Rehearsed joy and cheer filled the promenade and square below the balcony. It had not been long since Petya was plucked and placed within this household and their expectations of her were already extensive. The Junitus, a proud enough Garlean family that had not climbed the ranks of the military, but instead stuck to the duties of public servants and the like.
"We write laws and enforce them in such a way for the good of the people, Petya. It is not about conquered and conquering, but rather peaceful assimilation. When you train a hound to heel while on a leash, it is for its safety."
But we're not mutts or animals, thought the fledgling mage. As bold as her thoughts and retorts could be, the child never dared to voice them. She kept hearing conquered, annexed, assimilation, and the like without a clue as to what they meant. Of course, she thought she knew what it meant. It was the Bangaa forced to work to exhaustion, the exile of Rabanastrans from their homes in the North End, it was the soldiers patrolling and keeping curfews, it was --
"Are you listening, Petya?"
The fledgling mage widened her eyes, trying to speak but instead sputtered out nothings so she answers with a nod of her head. That woman, Minerva, her mother only by law, placed a hand upon the young girl's shoulder as she sighs softly and gestures to the crowds which gathered to watch the imperial cavalcade through the Palace Square.
"I'll not repeat this a third time, so listen and observe," Minerva then paused to clear her throat before continuing.
"I'm hoping to raise you as one who shall become an inspiration for all annexed citizens. To remind them of the positions they can yet acquire; to foster hope in them. Even if it be through envy."
The peacock brings her hand to her mouth, stifling a soft chuckle with attentions elsewhere as the fledgling mage squirms. How can I do that? The fledgling mage was a free citizen of the lowest rank, but only due to nepotism and the weight of her family's name, Bhaldurra. A weight that became binding and crushing as their reputation soured over the many summers of Dalmasca's occupation. To have one member of the staunchly rebellious Bhaldurra be fostered by Garleans, to take their name, to be placed upon a pedestal made fellow patriots wonder if the family had become turncoats to the cause.
The fledgling mage was not aware of what word to use to describe it, but the peacock woman certainly said many honeyed words but didn't mean them. She felt used, a pawn, and wondered when she might be tossed away; whether that be a quicker outcome through obeying or rebelling.
"Return their smiles, Pet. Show them the position in which to strive for."
There were no smiles to return from what Petya saw, nor even envy. To those who looked at her, it was of pity, disdain, or apathy. A people worn. A people broken. Others watched the imperial cavalcade with a quiet fear, for they knew just how the machina would be used to deal with uprisings.
And yet, the fledgling mage spied a flame yet kindled among few scattered about the spectators who yet seemed willing to fight another day. It was an inspiration. However, for herself, that hope not just for the kingdom, but for freedom still blossomed in the hearts of her compatriots. The battle was not lost yet.
