Awkward Attraction [Angmor]

[Ze Flying Wraithetti Monstress]

I was floating.

Few things were as relaxing as a warm bath, and I truly came to appreciate that now. I lay completely submerged in the stone tub, eyes closed, my heartbeat so slow it almost felt like I was in a deep, never-waking sleep. My troubles completely disappeared, replaced by contentment so deep that I never wanted to resurface. I didn’t have to worry about running out of air- besides elves’ heightened ability to hold their breath, I was so peaceful that I didn’t think I would need air again. However, something was off. I felt something like an irritating buzzing, almost loud enough to hear. I frowned, trying to ignore it, but it wouldn’t go away. It repeated itself over and over and over again. As I listened, I began to realize that it sounded like my name. The peace receded as I began to wonder and worry about what the sound might be. And then, out of the blue, a pale hand shot into the water, grabbing me viciously by the arm. I was violently yanked out into the freezing air.

“There you are!” Lakhesis wrapped her arms around me and pulled me out, causing me to stagger as the chill hit my bare body. “You’re late. The Whore wants to dress you up, and Miss Intellectual has to give you your schedule.”

Shivering, I allowed Lakhesis to wrap a towel around me and half-drag, half-carry me out of the powder room and into my bedchambers proper. There, Aisa was rooting through my wardrobe, while Klotho stood glaring out the window. She rounded on me when Lakhesis pushed me into the room, and I resignedly awaited my fate. Today, I was to meet Kyemen Straethir, the Varden’s oldest and most powerful Rider besides, of course, Eragon Shadeslayer. However, he had been banished from Du Weldenvarden long before achieving fame, his name wiped from every record, and so I didn’t know anything about him except from word of mouth. We were to discuss the trade deal between the elves and Surda. In reality, I had a sneaking suspicion that Islanzadí just wanted me to glean information off of Straethir, which terrified me. I couldn’t lie, especially not to a Rider.

“Let’s begin, child,” said Klotho snappily, seating herself in an ornate wooden chair and pulling out a scroll. My towel was removed by Aisa, and she began to dress me. I stood with my arms out, feeling anxious. “At noon, you are to take lunch with Kyemen Straethir and discuss with him the trade relations between Surda and Du Weldenvarden. At three o‘clock, you will be meeting with some army officers for discussion on the invasion of Ceunon. At six o’clock, you will eat dinner with King Orrin. At eight o’clock, you will have your daily-”
“Eep!” Aisa was brutal in brushing a particular knot out of my hair. “Okay, but tell me about Kyemen Straethir. He’s first, isn’t he?”
“Straethir…” Klotho leaned backwards, deep in thought. “He was banished shortly before you were born. Wanted to see the world. His family didn’t take it too well, figuring they’d lost their son, and forbade him from ever returning. Naturally, you’ll take care not to mention it once you meet him, if you want him to like you at all.” I nodded. “His dragon, Sierthra, is known for her volatile temper. However, she probably won’t be present.” I would have fallen over from relief if Aisa wasn’t squeezing me into a corset just then. Meeting a dragon would kill me. “Though you are supposed to talk about the trade, Islanzadí wants you to pick up on… certain things.”
“What… things?” I asked.
“How he speaks, acts, his thoughts on Du Weldenvarden… him, basically.”
“Isn’t that a bit…”
“Underhanded? She is the Queen, and she’s unhappy that one of the greatest Riders alive isn’t fighting for her side. You must obey matters such as this if you’re going to be one of her Councillors. You’re on thin ice either way.”
“Done.”

I glanced down at myself. A full-length, off-the-shoulder white gown embroidered with silver vines and roses had been slipped onto me. Tight at the top thanks to my corset and poofy at the bottom due to the whalebone frame, the heavy underskirt had been covered by a gossamer overskirt that gave the entire outfit a light, airy look. My wavy blonde hair had been carefully brushed, and now Aisa was drying it off with magically-created hot wind. I slipped my feet into a pair of glass slippers that would have made Cinderella jealous, and waited for my makeup. Clear gloss to moisten my lips and pigments for my skin to hide my tired eyes were expertly applied by Aisa, while my eyes were dusted with shocking blue mineral powders and lighter blue kohl. Finally, oils to lengthen my eyelashes were added. Aisa spun me around and touched me up a bit before stepping away with a satisfied grunt.

“Right, then. Off you go! Your father’s waiting,” said Aisa sharply.
“Daddy’s here?” I said, excited.
“Daddy? Are you fifty years old?” snapped Lakhesis.
“Sorry. I’m off.” I smiled and bowed. “Thank you, girls.”

I abandoned my bedchambers and scurried down the spiral stairs of Borromeo Castle, panting softly. It was slow going, as I often had to screech to a stop to greet discerning Surdan nobles before continuing on my way. My father was likely lost in one of King Orrin’s many libraries, either complaining about the lack of proper reading or burying his nose in the Surdan king’s scientific notes. Luckily, the nearest library was only a short distance from the private dining hall where I was to eat with Kyemen. I reached the bottom of the steps after a few grievous minutes, and bolted towards the library. After slipping past several indifferent guards, I found myself in a grand room- grand, at least, for a human castle. It never failed to compare to my father’s libraries. The rows and shelves of books were mostly uninhabited except for a scholar or two, who I quickly avoided. They tended to bombard me with questions about the elves. After squirming through the tightly packed rows, I heard the tell-tale tone of my father losing his temper.

“… and you can tell your king that phosphorus does not explode when it comes into contact with the water! In fact, it is kept in water to keep from exploding! What kind of a lab is Orrin running in here?”
“Lord Gorgophone, sir…”
“And that vacuum! That isn’t supposed to be discovered for another eight hundred years!”
“Sir…”
“Why, just ask Evangelista Torricelli…”
“Daddy?”
“Ah!” Daddy turned away from the scholar he’d just been yelling at, leaning against the wall. “There you are, my dear! Why don’t you tell this quack…”
“We have lunch with Kyemen Straethir, Daddy.”
“Eh? Who’s that?”
“… the Rider?”
“Huh? The toilet repairman? Where has he been lately?”
I took his arm. “Let’s go have lunch, Daddy.”
“Ehh, I am feeling a little peckish…”

My father hadn’t been the same since he’d fallen ill with the Taint. Though it had been purged from his body, he was now so weak that he only had a few more years at the most. He’d also been sorely infected with senility, which didn’t serve him well in Islanzadí’s Council. I carefully led him out of the maze of bookshelves and out of the library, calmly replying to any blabbering comment he made about the terrible infrastructure of Borromeo Castle or the good old days of the Age of Riders, or how much I looked like my mother. I had gotten used to it by now. I quietly led him into the narrow hallway leading to the more private estates of the nobles residing at the castle, seeing the dining hall up ahead. I brushed down my dress, then turned to my father and did my best to smooth out the wrinkled fabric of his embroidered black tunic. Then, inhaling deeply, I headed towards the door, opening it with a creak.

Kyemen Straethir was sitting at the far end of the huge redwood table in the centre of the room. His dragon was not present, as Klotho had guessed, but she could be just outside, or in hiding. Could dragons turn invisible? I didn’t know. Besides the table, there were about twenty matching redwood chairs and various tapestries decorating the stone walls. Mostly, they were portraits of Orrin and his father, Larkin, but also images of battle when Surda seceded from the Empire. Straethir glanced up at me calmly before giving a faint smile, at which I realized that I was in the same room as a centuries-old Dragon Rider. Overwhelmed, I shoved the door open all the way, nearly collapsing as I scurried to bow to him. As such, I almost slammed my head on the floor.

“You don’t have to do that, Ambassador,” said Straethir abruptly, rising to his feet. “Really…” He strode over to me, offering a hand.
“YOU!” I shrieked, making him go wide-eyed and jump back a step. “You’re a Dragon Rider! You’re Kyemen Straethir! AAH!”
“Ah, you must be my daughter’s toilet repairman!” My father gripped Kyemen’s hand and shook it heartily. “What a fine young lad… lamb?”
“Kaimenstraytheer!” I squealed. “Kaimenstraytheer!”

Words;; 1555 XD
Muse;; Really weirdish...
Thoughts;; It's all kinda boring except for the very end, cause that's when Euryale is out of her element. XD

[Angmor]

At certain times of life, the best way to deal with a situation was with a certain level of detachment. A sort of mental step back, as it were, to consider implications with a sort of clinical clarity, as if the described event had actually happened a long time ago and you are just studying the details. Kyemen found that this happened to him most often in combat. In the middle of a fight, he could never remember thinking much of anything, as if he had been a disinterested third party looking over his shoulder, wondering with a sort of calm curiosity how it would turn out. Apparently, he also did it when levels of bewilderment and confusion reached saturation levels. Now, faced with a disturbingly young elven ambassador who appeared to be going into hysterics while repeatedly screaming his name, having his hand shaken heartily by a much older elf who seemed to think he was there to fix some plumbing feature, he found himself switching out of the moment, taking that mental step back. He watched the scene in front of him as if it was happening to someone else, waiting for the world to return to some state of normality before he made any kind of move. Well, here we are again, you and I.

[/Color] He thought to himself. So... How did we get here?[/Color]

It had started out like any normal day. Or at least, as normal as it had been the past few. Less than a week ago, he had been a peace summit in Feinster getting blown up, shot at, hit with swords, and just generally having a bad day. He was still in the healing process from that one, usually feeling drained and exhausted by the energy expenditure it had taken to repair the permanent damage to his body. After that whole fiasco, Nasuada had slung him his own set of bodyguards and demoted him to the level of a seat-warmer. For the past few days, he had sat through more meetings, signed more papers, and inspected more troops than he could ever begin to count, without any sign of it stopping any time soon. Most of it was a blur for him, but Sierthra was just about ready to kill something out of sheer boredom. And then, that morning, Nasuada had informed him that he was going to be in a negotiation. Apparently, she wanted him to brush up on his diplomacy, and this trade deal with the elves would be a great way for him to do it. He supposed the slightly malicious expression on her face when she'd said it should have clued him in, but at the time he had been too busy being nervous about it to notice. He might not have been very in tune with elven culture, but he knew that any even halfway decent elven negotiator could whip his diplomatically untrained backside and wring concession after concession out of him while he sobbed brokenly in a corner. But Nasuada was adamant, as per usual, and he would do it regardless.

The first difficulty had been clothing. After all, having never owned more than three changes of the same outfit for most of his life, his wardrobe was rather limited. He liked it that way, never having to get up in the morning and worry about how he would look. Up until now, he had been cut quite a bit of slack on that point, being allowed to wear his normal grey tunic and pants to many formal events and gatherings. But now, apparently, that slack had run out. He had been very specifically ordered to dress formally for this negotiation, which to him was almost as daunting a process as the event itself, considering he was about as fashion-conscious as the average pig farmer. This was remedied however when he made a fortuitous find among the piles of gifts from the people of the Varden that had lain untouched in his quarters for almost two years. Apparently, an adoring fan of his was a tailor, and had sent to him a simple over-robe cut of almost the same color cloth as his usual outfit, although of considerably better quality, and long enough to swirl elegantly around his ankles as he walked. Its only adornment was a subtle, masterfully embroidered pattern of an emerald dragon that stretched throughout the garment, the tip of the tail starting at his right leg and the head ending up peaking over his left shoulder. Apparently whoever had made it was very good at what they did, because he or she had guessed his size perfectly. After fastening this over his usual outfit and belting his sword at his side in a polished scabbard, even Sierthra agreed that he looked good, without him having to feel like he was in just so much borrowed finery.

Of course, with that difficulty taken care of, he had no excuse for not going. Leading up to it, he almost considered disobeying a direct order. He almost hopped into the saddle and had Sierthra and himself play hookie for a day at the seaside in Reavestone. But if he did, Nasuada would only make his life more miserable, and they both knew it.
The walk to the dining room had been one of the longest in his life, and by the time he took his seat at the head of the large oaken table, his imagination had conjured up all sorts of terrifying images. After all, he knew better than most that elven culture was very subtle and refined, chock-full of mind-numbing niceties and circular etiquette, all oil and syrup. And an ambassador of that race had to be the subtlest of the lot. This Euryale Gorgophone he was going to be meeting with had to be a towering ice-queen of a woman with nerves of steel and resolve of iron, ready to sweep aside his most well thought out arguments with as much effort as snapping her fingers...
Before he could get much further than that, the doors stirred, making him jump. What walked into the dining room a second later sent the whirlwind of thoughts in his head spinning all the faster, but not for the reasons he had been expecting.

Euryale was an elf alright, but not at all like the one he had been picturing. For one thing, she was young. He estimated low hundreds, at the very most. Now, he knew that at only a hundred and sixty-seven, he wasn't exactly a relic himself, but he did consider himself to pushing the boundaries of what could be considered youth. He therefore pictured an ambassador to be much older, with the wisdom of years and experience to back up the skill. But the girl he saw before him gave the impression that this was her first time out from under the trees.
She certainly dressed the part, at least. Her sumptuously expensive looking gown made him feel very underdressed despite his efforts, and her face carried all of the dyes and pigments that were supposedly there to enhance beauty. Kyemen usually found such elven fashions irritating, as if they were simply too beautiful, unhealthy to even look at. But now, with the expression of wide-eyed fear and curiosity, so at odds with the usual stone-hewn decorum of the career politician, the effect actually balanced itself out to be rather pretty. He found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, this might not be so bad after all.
And then she scrambled to bow to him, and the situation had gone downhill from there.

Ok then,[/Color] He thought, pulling himself back to the present moment. Over the past few seconds it had taken to think it over, nothing in particular had changed. Well, that's how we got here. I think we can both agree, there wasn't really anything you could have done to avoid it. So, the question remains, what happens now?[/Color]
It was an intriguing question. Now, he was both sorry and grateful that Sierthra had been assigned to carry messages to field-commanders for the next few hours. He knew that she would have settled the situation with a bellowing roar that would have shaken the castle, an action that would have quickly settled the current situation but probably have brought up a whole raft of new ones. No, he could handle this with much more subtle methods. Yes, maybe that was it. This was a negotiation, wasn't it? He was acting as an ambassador for the Varden, and it was his job to keep calm. If something was to change in this situation, he would have to be the one to do it. The only question was, what the hell was he going to do?

Well, probably best to deal with the old elf who was still shaking his hand as if he wanted it to come off. He realized that he had previously forgotten to consider that he had no idea who this man was. From his apparent age though, Kyemen pegged him loosely as Gorgophone's aid-de-camp, and decided that he had little to lose by running with that assumption.
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you sir." He said, starting to reciprocate the handshake rather than letting his arm flop around like a landed fish. It struck him finally that shaking hands was a very human custom, rather than the elven practice of touching two fingers to the lips. Had these two just spent a lot of time among humans, or was this some kind of subtle ploy to find out which side of the camp he was on? Come to that, was this whole situation some kind of staged tactic to put him off his guard? When he'd been training in Ellesmera, he'd had enough contact with Islanzadi to know that their relationship was destined to be rather... chilly. With what he'd done since that time, he wouldn't put anything past the elven queen. Still, if this was a scam, these too had obviously run it before. The male elf continued mumble about fixing a toilet as if he hadn't heard a thing Kyemen had said.
"Ah, yes sir." Kyemen answered, beckoning to a chair. "We'll discuss that little matter in a minute. Please, have a seat."
Now, for the hard part.

He turned to Gorgophone, affecting a smile. She was still shrieking, although now a bit more breathlessly than before. Oh, gods, Kyemen hoped she wouldn't faint.
"Please madam, calm yourself." He said, raising his voice slightly to get over the noise. "I assure you, I am not worth this-" The shrieking intensified suddenly, drowning him out. He blew out a breath in exasperation, feeling himself drawing back out again. He knew it probably wasn't befitting a dragon Rider, but he found himself wondering just what kind light pranks he could pull on Nasuada to get back at her for this...
No, this wasn't the time for that. He'd have to get out of this first before he could devote thought to that. Well, one thing was for sure. He needed to get this girl sitting down, so if she did keel over, she wouldn't hurt herself. Steeling himself, he took her by the arm and started guiding her gently but firmly to a chair.[/size][/blockquote]

[Ze Flying Wraithetti Monstress]

After being plunged into terror and horror, it was commonplace for my mind to go to its happy place. However, after being plunged into extreme terror and horror like I just had been, it was commonplace for my entire being to go to its happy place. Brought on by both Kyemen Straethir’s presence and now the fact that he was not only touching me, but pulling me along, probably to meet his dragon, I immediately belted out the first song that popped into my head, some ancient tune that Lakhesis was fond of singing. I didn’t know what the words meant, I didn’t know if they were at all proper for this sort of place, but I needed to just release all my fear.

“Kote,” I whimpered, making Kyemen stop his yanking.
“Kandosii sa ka’rta, vode an.
Coruscanta a’den mhi, vode an…”
“Do stop with the non-canon war chants, darling. You’ll ruin the Inheritance spirit and frighten the poor boy. Uj’alayi, anyone?”

I blinked, realizing I’d somehow ended up in my seat. Kyemen was way over at the far end of the table, and bobbing his head at Daddy, who was seated between us and waving at a servant who was handing out some very flat, very dense cakes and pouring wine. My wine was mixed with two parts water, since nobody considered me stable enough for anything but the smallest amount of alcohol. The moment mine was poured, I picked it up, trying in vain to steady my trembling hand and taking a tentative sip. Kyemen was doing the same, watching me as carefully as a hunter would watch a wounded animal, which somehow made me tremble even more. Daddy just munched his cakes. The silence was long and awkward, and finally broken by Kyemen.

“If… you’re feeling up to it, shall we get started?”
“RIGHT!” I exploded, slamming my drink down. “How does this go again? Conclusion, introduction, debate. Or… wait. Should we have a get-to-know, meet-and-greet, icebreaker, flamebreaker, your dragon breathes flames, right? FIRE! Fire, I… don’t like fire. Fire is HOT. Fire is ITCHY. Or not. Or, wait, I’ve gone off track, eh heh heh heh. Um…” I thought for a good long time, one and a half seconds, before continuing in a proper military voice. “I THINK I’VE GOT IT. MY NAME’S ISLANZADÍ DRÖTTNING, AMBASSADOR TO AND SUBJECT OF QUEEN EURYALE GORGOPHONE! THIS HERE IS-”
“STOP SHOUTIN’, I’M NAPPIN’!” bellowed Daddy, who’d finished his cakes.
“… Councillor Cælestis Gorgophone,” I whined, “First Librarian of Du Weldenvarden. OH, I was supposed to do the… peace out finger thing? Um. Right. Atra esterní ono thelduin… mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr… un du evarínya ono varda. Okay. Good.”
Kyemen stared at me strangely.
“OH!!! You were supposed to… I was only supposed to say the… you know what, forget it. You probably haven’t spoken to another elf since BEFORE YOU CAN REMEMBER anyway, considering you were banished and all. I…”

I gasped slowly and hollowly, clapping my hands to my mouth and squirming violently in my seat. I’d done it now. I’d gone and mentioned the thing I wasn’t supposed to mention. I’d been doing perfectly, I was lasting far longer than I had in training, and I’d up and gone and bit the hand that fed me. Banishment had to be a very sore thorn in the side for Kyemen, since the poor thing had been stuck here since before Galbatorix had eaten up the last of the Riders. Mortified and desperate to keep any good standing I had left with him, I immediately dropped out of my seat, rolled along the floor, tore my dress, got up, and ran towards him at full speed. It was a sprint, and the table was long, and I’d never exercised in my life, so I was gasping by the time I grabbed his hand and ripped it down as I tried to kneel without breaking the whalebone frame of my dress.

“I didn’t mean that! I didn’t! I mean, I did, but I wasn’t supposed to mention it! Klotho told me not to, she said that the Queen said that you were supposed to like me and that I have to try really hard ‘cause the fact that I’m cute won’t move you much but if I’m really, really sincere and that if it shows that I have a good heart you might tell me some stuff, like-”
“How is little Islanzadí?” came Daddy’s sleepy voice. “Why, I remember when she was just a little pink blob…”
“DADDY!” I fumed, standing up straight. “This is NOT the time! Don’t embarrass me in front of him! You don’t mind my father, do you? We’re all so grateful you’ve done so much work with the Taint. He was one of the first to get sick with it and ever since he’s been kinda… AROUND THE BEND. It’s not inherited. Or genetic. I mean, I didn’t inherit it, you couldn’t possibly mistake me for crazy, right? Right? Why… why are you getting up?” I scooted backwards. “Why?”

Kyemen’s answer was written all over his face. I was a total failure when it came to hidden messages in body language and facial expressions and all that, but the mixture of glum uncertainty and irritation was unmistakeable. I took the hint and shut up, letting him firmly wheel me around and march me back to my seat. I half fell into it, immediately picking up my wine slash water with both hands and chugging it as he made his way back to his own chair and sat down with all the elegance of a Dragon Rider. My eyes bulged as he placed his hands on the table and looking at me like a parent would look at an unruly toddler.

“Let me take matters into my own hands, Ambassador,” he said quietly. I nodded vigorously. “Then you may follow.”

Words;; 985
Muse;; Really bad! My first post in a MONTH!
Thoughts;; It's short, rushed, mostly dialogue, and pretty much cringe-worthy. But it's up, and it's done.

[Angmor]

As he made his way back to his seat, the oddly stirring war-chant ringing in his ears, Kyemen decided that he would operate under the impression that this was a scam. After all, he could think of no possible way that any elf could rise to the rank of ambassador without being very good at what they did. Perhaps this girl her was the best they had at extracting information from people by putting them off guard with her spectacularly ridiculous antics. Well, he decided, it wouldn't work. She would find him locked tighter than the king's treasure vault, concentrating on the negotiation, and revealing nothing else. This resolution adding a determined set to his shoulders, he took his seat, envisioning it as an entrenched position against his attackers, and waited for the first wave.

He would have to wait much longer that he expected. For all appearance, Gorgophone was still sitting where he had placed her, chanting the oddly catchy tune under her breath. He didn't recognize the words, but he decided that he very well might like to learn it...
Just then, the door behind Gorgophone cracked open, and the head of a young servant peeked through. Glad of the distraction, Kyemen waved the boy in, putting just enough command behind the gesture to belay any thoughts of retreat. The head bobbed once, and then the door opened all the way, revealing the rest of the servant as well as the small cart for carrying the appetizers. Kyemen watched the young man dubiously as he passed out the wine and small, dense cakes, wondering if perhaps he was in on this whole thing as well. As soon as the refreshments were in front of him and the servant was a safe distance away, Kyemen summoned the magic, muttering a simple spell to check for any poisons or toxins. While he doubted that he was in any danger, he would not put it past Islanzadi to use some subtle drug to loosen his tongue a bit. However, there was not the odd buzzing inside his skull that would have alerted him to anything untoward, so he guessed the elven queen had missed a trick. He took a sip of the wine. That wasn't a worry, at least, as this was a human vintage that had very little power to dull his senses. As the servant was reaching his companions, he took the opportunity to study Gorgophone a bit more.

She really was a tremendously accomplished actor, he thought, sampling some of the thick, sticky-sweet cake. She was putting on an excellent show of collecting herself, the war chant finally ceasing as the wine finally came her way. She stirred, as if seeing it all for the first time, taking deep breaths as she eyed the refreshments as if they were some strange and exotic cuisine. Once again, Kyemen came back to the question of how someone so young could end up in this line of work. She looked so vulnerable over there, dwarfed by her surroundings in more than just physical presence. As he thought this, she looked up toward his end of the table. Their eyes met, just for a moment. Her eyes were a very deep blue, he noticed, just before she wrenched her gaze away as if the contact scalded her. Oh, she was good. She must have been training since she was twenty years old to get like this. He had to admit, the act would have worked it he had just one less year of experience in the Aberon command politics. Even now, his first instinct was to protect and shield her, helping her with whatever he could. It was an easy trap to fall into. Everything about her manner and countenance bespoke a certain kind of... purity. Innocence. But, everything he knew about elves said that they were not that way. Innocence was not a quality to be found among his race, especially in one who had been chosen to represent their interests abroad. There was just no way.

As he mulled this over, the servant finished his task and beat a just-slightly-too-hasty retreat, leaving those unfortunate enough to be in the room with a long, brittle silence. Determined that he would not be the first to speak, Kyemen picked up his fork, studying his cake intently as he carefully sliced off a bite and placed it in his mouth as he waited for her to crack.
He had to wait a very long time.
After he was about halfway through the cake, Kyemen gave up. He figured an elven ambassador would have infinite amounts of patience, and he was running on human standards of time passage. He didn't stand a chance at a waiting game, and he knew it.
"If... you're feeling up to it," He said tentatively into the silence. "Shall we get started?"
It was either the right thing to say, or the very wrong thing. Euryale slammed down her goblet, making him jump as the silence was abruptly filled with her voice. Recognizing it as destined to be a long stint, he sat back slightly in his chair, listening as she made a show of hopelessly mangling the diplomatic procedure beyond all recognition, occasionally engaging in a double-act with the older elf. The name Cælestis stuck in his mind for some reason, beyond the realization that these two were related somehow, but he could not figure out why. It was as good a thought as any to mull over as Euryale made a mess of the traditional elven greetings as she had with everything else, filling the gap in her speaking with the token odd look. It was something so innocuous, so relatively mundane, that he had no way of being prepared for what she said next. “OH!!! You were supposed to… I was only supposed to say the… you know what, forget it. You probably haven’t spoken to another elf since BEFORE YOU CAN REMEMBER anyway, considering you were banished and all. I…” It was right then that she caught herself, trailing off into a long, pregnant silence.

For a moment, Kyemen was left blinking in dull surprise, wondering just what she’d said to bring this on. An instant later, the meaning managed to sink in, causing several different emotions to well up within him. The first was a touch of amusement. After leaving Ellesmera, the number of people that knew his history could be comfortably counted on one hand. A hundred years later, after becoming a Rider and part of the Varden command structure, everyone who knew about it were always so very polite, neatly tip-toeing around the subject whenever he was around, as if he would burst into tears at the mention. In fact, thinking about it, this was probably the first time it had been spoken out loud in over a hundred and four years.
And after all that time, the comment hurt far more than it should have.
As he processed the words, he felt the stirrings of an old pain that he thought he had long locked away somewhere cold and dark. He realized now that it had never gone away, it had simply been around long enough that he no longer noticed its presence. Now, the pain and guilt that had become so much a part of who he was were stirring again, like monsters in a dark lake.

It must have shown on his face. Immediately, Euryale was literally tumbling out of her chair, sprinting toward him at full speed as if to embrace him. Unsure of just what he would do to stop her, Kyemen let her come, feeling just slightly numb at the surreal nature of it all. She didn’t embrace him, but she did seize his hand in a grip he was sure now as born of panic as she awkwardly tried to hold onto it and kneel penitently at the same time, all while dealing wither her voluminous gown.
“I didn’t mean that!” She sobbed. “I didn’t! I mean, I did, but I wasn’t supposed to mention it! Klotho told me not to, she said that the Queen said that you were supposed to like me and that I have to try really hard ‘cause the fact that I’m cute won’t move you much but if I’m really, really sincere and that if it shows that I have a good heart you might tell me some stuff, like-”
At that moment Cælestis spoke up again, drawing off the attention of the apology and starting up the double-act again. But Kyemen was no longer listening. At Euryale’s words, a sudden clarity blossomed in his mind, bringing with it a sense of cold fury.
So, it was Islanzadi that was behind this, but not in the way he’d been expecting. He fully believed now that Euryale was genuine in everything she said, and queen had figured that her innocence and transparency would win him over enough for him to divulge the information she felt she needed. Euryale didn’t have a deceitful bone in her body, and she had merely been put in this position as a pawn in the queen’s schemes. It seemed for all her subtlety, she had not counted on his own incredulity and Euryale’s inability to keep a secret. Kyemen hated himself for being so suspicious, but he wasn’t sure what else he could have been. A feeling of exhaustion settled on his heart like a cold fog, an overwhelming tiredness of dealing with schemes and plots. He was tired of resisting. He was tired of having to constantly watch his words. What did he care? If he avoided it now, Islanzadi would just figure out something else. This had to end now.

His mind made up, he stood, causing Euryale to scuttle backward. For a moment Kyemen considered speaking right then and there, but decided against it. Striding forward, he gently but firmly took Euryale by the arm and led her back to her chair. This would be done completely above board, dictated by the procedure that elves generally loved so much. After depositing a for once silent Gorgophone in her place, He started to make the long walk back to his own seat, then thought better of it, instead taking a chair a third of the table’s length away. “Let me take matters into my own hands, Ambassador,” He said as he lowered himself slowly into the seat. “And you may follow.” Euryale’s head bobbed like a small boat disturbed by a wave. Kyemen decided then that he wasn’t angry at her, not really. She had probably been roped into this just as much as he had. He felt his face soften somewhat as he got a better grip on his emotions, feeling like he could now continue with just the right level of detachment.
“It’s true, I was born an elf,” He said finally, his tone thankfully less dark. “But I’m not exactly what you’d call a patriot for my homeland. I never was, really. When I was born, my parents had my life all planned out for me from beginning to end. They wanted me to be a scholar, and gain great knowledge for my people. They are most decidedly patriots, as you could probably tell.” He paused a moment, collecting his thoughts. These were memories that he had buried long ago, and unearthing them again after so long was threatening to drag out feelings that he thought he had already dealt with. But he had to keep going, and he knew it.
“Much to their chagrin however, I wasn’t exactly the scholar type. They tried to educate me, and I resisted them, always going out to find out about things I was interested in. After about sixty years of that… I left. Went out to see what else was out there. A few days or weeks after that, as luck or chance would have it, Galbatorix and the Forsworn began their war against the Riders, just in time for me to watch." He fingered the hilt of the sword at his side. It hadn't been long after he'd heard news of the war that he'd witnessed the battle between a young human Rider and one of the Forsworn, and he had picked up the dropped weapon in the aftermath. It had been a long time since he'd felt like a tomb-robber for taking it, but he consoled himself now as he had then that it would only be in the king's treasure vaults without his intervention. "I was there on the fringes for most of it," He went on. "I watched as Galbatorix exterminated the Riders I had been brought up to think of as invincible, and I watched as he took over the Broddring kingdom and set himself up as king. It was a turbulent time, but I survived. Probably out of sheer luck more than anything." He shrugged. "After the Empire was firmly established, I just wandered. Going here and there as whim took me, learning hard lessons and observing easier ones. always on the fringes. I was able to see the injustice of the Empire first hand, and while I never really did anything to make it worse, I certainly never did anything to make it better." He shook his head. It all seemed so childish now. "The Empire tried to catch me, of course. Every two years or so, they'd make a big effort to take me in, but I always eluded them. But I just considered it all one big game with me on one side and them on the other. Until I got caught." He paused, taking a deep breath. It was so hard to believe that this had only been two years ago, rather than the lifetime it felt like. "I guess Galbatorix finally decided that an elf wandering his Empire would be too big a threat to pass up. So I was finally plucked off a rooftop by a dragon, and brought to see him."
Unable to keep silent, Euryale gasped sharply. "You saw him?" She squeaked, her eyes growing even bigger. "You saw Galbatorix?"
"I believe that was his name, yes." Kyemen said wryly, realizing as he did that it was not the slightest bit funny. That moment, looking into the eyes of the king and seeing the madness and lust for power within them, was the turning point of his life.
"It was a short encounter, I admit. My guess is he had more important things to worry about than just a puny elf wandering around. I'm sure that's the only reason I was able to escape. But I learned something very important that day. I realized that the king would never be stopped unless someone rose up to stop him. It wouldn't end unless we did something." He looked down at the table, not really seeing it. "Unless I did something." He finished quietly.

After a moment, he looked up again. "So, after that, I went to the Varden. A little while after that, Sierthra hatched, and here I am." He shrugged. "Why am I not exactly the advocate of the elven people around here? That's fairly easily answered. They've had a hundred years to figure out what to do about this problem, and what did they do? They ferried an egg back and forth. Now, I'm not sure about you, but I think the elven race is capable of more than just carting an oversized omelette ingredient around, especially once they've been given some time to think it over. But no. They sit in the forests on their padded backsides and do nothing. Now, I don't really blame them for that, I did the same. even worse, I was right in the thick of the tyranny, and I to did nothing. But now I want to make up for that ignorance however I can. I guess that's why I'm here rather than there. When I'm here, I'm doing something."
Finally, he broke off, drawing in a deep breath, then letting it out slowly to ease the tangle of thoughts and emotions in his mind.
"So," He said finally, leaning back a bit in his chair as he looked back to Euryale. "That's my story, and my reasons. You can take it back to Islanzadi, and she can do whatever she wants with it, and stop bothering you about it. Was there anything else she wanted you to get from me, or did I cover everything?"

[/blockquote]

[Ze Flying Wraithetti Monstress]

Now that I’d released a good deal of my terror by screaming at Kyemen for the past ten minutes and slurped some wine, I was beginning to relax, at least a little. I still didn’t know what he was about to do to me. He wouldn’t kill me, certainly, but Islanzadí was going to find out about this somehow, and then Daddy and I would be in a really unpleasant situation. I gripped the hem of my skirt, awaiting either some icy threats or boiling rage to seep out of the Rider across from me. But he just sat there for a little while, appearing to get in touch with himself. Daddy just kept eating, completely uncaring. Then, Kyemen broke into a bona fide literary monologue.

I’d never actually heard someone tell their past with such reverence. Aisa, Lakhesis and Klotho had told me their tales several hundred times over the years, usually painted with a great deal of anger. Kyemen’s was tinted with sadness, although he mostly told it plainly and simply, like it was someone else’s history instead of his. I felt myself entranced, completely forgetting about my worries and my subconscious decision to drink away my terror, remembering the wonder of stories- especially this one, since it was real. He had been banished from his own home just for having an adventurous spirit? It was so mental, and yet with Islanzadí and her senility, I wouldn’t put it past her. I was infused with the wonders of pathos, and for a while I ended up thinking of Kyemen as a character in a zero-to-hero sort of story before he mentioned Galbatorix.

“You saw him?” I squealed. “You saw Galbatorix?” Then I shut up again, taking more wine.

Galbatorix didn’t as much frighten me as he fascinated me. Besides children’s storybooks and histories, mortal villains- actual people with thoughts and emotions, not demons or monsters- were actually not evil. They could be crazy, yes, since insanity was not uncommonly the harbinger of genius, and he’d destroyed an entire Order almost single-handedly, including my mother. But usually, they were driven on by something else- pain, self-preservation, conflicting morals. I doubted Galbatorix was a mindless beast of rage and hate, and for that, I wanted to meet him. From a safe distance, naturally.

“So that’s my story, and my reasons. You can take it back to Islanzadí, and she can do whatever she wants with it, and stop bothering you about it. Was there anything else she wanted you to get from me, or did I cover everything?”

I returned to reality, blinking. I was supposed to get dirt on Kyemen Straethir, and he’d just given me his entire past. The queen wanted to know what he was up to now, whose side he was really on, and so on and so forth. But after the terrible things he’d just told me, I felt awful pressing him for more. I was not the deceitful type. I felt horribly conflicted, my need for the safety of Daddy and myself clashing with my high ethics. After a long moment of inner struggling and an even longer draught of wine, I decided to come out with the truth and nothing but the truth. He probably wouldn’t care, but it was always better that way. I managed to gather all of my determination after noticing Daddy using the cakes and cheese as building blocks. I got up, wondering why the table was so long, and stormed over to Kyemen, my mouth tight.

“Now ya listen, bub,” I snapped. “You… and I…” I paused, then facepalmed. “URG. Ya need to help me!”

[/b] I grabbed Kyemen by the shoulders and turned him to face Daddy. “Take a good long look at Da- I mean me father. Notice anything… a little bit off about him? Something that just don’t seem right?”
“… on a rocket of flaming cheese! I LIKE CHEESE!” Daddy screamed.
“He’s the First Librarian, and that position’s been our family’s since… since I don’t have a clue when. But a while. The Taint, he was one of the first to get sick with it. And it’s killing him, and it made him go round the bend like that. Unless I impress Islanzadí, and do whatever she says, his position’s up for grabs. I am way too young to be on the Elder Council, and that overrides me blood inheritance.” I straightened, suddenly infused with energy. “I am sorry for ya. I truly am, but I need your help, sir. If ya don’t help, I’ll… I’ll do something horrible, like I don’t know what. ‘Cause elven politics are scary as hell, if you’ll pardon my language, sir, and I can’t do it on me own. So… so there. That’s me story. Will you help me?”[/color][/blockquote]

Words;; 800
Muse;; Crap. Duh.
Thoughts;; Ehh it blows.[/size]

[Angmor]

Whatever he had accomplished here, Kyemen decided that he felt a great deal better about himself now. He had once heard that confession was good for the soul, and although he hadn’t believed it at the time, he decided now that it was true. He felt somehow… lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had talked about it with Sierthra on many occasions, of course, but this was different somehow, as if actually saying it out loud was the key to laying it all to rest. Whatever it was, it helped to lighten his mood a bit, no matter what he had actually done. After all, he doubted that this would really get Islanzadi off his back. It would probably do little more than draw off her attention just long enough for her to arrange a way to get a dagger in it. It was a moment of weakness, and he knew it. Even so, it felt good to let his guard down in the presence of one of his own kind, even if she was still probably playing him for a fool.

If she was, she still didn’t look it. She was now sitting back in her seat, trembling just detectably, eyes just slightly wider than usual. Obviously, his story had evoked some kind of response from her, although if it was shock or confusion, he could not tell. Kyemen respected the silence, resolving to allow her whatever time she needed. She looked even smaller now, making his heart ache again with sympathy. He could not imagine what it had to have been like. And still he wondered just how she had ended up in this position, with her obvious lack of age and experience. Still, he would not ask. Not just yet. She would speak her mind when she was ready, and she had an odd way about her that made him perfectly amenable to wait.

Finally, she seemed to fortify herself to her decision. She stood, seeming to gather all of her wits and dignity about her as she began to advance on him for the second time, her face set in an expression so hard Kyemen expected it to crack at any second. He felt his eyebrows rise even as he suppressed a huff of amusement. She was certainly getting her exercise in, with her constant jaunts from one side of the table to another. At least she only had about half the distance to go this time. At last she reached him, doing her very best to look tough and menacing. It was a thin veil, however. Kyemen wondered absently just how long she could keep it in place.
“Now ya listen, bub,” She snapped. “You… and I…” She trailed off, visibly struggling to find her thought. Finally she collapsed, applying a delicately manicured hand to her face in an expression that Kyemen knew all too well. When she removed it, the desperation was plain on her face. So, not long, then.
“URG. Ya need to help me!” She cried, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him with strength that Kyemen would not have attributed to her. He almost didn’t notice that she had turned him to look across the table at the other elf, the one whose name was still jiggling something in the back of his mind.
“Take a good long look at Da- I mean me father.” Said Euryale. “Notice anything… a little bit off about him? Something that just don’t seem right?”
He certainly did. There had been something a little off about him since he had walked in, but he had blamed it on their putting on an act to wheedle information out of him. However, now that all pretences had been abandoned, it seemed that this was indeed his true form. Kyemen frowned, struggling to unearth the memory that the name invoked…
Suddenly, there it was. Of course, Cælestis Gorgophone, First Librarian of Du Weldenvarden. Kyemen had known of him in his old life, even met the man a few times, although not anywhere near as often as his parents would have liked. It had been so long ago, Kyemen had only just remembered. As he did though, another question rose up to meet it. Now, it was a fuzzy memory and he could very easily be wrong, but he recalled that the First Librarian had taken a Rider as a mate, and that they had no children.
“He’s the First Librarian, and that position’s been our family’s since… since I don’t have a clue when.” Euryale continued. “But a while. The Taint, he was one of the first to get sick with it. And it’s killing him, and it made him go round the bend like that. Unless I impress Islanzadí, and do whatever she says, his position’s up for grabs. I am way too young to be on the Elder Council, and that overrides me blood inheritance.” At this, she drew herself to full height, and for just an instant, Kyemen saw on her face a desperate plea for help. But behind this, in the desperation and fear that she was feeling, he saw at its core a stubborn courage, an unwillingness to fail. She wanted his help, but she most certainly did not desperately need it.
“I am sorry for ya.” She spoke out strongly. “I truly am, but I need your help, sir. If ya don’t help, I’ll… I’ll do something horrible, like I don’t know what. ‘Cause elven politics are scary as hell, if you’ll pardon my language, sir, and I can’t do it on me own. So… so there. That’s me story. Will you help me?”

For a moment, Kyemen struggled with doubt. This had all the classic markings of a scam, from the setup to the hook. Even so, one look into her eyes melted all resistance. No, he believed wholeheartedly that she was genuine. He was impressed with her, and with her courage in telling him this. Finally, he stood, laying what he hoped was comforting hand on her delicate shoulder.
“I believe you,” He said at last. “I didn’t before, but I do now. I don’t know what it is that I can do, but… I’ll be glad to do whatever I can.”
It felt very good to say it, for some reason. Kyemen realized now that he was now merely surrendering to his natural inclination. Saving people. Ever since his change of heart, that was all he had ever wanted to do. Now he just hoped that he would be in a position to help save her.
“Now, please,” He said, gently directing her to sit in the chair beside the one he had taken. “You look rather worn out. Please sit, and we can talk more of this.” There was little point in continuing with her constant roving back and forth. Better to save time.

[/Blockquote]

I rather like this one, actually. Still, take your time in replying.