Tiskul steps through the crowd a little shakily, eyes still a tad glassy from yesterday. It wasn't bad- she'd seen worse, a little accidental murder shouldn't affect her like this. But she can't shake the feeling of her own hands clasped around her skull, mouth moving of it's own accord.
It felt different, saying it out loud. It felt worse.
She shouldn't relax, when she sees Cora's tall frame resting in a patch of sun, eating peacefully. But she still does, just a little, and winds closer.
'Cora.'
Cora sets the bowl down hastily, scrambling to her feet, and beckons Tiskul over to yet another panel. Not really what she had in mind, but against her own judgement, Tiskul follows her.
The first thing she notices is the colour. The first piece had been something softer, honeyed and evenly blended. The second had been... red. Blood-red and soaking.
This piece was pure gold.
No piece she had seen so far, not even in the artisans tent, embodied light as much as this panel, not so far. It shines impossibly bright, panels interlocking black-and-yellow, and Tiskul gasps silently at how tiny each panel was. It must have taken months to put together. The amount of dedication behind it- it was unimaginable. The first panel had been a labor of love. But this? This spoke of power.
And it felt like triumph. Tiskul turned to Cora once more, eyes already unfocusing, and smiled. Her ever-present shakes since the last day had finally ceased.
'This story is nicer.'
She took a deep breath, and started to speak.
'The artist isn't important, in this one. No single hand crafted this. The size of the individual shards are clue enough of that- what one dragon has the time to create something like this? No, this was a kings idea, and his servants work.'
'And the king... was almost not one. Third place, third son, third chosen. In times of war, perhaps, he may have ascended the throne, but not in times of peace. The crown was not his to take, but he wanted it. He wanted to serve his people, to guard a nation.'
Tiskul chuckles. She doesn't seem to be thinking of the king of the story when her eyes shine with affection.
'A protective heart, then. With just enough wisdom to keep it safe.'
'But he knew nothing short of a tragedy would ever see him on the throne. And he didn't want one. If to ascend would cost his brother's lives, then he didn't want to see the day, even as longing clawed at his chest. He threw himself into his studies, instead. Pored over texts glowing with an ancient power, golden runes etched into the covers. It wasn't long before he carved a place as the kings advisor, their right hand man, a position that no one could say he hadn't earned. Still second, but no longer third. It was enough.'
'The tragedy he feared never came to pass. But to the realm, they still lost their king. He lost heart. The work of a king is hard, aching work. And he had never chosen it. Born first, and he was the first of his line to step down. He claimed he had been visited by a glowing beast in the night, a disk of golden yellow in a sea of night, that had spat bitter, vitriolic words at him. Told him that a true king would not feel so much fatigue, so much longing for another life. But he never spoke of it too loudly. Better a traitor than a madman.'
'His brother left his books, just for a little while, and welcomed him with open arms. Heard his stories of heartache and horror, the burden that had lifted from him when he passed the mantle to the second brother.'
'And he went back to his studies, trying desperately not to wish for a second miracle. For the beast to come again. '
'The second brother became king. He was a good king, fuelled by passion for a title he never thought he would be able to bear without back-breaking grief. For a time.
Tiskul grins again, a sharp smile with too many teeth and not enough modesty to hide them.
'The third brother continued to read. He spent most of his time in the library, and the servants grew to love him more than any other king. He alone treated the books with reverence, placing each back in their proper place with utmost care. There was one he favoured more than others- a heavy book, carved with the same ancient rune as when his eldest brother first sat the throne.'
'It was the only thing the librarians could not understand. They had only seen the rune a scattering of times- every time on books with immense power. But now the rune seemed to be everywhere. Books that they once swore were blank now lit as the third brother passed by them, each time making him stop and gently pull them out.'
'But they shrugged their shoulders. It caused no harm to the books. The rune always seemed to fade. It was no more peculiar than the third brother's habit of whispering a soft thanks every time he placed a book back on it's shelf.'
'As the third brother spoke to his books, the second brother never tired. He was a steady king- the steadiest the realm had seen in years. He endured with a quiet fortitude in a way that made the townsfolk speak of him with reverence, as if he was a martyred angel.'
'Then, one night, he ran to the third brothers room. Startled at the knocking so late in the night, the third brother opened his door, and caught him in his arms as he fell, weeping. He spoke of the same beast as the first brother. It had visited him each night for months, firing barbs at him as he tried to defend himself. Each time it returned it grew more frustrated, and he grew more desolate. But he had remained strong, and given no quarter.'
'That night was the first time it had tried kindness, stepped closer, and rested one heavy paw on his shoulder.'
'And asked him if he thought all kings wished they had never been born.'
'The second king stepped down, and the third rose, that night.'
'The coronation was swift and startling. For one king to step down was unheard of. For two to step down, back to back, was something indescribable.'
'And as the third king stared at the throne that was now his, something walked to meet him. A towering beast with the face of an owl and runes scattered across it's body, it glowed with a familiar golden light.'
Tiskul's grin widens as her eyes slowly lose their glassy sheen.
'I wonder if he ever thanked the beast for the book recommendations? Or if he chewed it out for traumatising his brothers first?'
She eyes the bowl in Cora's hands hungrily.
'And, what is it that you ordered?'
It felt different, saying it out loud. It felt worse.
She shouldn't relax, when she sees Cora's tall frame resting in a patch of sun, eating peacefully. But she still does, just a little, and winds closer.
'Cora.'
Cora sets the bowl down hastily, scrambling to her feet, and beckons Tiskul over to yet another panel. Not really what she had in mind, but against her own judgement, Tiskul follows her.
The first thing she notices is the colour. The first piece had been something softer, honeyed and evenly blended. The second had been... red. Blood-red and soaking.
This piece was pure gold.
No piece she had seen so far, not even in the artisans tent, embodied light as much as this panel, not so far. It shines impossibly bright, panels interlocking black-and-yellow, and Tiskul gasps silently at how tiny each panel was. It must have taken months to put together. The amount of dedication behind it- it was unimaginable. The first panel had been a labor of love. But this? This spoke of power.
And it felt like triumph. Tiskul turned to Cora once more, eyes already unfocusing, and smiled. Her ever-present shakes since the last day had finally ceased.
'This story is nicer.'
She took a deep breath, and started to speak.
'The artist isn't important, in this one. No single hand crafted this. The size of the individual shards are clue enough of that- what one dragon has the time to create something like this? No, this was a kings idea, and his servants work.'
'And the king... was almost not one. Third place, third son, third chosen. In times of war, perhaps, he may have ascended the throne, but not in times of peace. The crown was not his to take, but he wanted it. He wanted to serve his people, to guard a nation.'
Tiskul chuckles. She doesn't seem to be thinking of the king of the story when her eyes shine with affection.
'A protective heart, then. With just enough wisdom to keep it safe.'
'But he knew nothing short of a tragedy would ever see him on the throne. And he didn't want one. If to ascend would cost his brother's lives, then he didn't want to see the day, even as longing clawed at his chest. He threw himself into his studies, instead. Pored over texts glowing with an ancient power, golden runes etched into the covers. It wasn't long before he carved a place as the kings advisor, their right hand man, a position that no one could say he hadn't earned. Still second, but no longer third. It was enough.'
'The tragedy he feared never came to pass. But to the realm, they still lost their king. He lost heart. The work of a king is hard, aching work. And he had never chosen it. Born first, and he was the first of his line to step down. He claimed he had been visited by a glowing beast in the night, a disk of golden yellow in a sea of night, that had spat bitter, vitriolic words at him. Told him that a true king would not feel so much fatigue, so much longing for another life. But he never spoke of it too loudly. Better a traitor than a madman.'
'His brother left his books, just for a little while, and welcomed him with open arms. Heard his stories of heartache and horror, the burden that had lifted from him when he passed the mantle to the second brother.'
'And he went back to his studies, trying desperately not to wish for a second miracle. For the beast to come again. '
'The second brother became king. He was a good king, fuelled by passion for a title he never thought he would be able to bear without back-breaking grief. For a time.
Tiskul grins again, a sharp smile with too many teeth and not enough modesty to hide them.
'The third brother continued to read. He spent most of his time in the library, and the servants grew to love him more than any other king. He alone treated the books with reverence, placing each back in their proper place with utmost care. There was one he favoured more than others- a heavy book, carved with the same ancient rune as when his eldest brother first sat the throne.'
'It was the only thing the librarians could not understand. They had only seen the rune a scattering of times- every time on books with immense power. But now the rune seemed to be everywhere. Books that they once swore were blank now lit as the third brother passed by them, each time making him stop and gently pull them out.'
'But they shrugged their shoulders. It caused no harm to the books. The rune always seemed to fade. It was no more peculiar than the third brother's habit of whispering a soft thanks every time he placed a book back on it's shelf.'
'As the third brother spoke to his books, the second brother never tired. He was a steady king- the steadiest the realm had seen in years. He endured with a quiet fortitude in a way that made the townsfolk speak of him with reverence, as if he was a martyred angel.'
'Then, one night, he ran to the third brothers room. Startled at the knocking so late in the night, the third brother opened his door, and caught him in his arms as he fell, weeping. He spoke of the same beast as the first brother. It had visited him each night for months, firing barbs at him as he tried to defend himself. Each time it returned it grew more frustrated, and he grew more desolate. But he had remained strong, and given no quarter.'
'That night was the first time it had tried kindness, stepped closer, and rested one heavy paw on his shoulder.'
'And asked him if he thought all kings wished they had never been born.'
'The second king stepped down, and the third rose, that night.'
'The coronation was swift and startling. For one king to step down was unheard of. For two to step down, back to back, was something indescribable.'
'And as the third king stared at the throne that was now his, something walked to meet him. A towering beast with the face of an owl and runes scattered across it's body, it glowed with a familiar golden light.'
Tiskul's grin widens as her eyes slowly lose their glassy sheen.
'I wonder if he ever thanked the beast for the book recommendations? Or if he chewed it out for traumatising his brothers first?'
She eyes the bowl in Cora's hands hungrily.
'And, what is it that you ordered?'
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