This is not canon, it’s too sad, but the idea occurred to me and I wanted to jot it down even if it’s not as polished as the canon ones are.
Lian walked into the throne room, robes sweeping behind them. This was not the throne room of their home land; this was another palace, far away, that had once belonged to yet another conquered kingdom.
They accepted the smart salute from the captain of their guard, and sank down to sit in their throne – the smaller one, sitting lower and to the side of the one that now sat empty, waiting for the empress to return from the border.
“I’ll be meeting with the representative from the combined trader’s guild this morning,” they said. “I want a full formal escort for them on the way in. Fully armed.”
Lian sighed internally, propped their elbow on the side of the chair, and sank their chin onto their fist. Veiled and not-so-veiled threats. They hated doing it this way, what the empress (in the privacy of their own head, they still didn’t like to think of her as my wife) referred to as diplomatic pressure with a sardonic half-smile.
The guard saluted immediately. “Yes, your highness.”
“Dismissed.”
They gave the order without even thinking about it, and it would never have occurred to the guard to disobey or show anything less than the absolute respect due to the empress’ consort.
The door creaked open, and Lian looked up with a puzzled frown. Nobody had been announced.
A small figure slipped through the doors, unaccompanied. Her clothing was bright and richly decorated; Lian thought it too restrictive for a child, but they didn’t dare let her wear anything less. Her nurses and tutors would have done as Lian said, but they’d have told the empress. It wasn’t worth it for clothing.
Her face broke into a beaming smile and she set out across the wide, echoing space of the throne room. “Li!”
Lian’s heart squeezed painfully. They stood and hurried down the steps of the dais to meet her. “Little one,” they said, trying to sound like they were scolding her and failing. “You’re not supposed to see me today. Don’t you have lessons?”
“Yes, but not yet,” the princess protested. “I haven’t seen you for a week!” She raised her arms for an embrace.
The empress would be back soon. But she wasn’t here yet and couldn’t disapprove, so Lian opened their arms and folded the princess in against their side. She wrapped her arms around their waist.
“Okay, you’ve seen me now,” they said after a moment. “You had better get back to your tutor. You don’t want to be behind, do you? Your mother will be home soon.”
She shook her head seriously. “I won’t be behind,” she promised. Her hand found Lian’s. “Mother’s coming back because she won, isn’t she? My tutor said the city would fall within the week and he was right! She won the war because we’re the best and nobody can stop us!”
“I…” Lian bit their lip and had to look away, directing their gaze to the ceiling. “Yes, little one, she won,” they said eventually. “And now the fighting can stop, which is good.”
They tried their best, when the empress couldn’t hear, little pieces of advice, little questions. Be kind, little one. How do you think you would feel if someone did that to you? Do you think that’s fair? Rulers should always think of their people first, in all things.
They had to be careful, lest they not be allowed to see her at all; but sometimes Lian cried themselves to sleep over the things that the princess said with the clear, untroubled confidence of a child.
She was the empress’ heir. Lian worried about what that meant.
Sometimes they felt like they were trying to change the course of a great warship by putting their hands against the side of its prow and kicking frantically. A ridiculous image.
They disentangled themselves from the princess. “Go on back to your lessons,” they said, trying to sound cheerful. “I’ve got a lot of work to do today. I’ll see you when we go to the gates to meet the victory march.”
.
The empress emerged from her carriage, the picture of grace and victory. Lian stepped forward to help her down, their face fixed in a smile.
“Welcome home,” they said, and misery shone black and deep in their chest, hard and solidified and implacable as glass. “My empress.”
“Thank you, consort,” she said, an apparently genuine smile lighting her face. She reached out and trailed a caressing hand through Lian’s hair.
They didn’t flinch, their breathing didn’t hitch; their stomach twisted a little. They had been suppressing those reactions for so long now, sometimes they thought they had stopped hating the Empress’ touch. But they hadn’t.
“Did this pit of vipers give you any trouble while I was gone?” she asked.
They smiled, shook their head. “No,” they answered truthfully. “The usual games. Nothing to concern you with.”
“Good,” she said, and linked her hand in theirs. “I would have hated to come down hard on any of my politicians, so soon on the heels of a victory. I can’t tolerate any disrespect of you. Now, can I?”
“No,” Lian said, swallowing hard. There was a barbed reminder there. “Because disrespect of me is disrespect of you.” Because I’m… I’m your creature.
Before their marriage, the Empress had told Lian: If you play your cards right, you might just be one of those useful things I take with me when I leave this place.
She’d been true to her word. Now here they were, years later and half a continent away from their home. They hadn’t been allowed to go back yet, although the Empress had promised they might if the next stage of her conquest went well. They dared to hope that their homeland and their people were doing all right in their absence, and yet…
Every time the Empress left court for her wars, Lian prayed desperately that she would not return.
