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fandomweekly2016-07-11 10:16 am
alobear) wrote in fandomweekly2016-07-11 10:16 am
Entry tags:
[#020] Wishing for the End (Malazan Book of the Fallen)
Theme Prompt: #020: Natural Disaster
Title: Wishing for the End
Fandom: Malazan Book of the Fallen
Rating/Warnings: No warnings
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 559
Summary: Rhulad reflects on where life has brought him (set within 'Reaper's Gale', the seventh book in the series).
Rhulad sat on his throne in the empty throne room, brooding. This was a rare moment alone for him, after the morning’s petitioners had been dismissed and before any of his hangers-on resumed their places at his side. Solitude brought him no peace, however; on the contrary, the time alone sent his mind into dark corners that stirred up uncomfortable thoughts.
His mind’s eye went back to the confrontation with his brother the day before. There was a voice in his head that said Trull was right. If he allowed himself to consider the situation calmly, Rhulad could see that his power was twisted and corrupt. He thought he was doing good, providing wisdom and helpful rulings to the people who came to petition him, but really he knew the whole process was just orchestrated to make him feel that way.
The sword rested at his side, his hand in its habitual position upon its pommel. Could he give it up? Trull had made it sound so easy; just drop the sword and release himself from its thrall. He looked down at his hand, almost ready to will it to give up its grip, but the sight of the coins embedded in his skin stopped him. Without the sword, he would be just a maimed and broken body, with a shrivelled and tattered soul trapped within it. What life could there be for him then?
The voice taunted him, pointing out that he didn’t exactly have a life now. How many times had he died and been brought back now? He had lost count; the only constant being his desperate hope that each one would be the last. But the god would not release him. Rhulad knew there were more champions on their way to challenge him. When they arrived, he would fight and he would either win, or he would die. In the meantime, he was just counting down the days until his next death by violence. But, whichever the outcome, his life would not end. He would remain upon his throne, with the sword by his side and the coins ever reminding him that he had stayed long past his allotted time.
He wished that some kind of natural disaster would bring chaos and destruction down upon the city - a volcano or an earthquake, which would swallow him along with all his subjects and bring an end to the whole sorry mess of his existence. But would even that result in his final death? Or would he awake to an eternal living death, trapped beneath the earth and unable to free himself? Perhaps even that would ultimately be better than what he endured now.
Trull was right; and in his brief moments of remaining sanity, Rhulad knew he was right. And yet, he also knew he would never willingly give up the sword, no matter the suffering it caused to him and all those around him. Its hold on him was too strong, and his broken will was far too weak to fight it, even if he wanted to. And so, the whole awful, violent, desperate cycle would repeat itself over and over again - until, what? Rhulad did not know, and did not want to find out. So, he silenced his brother’s voice in his mind, and allowed his madness to descend over his consciousness once more.
Title: Wishing for the End
Fandom: Malazan Book of the Fallen
Rating/Warnings: No warnings
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 559
Summary: Rhulad reflects on where life has brought him (set within 'Reaper's Gale', the seventh book in the series).
Rhulad sat on his throne in the empty throne room, brooding. This was a rare moment alone for him, after the morning’s petitioners had been dismissed and before any of his hangers-on resumed their places at his side. Solitude brought him no peace, however; on the contrary, the time alone sent his mind into dark corners that stirred up uncomfortable thoughts.
His mind’s eye went back to the confrontation with his brother the day before. There was a voice in his head that said Trull was right. If he allowed himself to consider the situation calmly, Rhulad could see that his power was twisted and corrupt. He thought he was doing good, providing wisdom and helpful rulings to the people who came to petition him, but really he knew the whole process was just orchestrated to make him feel that way.
The sword rested at his side, his hand in its habitual position upon its pommel. Could he give it up? Trull had made it sound so easy; just drop the sword and release himself from its thrall. He looked down at his hand, almost ready to will it to give up its grip, but the sight of the coins embedded in his skin stopped him. Without the sword, he would be just a maimed and broken body, with a shrivelled and tattered soul trapped within it. What life could there be for him then?
The voice taunted him, pointing out that he didn’t exactly have a life now. How many times had he died and been brought back now? He had lost count; the only constant being his desperate hope that each one would be the last. But the god would not release him. Rhulad knew there were more champions on their way to challenge him. When they arrived, he would fight and he would either win, or he would die. In the meantime, he was just counting down the days until his next death by violence. But, whichever the outcome, his life would not end. He would remain upon his throne, with the sword by his side and the coins ever reminding him that he had stayed long past his allotted time.
He wished that some kind of natural disaster would bring chaos and destruction down upon the city - a volcano or an earthquake, which would swallow him along with all his subjects and bring an end to the whole sorry mess of his existence. But would even that result in his final death? Or would he awake to an eternal living death, trapped beneath the earth and unable to free himself? Perhaps even that would ultimately be better than what he endured now.
Trull was right; and in his brief moments of remaining sanity, Rhulad knew he was right. And yet, he also knew he would never willingly give up the sword, no matter the suffering it caused to him and all those around him. Its hold on him was too strong, and his broken will was far too weak to fight it, even if he wanted to. And so, the whole awful, violent, desperate cycle would repeat itself over and over again - until, what? Rhulad did not know, and did not want to find out. So, he silenced his brother’s voice in his mind, and allowed his madness to descend over his consciousness once more.
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