Post by indifferentred on Apr 6, 2015 3:27:22 GMT 10
Series: Two Steps Forward (Yazmín/Vedris)
Title: The Road Less Travelled
Rating: PG-13
Event: AU Archery
Competition: Decathlon
Words: 521
Summary: What if Yazmín had decided to stay in Yanjing and dance for the Emperor? Warnings for sexual suggestiveness, character death and use of a misogynistic slur. I use the Chinese word 'Nǚshì' (a title which can be used for an older, single woman) here as the Yanjingyi way of addressing Yazmín. Somehow, 'Xiǎojiě' (the rough equivalent of 'Miss', used for unmarried women) didn't seem quite appropriate for her.
“His Imperial Majesty is pleased with your presence, Nǚshì Hebet,” the nameless court official tells her over tea. “He would have you stay permanently.” He pauses, and then adds, “I have been instructed to offer you twenty thousand Chammuri chams for the year.”
Yazmín hesitates, careful to keep her face perfectly expressionless. The Emperor, with his chilling mix of charm and sadism, nauseates her. Does she really want to be tied to this man’s service? Oddly enough, it is her father’s voice, angry and spiteful, that she recalls in that moment. “Fine! Do as you wish! A dancer? A slut, more like!”
Twenty thousand chams. It is more than she has ever earned - or ever had the prospect of earning - in her life before. Even the King in Aliput, who had wanted to buy her body rather than her dancing skill, had not offered so much. She is shockingly tempted.
Where would she go, if she left Yanjing? She isn’t even sure if he would permit her to leave, now.
At last, she rises and bows, Yanjingyi-style. “His Imperial Majesty honours me with his generosity,” she murmurs quietly. “Please, tell him that I accept. Xièxie.”
If Yazmín Hebet were the sort of woman who had regrets, she would regret this. She stays at the Yanjingyi court, and takes the Emperor’s money, and dances for hours at a time for his pleasure - dances until her legs tremble and her feet bleed and there is no joy left in it anymore - and watches him tear beautiful, innocent Gyongxe apart with steel and cruelty… and one day she finds herself lying alone in her bed, weeping for the aching, empty loneliness that has somehow taken root in her heart.
The Duke of Emelan is buried in his paperwork; this isn’t unusual, but it is certainly something that will earn him three separate scoldings from his niece, his seneschal and his healer - especially given the late hour.
The second heart attack in the space of as many years struck him unawares three weeks ago, and he shouldn’t even be out of bed yet… but since when has ‘shouldn’t’ kept him from his duty?
Besides, what else is there? Sandry lives with him permanently now, but she should - and does - have her own life. If Ysabela were still alive, it might be different… but with his life as it is, work is always preferable to an empty dining table, an empty sitting room, and an empty bed.
He shakes his head over the ledgers in front of him. Sandry and Erdo keep telling him that the Chancellor of the Exchequer is perfectly accomplished at making sure the books balance, but he isn’t happy unless he’s been through them all himself as well. Right now, however, it is very warm all of a sudden and he can’t focus on the numbers. They’re dancing before his eyes - and then a splintering pain stabs up his left arm, just as it has done before; he grunts in pain… and slumps over his desk.
By the time Erdo finds him the next morning, he is cold and long gone.
Title: The Road Less Travelled
Rating: PG-13
Event: AU Archery
Competition: Decathlon
Words: 521
Summary: What if Yazmín had decided to stay in Yanjing and dance for the Emperor? Warnings for sexual suggestiveness, character death and use of a misogynistic slur. I use the Chinese word 'Nǚshì' (a title which can be used for an older, single woman) here as the Yanjingyi way of addressing Yazmín. Somehow, 'Xiǎojiě' (the rough equivalent of 'Miss', used for unmarried women) didn't seem quite appropriate for her.
“His Imperial Majesty is pleased with your presence, Nǚshì Hebet,” the nameless court official tells her over tea. “He would have you stay permanently.” He pauses, and then adds, “I have been instructed to offer you twenty thousand Chammuri chams for the year.”
Yazmín hesitates, careful to keep her face perfectly expressionless. The Emperor, with his chilling mix of charm and sadism, nauseates her. Does she really want to be tied to this man’s service? Oddly enough, it is her father’s voice, angry and spiteful, that she recalls in that moment. “Fine! Do as you wish! A dancer? A slut, more like!”
Twenty thousand chams. It is more than she has ever earned - or ever had the prospect of earning - in her life before. Even the King in Aliput, who had wanted to buy her body rather than her dancing skill, had not offered so much. She is shockingly tempted.
Where would she go, if she left Yanjing? She isn’t even sure if he would permit her to leave, now.
At last, she rises and bows, Yanjingyi-style. “His Imperial Majesty honours me with his generosity,” she murmurs quietly. “Please, tell him that I accept. Xièxie.”
If Yazmín Hebet were the sort of woman who had regrets, she would regret this. She stays at the Yanjingyi court, and takes the Emperor’s money, and dances for hours at a time for his pleasure - dances until her legs tremble and her feet bleed and there is no joy left in it anymore - and watches him tear beautiful, innocent Gyongxe apart with steel and cruelty… and one day she finds herself lying alone in her bed, weeping for the aching, empty loneliness that has somehow taken root in her heart.
The Duke of Emelan is buried in his paperwork; this isn’t unusual, but it is certainly something that will earn him three separate scoldings from his niece, his seneschal and his healer - especially given the late hour.
The second heart attack in the space of as many years struck him unawares three weeks ago, and he shouldn’t even be out of bed yet… but since when has ‘shouldn’t’ kept him from his duty?
Besides, what else is there? Sandry lives with him permanently now, but she should - and does - have her own life. If Ysabela were still alive, it might be different… but with his life as it is, work is always preferable to an empty dining table, an empty sitting room, and an empty bed.
He shakes his head over the ledgers in front of him. Sandry and Erdo keep telling him that the Chancellor of the Exchequer is perfectly accomplished at making sure the books balance, but he isn’t happy unless he’s been through them all himself as well. Right now, however, it is very warm all of a sudden and he can’t focus on the numbers. They’re dancing before his eyes - and then a splintering pain stabs up his left arm, just as it has done before; he grunts in pain… and slumps over his desk.
By the time Erdo finds him the next morning, he is cold and long gone.