Title: the Price of Acceptance
Author: Emiko
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Please send any thoughts/comments to emiko@elfcomic.com! ^^
Characters: Syphile, Kor'maril Disclaimer: The Drowtales world and all the characters in it belong to Kern. This is simply my take on some of his creations. I can't guarantee my view of things will coincide with Kerns (or yours!) but I hope you enjoy the story!
Summary: A confrontation leads Syphile and Kor'maril to think about their place in the household, and the world at large. Notes: Well, I worked it up to a point where you can let your imaginations run free. Perhaps in the future I'll add another part!
Archiving: World of Drowtales site ( http://www.drowtales.com/~world/stories.php?Action=View&ID=38 ) -- If you enjoy reading this story here, please post a comment over there as well! ^^

~~~

"But, Ilharess!" Words choking out, surprised revulsion.

"You dare to challenge my decision in this matter?"

Those same words, smoldering under the weight of Quain'tana's stern gaze, the realization that a misstep could spell death. "I- Of course not, Ilharess."

"Kor'maril, please continue with your thoughts. Syphile, you are dismissed."

~~~

Syphile stormed out of the main hall, her cloak swirling behind her. Echoes of conversation followed after her: the Ilharess, her generals, him. Syphile swore under her breath as she pushed her way into the back kitchens. Her fingers closed around the nearest bottle of wine. Offering a glare to any slave who dared to challenge her presence, she popped the bottle open and took a swig.

Lukewarm curtains of red silk coursed down her throat. In one fell swoop, a quarter of the bottle was gone. She looked at the wine, noting the excellent year, and realized a handful of slaves were still present, gawking. "What are you looking at?" she sneered. The slaves backed up, but not fast enough. Syphile sent the wine bottle hurtling in the direction of the nearest one, spraying droplets of red tears in all directions. He ducked and the bottle hit the wall, shattering into a hundred pieces. That got the message across. The slaves were gone faster than bolts from a crossbow. It was sad that a bottle of wine had to be sacrificed in the process, but it was an acceptable loss.

Now that the room was empty, Syphile settled into a heavy stone chair with a new bottle of wine, sipping slowly and savoring the bittersweet taste.

How she hated him. She hated everything he stood for, everything he had, and everything he worked to achieve. Most of all, she hated how he treated her, like he was just as good, if not better. It was not an attitude he broadcast to the world, especially not in the Ilharess's presence, but Syphile knew in the back of his mind he thought he was better than her. Her fingers clenched the wine bottle tightly, until the tips turned nearly white. Her teeth ground together and her lips drew into a snarl, heavy breath whistling through her teeth. She hated him, and she would find some way to make him pay.

~~~

Some hours later, Kor'maril found himself walking towards the kitchens. It had been a long meeting. Kor'maril had no objections about that - he had helped devise the schedule - but his stomach growled furiously. Doubtless Quain'tana was taking a meal in her private quarters right now. Towards the end of the meeting, he had noticed her shifting around more, a sure sign of hunger.

The idea of a hungry Quain'tana sitting through a long meeting she could end at any time pleased Kor. Unlike so many other nobles, Quain'tana worked hard to ensure her clan's power. She forced her servants to follow an exhaustive schedule, but she held herself to the same standard, it not a higher one. On occasion, Kor'maril had seen Quain'tana up late at night, working out a problem in the main hall, refusing to sleep until the problem was solved to her satisfaction. Kor'maril admired that trait of hers greatly.

He admired her for other reasons, too, like her stance on males. She believed in female superiority, but anyone willing to prove themselves could earn her respect, just as Kor'maril had.

Respect.

Kor'maril entered the back room of the kitchens, a small dining area where higher-ranking servants and males sometimes ate. To his surprise, the room was deserted. It looked to have been the site of a recent fight. A pool of wine filled with pieces of sharp colored glass lay nearby, a stain on the wall telling of the bottle's demise.

A sudden hissing noise behind the door caused Kor to jump. He whirled about, ready to face the potential attacker, but found only Syphile, a bottle in her hand and two empty ones on the ground beside her.

"You're losing your touch," she slurred.

Easily, he countered, "I hardly expect an assassin would bother to jump me in the kitchens." It was a possibility, though, so Kor'maril promised himself never to let his guard down in the back room. In truth, he had been too distracted by his hunger pangs to notice Syphile at first. That was an error he would have to avoid in the future as well.

Syphile rose from her chair, cloak slithering behind her. Kor'maril watched her warily as she approached and circled him. "You stupid male, don't you know your place?" she sneered. He held his tongue, aware that nothing he could say would change her current state of mind, and most of the things he could say would result in him getting slapped, kicked, or pummeled in some other manner.

Of course, if Syphile tried to do anything like that, Il'haress would hear about it and it would come back to her. The punishment would be far less than if Kor'maril attacked her, but it would still be a punishment. In Syphile's current state of mind, though, Kor'maril doubted she was thinking about the consequences of her actions.

"You think you're so special," she continued, finishing off the wine as she spoke. "You know what? You're nothing special. You're a male, a stupid, worthless-male!" She raised her arms in the air, and for a moment Kor'maril was afraid she really would hit him, but she merely sent the wine bottle whistling past his shoulder and into the wall behind him. Red drops stained the front of his shirt. Syphile gasped, her fury stripped of its words by the three bottles of wine, and hissed menacingly at him before stalking towards the door.

Kor'maril followed her exit, turning to keep her in his sights. When she was at the door, she paused. "Males are shit," she said, grabbing the last unbroken wine bottle in the room and retreating to her quarters.

At long last Kor'maril was able to relax. He sighed and leaned on the nearest chair, trying to keep himself from shaking. It wasn't the thought that Syphile could have hurt or killed him, it was the truth behind the words she spoke. While Quain'tana paced around at night trying to solve problems, he paced around trying to reconcile the facts of his birth with the truths of his world. It wasn't so obvious within the Val'sarghress clan fortress, but it was obvious outside. Commoner females were held in higher regard than noble males. Males never ran their own businesses publicly, couldn't hold public office, and worst of all, they were ignored.

When Kor'maril walked down the streets of Chel'el'sussoloth, he strode with purpose and honor, but there was no respect from anyone because no one ever bothered to see him. He was a noble, but an invisible one. Sometimes that invisibility had its advantages, but it always left Kor'maril feeling empty inside when he returned.

Quain'tana had noticed this, he was sure, but never made mention of it. Even if she held him in higher regard than most females, her regard was only worth something when they were traveling together. It was impossible for her to change the social customs of the city to fit her views, and even if it were possible, she probably wouldn't try. Kor'maril couldn't blame her. Sometimes a person just had to accept things,

One of the kitchen slaves entered the room. Kor'maril recognized the human girl, a pitiful creature if ever he had seen one, but he was in no mood to lord his status over her at the moment. He was feeling too much in her place to do that.

Yet as he watched her quietly clean up the mess left behind by Syphile, he began to feel better. Perhaps Syphile thought of him as lowly as that serving girl, but he knew better, and those around him knew better as well. Quain'tana would never set him scrubbing floors in the kitchen, and Ariel, whom he rather liked, treated him almost as an equal, eager to hear his advice on combat and fighting.

A whimper from the slave drew Kor'maril from his thoughts. The girl had cut her finger on a piece of glass. Blood mingled with the wine. For a long moment, the girl stared at her finger in either morbid fascination or sheer shock.

"Hey, get back to work," Kor'maril barked at her. "Use a thicker cloth this time, you dolt. And get a bucket." The girl nodded, back to him, and scampered off to fetch a thicker cloth and bucket. Kor'maril relaxed. He knew his place in the household, and that was comfort enough.

~~~

Back in her rooms, Syphile rolled her glass around in her hand, watching the wine swirl in a miniature whirlpool. She set it down on the table before her rising anger broke the glass. How she hated Kor'maril. The mere thought that her mother, the Ilharess, could prefer a male burned darkly in Syphile's mind. That same male had thwarted Syphile's plans to be rid of that brat, Ariel, by killing Jer'Kol. Ariel. That was another person Syphile despised. Kor'maril and Ariel got along. Mel liked Ariel. Even Quain'tana seemed to be showing a liking towards Ariel, what with helping that whelp retrieve her male, and a gladiatorial slave at that.

Syphile felt the anger rise and fall, subsiding into despair. Why did everyone in the damn household value everything but her so much? Her fingers traced across the cloth of her garment, stroking the hidden scars beneath. Nobody loved her. Not even a male...

And that was the worst of it. She could order a slave to do anything, but she could not force that slave to love her. Even her own family did not love her. Unloved, but not without love. Syphile curled up in her chair, drawing her cloak around her shoulders, the pain of her rejection as fresh as ever. Nobody loved her, and for that, they would pay.

Starting with Kor'maril.