Title: Before the Fall
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Author's note: So this story idea came to me as I thought about all the times in history that we've overthrown governments and been proud of it. Please read and review and let me know what you think.
Summary: In the end, he was only ever trying to save his planet. A different point-of-view of the death of the Royal Four.
Before the Fall
The Royal Palace, Antar…
The room was filled with bright colors and laughter and dancing and frivolity. The woman were dressed in the latest fashions, silk and lace and jewels trailing from them in extraordinary excess. The men, tall and handsome and well-dressed, casually traded jokes and conversation, sipping glasses of wine and eating cocktail appetizers.
The young King sat stiffly on his thrown, watching the others with a light smile on his lips. Beside him, the beautiful Queen had her hand placed on his arm, watching the entire scene with sparkling pleasure in her eyes. The General, easily the most handsome man in the room, had the attention of several ladies and was flirting with all of them a glowing smile on his face.
Abruptly, the King rose and a silence fell over the room. "Will you dance, my beloved?" he asked, extending his hand to the Queen. She took it and rose gracefully, her cheeks flushed with happiness. She was by far the most extravagantly dressed of the women, her blonde hair swept up in a cascade of diamonds and rubies. She wore a string of pearls at her neck and her dress was studded with sapphires that matched her eyes.
All eyes turned to the handsome couple.
"A waltz," the King commanded, and the royal musician instantly lifted their instruments, the music swelling into the space around the dancers, filling the room with its steady rhythm.
Outside the Palace, Antar…
The old woman bent over, wheezing heavily, as she struggled to make her way through the streets. The night was dark, the moon a bare glimmer of light in the sky, and she had to squint to make out the earth beneath her feet. She knew it wasn't safe to be in this part of the city so late, but she couldn't help it that she'd had to stay at work later. The cost of inflation was making it more and more difficult for her to afford to feed and clothe herself and her three grandchildren, especially without the help of her husband of her son. But both the men had been killed in a violent raid only a few years earlier, and her daughter-in-law had passed away from the plague that swept through the city soon after that.
In front of her, the streets sloped upwards towards the distant hill in the center of the city. The royal palace, glowing golden with light, watched over the city. The King and Queen were throwing another ball, rejoicing in their wealth, while the city around them fell into disrepair and was overcome by violence.
"Well, well, well… what have we here?"
The woman lifted her head, fear coming momentarily into her eyes at the sound of the cruel voice. Four people stood in front of her, all young men in their twenties. They wore loose shirts and pants with holes in them, like rags falling off their thin bodies. Their faces were lined with bitterness and desperation, a look she knew all to well.
"Please," she begged, her voice cracking, "I'm just an old woman with three other mouths to feed. I can't give you anything."
The oldest of the men, clearly the ringleader of the group, raked his eyes over her figure, noting the bag she held clutched in her arms. "You've got something, Grandmother," he spat, greed giving his eyes an foreign and terrifying look. "Come, give it to us, and nobody gets hurt."
"Except my grandchildren, who will starve," the woman retorted, stepping backwards. "Have mercy, please."
"Mercy?" another of the men laughed at the word. "Our grand royal family and the nobility laugh and drink and eat and be merry while we waste away in poverty, and you ask us for mercy?" His voice softened slightly as he added, "There is no mercy here."
The men advanced slowly, forming a circle around the trapped woman. She clutched the bag even closer to her chest, staring at them in terror, but refusing to back down. She was the sole one responsible for her three grandchildren, and this bag was all the food and all the money she would have for the week. She would not part from it, not without a fight. Even if she was bound to lose in the end.
"Hey!" a tiny voice called, a boy, perhaps six or seven, ran into the street, shaking his little fists at the men. "Stay away from her!"
"And who's this?" the ringleader of the group asked, laughing coldly as he stepped over to the boy and lifted him easily into the air. "Who are you, little man?"
"Oh, let him go, please," the woman cried with fright, now more afraid for the boy's wellbeing than her own. "Let him go, you can have the bag. Just put him down."
The boy began kicking his feet wildly, but they were two short to reach the man who still held him at arm's length. His brown hair fell over his fiery eyes and he continued to protest in his squeaky voice, "Stay away from m' Grandma! You don't hurt her!"
"Let him go," the woman repeated, darting forward and snatching the ringleader's shirt. She pulled at him, hoping to distract him, but he refused to let go of the boy. Turning to the woman, he laughed and shoved her away, and she stumbled backwards, dropping the bag. It fell open, a few apples and a loaf of bread rolling out, as well as some money, just a few paper bills and loose change.
Everyone froze, staring at the money, but before the men could make any moves towards it, a strong voice broke through the night.
"I'm fairly certain, gentlemen, that the woman asked you to put her grandson down and leave her alone."
The group turned, as one, to face the newcomer. He was tall, and dressed in loose clothes that needed to be washed. His hair needed to be cut, and his face was worn with lines of worry and stress, lines that made him look much older than he really was. But his eyes glinted with steel as he glared at the others, and it was clear that he was willing to fight them all if they did not follow his request.
The ringleader put the boy on the ground and backed away.
"Have you no shame? Attacking an old woman and a helpless child?" the man continued, his voice now a angry growl.
"We're hungry," one of the young men said, dark eyes flashing with despair. "We're hungry and cold and tired."
The newcomer sighed. "I know," he said. "We all are. Now get lost."
The others left, fading into the night as suddenly as they had come, and the woman bent down and began to shove her belongings back into her bag. Her grandson hurried to her side and tried to help, gathering up the fallen apples and a handful of change. She gave him a wan smile and ruffled her hair, then attempted to climb back to her feet.
The man who had saved them was at her side almost immediately, reaching a hand under her arm and helping her rise slowly. She turned to thank him, and got a good look at his face. He was young, younger than she had realized, perhaps only the same age as the boys who had attacked. His long hair fell over his eyes, giving him an unkempt look, but he flashed a reassuring smile at her.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"It isn't safe for you to be out and about this late at night," the man answered, bowing his head respectfully. "Let me walk you and the boy back to your home."
"Thank you," she said again. "I'm Ariana, by the way." She gestured for her grandson, who came forward and stared at the stranger with open awe on his young face. "This is Nicolas, the youngest of my grandchildren."
The man extended his hand. "Well, hello, little Nicolas. You're a very brave boy, rushing out to defend your grandmother."
Nicolas shook the other man's hand solemnly. "What's your name, mister?" he asked.
The man gave a gentle smile and replied, "My name is Khivar."
The Royal Palace, Antar, a few years later…
"I will build a summer palace," the King said thoughtfully, staring out of the window towards the royal gardens, the lush and well-tended expanse of green and brown and white. "It has been four years since the Queen and I were married. I will build her a palace as a gift, so great that anyone who looks upon it will be in awe of its wonder. Ofmy wonder."
"A wise plan, your Majesty," one of the other men in the room said easily, "but you must have money for the army as well, mustn't you?"
The King turned to his friend and laughed, his youthful face filled with mirth. "Ah, General Rath… as ever you look to your own needs."
The General smiled modestly, his eyes smirking. He slanted a look at the two men beside him. Lord Larek, a member of the nobility from the neighboring planet of Telegeo, seemed amused by this exchange. His arms were folded over his chest and his eyebrows were raised slightly as he listened with a benign smile. But the other man, the advisor Khivar, was more difficult to read. His lips were pressed into a thin line and his eyes were narrowed.
"The worlds would look to you in awe and wonder if you had the greatest army known in all history," Lord Larek said in agreement. "But, then, you already have a great army. Why waste money making it even more formidable? It is already feared beyond all others."
"Besides," the King added, "I doubt the Queen will find the strengthening of my army as… romantic… a gift as a summer palace."
"But you already have a summer palace in the country," General Rath argued.
"Well, then, gentlemen, we have reached a dilemma, haven't we?" the King said with a grin. "Tell me, Lord Larek, what would you do for your wife?"
"I find that women always appreciate jewelry, clothes, and fancy balls," Lord Larek answered immediately. "And trips abroad. Perhaps she would like to visit my native planet?"
"Trying to steal Queen Ava from his Majesty, are you?" General Rath teased. Larek flushed slightly and shook his head, but he too looked charmed by the idea.
"Ah, dear Larek," the King said jovially, "you do not have my stunning looks or my wealth and power. I fear the lovely Ava would never leave me for you."
"You could build a hospital, Sire," Khivar ventured, speaking for the first time since the beginning of the conversation. His words were measured and careful, but he spoke with the assuredness of someone who knew exactly what he was saying. "Or a public university. A library. Perhaps her Majesty would enjoy one of those?"
"The Queen already has a royal physician, tutors, and all the books she could ever possibly want," the King said with a frown. "Why would I give her more?"
"Not for her, Sire," Khivar continued. "For the people. Your subjects. But… in her Majesty's name."
"Why?" the King demanded, growing tired of the conversation as quickly as it had started. Khivar had a tendency to bring up projects like these, public works and facilities for the people. "There are plenty of physicians and universities on my planet."
"Private ones, Sire," Khivar answered. "The majority of the population cannot afford…"
The King gave a snort of annoyance and snapped irritably, "It is not my fault if they are too lazy to hold steady jobs. I will not coddle them."
"I would not call them lazy," Khivar began, knowing that he was treading dangerous ground. The King did not like to hear the unpleasant truths, no matter how true they were. But how could people work in this world, when the poor were never given the opportunity to procure an education? Was it laziness that prevented them from earning enough money to feed their families, or was it the overwhelming poverty, violence, and neglect?
"Enough," the King said harshly. "I will build a summer palace."
"Sire, please…" Khivar started, but the King held up a hand to forestall his complaints.
"I've made my decision, Khivar," the King said calmly, looking away from his advisor. "Do not question it."
Khivar bowed his head, but it was more to hide his furious eyes than as a sign of respect. General Rath and Lord Larek watched the exchange with interest, but remained silent as well.
"I do not question, Sire, I only strive to make sure that you are… certain in your decision," Khivar ventured.
Rath cast Khivar a look of disgust and turned away. Larek raised an eyebrow at the boy's presumptiveness, but did not remark on it. The King seemed to consider Khivar for a moment, his expression thoughtful.
"I brought you into my service because I admired your dedication and thirst for knowledge and understanding of the world," the King said at last, his words measured and even. "But don't forget, Khivar, that while you may be an advisor to the King now, you were once a beggar on the streets. I can send you back there."
Khivar lifted his eyes to the King. "I have not forgotten that, your Majesty. I would never forget." Never forget that he had fought to survive and maintain some shred of dignity and honor while living on the streets. Never forget the misery and poverty and violence he had seen. Never forget the overwhelming despair that filled the air he had breathed, the water he had drunk, the food he had eaten.
No, he would never forget.
This spoiled brat of a King knew nothing about suffering or hardship. He saw only his fancy parties and his laughing courtiers and his vain and beautiful wife.
"Good," the King said, not understanding the hidden meaning behind the words, not understanding that the man he so easily dismissed could be his most formidable opponent, should the advisor seek to rise up against him. But all the lurking dangers were lost on him, and he turned away from the others, thinking his own thoughts.
At that moment, the door to the room opened and three woman came in, talking amicably among themselves. They stopped short upon seeing the men, and one of them stepped forward instantly. "My Husband, I did not know you were here. Forgive the intrusion."
"Ava, darling, your presence is never an intrusion," the King answered, stepping towards the woman and extending his arm. She draped her hand over it, a gleaming look in her eyes, and let him pull her forward. The King looked past her towards the other two women and bestowed a smile on each of them. "Good afternoon."
The redhead stepped forward first, green eyes sparkling. "Good afternoon, your Majesty," she said politely, dropping into a shallow curtsy. Her gaze turned to the other two, and she said, "Good afternoon, Lord Larek. Good afternoon, Rath."
"Ah… Lady Serena, beautiful as ever," Larek said, stepping forward and taking her hand. He kissed her fingers lightly.
"Careful, General Rath," the King said with a sly grin. "It appears that as Lord Larek has realized he cannot have my wife, he is now moving to your sister. Do you find him worthy of her hand?"
"No one is worthy of Serena," the General answered with a smile for his sister. She looked back at him, her face flushed a deep red to match her hair. The joking words exchanged by the men embarrassed her slightly, as she was rather unused to this type of attention from royalty. Her brother's promotion to Second-In-Command had elevated her to the status of one of the most important woman in the planet, second only to the Queen and the Princess.
"You know Khivar, don't you?" the young King asked, nodding towards the advisor. Both the Queen and Lady Serena answered in the positive, and the third woman in the room, who had remained quiet until that moment, gave Khivar a fleeting smile.
"Good day, your Majesty, Lady Serena…" Khivar paused for a moment, staring at the third woman, before adding, "Princess Vilandra."
The Princess was the only one for which he had any sympathy. She was young, but she had more sense than the others. She saw this planet and its people for what they really were, and she was under no delusions about how much aid her brother was not providing for them.
"Advisor," the Princess replied with a cool smile, their eyes exchanging unspoken words that went unnoticed by the others in the room.
The Royal Palace, a few days later…
"How can I advise the King is he refuses to listen to a word I say?" Khivar fumed, stalking back and forth across the length of his bedroom. "How can I ever hope to help this planet with that fool on the throne?"
"Careful, boy, you're bordering on treason," the woman sitting on the chair by the window cautioned with a wary look.
Khivar huffed impatiently, "And isn't what the King is doing treason as well? He's turned his back on this planet and only engages in extravagant, wasteful, excessive frivolity."
"Hmm… so many big words for such a young man…"
"Oh, Aunt Anya," Khivar muttered, rolling his eyes at the woman. She wasn't actually his aunt, but he'd taken to calling her that because of her overbearing nature. She'd smother him like a mother hen if he let, but he held his distance as much as possible. She was a servant in the palace, a cook, and she was one of the few whom Khivar trusted enough to burden with his thoughts and concerns.
"Kings never care about their poor," Anya said calmly, sensibly. "It's the way it has always been, young one, and it isn't going to change just because you are here."
"The Princess might care," Khivar argued. "If only she were on the thrown, everything might be so much better. She understands, I know she does." He sighed, glancing at the older woman. "But it is hopeless, isn't it? Instead of the wiser Vilandra, we have Zan to lead us. And he'll lead us all into deficiency and certain death."
"And what would you do, my little fighter, if you were in charge?" Anya asked.
Khivar considered this for a moment, then said, "I'd get rid of the ruling class. I would have an elected government so that the people might have a say. I'd…" He hesitated, trembling at the traitorous words lingered at the tip of his tongue. "I'd overthrow the King," he whispered.
The Royal Palace, Antar, a few years later…
"Any news?" Khivar asked instantly as his spy appeared before him, stepping silently through the partially open door.
"The Princess has agreed to allow you entrance to the city. If you can speak to the King…" The spy gave a wary shrugged, his cold eyes betraying clearly how little he thought of this plan. The King could not be reasoned with, he was too intent on raising his own power and his own wealth. He could not see the suffering of others, or he simply did not care.
"Good," Khivar said, pleased.
"Have you considered what you will do if this does not work? If the King will not listen?" the spy pressed.
"He will listen," Khivar said harshly. "I will make him."
The spy bowed his head.
Khivar turned away and stared at the table in front of him, the maps laid out, the plans drawn up, the strategies and declarations and contracts he had spent so long pouring over, trying to find an answer to all these problems. He did not want to actually start a civil war, but if the King did not listen to reason… he was willing to do whatever it took to save his people.
"You may go, Nasedo," he said finally.
The spy turned and left the room.
fin