Decisions Decisions.
Dec. 15th, 2018 06:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ks_claw posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
felinefablesFandom: Rise of the Guardians/Guardians of Childhood/Terry Pratchett
Rating PG
Summary: Sometimes, a Tsar has to make some hard decisions.
Author’s notes: I needed something to distract myself, and found this in my drafts. A vague attempt at my very silly “Wee Free Boogeymen” idea from a while back. I’m not sure what to do with it, so the usual goes out that if anyone else feel inspired, then by all means go nuts.
------
“Oh Stars above, that dreadful man is back again!”
Tsar Lunanoff steeled himself, resisting the urge to scowl at the sound of his wife’s irritated tone, before he looked up at her.
“Am I to assume, that we are speaking of Lord Pitchiner, my dear?”
The Lady Tsarina glared at her husband, while she pulled her hands away from the curtains, that she had parted only moments before, brushing them idly against the skirts of her dress as if trying to wipe off something disgusting she had touched.
“You know perfectly well that it is. I am certain you can hear the roaring from where you sit.”
Oh yes, Tsar Lunanoff wanted to say. He could hear the ‘roaring’ of the General’s laughter quite well. That was the problen with Star Stone, which the palace was built of. It was very practical with the way it would shine even at night, but the way it was made did that it also caught sound very well, sometimes making loudly spoken words outside seem as if someone was standing next to you. The Tsar’s forefathers had made it a rule of etiquette to speak in soft voices.
The Golden General had never been much of a follower of the rules. None of his people had ever really been, for that matter.
The Tsarina scoffed at the noises once more, though it soon turned to a sound of distress when she heard the sound of a baby crying. “Oh wonderful, now he has gone and woken Mimmy!” She exclaimed, before she hurried off. The Tsar only sighed, setting down the pen he had been writing with earlier, and getting up from behind the desk. He’d best go meet with Kozmotis, before the man got it into his mind to get into a fist fight because someone looked at him wrong by accident.
Or worse, decided to raid the palace’s wine cellars again.
You wouldn’t think that a man who had lost his wife and daughter only a year ago would behave like this. But, the Tsar thought as he made his way down a flight of stairs, neither he nor his people had ever been what most people of the Constellation would consider 'normal’.
The Mac Fir people of the forest planet of Teir Nir Nog were known as a race of fierce, proud warriors. They had been a valuable asset to the defenses of the Constellations, and it’s Golden Army for several generations, known for their unending courage, their fierce skills with swords or archery, and their ways of rallying the troops. Kozmotis Pitchiner had been one of the chief warriors of his tribe alone, and was the pride of his home planet with being one of the first to be made the General of the Golden Army.
There was just one small problem.
The Mac Fir were also known as the most brutal savages one could imagine, with any soldier mostly refusing to take orders from anyone who wasn’t a clansman, every single one of them getting into a fight without needing much of an excuse (hell, on their own planet it was their version of socializing), and finally practically infamous for being brutal drunkards. On top of all this, they liked to combine all of this in battle, making them the most unorganized, brutal fighters in all of the universe, who would sometimes end up fighting their own comrades rather than the enemy. Oh the rest of the Constellations had tried to reign in this behavior like giving them responsibility with rankand well-earned (albeit skeptically so) lands. But it only seemed to encourage the Mac Firs even more.
Sometimes, the Tsar thought as he finally made it to the main courtyard, it was a miracle that they had won the war against the shadows at all. The Mac Fir might just as easily have been on the side of the Nightmare Men in the first place, but the only reason they hadn’t had simply been because the Tsar’s great-great–great grandfather back in the day had offered them access to the best brewed whiskey this side of the Horse Head Nebulae. They had considered it a cheap price to pay back then, but oh Tsar Lunanoff sometimes wondered if it had really been worth it.
His thoughts were cut off by a sudden, bellowing laugh, right before he was grabbed by a pair of massive arms and practically flung around while caught in a tight embrace. It was only when he was certain he was about to retch, that he was put down, and even then he was nearly knocked off his feet when General Pitchiner slapped him on the back as part of his enthusiastic greeting.
The Golden General stood almost seven feet tall, with a crimson mane of hair standing almost like a flame, which was a sharp contrast to his deep blue skin, and sharp, grey eyes. Despite having a willowy figure, he was almost insanely strong, and the Tsar knew from experience that the Mac Fir could bend a star sword in half, just as easily as he could wield it.
“Ye summoned me, Tsarovich?” The other chortled. Tsar Lunanoff coughed awkwardly, straightening up as he did so. If only the man would wear something other than a damn kilt, the rough greeting might not have been so awkward for the Tsar.
“That I did, General. If you would come with me to my office, so we can speak there.”
‘And for Stars sake, I hope he is wearing underwear under those things.’ He thought furiously, as he made his way up the stairs with the General following behind him.
——————–
“Dear.” The Tsarina asked carefully. “Are you sure it was a good idea to assign the General to guard the Shadow Prison?”
Tsar Lunanoff was sitting with his eyes closed, feeling a headache working it’s way into his head, starting at the base of his skull. He sighed wearily at his wife’s question.
“Truth be told, it was more of a desperate decision.“ He finally said. “The General has been getting rather disorderly. And by that I mean even by Mac Fir standards.” He grimaced, “hopefully, standing guard at the prison will cool him down, if only for a little.”
“’Cool down’ a Mac Fir?” The Tsarina asked with a raised brow. “Are you listening to yourself?” She sighed, shaking her head as she crossed her arms. “What are his own people saying?”
“The Kelda of his clan did warn me, that it might not work.” Tsar Lunanoff replied. “Something about how the loss of family can light a fire of rage within even the most meekest of Mac Fir. But she gave me her blessing, if only because she agreed that it’s important that someone watches the gates to the Shadow Prison.” He grimaced. “We will see, I suppose.”
“Famous last words.” His wife added ominously.
Rating PG
Summary: Sometimes, a Tsar has to make some hard decisions.
Author’s notes: I needed something to distract myself, and found this in my drafts. A vague attempt at my very silly “Wee Free Boogeymen” idea from a while back. I’m not sure what to do with it, so the usual goes out that if anyone else feel inspired, then by all means go nuts.
------
“Oh Stars above, that dreadful man is back again!”
Tsar Lunanoff steeled himself, resisting the urge to scowl at the sound of his wife’s irritated tone, before he looked up at her.
“Am I to assume, that we are speaking of Lord Pitchiner, my dear?”
The Lady Tsarina glared at her husband, while she pulled her hands away from the curtains, that she had parted only moments before, brushing them idly against the skirts of her dress as if trying to wipe off something disgusting she had touched.
“You know perfectly well that it is. I am certain you can hear the roaring from where you sit.”
Oh yes, Tsar Lunanoff wanted to say. He could hear the ‘roaring’ of the General’s laughter quite well. That was the problen with Star Stone, which the palace was built of. It was very practical with the way it would shine even at night, but the way it was made did that it also caught sound very well, sometimes making loudly spoken words outside seem as if someone was standing next to you. The Tsar’s forefathers had made it a rule of etiquette to speak in soft voices.
The Golden General had never been much of a follower of the rules. None of his people had ever really been, for that matter.
The Tsarina scoffed at the noises once more, though it soon turned to a sound of distress when she heard the sound of a baby crying. “Oh wonderful, now he has gone and woken Mimmy!” She exclaimed, before she hurried off. The Tsar only sighed, setting down the pen he had been writing with earlier, and getting up from behind the desk. He’d best go meet with Kozmotis, before the man got it into his mind to get into a fist fight because someone looked at him wrong by accident.
Or worse, decided to raid the palace’s wine cellars again.
You wouldn’t think that a man who had lost his wife and daughter only a year ago would behave like this. But, the Tsar thought as he made his way down a flight of stairs, neither he nor his people had ever been what most people of the Constellation would consider 'normal’.
The Mac Fir people of the forest planet of Teir Nir Nog were known as a race of fierce, proud warriors. They had been a valuable asset to the defenses of the Constellations, and it’s Golden Army for several generations, known for their unending courage, their fierce skills with swords or archery, and their ways of rallying the troops. Kozmotis Pitchiner had been one of the chief warriors of his tribe alone, and was the pride of his home planet with being one of the first to be made the General of the Golden Army.
There was just one small problem.
The Mac Fir were also known as the most brutal savages one could imagine, with any soldier mostly refusing to take orders from anyone who wasn’t a clansman, every single one of them getting into a fight without needing much of an excuse (hell, on their own planet it was their version of socializing), and finally practically infamous for being brutal drunkards. On top of all this, they liked to combine all of this in battle, making them the most unorganized, brutal fighters in all of the universe, who would sometimes end up fighting their own comrades rather than the enemy. Oh the rest of the Constellations had tried to reign in this behavior like giving them responsibility with rankand well-earned (albeit skeptically so) lands. But it only seemed to encourage the Mac Firs even more.
Sometimes, the Tsar thought as he finally made it to the main courtyard, it was a miracle that they had won the war against the shadows at all. The Mac Fir might just as easily have been on the side of the Nightmare Men in the first place, but the only reason they hadn’t had simply been because the Tsar’s great-great–great grandfather back in the day had offered them access to the best brewed whiskey this side of the Horse Head Nebulae. They had considered it a cheap price to pay back then, but oh Tsar Lunanoff sometimes wondered if it had really been worth it.
His thoughts were cut off by a sudden, bellowing laugh, right before he was grabbed by a pair of massive arms and practically flung around while caught in a tight embrace. It was only when he was certain he was about to retch, that he was put down, and even then he was nearly knocked off his feet when General Pitchiner slapped him on the back as part of his enthusiastic greeting.
The Golden General stood almost seven feet tall, with a crimson mane of hair standing almost like a flame, which was a sharp contrast to his deep blue skin, and sharp, grey eyes. Despite having a willowy figure, he was almost insanely strong, and the Tsar knew from experience that the Mac Fir could bend a star sword in half, just as easily as he could wield it.
“Ye summoned me, Tsarovich?” The other chortled. Tsar Lunanoff coughed awkwardly, straightening up as he did so. If only the man would wear something other than a damn kilt, the rough greeting might not have been so awkward for the Tsar.
“That I did, General. If you would come with me to my office, so we can speak there.”
‘And for Stars sake, I hope he is wearing underwear under those things.’ He thought furiously, as he made his way up the stairs with the General following behind him.
——————–
“Dear.” The Tsarina asked carefully. “Are you sure it was a good idea to assign the General to guard the Shadow Prison?”
Tsar Lunanoff was sitting with his eyes closed, feeling a headache working it’s way into his head, starting at the base of his skull. He sighed wearily at his wife’s question.
“Truth be told, it was more of a desperate decision.“ He finally said. “The General has been getting rather disorderly. And by that I mean even by Mac Fir standards.” He grimaced, “hopefully, standing guard at the prison will cool him down, if only for a little.”
“’Cool down’ a Mac Fir?” The Tsarina asked with a raised brow. “Are you listening to yourself?” She sighed, shaking her head as she crossed her arms. “What are his own people saying?”
“The Kelda of his clan did warn me, that it might not work.” Tsar Lunanoff replied. “Something about how the loss of family can light a fire of rage within even the most meekest of Mac Fir. But she gave me her blessing, if only because she agreed that it’s important that someone watches the gates to the Shadow Prison.” He grimaced. “We will see, I suppose.”
“Famous last words.” His wife added ominously.
