01-18-2018, 07:03 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-19-2018, 10:45 PM by King Ghidorah.
Edit Reason: cleanup
)
The Duke stood up, locking eyes with his niece and pulling his burgundy robe tighter around his shoulders. The climate in Camelot was typically unwaveringly temperate, but confronted with Isolda's arctic unease he found himself regretting that his study had no fireplace. A silence unfolded between them; He was a collected early-morning mess, mulling over her arguments and accusations as the ornately furnished chamber grew colder; She was unnerved, pale and intense, awaiting his response.
Eventually, the Duke's shoulders slumped. "You've chosen a most unfortunate time to take an interest, Isolda." he said. "I am walking a very treacherous path.... although I will acknowledge that as the stakes have risen the notion of consulting you had begun to cross my mind."
He turned away from his niece, escaping from her gaze. "There is no proof that Ghidorah is behind the recent disappearances, but I am not blind, nor am I as callous as you would have me seem. Just because I haven't taken action doesn't make me unconcerned; the fact that the monster's presence is so distressing to you only clarifies my decision: he will be barred from the castle. More severe measures, however, especially co-operation with Mothra, are not a course I'm yet willing to pursue."
Isolda's eyes widened in incredulous surprise, her eyebrows climbing very nearly up to her hairline. A crack began to creep its way across one of the study's frost-rimed window-panes.
"Why in the name of the broken sacred not?"
The Duke sighed, trying not to shiver as he watched the tiny fissure spread across the glass. He was sure it was a metaphor for something. The man spread his hands, still not looking at his niece. "Because I don't trust her; Because she has her own agenda, and becoming reliant on her will weaken our position; Because word of Ghidorah's 'heroic deeds' has spread beyond our borders, and garnered the interest of powerful people; Because the potential gain outweighs the risk; Because events have been set in motion that can't be easily reigned in, and great power will be necessary to navigate them successfully. There are other, less interesting reasons as well."
Isolda' expression collapsed into a tight, narrow-eyed frown. "What events?"
"Shatterdun's economy is failing," said William Conrad van Harnburg. "I hadn't expected it to happen so soon, but the other duchies are pouncing on the opportunity we've created by cutting the Countess's supply-chain. The market for her goods has dried up, and her borders are collapsing. If we're to capitalize on this situation the way I had hoped, without being marginalized by the more powerful nobles, Ghidorah will need to be utilized in a more... active role."
Isolda crossed her arms over her bust. The temperature rose abruptly, bringing with it a strong scent of mildew. Strange shadows gathered in the corners of the room. "And if he turns against us? You must have a plan, you always do, but how much destruction will he cause before we can contain him? What if Mothra interferes regardless? What if I have to fight? Uncle, this could ruin everything you've built! If not by Ghidorah's hand... then by mine. I know you know that."
The Duke paced around the side edge of his desk, running his fingers along the gold-inlaid edge. He peered through the window-glass at the town and the lake beyond. Condensation ran in rivulets across the panes as the frost melted. "It could," he conceded. "Which is why, following the upcoming gala, I'm sending Ghidorah to Shatterdun with Chatterly. Their contingent will spearhead the annexation while I raise the call to arms."
Isolda's expression became completely flat. Above the wainscoting the shadows began to lengthen and writhe. The noblewoman was caught between two conflicting reactions; Elation that the monstrous threat to her languorous solitude would soon be far away wrestled viciously with a nervous apprehension that letting her uncle handle this his way would end with everyone dead and everything on fire. This didn't feel like a permanent solution.
“And what happens after that?” she asked. “Once we've secured the Countess's territory, will you get rid of him?”
The Duke didn't say anything; he knew he didn't have to. His niece's ghosts could read his spirit, and they whispered the truth, chittering and moaning.
“You still hope you won't have to. You think that by baiting Mothra into attacking him, and then defeating her, you can make Ghidorah afraid of us. Do you think you can intimidate him...? Uncle William, that's insane!”
As Isolda's incredulous anxiety peaked, the window exploded outward in a catastrophic rush of hissing glass and breathy, bodiless voices, raining glinting debris upon the courtyard below. A burst of pleasantly cool morning air cleared the mustiness from the room, replacing it with the scent of pine-trees and the lake. William Conrad sighed, and clicked his teeth. Isolda put her hands over her mouth.
“... sorry.”
The Duke turned away from the window. His smile was strained, although the tension was mostly lost within his jowls. “Dear girl, did we have to have this conversation in my study?... no, don't answer that. You're ethereal informants are right, of course. Sending Ghidorah away to fight does serve the interest of baiting a trap – but you must understand that Mothra defeated our golden friend not long ago. It's had quite the mellowing affect on him. If we were to defeat her, there's no reason to think the effect wouldn't be equally dramatic. Gratitude may be an alien concept to him, but he does understand fear.”
Isolda felt as though the floor were dropping out from under her one brick at a time. She could see the shape of his reasoning, but to the noblewoman it stank of justifications. She dropped her hands to her sides.
“Why do you want to hang onto this beast so badly?”
For a moment the Duke looked piqued – and then a look of stunned epiphany flickered across his face. For an instant, his other qualities seemed to drop away, leaving a skinny, fat-faced stranger with messy hair standing beside a broken window in an expensive nightgown. When it passed, the Duke almost looked sad.
His answer was spoken in the tones of a man explaining to his child why the bank is taking their house.
“You know, I've been dreading this conversation, or one like it, ever since you summoned me, but now that its here I think I know exactly what to say... Isolda, do you think you're the only one in this family with ghosts? Mine may not be as literal as yours, its true, but they are there nonetheless. You've said that my behavior has changed since Ghidorah came to our valley – it has not. It's only just now that you've noticed that I'm not the man you persist in seeing when you look at me. If you wanted your kindly, competent, but somewhat bumbling uncle William to rule this valley, then you should have plucked me from a time before we spent several years together failing to stop the end of the world! I refuse to relinquish Ghidorah for the simple reason that I no longer have you.”
Isolda stared, her auburn hair fluttering stringily in the breeze from the broken window. Her uncle began to pace around the room, gathering momentum and anger as he talked.
“You've locked yourself away from the world – and I've done my best to accommodate that. I understand, and I want you be happy – I really do, and if you needed isolation, I was willing to give it. But in doing so, you left me alone. We speak often, but we never talk, not about matters of consequence. In this strange new world of ours I had thought I'd be able to rely on your insight and power, as I did in the old, but you want no part of that life anymore – so I must look elsewhere if I'm to play on a grander stage than this bucolic valley. Chatterly's skills were an early boon, but the monster is a superlative weapon whose budding fame and power allow Harnburg to excel! I walk a razors edge in using him – I'm not a fool, Isolda, and I remember well what happens to those who attempt to tame that which is beyond their capacity; I will take steps, of course, precautions aforethought are required, but I will continue to employ Ghidorah for as long as I'm able. If Mothra has a problem with that, if she wants to push me back down among the minor barons who fancy themselves dukes of these lands simply because she fears the beast I ride, then no matter how pure her intentions may be I'll give her no quarter!”
William Conrad van Harnburg breathed heavily for several seconds, leaning against the bookshelf. Isolda patted him on the shoulder. Her mind was whirling with a combination of guilt, epiphany, and subtle anger, but her spectral chorus was oddly quiet.
“... and if I have a problem with it?”
The Duke straightened, waving her off. “Then you will have to take action, either to persuade me – and I will not be easily persuaded - or to side against me in order to eliminate the monster. In either case I will have at least achieved a first step towards extracting my niece from her shell. I have missed her, you know.”
Both of them were silent for several moments. The picture-frames rustled on the walls, but it may have just been the wind. Absurdly, both van Harnburgs began to chuckle.
“I hadn't realized we were both such messes,” Isolda said. She was crying a little, but it was a strange relief - It felt good to connect emotionally with a real person again, even if the subject matter did make her want to scream.
“I'm not a mess, dear girl. I maintain my facade splendidly." He gave an exaggerated look around. "This room, on the other hand...”
“Hm. I said I was sorry!"
She paused, forcing herself to adopt a more sober tone. "You realize that nothing has truly been resolved?”
William Conrad shook his head. “Of course not. I have presented the case for my chosen course – what happens next is up to you. But if we do end up on opposite sides of this game, be aware that I won't begrudge you your choice – I will simply be glad that you've chosen to play.”
Eventually, the Duke's shoulders slumped. "You've chosen a most unfortunate time to take an interest, Isolda." he said. "I am walking a very treacherous path.... although I will acknowledge that as the stakes have risen the notion of consulting you had begun to cross my mind."
He turned away from his niece, escaping from her gaze. "There is no proof that Ghidorah is behind the recent disappearances, but I am not blind, nor am I as callous as you would have me seem. Just because I haven't taken action doesn't make me unconcerned; the fact that the monster's presence is so distressing to you only clarifies my decision: he will be barred from the castle. More severe measures, however, especially co-operation with Mothra, are not a course I'm yet willing to pursue."
Isolda's eyes widened in incredulous surprise, her eyebrows climbing very nearly up to her hairline. A crack began to creep its way across one of the study's frost-rimed window-panes.
"Why in the name of the broken sacred not?"
The Duke sighed, trying not to shiver as he watched the tiny fissure spread across the glass. He was sure it was a metaphor for something. The man spread his hands, still not looking at his niece. "Because I don't trust her; Because she has her own agenda, and becoming reliant on her will weaken our position; Because word of Ghidorah's 'heroic deeds' has spread beyond our borders, and garnered the interest of powerful people; Because the potential gain outweighs the risk; Because events have been set in motion that can't be easily reigned in, and great power will be necessary to navigate them successfully. There are other, less interesting reasons as well."
Isolda' expression collapsed into a tight, narrow-eyed frown. "What events?"
"Shatterdun's economy is failing," said William Conrad van Harnburg. "I hadn't expected it to happen so soon, but the other duchies are pouncing on the opportunity we've created by cutting the Countess's supply-chain. The market for her goods has dried up, and her borders are collapsing. If we're to capitalize on this situation the way I had hoped, without being marginalized by the more powerful nobles, Ghidorah will need to be utilized in a more... active role."
Isolda crossed her arms over her bust. The temperature rose abruptly, bringing with it a strong scent of mildew. Strange shadows gathered in the corners of the room. "And if he turns against us? You must have a plan, you always do, but how much destruction will he cause before we can contain him? What if Mothra interferes regardless? What if I have to fight? Uncle, this could ruin everything you've built! If not by Ghidorah's hand... then by mine. I know you know that."
The Duke paced around the side edge of his desk, running his fingers along the gold-inlaid edge. He peered through the window-glass at the town and the lake beyond. Condensation ran in rivulets across the panes as the frost melted. "It could," he conceded. "Which is why, following the upcoming gala, I'm sending Ghidorah to Shatterdun with Chatterly. Their contingent will spearhead the annexation while I raise the call to arms."
Isolda's expression became completely flat. Above the wainscoting the shadows began to lengthen and writhe. The noblewoman was caught between two conflicting reactions; Elation that the monstrous threat to her languorous solitude would soon be far away wrestled viciously with a nervous apprehension that letting her uncle handle this his way would end with everyone dead and everything on fire. This didn't feel like a permanent solution.
“And what happens after that?” she asked. “Once we've secured the Countess's territory, will you get rid of him?”
The Duke didn't say anything; he knew he didn't have to. His niece's ghosts could read his spirit, and they whispered the truth, chittering and moaning.
“You still hope you won't have to. You think that by baiting Mothra into attacking him, and then defeating her, you can make Ghidorah afraid of us. Do you think you can intimidate him...? Uncle William, that's insane!”
As Isolda's incredulous anxiety peaked, the window exploded outward in a catastrophic rush of hissing glass and breathy, bodiless voices, raining glinting debris upon the courtyard below. A burst of pleasantly cool morning air cleared the mustiness from the room, replacing it with the scent of pine-trees and the lake. William Conrad sighed, and clicked his teeth. Isolda put her hands over her mouth.
“... sorry.”
The Duke turned away from the window. His smile was strained, although the tension was mostly lost within his jowls. “Dear girl, did we have to have this conversation in my study?... no, don't answer that. You're ethereal informants are right, of course. Sending Ghidorah away to fight does serve the interest of baiting a trap – but you must understand that Mothra defeated our golden friend not long ago. It's had quite the mellowing affect on him. If we were to defeat her, there's no reason to think the effect wouldn't be equally dramatic. Gratitude may be an alien concept to him, but he does understand fear.”
Isolda felt as though the floor were dropping out from under her one brick at a time. She could see the shape of his reasoning, but to the noblewoman it stank of justifications. She dropped her hands to her sides.
“Why do you want to hang onto this beast so badly?”
For a moment the Duke looked piqued – and then a look of stunned epiphany flickered across his face. For an instant, his other qualities seemed to drop away, leaving a skinny, fat-faced stranger with messy hair standing beside a broken window in an expensive nightgown. When it passed, the Duke almost looked sad.
His answer was spoken in the tones of a man explaining to his child why the bank is taking their house.
“You know, I've been dreading this conversation, or one like it, ever since you summoned me, but now that its here I think I know exactly what to say... Isolda, do you think you're the only one in this family with ghosts? Mine may not be as literal as yours, its true, but they are there nonetheless. You've said that my behavior has changed since Ghidorah came to our valley – it has not. It's only just now that you've noticed that I'm not the man you persist in seeing when you look at me. If you wanted your kindly, competent, but somewhat bumbling uncle William to rule this valley, then you should have plucked me from a time before we spent several years together failing to stop the end of the world! I refuse to relinquish Ghidorah for the simple reason that I no longer have you.”
Isolda stared, her auburn hair fluttering stringily in the breeze from the broken window. Her uncle began to pace around the room, gathering momentum and anger as he talked.
“You've locked yourself away from the world – and I've done my best to accommodate that. I understand, and I want you be happy – I really do, and if you needed isolation, I was willing to give it. But in doing so, you left me alone. We speak often, but we never talk, not about matters of consequence. In this strange new world of ours I had thought I'd be able to rely on your insight and power, as I did in the old, but you want no part of that life anymore – so I must look elsewhere if I'm to play on a grander stage than this bucolic valley. Chatterly's skills were an early boon, but the monster is a superlative weapon whose budding fame and power allow Harnburg to excel! I walk a razors edge in using him – I'm not a fool, Isolda, and I remember well what happens to those who attempt to tame that which is beyond their capacity; I will take steps, of course, precautions aforethought are required, but I will continue to employ Ghidorah for as long as I'm able. If Mothra has a problem with that, if she wants to push me back down among the minor barons who fancy themselves dukes of these lands simply because she fears the beast I ride, then no matter how pure her intentions may be I'll give her no quarter!”
William Conrad van Harnburg breathed heavily for several seconds, leaning against the bookshelf. Isolda patted him on the shoulder. Her mind was whirling with a combination of guilt, epiphany, and subtle anger, but her spectral chorus was oddly quiet.
“... and if I have a problem with it?”
The Duke straightened, waving her off. “Then you will have to take action, either to persuade me – and I will not be easily persuaded - or to side against me in order to eliminate the monster. In either case I will have at least achieved a first step towards extracting my niece from her shell. I have missed her, you know.”
Both of them were silent for several moments. The picture-frames rustled on the walls, but it may have just been the wind. Absurdly, both van Harnburgs began to chuckle.
“I hadn't realized we were both such messes,” Isolda said. She was crying a little, but it was a strange relief - It felt good to connect emotionally with a real person again, even if the subject matter did make her want to scream.
“I'm not a mess, dear girl. I maintain my facade splendidly." He gave an exaggerated look around. "This room, on the other hand...”
“Hm. I said I was sorry!"
She paused, forcing herself to adopt a more sober tone. "You realize that nothing has truly been resolved?”
William Conrad shook his head. “Of course not. I have presented the case for my chosen course – what happens next is up to you. But if we do end up on opposite sides of this game, be aware that I won't begrudge you your choice – I will simply be glad that you've chosen to play.”