Title:    History Lesson
Date:     January 28, 1999 
Place:    Varati Camp - Somewhere in Arelate
Cast:     Khalid I/III, Thalia
Scene:    Khalid relates how the Reign of Fire began to Thalia...

     Only a single day has passed since you witnessed the judgment of the God-King of the
Varati upon Hashim, Clan Warlord of Sarazen. The next morning, he took his own life in the
ritualistic Jhor, by fire, facing the rising sun. The Agni-Haidar were swift to move on their liege's
orders, as were the Akhund, and potential traitors in said Clan were dealt with in the usual brutal
methods of the Varati. The society has survived these centuries by being strong and by allowing
little in the way of mistakes. Each day, you begin to understand this better and better.
     Yet, the Varati are not monsters. As you pass through different parts of their camps, there
are small reminders here and there of the humanity of this warrior-race. Men offer up quiet
prayers to their God-King, asking for a swift end to the war and a return to their homes. Others
speak affectionately of wives and loved ones that they have left behind, so as to fight for their
protection against the Empyre. Others commiserate over the death of fallen comrades in this
ongoing struggle and mourn their passing. These people are human; they bleed and die. They feel
great joy and terrible sadness.
     Even you are shown gestures of kindness, here and there. No, most of the Varati avoid
you as if you were the living incarnation of all they hate, but others offer small symbols of their
compassion for your plight. A proffered mug of steaming kaffe to ward away the cold, a warm
shawl to shield you from the elements. Not because they are required to, but because they care to.
And watching these events, from his position upon a small hill, is Khalid Atar. He has
summoned you to him this day.
     She closes her eyes. Memories flash like light upon water, events so brilliant in that one
moment and then gone. She's a girl, running through a field. Bending down, she keeps her hands
low to feel the brush of the long grass against her palms and to relish the tickle that plays her
senses. The wind comes up behind her like a mother, pulling her up into her arms and holding
her close to her heart. And below her, emerald green lands stretch out like a patchwork quilt.
Ripple. She's a young woman, sitting in a library. Book spread open on her lap, she drags her
fingertip lightly across the text and tucks back her hair with another hand. So preoccupied, she
doesn't even notice him until he's crouched down before her. "Hi..." Ripple. Wedding day.
Ripple. Oriane and Riana are born. Ripple.
     Drawing in a slow breath, she opens her gaze once more to the encampment below.
Thalia stands upon the hill, pulling her wrap in close, and wonders. Wonders how she got here.
Wonders how all the moments in her life led her up to this. Is there a purpose or is it simply
chance? Fate would be much easier to interpret if it came with instructions. You called for her
today and she's been up before dawn. When was the last time she watched the sun rise? She can't
even remember. Turning away from the warming sky, she starts toward you. Quiet in her manner,
as she always is.
     The sun has yet to reach its apex in the sky this morning and even with its bright, yellow
rays that slice through the heavy grey clouds, the day is cold. Chilly. Biting. A reflection of days
to come. Shouts ring out throughout the camp as officers issue orders to soldiers and warriors
practice their arts with naked, shining blades. Others work on preparing the large army to move,
and the smells of unwashed men mingle with the pungent scents of the various beast that roam
the fields of the encampment.
     Glorious black wings are folded against Khalid's back as you make your way towards
him. Blue eyes are shielded with lowered lids, until all you can see are fiery slits against black
lashes. His hair has been let loose and it clings to his face, with silky strands being caught
between full, red lips. They are released as he murmurs, "How long will it be, Thalia?" There is
no preamble or greetings; his thoughts are vocalized in quiet words.
     Thalia settles in beside you, this whisper of a woman. The gentle breeze to your
passionate storm, she is never without her quiet calm. However, she grows tired. Tired of death.
Tired of war. It paints shadows upon her face and weighs heavy upon her heart. Tilting her head
to one side, she lifts up a hand to rub at her neck. "I do not know," she murmurs softly, her voice
that of a mourning dove singing at dawn. "I pray that it will not be much longer now." And as she
looks out over the camp below, there is a broken sadness within her grey eyes -- sorrow for her
people; sorrow for yours. Silence strokes its fingers over her mouth and she shifts, twisting
enough so that she may look at you. Reaching out, she lightly touches the very edge of one of
your ebon wings, not spending a moment's thought on propriety. What is the penalty for touching
a God? "One of my daughters has black wings." Her tone is distant, wistful. Those fingertips
glide and then break away, her hand disappearing beneath her wrap once more. "I miss her."
     A shudder, as those wings open in protest to the touch! Khalid seems surprised at the
gesture, as a slender, black eyebrow is arched. Yet, he does not utter any complaints, no words at
all are spoken for the moment. "Oriane, is it not?" he asks finally. "I know of her. I know of all
your family, Thalia. I have watched them from afar for a long time now." Nostrils flare as he
exhales softly, "How can your people not sue for peace? Have they gone mad? How much longer
must we fight?" He shakes his head and his midnight black tresses come down as sheets across
his face, masking him entirely for a moment, before he brushes back the unruly locks. "How
many times must we repeat this tragic play at a cost that is too great for any to pay?"
     "Khalid," she answers gently, shaking her head ever so slightly. "You must understand
that we, that is, everyone aside from you, all are just brief moments in time; flickers of the flame.
We do not carry the memories of the past with us as you do. We do not -remember-. This is not
an excuse. It is an explanation." The wind picks up and loosens Thalia's curls from the pin which
held them, her thick, gold hair swirling about her face. The faintest look of annoyance dots her
expression and she pushes her locks back only to have them defiantly slip forward again. A battle
which will always be fought. "It seems that every generation needs a reminder. A reminder to
stay humble." She's not looking at you now, her face turned away so that all you can catch is the
very edge of her profile. Although she was the one to bring it up, she speaks no more of Oriane
or her family. No. Now she is quiet. Now she hurts.
     "We cannot afford these constant reminders. They bleed our souls and destroy our
futures. We are caught in a cycle that must be broken. We need to stand up and make ourselves
heard, Thalia Tritonides. You and I." Taking a step close, Khalid's wings unfurl, so as to provide
a shield of sorts for you against those furious winds. Black hair continues its chaotic battle
against the fierce breezes, whipping against the face of the God-King. "Do you know how truly
the Reign of Fire began, daughter of the Empyre?" His eyes flicker with an intense blue as he
considers your countenance.
     Thalia purses her lips, this action just barely glimpsed past the veil of hair obscuring her
visage. "It is our nature," she whispers, more of a vocalized musing to herself than anything else.
"Such is the curse of being mortal." She bows her head, sweeping a hand over her face. "Of
course, you are right though. This must stop." It is the responsibility of experience to be the
guiding hand to emotional youth; a parent must direct a child with firm wisdom. Is that the task
you have been made for? Is that the task which gives you immortality? To save all these frail
races from themselves? She looks up in the same moment you draw closer, her eyes widening in
vague startlement. A breath is drawn, held, and it takes a few moments for your question to filter
in through her senses. A slow shake of negation. "I read some history books on that, but I am
afraid my memory is failing me at the moment..."
     "I would doubt any Empyreal history book would have recorded the truth of the matter.
History, to them, is like clay to be molded to whatever shape or design they so desire." Khalid's
mouth forces itself into a bitter smile that dies in his melancholic blue eyes. So close, he stands
so close. He is a tangible and forceful presence and the scent of war and death and pain is upon
him. Along with more mundane aromas -- the wyvern Queen, wet leather and the spices of the
foods that the Varati so enjoy. His right hand twists, so that its palm is up and facing you as he
extends his arm out. An offer. "The Empyre and the Varati had been fighting on and off, in
thinly-veiled skirmishes for years. Vinita had come to us, by then, and had told us of the
tragedies that had befallen the Empyre, the cruelty that had stolen upon the minds of their
leaders. And so we knew no peace with them, yet my half-brother Jamil believed that reason
could be found in the hearts of some of your people." The tale begins and it brings sadness to the
God-King's voice and sorrow to his face.
     A very faint smile tips her mouth, grey eyes wrinkling a bit at the corners. "Well, you
would be surprised how much history is up to interpretation," she replies, her tone soft and quiet
for it needs not to be any more than that. "Most historians tend to skew events to suit their
purpose." If they were unrestrained, Thalia would stretch out her wings at this point, so poised
between humble awe and uncomfortable intimidation. You are close. Within her personal space.
It is almost like being too close to the sun, the blinding brilliance of it all stripping you away until
there is nothing. She looks to your hand and a heartbeat is spent considering it before she slides
flesh-to-flesh. A breath is caught in her throat, held there as attention roams back to your face.
She listens now, listens as much to the emotions crying in your eyes as she does to the words
which fall off your tongue.
     Slender, masculine fingers twine with gentle, feminine ones. Though the memories of the
past haunt him as a waking dream in the present, a faint smile cuts its way across his lips. A
brief, passing smile. "Yes, I know," he murmurs. His silence holds only long enough for him to
collect his thoughts and continue with his story, "Jamil was always so reserved. He was the calm
to my fire. He was the wisdom to my rage. I was younger then, though centuries old already, but
he was older still. And in his heart, there was a desire for peace. Perhaps it came from his...
mortality. I do not know." Blue eyes dwell on a point unknown, then flicker so as to focus on
your own beautiful ones. "He came unto me and said, 'Brother and liege, let me go to our cousins
in the sky and speak with them. They know not what they do, but they can see reason. I know
this.' And I spoke to him,. 'I am wary, brother, but your judgment has always been sound. I shall
let you do this, but take fifty of our lions of fire for guard.' And so he left, with my royal guard to
shield him." His words bring him closer to you, though he has not moved once since the tale has
begun. Except to hold your hand tightly to his own.
     Things slow down, separate. A lifetime spans across a heartbeat; a second stretches over
an eternity. There is sensation -- the feel of her hand held by yours is experienced so acutely that
she is certain she is aware of every faint groove to your flesh; the wind filtering in through the
feathers of your wings to toy with light and dark locks alike; the sound of your voice like a low
drum in her core. Then there are the words, throwing pictures up against the back of her mind
and calling her thoughts to the images trapped in this tragic play. Finally, there is you. The
embodiment of it all. She shudders a slight bit, her free hand tightening her attempt to keep her
wrapped closed about her. Quiet, she nods her head, being drawn in closer. Closer than she had
ever intended.
     And closer still, for Khalid takes another dangerous step within the walls you have put up.
The borders that have been established. He ignores them, so that his misty breath is felt upon
your face and the heat that radiates from his body is shared with your own. And when he speaks,
his passion can be felt across your skin, "In the dark halls of Ushas-Gah, I waited. I waited for
days that became weeks. And then months." Before the next words are uttered, his mouth clamps
shut so hard that blood is drawn upon his lips as teeth renders skin. But it is not blood, but rather
flames that spring from that wound. And then the flames are no more, and it is indeed blood that
stains his dusky skin. He ignores all of this as he murmurs, "One morning and I remember it well,
for the sun was red, a wrathful red, we finally received word. My father was angry as he awoke
that morning to meet my mother. That morning, a cadre of the Praetorian Guard flew over the
varas of Masada and dropped upon our caves many sacks. And then, laughing, they flew off once
more."
     Thalia closes her eyes for so many reasons. Everything is coming in so close -- you, the
conversation, the emotions being stirred. She doesn't want to know; she doesn't -want- the burden
of the insight. It's as if the naive portion of her heart begs silently not to be destroyed; tries
desperately to get away. You can see it in her face, the pain which flickers there. However, it's
too late. These are not times to huddle in safe corners, to cover one's eyes and ears to shut out the
world and deny the wickedness which severed it from Heaven. As the flames die down upon your
lips, she lifts her gaze to you once more, nodding slowly. She'll take it. She'll take the
responsibility. That panicked, last moment of fear has passed by and part of her opens to you. To
share some of your duty. Her other hand she draws up, laying it over the ones already twined.
Soft. Gentle. Patient.
     Matching you passion for passion, heartbeat for heartbeat, Khalid brings his other hand to
yours, so that four become as one. Tightly held. The moment is cherished. And in a throaty, harsh
voice, he murmurs, "And in those sacks held the heads of the fifty lions. Scarred, brutalized and
desecrated, their faces were locked in grim visages of their tortured death. I have no doubt they
killed ten times their number in Praetorians before they were defeated, but they could only fight
so many." Involuntarily, his powerful hands tighten around your own to the point of near pain.
"And with those heads as that of my brother. Jamil. The son of my father. My half-brother, my
older half-brother. Oh, wise, gentle, strong Jamil. The peacemaker. The visionary." His voice is a
raw with fury that has only somewhat died down over the centuries, "His visions had ended with
his eyes being burned out, Thalia Tritonides. This was the Empyreans' answer to peace."
     A breath is released in a soft, rolling sigh -- that protected part of her soul drifting up
from inside to be lost on the wind forever. Thalia knew the answer before you even said it; the
actual words were inconsequential by that point. It was something more felt than heard. She
bows her head, the wrap slipping to reveal shoulders touched with a tremble. Silver and gold falls
forward, shadows from you the expression which catches hold of her face. She stays that way for
a long moment, so quiet and humbled. When she lifts her head, there is a brightness in her eyes
like a thousand stars plucked from the sky and she focuses her raw gaze upon your face. What
could she possibly say to this? What words could be offered in atonement for sins past? At a loss,
she can only convey what her heart aches. "I am sorry," she murmurs.
     "Do you know now why I have hated your people so long and so hard, Thalia Tritonides?
Why rage has been my constant companion and why blood the drink of preference for my thirsty
lips? Lips that have hungered for revenge?" Khalid's voice becomes nearly a whisper as he one
hand slides away from the whole, then drifts upwards to cup your cheek. So intimate. Too close,
perhaps. Yet, he holds his palm to your face as he murmurs, "It began the greatest war ever to
rage across this world. And it ended in the total dominance of the Varati. Yet, time has healed
many wounds and I cannot rage forever. I... I look to something new, Thalia. I look to see the
vision my brother once saw and I believe it is attainable. But it must be fought for."
     Although she does not move, part of her pulls away when your hand finds her cheek, her
grey eyes flitting momentarily to that side before settling upon your face again -- a nervous
undercurrent to the calm manner Thalia struggles to maintain. "Do you always conduct history
lessons in such an intimate fashion, Amir-al?" she whispers with an uncertain smile, a faint
tremble murmured in her tone. You're just so close. Too close. It's too hard to think; it's too hard
to sort through emotions when you fill her senses so completely. Therefore, defensively, she
shields herself with the tenets instilled in her since youth: modesty and propriety. A blush tinges
her cheeks and her gaze falls off your face to stare downward, unfocused. "But, yes, I think I can
understand your position. Although..." She presses her lips into a thoughtful line, cutting off her
words. Blood does not correct things; blood does not change that which has already happened.
But you need not be told this, do you? Silence hangs in the air between the two of you as she
struggles to reign in her thoughts. And, at long last, "Peace is the only thing /worth/ fighting for."
And then she goes quiet once again.
     The wall is firmly in place and Khalid draws away from your defenses. Licking at the
blood that stains his own lips, he drops his hands away from your cheek and your own hands.
And a step is taken. Backwards. Away from you. "You are right, Thalia Tritonides. This is why I
am here." Black wings fold neatly against his back, even as the winds continue to toss his
feathers. "How can we put an end to this all? There is only one way I can see; we must begin to
truly understand one another. From the eyes of our enemy, we may become brothers and sisters."
     Thalia stoops down to collect the wrap which had slipped down about her feet, silver-
twined curls of gold softly swaying about her face. "Yes. I agree with you on that point as well."
Is she relieved that you have stepped back? That you have released her both physically and
emotionally? It's hard to tell for her face is once again settled with calm. Straightening, she
returns warmth to her shoulders by setting the retrieved garment about them, and the woman
studies you thoughtfully, eyes slipping over the constructs of your visage and form. "I hope that
my government will see the merit of such an exchange. I think that, with the war fresh in their
minds and the blood still staining their hands, they will be wary about allowing even one
diplomat within their midst. However, I would imagine that it would be apparent that it is the
only way."
     "Diplomats can only do so much, Thalia. A fundamental change must be made at the
heart of both the Empyre and the Varati kingdom. A change to bend the course of time to a new
future." Khalid refuses to elaborate as black wings begin to spread, full and huge. "Think on this,
Thalia. Think on the cause and the sacrifice that must be made." With no more to say at this time,
the God-King claims the heavens as his own as he catches the winds and glides into the cool,
winter sky.

FIN