Frozen Over [Dragaera; Sethra; PG]
Feb. 2nd, 2013 06:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
invoking_uraniaTitle: Frozen Over
Fandom: Dragaera
Rating: G
Genre: Vignette
Words: 460
Notes/Warnings: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31_days theme '5 January 2013: will time stand still if it's pierced with cold?'.
Summary: In the aftermath of an Empire-shaking disaster, Sethra mourns the past and plans for the future.
Disclaimer: Dragaera copyright Steven Brust and this derivative work was created without permission.
In the days after what would be called Adron's Disaster, Sethra Lavode was too busy to spend much time in contemplation. There were defenses to construct to prevent the absence of the Orb from being noticed off-world, and spells to shore up the new Sea of Amorphia where Dragaera City had been.
It was only after the immediate crisis had passed that Sethra forced herself to reflect. And to mourn. She had still been mourning Gyorg, only to now accept the rest of her Lavodes -- and regardless of what His Majesty said, they were hers -- had been killed either in battle against Lord Adron or in the destruction of the city. It was a death that many of them would relish, but she needed them now.
It wasn't just the people. A city she had seen grown from a crossroads where tribes met into one of the great cities of the world was but a memory. And the Empire might well join it. Sethra didn't know if her teleport had worked; certainly if it had worked fully, Aliera would be Empress and have the Orb, and should be able to get herself home. But as days turned to weeks, and the weeks turned into months, Sethra had to admit that something went wrong. Either Aliera or the Orb had been destroyed, or were trapped. And without the Orb, the Empire was little different from the scattering of eastern kingdoms, or the island nations. For some time, inertia would carry it on Orb, but eventually some general or another would get ambitious. The Empire had been suffering the decline that usually was a prelude to the Cycle turning.
Sethra Lavode reached for Iceflame, snug in its sheath at her hip, taking comfort in the cool steadiness of its presence. She wanted to sleep, to mourn, to seclude herself in her mountain until whatever happened happened, and let the Empire heal itself if it could. It was unlike her; a thousand younger Dragonlords and Dzurlords were sharpening their swords at the chance of adventure. But she was an old woman.
A slow decline didn't suit her, though. If this was the death of all Sethra had worked for, she was going to fight it. She wasn't going to lower the Mountain's wards and challenge the Jenoine to a duel, but if they came, she would meet them. And she would find out the fate of the Orb, and the standing of the Cycle, and restore the Empire if she had to herself. She was no Phoenix to bring about rebirth, but she was the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain.
And, if she couldn't, her fall would amke a funeral pyre that would make the greatest of barbarian kings' look like candlelight.
Fandom: Dragaera
Rating: G
Genre: Vignette
Words: 460
Notes/Warnings: Written for
31_days theme '5 January 2013: will time stand still if it's pierced with cold?'. Summary: In the aftermath of an Empire-shaking disaster, Sethra mourns the past and plans for the future.
Disclaimer: Dragaera copyright Steven Brust and this derivative work was created without permission.
In the days after what would be called Adron's Disaster, Sethra Lavode was too busy to spend much time in contemplation. There were defenses to construct to prevent the absence of the Orb from being noticed off-world, and spells to shore up the new Sea of Amorphia where Dragaera City had been.
It was only after the immediate crisis had passed that Sethra forced herself to reflect. And to mourn. She had still been mourning Gyorg, only to now accept the rest of her Lavodes -- and regardless of what His Majesty said, they were hers -- had been killed either in battle against Lord Adron or in the destruction of the city. It was a death that many of them would relish, but she needed them now.
It wasn't just the people. A city she had seen grown from a crossroads where tribes met into one of the great cities of the world was but a memory. And the Empire might well join it. Sethra didn't know if her teleport had worked; certainly if it had worked fully, Aliera would be Empress and have the Orb, and should be able to get herself home. But as days turned to weeks, and the weeks turned into months, Sethra had to admit that something went wrong. Either Aliera or the Orb had been destroyed, or were trapped. And without the Orb, the Empire was little different from the scattering of eastern kingdoms, or the island nations. For some time, inertia would carry it on Orb, but eventually some general or another would get ambitious. The Empire had been suffering the decline that usually was a prelude to the Cycle turning.
Sethra Lavode reached for Iceflame, snug in its sheath at her hip, taking comfort in the cool steadiness of its presence. She wanted to sleep, to mourn, to seclude herself in her mountain until whatever happened happened, and let the Empire heal itself if it could. It was unlike her; a thousand younger Dragonlords and Dzurlords were sharpening their swords at the chance of adventure. But she was an old woman.
A slow decline didn't suit her, though. If this was the death of all Sethra had worked for, she was going to fight it. She wasn't going to lower the Mountain's wards and challenge the Jenoine to a duel, but if they came, she would meet them. And she would find out the fate of the Orb, and the standing of the Cycle, and restore the Empire if she had to herself. She was no Phoenix to bring about rebirth, but she was the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain.
And, if she couldn't, her fall would amke a funeral pyre that would make the greatest of barbarian kings' look like candlelight.