Rider || Francis Drake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hellburner) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tvk2012-07-18 09:10 pm
hellburner) wrote in tvk2012-07-18 09:10 pm
Entry tags:
⚓ 012; [video]
So that sure as hell was a trip and a half. We're all having the same dreams and screwing' about with memories now?
What an interesting development. But I gotta say, what kind of stupid name is Elizabe--
[She was never destined for the life she would lead. Born a crimson bird in a gilded cage, set upon the finest pedestal from which she was to lead. A perfect porcelain doll in pristine clothes and gems, the girl was born a symbol. All of England looked to the leader that never should have been, the illegitimate daughter of an executed wife.]
[How she ascended was irrelevant. The throne was hers all the same, and it was there from which she was meant to lead as their beloved Gloriana. But while all of England was to look to her, not all of them did so willingly. That was how her legend truly began--with blood and a shriek of agony.]
[She never knew who attacked her or what their specific quarrel with her was. It was days, possibly a week or so, until she regained consciousness. The doctor had for a time feared she never would, with how easily such a severe wound could have become infected. That would have been a death sentence, but it was to be that their queen was too resilient for that.]
[When she did finally wake, it was with a surge of absolute horror--a jagged scar ran from her forehead to her chin, marring her entire face in a way nothing could ever conceal. She couldn't be damaged. The queen was a symbol, was England herself. To be seen by her subjects with so much as a scratch was utterly unthinkable. Symbols couldn't be damaged. Ideals did not bleed. A country's strength did not scream and rage and break a mirror with her bare fist as that woman did.]
[It was that same night that he came to her, under cover of darkness and concealed by her own servants. Her dragon, rushing to her side mere hours before setting out on a journey around the earth as no other had ever done.]
['I can help you,' he'd said. Tossed clothes, boots, and holstered pistols on her bed for her to change into before opening her own wardrobe without wasting time asking for permission.]
[What was eventually lost to history was that the queen and her dragon looked similar--very similar. Knowing that, knowing that England needed an immaculate leader, he was ready to sacrifice everything.]
['I do not know how to sail,' she'd prostested desperately, faltering in a very less than regal manner.]
['My men will teach you all you need to know.' he had countered calmly. They will help you, and then you will lead them as well as I would.']
[It was already decided. No, perhaps everything in that woman's life had been decided for her until that moment. This was the last thing she would have no say in--from that night on, her life would be hers. And the price to be paid was nothing more than the discarding of an identity she held no love for.]
[The throne was just as treacherous as the seas. With a visible hardening to her scarred face, the woman told him exactly that as she threw his coat over her shoulders and secured his holsters on her waist. But he accepted the exchange, as did she. What else could they do? England needed its queen and its dragon. The servants and sailors would keep their secrets--no one would ever know that after this night, the woman leading England and the captain leading her armies had exchanged lives.]
[And over time, she did learn to lead as a captain and not a queen; the gilded cage was broken to be replaced with a gilded ship. She and her men were feared and respected, and the woman was finally free to do as she pleased. No slow and agonizing life on the throne awaited her--no, she was determined to blaze like a destructive wildfire and burn herself out.]
[Wealth, power, fame...she had been given all of it as a child, and that night she cast it all away. If she was to have those things, she would scrape and claw her way to earning every bit of it and then spend it all away like a brilliant explosion.]
[It had been a good life, the scarred pirate decided, lying in the sunlit grass of a distant utopia. The scar on her face had been worn like a badge of honor as Francis Drake...as the symbol of England's military power. That was the kind of symbol she could accept being. Not the songbird on a pedestal, not Elizabeth the porcelain doll on high.]
['What awaits at the end of it all is a glorious fall.']
[A devilish grin spread across the woman's face in that bright sunlight--a place like this didn't suit her, but it would have to do for now. For someday she would be granted the ability to return, to blaze and burn out once more in the most spectacular way she could.]
[Fading back into reality would find an utterly terrifying sight--Rider, absolutely livid as the video cuts out.]
What an interesting development. But I gotta say, what kind of stupid name is Elizabe--
[She was never destined for the life she would lead. Born a crimson bird in a gilded cage, set upon the finest pedestal from which she was to lead. A perfect porcelain doll in pristine clothes and gems, the girl was born a symbol. All of England looked to the leader that never should have been, the illegitimate daughter of an executed wife.]
[How she ascended was irrelevant. The throne was hers all the same, and it was there from which she was meant to lead as their beloved Gloriana. But while all of England was to look to her, not all of them did so willingly. That was how her legend truly began--with blood and a shriek of agony.]
[She never knew who attacked her or what their specific quarrel with her was. It was days, possibly a week or so, until she regained consciousness. The doctor had for a time feared she never would, with how easily such a severe wound could have become infected. That would have been a death sentence, but it was to be that their queen was too resilient for that.]
[When she did finally wake, it was with a surge of absolute horror--a jagged scar ran from her forehead to her chin, marring her entire face in a way nothing could ever conceal. She couldn't be damaged. The queen was a symbol, was England herself. To be seen by her subjects with so much as a scratch was utterly unthinkable. Symbols couldn't be damaged. Ideals did not bleed. A country's strength did not scream and rage and break a mirror with her bare fist as that woman did.]
[It was that same night that he came to her, under cover of darkness and concealed by her own servants. Her dragon, rushing to her side mere hours before setting out on a journey around the earth as no other had ever done.]
['I can help you,' he'd said. Tossed clothes, boots, and holstered pistols on her bed for her to change into before opening her own wardrobe without wasting time asking for permission.]
[What was eventually lost to history was that the queen and her dragon looked similar--very similar. Knowing that, knowing that England needed an immaculate leader, he was ready to sacrifice everything.]
['I do not know how to sail,' she'd prostested desperately, faltering in a very less than regal manner.]
['My men will teach you all you need to know.' he had countered calmly. They will help you, and then you will lead them as well as I would.']
[It was already decided. No, perhaps everything in that woman's life had been decided for her until that moment. This was the last thing she would have no say in--from that night on, her life would be hers. And the price to be paid was nothing more than the discarding of an identity she held no love for.]
[The throne was just as treacherous as the seas. With a visible hardening to her scarred face, the woman told him exactly that as she threw his coat over her shoulders and secured his holsters on her waist. But he accepted the exchange, as did she. What else could they do? England needed its queen and its dragon. The servants and sailors would keep their secrets--no one would ever know that after this night, the woman leading England and the captain leading her armies had exchanged lives.]
[And over time, she did learn to lead as a captain and not a queen; the gilded cage was broken to be replaced with a gilded ship. She and her men were feared and respected, and the woman was finally free to do as she pleased. No slow and agonizing life on the throne awaited her--no, she was determined to blaze like a destructive wildfire and burn herself out.]
[Wealth, power, fame...she had been given all of it as a child, and that night she cast it all away. If she was to have those things, she would scrape and claw her way to earning every bit of it and then spend it all away like a brilliant explosion.]
[It had been a good life, the scarred pirate decided, lying in the sunlit grass of a distant utopia. The scar on her face had been worn like a badge of honor as Francis Drake...as the symbol of England's military power. That was the kind of symbol she could accept being. Not the songbird on a pedestal, not Elizabeth the porcelain doll on high.]
['What awaits at the end of it all is a glorious fall.']
[A devilish grin spread across the woman's face in that bright sunlight--a place like this didn't suit her, but it would have to do for now. For someday she would be granted the ability to return, to blaze and burn out once more in the most spectacular way she could.]
[Fading back into reality would find an utterly terrifying sight--Rider, absolutely livid as the video cuts out.]
Video
[Giggle]