Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

Sabine shifted her notes to the side and pulled a fresh sheet of paper from her desk. Better to be arrested for telling the truth than to go free as a liar, yes, but not being arrested while also telling the truth sounded like the best approach. And in order to avoid arrest, it would help to plan out her article rather than to simply vomit her thoughts on paper without any consideration for who might be reading.

She dipped her pen in ink and put it to the page:

Beneath the title, she added several bullet point reminders:

It was a structure that Abby had shared with her for developing opinion or essay-based articles for the paper, and she had yet to put it to use – primarily because the majority of her pieces had been banal paragraphs about cakes or parties or weather. But cakes and parties and weather seemed less important after the war, and it had been easier to convince the Gazette’s editor to let her try something different – even with the heavy stipulations that she’d put in place.

Still, writing out what the structure should be was one thing. Actually bringing it to life was an entirely different beast, and for that Sabine would need to revisit her notes.

Sabine sighed and rolled back her shoulders to ease the tension. What was her point? That war caused deaths? That war was ‘bad’? How novel. She grimaced. No, she needed something better than that. Something that truly resonated with the people – something that made them realize… what, exactly?

That the King was just as bad as the Qe’dreki.

That the nobility were only ever out for themselves.

That regardless of who had won the civil war, Rynmere would remain the same. A different king, maybe, and probably a few executions as a result, but at the end of the trial there would still be noble family in power. No change for the commoners – just the continuing cycle of being used and trampled on by the wealthy.

And didn’t that alone make the whole war – all of those deaths – a pointless endeavour?

Sabine’s pen returned to the page. Her next words were written more tentatively, with the hesitation of someone who knew that she was intentionally ignoring a direct request.

The next break passed like a storm: slowly at first, and then all at once. The outline began to fill out as more points were added to support the question of the king’s necessity – though it read more like unsolicited opinions from a drunk man at a bar than anything from a true political intellectual, given Sabine’s lack of education on the subject.

Still, it was a start.

Sabine blinked blearily as the words began to blur, and she reluctantly put down her pen. She yawned and stretched out her arms to release the stiffness in her back. There would be no getting past this wall if she didn’t take a break. After capping the open bottle of ink, she pushed back her chair and headed for the door. A short walk would do both her mind and her body some good.

Outside, the fresh air hit her like a long-lost friend. She breathed deeply and surveyed the busy cobblestone road before taking a step forward. As she walked beneath the late afternoon sun, her thoughts shifted from the King to her family and, finally, to Gray.

Gray.

After the war, he had asked her to join him on his journey to Rharne. He’d said he needed a guide to the city – someone he trusted who could help investigate the person or people who had murdered his family.

She had yet to give him a response.

It wasn’t a decision she could make in one afternoon, she’d told him. She needed time. After all, leaving Rynmere meant leaving her family behind. It meant leaving her father in slavery and forcing her brother to care for their mum on his own. It meant spending who knew how many trials at sea, and then going on to spend what could turn into several seasons or more in Rharne.

Still, she was loathe to say no. This was about Gray’s family, after all, and he needed her aid. The man had grown on her, despite their many, many disagreements, and his rescue during the civil war had been symbolic of their alliance. He helped her, she helped him.

How could she refuse?

She ran a hand roughly across her forehead before shoving both hands into her pockets. A dilemma for another time. Her thoughts had taken her around the block and back again, landing her right in front of the Gazette’s offices. Now was the time to solve the problem of Rynmere’s monarchy. Later, she could tackle the problem of Gray – a concern that would be far more difficult to address than the first.

Sabine shook her head and returned to her desk.

Her nice, neat desk.

…what?

“Sabine?”

She pulled her eyes away from her desk – a desk that should have been piled with notes and outlines and half-baked rants - and glanced sideways at the woman who had called her name. “Fern, did someone come by? I think I’m missing my work…”

“Abby’s looking for you,” Fern replied, dodging the question with all the grace of a charging bull.

“Can it wait? Look, I can’t find my papers-”

“Go see Abby, Bine. Seriously.”

A small frown touched her lips. “Okay…” She glanced back at her desk one more time before turning heel for her boss’ office.

It took her only a moment to be summoned inside.

“Have a seat.”

Sabine slid into the chair across from her stern-faced editor and clasped her hands loosely in her lap. “What’s up?”

Abby slid a small stack of papers across the desk. “Can you tell me what this is?”

Her forehead creased as she leaned forward. “It’s the outline for my article. How did you-”

“This is treason.”

“Treason?” Sabine laughed before she could catch herself. “Don’t you think that’s giving me a bit too much credit? It’s just an article, Abby. An opinion piece for the Gazette on the civil war, like we talked about.”

“This is nothing like we talked about.”

“Yes, it is,” she insisted, raising her voice. “Immortals, starting a civil war is treason. Trying to take control of the throne is treason. Threatening to kill the king is treason. This is not treason…” She trailed off as the intensity of Abby’s glare interrupted her explanation.

“You and I disagree sometimes,” Abby said through clenched teeth, “but I’ve never thought you to be this stupid.” She slammed a hand on her desk, eliciting a flinch from Sabine. “Get rid of it. Now. Tear it up, throw it away, burn it – do whatever you need to do.”

“What? I’m not going to burn my article!”

“Yes, you are.”

Sabine’s simmering anger began to boil. “Are you insane?” She shoved her chair back and stood with her palms pressed against the desk, matching her editor glare for glare.

“Are you?” Abby, too, shoved back her chair. “Do you have a death wish you’d like to tell me about? Do you want to get us shut down? If you don’t see how this article - this article about overturning the monarchy - is treasonous, you’re being naïve.” She thrust the papers towards Sabine. “Take it, burn it, and promise me you’ll never say a single word about this again.”

“This is ridiculous-”

“Promise me.”

“No.”

Abby’s expression darkened. “Promise me,” she said, lowering her voice to a dangerous octave, “or I will call the Iron Hand right now and have you arrested.”

“Abby!”

“I’m sorry, Sabine. I like you, you’re a good journalist, but I’m not going to put myself or this paper at risk because you fancy yourself a political philosopher.” Her jaw tightened. “The Gazette was not built to effect change. It was built to collect information and spread news. I won’t tell you again: burn these papers or I send the city guards to your home.”

Sabine snatched the papers from the desk and crumpled them into a ball. She gave Abby a stiff nod but said nothing, not trusting herself to keep from cursing should she open her mouth.

“Good,” Abby said. “And when you’re done, just go home. I’ll give you a new assignment tomorrow.” Her shoulders loosened and she sank back into her chair. “Dismissed.”

“‘Dismissed’?”

“Just go, Sabine.”

The door slammed behind her as Sabine stalked out of the office, rage written in the tension between her brow and the heat on her cheeks. “‘Treason,’” she muttered under her breath. “‘Dismissed.’ Well, fuck you too.” She glowered at the papers she held crumpled in her hand – the very same papers she had spent breaks writing, reviewing, and re-writing. And Abby just wanted her to burn it all away, as if it was worth nothing? As if it was dust?

No.

No.

The refusal was visceral, rising from the very core of her being to the top of her skin. She might never have the article published by the Gazette, but there was no way Abby was going to force her to destroy her work. Upon reaching her desk, Sabine glanced back at her editor's office to see if the woman was peering out.

Nothing.

She looked around at the desks beside her, but they, too, were empty. In one swift movement, she slid open her desk drawer and stuff the papers inside, shoving them all the way behind an unused journal before slamming the drawer shut and exiting the Gazette.

The rich and the powerful might control what people could say, but they would never control what the people could think.

Least of all Sabine.