A crown that seldom kings enjoy

Posted on Wed Jul 6, 2022 @ 10:01pm by Captain Maritza Soran

1,483 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Si vis pacem, para bellum
Location: Somewhere on Pangea, sort of.
Timeline: What is time, anyway?

[ON]

Maritza came awake with a start, her mind filled with the sound of grinding rocks, the smash of her flashlight, blinking out forever, the sound of bones breaking.

But she wasn't in pain. Not really, she had the dry mouth and throbbing forehead of mild dehydration. Her arm ached, but nothing felt broken. And whilst the room was dark, it was not without a light. A tiny flame over the spout of a small shallow pot added about a teaspoon of illumination, enough to see that she is in a room, a round room, with walls of mud, or maybe dug into the earth.

She was still in her uniform, but the the right leg had been ripped open to the thigh, and her sore left arm had been bound - no, bandaged - against her chest to hold it still, the rest of her jacket hung loosely from her right shoulder. And someone had unbound her hair. It hadn't unraveled, all the pins were missing. Someone had brushed it out, so she wouldn't be uncorftable lying on her braids. And she was lying down, on a floor. On a pile of something soft and furry. The pile wasn't very big, she could still feel the hardness of the floor through it, just enough to keep the cold off someone not very big, judging by the way her legs hung off the end.

She tried sitting up, and found that whilst her head throbbed, the room didn't spin, so she tried standing. That she could do as well, and she sighed with relief. She edged over to the light, and picked it up. Liquid sloshed inside it, and the little flame flickered dangerously for a moment and she froze, suddenly desperate at thought of being alone in the dark,, buried in the earth. She looked around, moving the light carefully this time, and realised that the room was indeed dug into the earth, the walls had the roots of... something running through it, the earth itself held back with woven panels. The roof was sealed over with more of the same woven panels. And there was no door.

Panic did wash over her then. She was buried under the earth, no idea how far down, no way to get out, no way to signal for help, no way to ... She dragged in a breath, and let it out slowly,

She'd been lying on someone's bed. There was a lamp, a crafted item. Someone had brought it here, brought her here. Bandaged her arm. She wasn't alone, someone had tended to her wounds, so they didn't want her dead. This wasn't a grave, she wasn't buried, just in a room.

"Hello?" she called out. "Is anyone there?"

There was no immediate answer.

She looked around some more, taking the lamp close to the walls, looking for anything that would hint at an opening or an exit or something. But nothing showed itself. She stepped back with a sigh, and it was then she noticed that the roots that ran though one wall were shifting, writhing against each other until they formed the sides of a pointed arch only slightly shorter than she was. For a moment all she could see through it was bright light against the near pitch of the chamber, and then she saw a small figure, maybe a meter-twenty in height, with pointed ears and pointed eyes, even its nose was slightly pointed, but every time she tried to get a good look, she felt her eyes sliding a way.

It saw her awake, and dropped to its knees, bowing down to the floor and tried to look at her without raising tis head. "Oh Majesty! You cannot be out of bed yet! You're still hurt!"

"I'm fine," Maritza insisted. "What did you call me?"

"Majesty, Majesty!" The little sprite said, bobbing a curtsy. "You must forgive me, I'm breaking all the rules. But whilst you're free, His Majesty hasn't won, so we're all getting some wriggle room we wouldn't otherwise have."

Maritza stared at it. It reminded her of the creatures of her youth, the twitches that cleaned the forest in the story books. She wondered if she hit her head. "Who? Who are you? Who's we? Who's his majesty? What rules?"

"So many questions, majesty." The creature dragged a stone bowl across to it, and dropped some nuts and grasses into it, and then started pounding the ingredients into paste. "I'm Cobweb, Majesty. The Small Folk, majesty. The Conqueror, majesty. Don't be seen; never speak to the high folk; or Your Majesty's folk; or his Majesty's Folk. Serve the Crown. But the Crown's in dispute. And so we stay ourselves." The grinding of the pestle stopped and the creature stared at the Trill. "The old Queen made us fearful and small and took away all our joy. Servants don't need joy, she said. But she left and Delivered up the Crown, and the new queens made us kind, and happy, becuase joy is important. And the Conqueror Who Would Be King will change us again, and he doesn't think joy is important. But you are free and unbowed, so he can sit upon the Throne but cannot wear the Crown. And we feel it. We feel the tug, beacuse His Majesty is powerful, and the Crown is nearly his. But not yet. No, not yet, Majesty." Even with the pestle in hand, Cobweb bobbed a curtesy with every 'majesty'.

It was making Maritza dizzy. "His majesty?" Surely the creature didn't mean...

"The Conqueror, majesty. He sits on the throne so it is nearly his, but it can't be his, not yet, not yet! Because the Throne belongs to whoever holds it, but the Crown must pass according to the Law. Only through Death, or Durance, or Deliverance, and you are free, majesty, unbowed and unbloodied, so it cannot be his, the Crown cannot pass, so we remain ourselves, majesty, can act as ourselves, even though we feel his call, majesty, we feel the change coming, his majesty's hand is upon us, majesty. But whilst you are free your call still holds, so we can bend and rebel even as he remakes us in his image. We do not wish to be in his image, majesty. You must save us from him."

"Stop! Just... stop... jumping up and down!" Soran pinched the bridge of her nose. This whole thing was giving her another headache. She must have seriously hit her head. "I'm hallucinating."

"No, Majesty!" said Cobweb, mercifully remaining still. "No, for now you see true, here the glamour is weak. The crown is in flux, so the glamour is weak and the rules bend like willows in a breeze. Save us, majesty. We will keep you safe from his majesty. You must hold the crown."

"I can't stay here. I have to get to Starfleet. I have to make sure my people are alright," she started to move towards the arch.

Cobweb skittered backwards, putting itself between Maritza and the door. "You can't go out there, majesty. Its too dangerous, majesty. His majesty is looking for you. With real eyes! If you leave he will find you, and make you pass the crown, and then we will be lost!"

"How long was I asleep?" Maritza demanded.

"You were badly hurt, majesty. Several hours, as your body would reckon it."

Maritza narrowed her eyes. That was an extremely specific way of putting it. "How long?" she asked again.

"There is no time here, majesty. Not here. This is Outside. No when, no where, barely any what, just a little why."

Sudden dread certainty gripped her heart and squeezed. When the fae had first revealed themselves on DS5 they'd run some comparative folklore. Most of the legends of the fae had a notable thing in common. Inside their palaces and mounds, time was broken. A muscian might play at a faerie ball for a night, only to return to find a hundred years had passed, or spent a lifetime in the arms of their faerie lover, returning old and bent to their home one last time, to find it was barely past the dawn of the day after they left. "How. Long!?"

Cobweb shook its head. "I don't know, majesty." it bobbed two curtseys this time, obviously nervous. "We're smallfolk majesty. Only the highfolk could control it, majesty."

"Let me out, now!" Martiza snarled. "I need to be with my people."

"No Majesty." Cobweb curtseyed and still managed to look shocked at its own refusal. "Its not safe while his majesty hunts. And you're still hurt. We can't leave until your arm is whole again."

"And when will that be?"

Cobweb held up the little dish of paste it had been grinding and gestured with it to the trill's bandaged arm. "Soon, majesty. Soon."

[OFF]

Captain Maritza Soran
CO
DS5

 

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