malapropism (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
malapropism) wrote2012-02-12 10:43 pm
malapropism) wrote2012-02-12 10:43 pm
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The heirs of Volacoeur were granted three unearthly gifts when they were chosen, and first of these was always, always the land. And indeed, the land was an unearthly thing; there were plants that spoke with the voices of people and with the mind of the land, buildings that breathed and sighed and grew from the land like unnatural crops, forests that cut and shattered and drank blood like steel blades, thick with such an infinity that they ended only in Death's country; the soil and woods and mists were still stained red with the blood of the gods, drawn in the old wars that forged the universe. The land granted itself, appointed its own kings and queens, and none thought to disobey its choices. In this way Volacoeur had prospered for centuries upon unknown centuries, and Faure respected the wishes of his land as dutifully as the legions of royalty that came before him. The land had borne his first wife, a woman of unsurpassed beauty and wit, and when she returned to the land he grieved bitterly but his gratitude grew that he had been allowed the chance to love such a singular creature, and that his son remained.
Young prince Lysandro, however, suffered for the loss of his mother, and Faure decided to search for a new queen. Noblewomen and commoner girls alike flocked to his palace, and every night he entertained, throwing parties as lavish and soulless as the women who inevitably fell upon him. It stopped becoming about Lysandro altogether eventually, and Faure wondered if there was a single person in his realm who made it worthy of protection.
On one such night, the king abandoned his ballroom for the woods, hoping for peace, but the sight he was presented with gave him none. There, in a small alcove, sat two people, a man and woman more vision than flesh. She was the loveliest woman the King had ever seen, with eyes that glittered like the sea at dawn, a smile that was rosy and honest, a curtain of golden hair that shone with captured sunlight, and skin as pale as summer clouds. She was easy-natured and simple, and the King loved her immediately and feverishly. Though she was fae, and he had been warned of the inherent evil of their kind, he married her without regret or hesitation. She had cried at their wedding, and the King smiled, thinking it was joy. She bore him a son, as beautiful as the mother, as graceless as the father, and cleverer than either of them, and on his naming day the land granted its loyalty to him, briar roses guarding his cradle and a skyhound sleeping at his hind. Three of the mother's sisters were to come grant the boy ethereal gifts, and Faure wondered if, even with six unearthly gifts, his boy or any king after him would ever be as blessed.
They named their boy Valentio, a name that meant charisma and joy, and as time passed it was obvious he'd been named well; but as the young prince grew, the King suspected that, though he had been present for his son's birth, christening, and name days, and indeed might always be there for him, he would never have been with him at the one moment that defined the worth of everything else - his conception. The oceanic blue eyes Valentio inherited - so it was said - from his mother began to resemble the stormier hued gaze of that mysterious stranger from the forest, and the dark blond down of his hair came from neither mother nor father. Where there had been only affection before, whenever the King looked at his bright son, he heard only the words of the woman who had crashed the christening; "The joke is on you, your grace, because all the gifts of this day will one day be stolen by hate! Your son will suffer, that is my gift, and one day you'll like it above any sort of hollow, glittering trifle!"
By the day Valentio turned seven, Faure could only see his wife's infidelity and unhappiness when he looked at the boy he'd called his son. They called Faure sage, an indomitable force of intellect, but a child had made a fool of him, and that would never do.
Young prince Lysandro, however, suffered for the loss of his mother, and Faure decided to search for a new queen. Noblewomen and commoner girls alike flocked to his palace, and every night he entertained, throwing parties as lavish and soulless as the women who inevitably fell upon him. It stopped becoming about Lysandro altogether eventually, and Faure wondered if there was a single person in his realm who made it worthy of protection.
On one such night, the king abandoned his ballroom for the woods, hoping for peace, but the sight he was presented with gave him none. There, in a small alcove, sat two people, a man and woman more vision than flesh. She was the loveliest woman the King had ever seen, with eyes that glittered like the sea at dawn, a smile that was rosy and honest, a curtain of golden hair that shone with captured sunlight, and skin as pale as summer clouds. She was easy-natured and simple, and the King loved her immediately and feverishly. Though she was fae, and he had been warned of the inherent evil of their kind, he married her without regret or hesitation. She had cried at their wedding, and the King smiled, thinking it was joy. She bore him a son, as beautiful as the mother, as graceless as the father, and cleverer than either of them, and on his naming day the land granted its loyalty to him, briar roses guarding his cradle and a skyhound sleeping at his hind. Three of the mother's sisters were to come grant the boy ethereal gifts, and Faure wondered if, even with six unearthly gifts, his boy or any king after him would ever be as blessed.
They named their boy Valentio, a name that meant charisma and joy, and as time passed it was obvious he'd been named well; but as the young prince grew, the King suspected that, though he had been present for his son's birth, christening, and name days, and indeed might always be there for him, he would never have been with him at the one moment that defined the worth of everything else - his conception. The oceanic blue eyes Valentio inherited - so it was said - from his mother began to resemble the stormier hued gaze of that mysterious stranger from the forest, and the dark blond down of his hair came from neither mother nor father. Where there had been only affection before, whenever the King looked at his bright son, he heard only the words of the woman who had crashed the christening; "The joke is on you, your grace, because all the gifts of this day will one day be stolen by hate! Your son will suffer, that is my gift, and one day you'll like it above any sort of hollow, glittering trifle!"
By the day Valentio turned seven, Faure could only see his wife's infidelity and unhappiness when he looked at the boy he'd called his son. They called Faure sage, an indomitable force of intellect, but a child had made a fool of him, and that would never do.