[Challenge 001] Truth Told Slant
Title: Truth Told Slant
Game: Monshou no Nazo
Word Count: 500 (not counting the title)
Characters: Marth/Caeda
Warnings: Angst, I guess. Spoilers for the end of FE3, in a sense. Post-game, so it doesn't really spoil the storyline any, just where characters end up.
It no longer hurt him, or even surprised him, when he heard the whispers from the street. Power-hungry. Drunk on ambition. Another tyrant in the making. Of course some still believed it; after a year and more of lies that filled the air like a cloud of poison, every subject of the realm had breathed in sedition, and some of them thoughtlessly breathed it back out. How could he blame these people, to whom he was but a name, when men who fought at his side believed those same lies? He might pay an army of heralds to march through the streets of every village and shout his good intentions, but his word still counted for nothing. The people—his people—would accept him only when they saw for themselves that his laws were fair and applied equally, that his justice was neither harsh or arbitrary, and that the peace and security he promised them truly came to pass.
All this he could tolerate; he could win over their hearts, given time. He could not endure the things they said about his wife.
First, the underhanded compliments. Backwater princess, so sweet despite her lack of culture. Such rustic island charm, such refreshing simplicity. Such an unusual upbringing. Then, the segue into true slander: how odd to have a young girl following around a pack of armed men, without even the excuse of being a fully-fledged knight! There were no knights in Talys—just volunteers and mercenaries. Oh, yes, the mercenaries. Her Majesty was so very fond of them, was she not? Fond of handsome swordmasters with dark good looks and dark histories. Fond of scoundrels who skirted the ragged edge of the law. And what of that muscle-bound retainer of hers with the interesting scars, the one who disappeared so suddenly after the war? Strange how a number of Her Majesty’s more colorful acquaintances disappeared rather suddenly.
He did not consider himself a vengeful man—any number of former adversaries might bear witness to that—but these vicious bits of gossip made a red haze swim before his eyes. When the haze receded, it left him in a state of gray despair.
Once the mob crowned a woman as their harlot, no means on earth might sway that judgment. He could tell that army of paid heralds to proclaim Caeda’s virtue, and hear in return a chorus of jeers. He might pass new laws-- and enforce the old ones-- forbidding any to speak ill of the queen, and it would appear a tacit admission of guilt. He might put Caeda on display, send her on a goodwill tour so that the whisperers might see her sweetness, her grace, her bravery and devotion, and the whisperers would merely say, “Ah, the backwater princess cleaned up nicely. Had you only seen her before….”
“It doesn’t matter, my love.” Her breath was warm on his cheek. “I promised you I would bear anything. Any hardship.”
And still he felt guilty.
Game: Monshou no Nazo
Word Count: 500 (not counting the title)
Characters: Marth/Caeda
Warnings: Angst, I guess. Spoilers for the end of FE3, in a sense. Post-game, so it doesn't really spoil the storyline any, just where characters end up.
It no longer hurt him, or even surprised him, when he heard the whispers from the street. Power-hungry. Drunk on ambition. Another tyrant in the making. Of course some still believed it; after a year and more of lies that filled the air like a cloud of poison, every subject of the realm had breathed in sedition, and some of them thoughtlessly breathed it back out. How could he blame these people, to whom he was but a name, when men who fought at his side believed those same lies? He might pay an army of heralds to march through the streets of every village and shout his good intentions, but his word still counted for nothing. The people—his people—would accept him only when they saw for themselves that his laws were fair and applied equally, that his justice was neither harsh or arbitrary, and that the peace and security he promised them truly came to pass.
All this he could tolerate; he could win over their hearts, given time. He could not endure the things they said about his wife.
First, the underhanded compliments. Backwater princess, so sweet despite her lack of culture. Such rustic island charm, such refreshing simplicity. Such an unusual upbringing. Then, the segue into true slander: how odd to have a young girl following around a pack of armed men, without even the excuse of being a fully-fledged knight! There were no knights in Talys—just volunteers and mercenaries. Oh, yes, the mercenaries. Her Majesty was so very fond of them, was she not? Fond of handsome swordmasters with dark good looks and dark histories. Fond of scoundrels who skirted the ragged edge of the law. And what of that muscle-bound retainer of hers with the interesting scars, the one who disappeared so suddenly after the war? Strange how a number of Her Majesty’s more colorful acquaintances disappeared rather suddenly.
He did not consider himself a vengeful man—any number of former adversaries might bear witness to that—but these vicious bits of gossip made a red haze swim before his eyes. When the haze receded, it left him in a state of gray despair.
Once the mob crowned a woman as their harlot, no means on earth might sway that judgment. He could tell that army of paid heralds to proclaim Caeda’s virtue, and hear in return a chorus of jeers. He might pass new laws-- and enforce the old ones-- forbidding any to speak ill of the queen, and it would appear a tacit admission of guilt. He might put Caeda on display, send her on a goodwill tour so that the whisperers might see her sweetness, her grace, her bravery and devotion, and the whisperers would merely say, “Ah, the backwater princess cleaned up nicely. Had you only seen her before….”
“It doesn’t matter, my love.” Her breath was warm on his cheek. “I promised you I would bear anything. Any hardship.”
And still he felt guilty.