The Seasons ; Autumn

Fallen leaves are whispering a tale
About the beauty of the Autumn Queen,
And of her skin, so smooth and pale,
And of her eyes, of which we dream.

And fools and ignorant are those,
Who think that Autumn is the death of things.
She’s just a lady, that comes so close,
That of her touch, nature falls asleep.
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A Heart’s Desire

Ahrataneb II, 28th Empror or Neär, sighed and watched the two young men standing in front of him. He had been much like them himself once: handsome, proud, confident – and madly in love with exactly the wrong person.

Nehreb, on the right, returned his gaze somewhat defiantly, his red, albino eyes sparkling. As always, he was dressed extravagantly yet impeccably; the blue, gold and silver of his clothes contrasted starkly with his smooth ivory skin and long silvery hair. And as always, Ahrataneb wondered why he had let the boy become such a clown, and worse, such a stranger to him. He always had to look hard to see some resemblance of himself in his son’s pale features, and at times he even wondered if Nehreb was truly his. But that was a question not worth the effort of answering, he had decided long ago.

Next to Nehreb – close but not touching – stood Coriander, or Corian, as his family and friends had taken to call him – undoubtedly something that had been started by Nehreb. Unlike Nehreb, Corian’s appearance seemed to be a homage to both his parents; he had his mother’s fair hair, sky blue eyes and sunny smile, and his father’s height, strong features and stubbornness. And of course that uncanny ability to know others’ emotions.

Even now, Ahrataneb was not sure he was alone inside his own mind, and made an effort to avoid certain memories. Memories of another pair of star-crossed lovers, of two friends long lost. But how was that possible, with those same two friends staring at him from behind those azure eyes?

Nehreb softly scraped his throat and shifted his weight to his other foot. He stole a glance at Corian, and Corian glanced back. They were waiting for him to speak, Ahrataneb realized. He felt he needed another moment to gather his thoughts, though, and let his gaze wander beyond the two young men, to take in the Great Hall stretched out before him. At this particular moment, he was grateful for the pocket of relative silence that enveloped him and the boys; the rest of the Great Hall was filled with light, laughter, talk and music as the courtiers, diplomats, lords and ladies, and bureaucrats of his court were indulging in their favourite pastime: gossip. He had ordered the court not to approach the dais where his throne stood, in order to be able to talk to his son and Coriander in peace and quiet. He knew his wife, that damned woman, would be close by, though, trying to overhear their conversation. Her curiosity was near insatiable, as was her appetite for gossip. And standing before him was the juiciest bit of gossip this court had known in years.

He took a deep breath, and shifted in his seat. His back sent outraged protests up his spine, and he cursed his old age, and his throne. The thing was a splendid symbol of Neär’s wealth and grandeur, but was as comfortable as the rocks upon which his castle was built.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘Obviously, you two know why I have summoned you.’ They looked at each other, sharing a secretive little smile. But both their smiles faded into a serious expression once they turned back to him.

‘Yes,’ Nehreb said, ‘I told Corian what you said before dinner.’ There it was again, that defiant look. It was a look that said, ‘no one has ever cared what I do or don’t do; why should it start to matter now?’

‘Good. Then you both know that I don’t think this is a good idea. Nehreb, this doesn’t become a Prince of Neär. And Coriander, your grandparents will not approve.’

‘They didn’t approve of my parents’ relationship either, Sire,’ Coriander said. ‘But my parents didn’t let that stop them.’

‘No, and they paid a higher price for it than you know,’ Ahrataneb answered, while a vision of another, taller, older man briefly replaced the boy standing in front of him. Like father, like son, as the saying went. He hadn’t been able to prevent Coriander’s father from throwing away everything in pursuit of his heart’s desire; would he be able to stop Coriander? Or would his feelings get the better of him, once again?

‘In any case,’ he continued, ‘that was an entirely different situation. Back then, it was about social status; the heiress of the Second House running off with a minor lord? It was unheard of, to say the least.’ Nehreb opened his mouth to say something, but Ahrataneb cut him off. ‘I don’t mean to say that your liaison is any less unheard of, but there’s more at stake this time. Corian, your grandparents forgave their daughter in order to preserve the future of their House, but your relationship with Nehreb is destroying all that. Did you completely forget about your duties as heir of the House of Emberval?’

‘I did not ask for that kind of responsibility, Your Majesty,’ Coriander said.

‘No, but you have it, and you can’t just simply ignore it.’

‘No. No, I can’t,’ Coriander said softly, and looked at Nehreb. ‘But I can’t ignore my feelings for Nehreb either.’ Nehreb blushed slightly – and prettily, a somewhat detached part of Ahrataneb thought – and smiled. Then, he turned to Ahrataneb, pleading with his eyes for – what? Leniency, acceptance, mercy? All of those, and more? He sighed gravely; he sympathised with the two of them, simply because of what had happened twenty years ago, and he knew it. He was going to let them walk away, like he had let Vervain and Myria walk away. The only difference was that this time, no one would be walking away with half his heart.

‘Father,’ Nehreb said. ‘Who knows what the future will bring? I mean… this,’ his hand searched for Corian’s, almost of its own volition, it seemed, and clasped it tightly, ‘doesn’t have to mean that Corian will never marry, or that… We’re still young, and although I of course want this to last more than anything in the world, it doesn’t mean that it has to. Anything could happen. Why not let us have this chance? Let’s worry about what will come when it arrives. Please?’ Ahrataneb sighed, closing his eyes for a second. The thrumming of voices and sounds around them pounded on his skull, making it hard for him to think. But what was there to think about? Deep down he’d already made his decision, and like twenty years ago, it was bound to be the wrong one.

‘I can’t stop you,’ he said. ‘As your Emperor, I could order you to give each other up, but…’ But because of who you are, and who your father was, Corian, and who I was, I can’t. He didn’t say that out loud, though, and searched Corian’s face for a sign that the boy had picked up that thought, but could find none. ‘I can’t stop you,’ he repeated. ‘But I beg you… be careful. And Coriander, don’t be surprised if your grandparents disown you because of this, and send you back to your father’s lands.’ His last words, meant to be stern, came out weak and futile, but Coriander nodded as if he was fully considering them. Then, both he and Nehreb bowed, and walked away, their hands still linked.

Ahrataneb sagged in his throne and watched them go, watched them disappear among the crowds. Again, he had failed. Again, he had battled against love, and lost.

The crowds were closing in on him again. Before long, there would be someone who wanted to talk to him – most likely, his wife, demanding to know what kind of trouble their youngest son had worked himself in this time. And if there was one person he could not tolerate right now, it was his wife. In fact, there was only one place he could be alone, or rather, alone in the company of ghosts from the past.

Quietly and as quickly as his old, broken body would let him, Ahrataneb left the Great Hall, and for the moment, left the world to those young enough to think it could be changed.

`x estee x`