Fic: Paladin
Feb. 1st, 2015 06:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalI'm not sure, but I strongly suspect this is part of my Dragon Mom universe.
* * *
It was the day of Choosing. Banners snapped above the walls of the great palace, as the Emperor sat on his throne, an smile on his face as he watched his son be guided away by the priests to the Choosing Ceremony. Soon, his boy would be chosen by one of the Gods. Perhaps by Bloody War, to slay the Empire's enemies, or Righteous Moon, to hunt the cowardly or criminal, or by Blue Sea, to burn the pirate vessels that haunted the ocean and dared to steal from the Empire's coffers.
Soon. Soon his boy would be a man, to take his proper place as Heir. To wear his grandfather's golden war armor, ready to raise his sword and bring the vermin that snapped at the Empire's heels to their knees.
An hour passed. Then two. Then three. The Emperor sat on his throne, his frown deepening, not daring to move, not showing any sign of weakness by demanding a report of how the Choosing progressed. His own Choosing had taken but a quarter hour, but he had been set and sure on his path. His son, the Gods be praised, was a more subtle and clever soul, and would go far. No doubt the priests were confounded by his many skills, not knowing quite where to place him.
Then, at the end of the fourth hour, the trumpets sounded. Their golden notes echoed over the palace walls, bring a smile to the Emperor's face. His son had been Chosen, and all was right in the world.
The doors opened, and his son entered, flanked by a pair of priests. They all wore dark tabards, bright flames embroidered upon them. Ah, Burning Fire had chosen him, to cleanse the Unclean and Unworthy...
No...
Not Burning Fire, for the flames were surrounded by a brick oven, outlined in golden thread.
Warm Hearth?
"What is this?" the Emperor demanded, rising to his feet even as his son knelt before him. "Warm Hearth is the god of the home, of the women! Its priests fight no battles, shed no blood! What use is a champion of this god to the Empire?"
"What use are champions of war, if there is no Empire to return to once the war is done?" his son asked, rising to his feet again. His face was as set and determined as any of the Emperor's generals. "The Gods love their great souled men, Father, that I know. But their love extends to all men, even those whose souls are not so great. Those whose idea of triumph is providing a full meal to their family, and a warm roof to sleep under. Do they not deserve a champion as well? For without them, the Empire is nothing more than a hollow shell, empty of substance, ready to collapse."
Clever boy. He had always been a clever boy, the Emperor reminded himself.Far more clever than I. He stood up from his bejeweled throne, to clasp his son's shoulders.
"Live long and rule well, my Heir."
* * *
It was the day of Choosing. Banners snapped above the walls of the great palace, as the Emperor sat on his throne, an smile on his face as he watched his son be guided away by the priests to the Choosing Ceremony. Soon, his boy would be chosen by one of the Gods. Perhaps by Bloody War, to slay the Empire's enemies, or Righteous Moon, to hunt the cowardly or criminal, or by Blue Sea, to burn the pirate vessels that haunted the ocean and dared to steal from the Empire's coffers.
Soon. Soon his boy would be a man, to take his proper place as Heir. To wear his grandfather's golden war armor, ready to raise his sword and bring the vermin that snapped at the Empire's heels to their knees.
An hour passed. Then two. Then three. The Emperor sat on his throne, his frown deepening, not daring to move, not showing any sign of weakness by demanding a report of how the Choosing progressed. His own Choosing had taken but a quarter hour, but he had been set and sure on his path. His son, the Gods be praised, was a more subtle and clever soul, and would go far. No doubt the priests were confounded by his many skills, not knowing quite where to place him.
Then, at the end of the fourth hour, the trumpets sounded. Their golden notes echoed over the palace walls, bring a smile to the Emperor's face. His son had been Chosen, and all was right in the world.
The doors opened, and his son entered, flanked by a pair of priests. They all wore dark tabards, bright flames embroidered upon them. Ah, Burning Fire had chosen him, to cleanse the Unclean and Unworthy...
No...
Not Burning Fire, for the flames were surrounded by a brick oven, outlined in golden thread.
Warm Hearth?
"What is this?" the Emperor demanded, rising to his feet even as his son knelt before him. "Warm Hearth is the god of the home, of the women! Its priests fight no battles, shed no blood! What use is a champion of this god to the Empire?"
"What use are champions of war, if there is no Empire to return to once the war is done?" his son asked, rising to his feet again. His face was as set and determined as any of the Emperor's generals. "The Gods love their great souled men, Father, that I know. But their love extends to all men, even those whose souls are not so great. Those whose idea of triumph is providing a full meal to their family, and a warm roof to sleep under. Do they not deserve a champion as well? For without them, the Empire is nothing more than a hollow shell, empty of substance, ready to collapse."
Clever boy. He had always been a clever boy, the Emperor reminded himself.Far more clever than I. He stood up from his bejeweled throne, to clasp his son's shoulders.
"Live long and rule well, my Heir."
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