the wall ... but she was half-way across the garden before she realised. She froze. The robes. The God King. She took a step backwards ,... another ... another. He did not see her as she moved like a ghost back into the Queen's Quarters. Back to the Hall of Mirrors and a thousand troubled Queens. "He is ... not what we expected." "Could he be the one?" A shrug, rippling in mirror after mirror ... and wave dying out on the shore. "Who can say?" "What shall we do?" "Our least threatening aspect." "Yes. But then wisdom." "Yes. Yes." A thousand heads nodded a slow agreement ... Five minutes later, a smaller figure, dressed in a simple white shift, opened the door from the Queen's Quarters and peeped out. She too saw the huddled figure, and she too moved silently towards it. But she did not hesitate half-way across. Instead she moved to the wall that lined the garden and perched there, her knees drawn up under her chin, looking down at the huddled figure in the rich robe. A young girl, just losing the childish plumpness and giving hint of the beauty that would one day be hers ... Her long hair was worn in two neat plaits, and she sat slightly awkwardly, as though she still had something of the tomboy ... barely contained in the new woman's body. She sat, and watched, and waited. Drew registers the presence, he is aware of it, he is even slightly embarrassed to be giving this display. It doesn't stop him though. He is beyond the point of caring what people think of him, and he knows he isn't even going to try to be a god for them, Ever. The girl sits still, pensive for a while, looking first at Drew and then out over the garden. At last she climbs down from the wall and walks across to him. She holds out a slightly dusty square of white material in a small hand with bitten nails. "Here," she says, a little gruffly. "I'm sorry it's not clean. I dusted my table with it this morning. But it's better than nothing." Without moving Drew says, "Listen, it's a nice thought and all, but whatever it is you want from me, I don't have it." His voice is surprisingly calm considering the emotions inside of him right now that are clawing their way up and out of him as best they can. "Please yourself," she said, and shrugged a shoulder. "I was just trying to be friendly. It seems to me you need all the friends you can get right now." He can hear from her voice that she is hurt. She moves away to lean on the wall, her back to him, and look at the garden. "Why? I'm going to be dead in a year, doesn't seem like there is much point in me doing anything." He says looking up at her, his large brown eyes glistening with tears, which have left a clean track running down his face. "Don't you agree?" She turns around and looks at him, her eyes wide and dark. "And I'm locked up here forever ... whether I want to be or not." She looks at him, as though considering something. "You really killed all those other men?" "Just one, and he was in pretty bad shape already when I got to him." He shrugs slightly, wondering where this is going. "Ah! That was clever!" For a second she sounds old beyond her years. Then she gives a wicked girlish giggle. "Mostly they just batter each other into the ground. Have you seen any of the God Kings? We call them the boneheads ..." "Yeah, anyone that would want to do this, is a bonehead." His tears are still flowing down his face, he reaches up to wipe them away with the edge of his hands. She shoves the handkerchief at him, almost impatiently. "Use this, idiot." She looks at him curiously. "So why'd you do it? I would have thought you'd be a priest-in-training." He bristles slightly, and takes the handkerchief, saying coldly "Don't ever call me an idiot again, do you understand?" His eyes are different as he says this, then they change back, to the large brown baby deer eyes of earlier, and he answers her question. "My Father cut one of my sister's fingers off each day until I agreed to do this. He wants the stipend that the family is sent if I won." She gasps, and looks down at her only shapely hands, marked with a few scratches, and at the fingers with their bitten nails. "That ... that's awful ..." She raises her head and looks at him. "Do you want him killed?" she asks simply. He shrugs slightly, then says "Would I like him killed? No. Would I like to kill him? Yes." She looked at him long and thoughtfully. "That could be arranged too. He could be brought here, in chains ... made to kneel in front of your throne. On all fours if you like. And then you could stab him, or run him through or cut off his head. You could pour oil over him and burn him if you want. Anything you want. For a year." Drew laughs slightly, then says "How old are you, really?" Even though the tone makes it a joke, something in the way he's looking at her says that his mind is working on something. She grins, a slightly crooked grin. "Everyone knows the Maid is sixteen." "They told me there were huge parties when I turned sixteen ... all over Jiniver. Caradon didn't think it was necessary to hold one here. Sides, who could have come?" She falls silent, brooding on this. "I didn't ask what everyone else knows though, now did I?" His tone is slowly changing, and his calculating intelligence is clearly written on his face. It's an interesting transformation to watch really. She stands up and dusts down her skirt. Suddenly she gives a little smile. "Perhaps you ought to talk to Grandma." "Whichever." He says, standing up, then looking down at himself. "Whoever thought of this has no style at all you know." She grins at him wickedly. "Well, you are King now. You can redesign it all if you wish. It will be better than most ... they just want to fight wars, and the High Priest has to spend all his time persuading them not to." She hesitated, then said, "But there is something else you could do ... " "You know, my Sister lost seven of her fingers." He pauses, seemingly considering something "I don't think you want me taking control. I can guarantee you wouldn't like it if I did." She turns away, her head lowered .... "I see. I'm sorry. We shall trouble you no more ... " She walks away along the cloister-like passage that edges the garden. At the door to the Queen's quarters she turns back and looks at him. "Will you at least talk to Grandma?" He stands there, looking at her knowing the words, knowing what they would sound like, what they would feel like, what they would do. And he wants to say them, he wants nothing more in the world than to say him. Just like when he watched his father take his Sister's fingers. He couldn't do it then though, and he can't say them now. The only answer she receives is a short nod, before he turns away, and begins inspecting the Garden. After twenty minutes she returns, quiet and composed, and walks round to stand beside him. "Grandma will see you now ... although she says you can have a shower first if you want." She smiles again. "She's also sent some clothes to your room ... she hopes they will do." Drew looks at her, then nods slightly, saying "That'll be fine." He looks at her, waiting for her to show him the way. He's finding his detachment again. She leads him through the matching wooden door to the Queen's Quarters, and at once he is conscious of a difference. Whereas the main palace was large and magnificently sombre, here all is light and colour .... the tiles on the floor are patterned, the wall decorated with mosaics. Soft silken curtains sway softly ..... dividing areas of the palace. Eventually she stops before a solid wooden door. "This is not where the Kings usually sleep," she says slowly. "But we thought you would like it best." She pushes open the door and he finds himself in a room simply and plainly furnished. Through the door on the far side is a simple bathroom with ... unbelievable luxury on Jiniver ... running water. On the bed he sees two simple plain shirts and pairs of trousers, one each in white and black, made simply but of coarse silk.. "I'll wait out here," she says, a little shyly, as she shows him the room. Drew begins pulling off the robes, saying as he does so "Whichever." he's down to the thong again as he heads over to the shower, not looking behind him. The Maid curls up on a bench opposite his room and waits. He strips down, out of his thong, and is in the shower quickly. The water feels good against his skin, washing away the dirt, the blood, and the grime. The water couldn't wash away the years though, or the pain. He wrapped his arms around himself, and cried, the noise of the water covering his sobs. It felt like he was screaming, though he knew he wasn't making any noise. The part of him that was calm, and collected, tried to analyze what was wrong with him, what made him feel this way. He realized suddenly, that he was dead, or just as good as dead. Style was really all that was left anymore. He collects himself, and finishes with the shower. He gets out, and wraps himself with a towel as he moves over to the bed, looking at his choice of clothing. The black was good. After dressing he came out of the room, looking for the Maid, dressed in the black silk. He catches her eye, and gives her a "now what?" look The Maid rose to her feet and gave him a quick, appraising look. Then she nodded, as if something had pleased her. She held out her hand. He looks at the hand, arching an eyebrow, then his face looks as if something has occurred to him. "I take it I have you also?" He says it as an honest question, no tone of mocking, or derision. She looks at him for a long moment. "My name is The Maid. It is forbidden until I am Lady." There is a strange note in her voice - it might almost be regret. "I am the king though, my word becomes law." That he does say, with quite a tone to it. He smiles slightly at the joke, then says, "Don't worry, I've ignored that part of me all my life, I'll probably die never having been with anyone, so you should be pretty safe." She looks at him, and then smiles. "I don't think you need to worry ... not if Grandma has her way." "Shall we meet her?" She leads him down two further corridors and then stops before another door. "I'll just let her know you are here," she says, and slips through the door, closing it behind her. Drew waits in the hall, wondering who he's going to meet next. After five minutes there is a call, in a low, beautifully modulated voice. "Come in, boy." Drew enters the room, wondering what's coming next. The room is furnished with rich and rare furniture. Exquisite paintings decorate the walls, apart from one wall which is lined with books. In the centre of the room is a small table, laid out with small appetizing snacks, and tea in the most delicate China bowls that Drew has ever seen. Behind the table sits the most beautiful woman Drew has ever seen. She must be older than his own mother, yet she has a calm serenity in her face, and an elegance in her whole appearance, from her carefully arranged hair to her manicured toes. She looks up with a smile as he comes into the room. "Ah, good. I trust the room and the clothes are to your satisfaction. Please have a seat. My grand-daughter, although accurate in her observations, sometimes overlooks things. I could call you "my King", but I think I would prefer to use your name. I am Areven. And you are ... " "Drew." He looks AT her, not turning his eyes away, or down. He looks into hers "It's very nice to meet you." She smiles at him. "And to meet you, Drew. Would you like some tea? I am sure you must be hungry." There is a giggly sound from behind a distant drape. She raises her voice, without turning her head and says firmly, "Run away, child. I shall talk to Drew now." There is the sound of sandalled feet on the floor and then a distant door behind the drapes closes. "If it is not too much trouble, yes please." Drew looks for a place to sit, that looks comfortable. There are several comfortable armchairs close to the table. She lets him choose the one he wants, then hands him a bowl of tea and a small plate for food. Drew sits down, and takes the plate. He waits for her to begin before he sips at his tea. Letting her speak before he does. She looks at him approvingly. It is a similar look to that the Maid gave him earlier. "Now," she says. "This is perhaps not a place you ever expected to find yourself. Do you have any questions?" "Not really, I'm going to be dead in a year, what's to ask?" he says quietly, sipping at the tea. She lifted the bowl to her lips and took a long sip. Then she spoke. "In the circumstances," she said calmly, "I would think 'How can I avoid being killed in a year's time?' would be a very good question to start with." |
