The First Prayer of the Mortals (CC Teen) Complete 01/11/08

Finished stories set in an alternate universe to that introduced in the show, or which alter events from the show significantly, but which include the Roswell characters. Aliens play a role in these fics. All complete stories on the main AU with Aliens board will eventually be moved here.

Moderators: Anniepoo98, Rowedog, ISLANDGIRL5, Itzstacie, truelovepooh, FSU/MSW-94, Hunter, Island Breeze, Forum Moderators

Locked
User avatar
suicide_eagle_rath
Obsessed Roswellian
Posts: 567
Joined: Tue Nov 01, 2005 1:20 pm
Location: Dimaras Rock, Antar
Contact:

The First Prayer of the Mortals (CC Teen) Complete 01/11/08

Post by suicide_eagle_rath »

Image
Title: The First Prayer of the Mortals

Author: suicide_eagle_rath

Rating: Teen

Pairings: AU/ CC

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, WB, and UPN. They are not mine and no infringement intended.

Summary: The realization of mortality and the fragile existence of life by Zan upon the fall of Antar.

Collection: Part of the collection of Fall of Antar: short one part stories concerning the fall of Antar and what happened. Others in this collection are:

Captives of Ki'var
Failed Tears of the Dragons
Heretic's Dagger: The Death of a King
Incomplete Dawn of Awakening
Lament for Antar
Political Espionage: The Game of Survival
Rage Against the Dying of the Night
So Passes the Glory of Antar
The Fall of the Dance
Tisiphone
The First Prayer of the Mortals
Zan's Adoration of the Warrior
Last edited by suicide_eagle_rath on Fri Jan 11, 2008 11:20 am, edited 7 times in total.
User avatar
suicide_eagle_rath
Obsessed Roswellian
Posts: 567
Joined: Tue Nov 01, 2005 1:20 pm
Location: Dimaras Rock, Antar
Contact:

Post by suicide_eagle_rath »

The First Prayer of the Mortals

Do ut Des
"I give so that you may give”
When he was a child, so young in heart, Zan believed foremost the old stories of Antar and how she came into being through the fire of thought, forged by the very hands of the Ancients, the jewel of their creation, the foundation of all life. Through her ran the blood of the races, the heart of humanity beat strong in her veins, her consciousness brought forth the intellect of the ages. He believed in all that was taught to him, the superiority of the royal race, the absolute power of the King, the eternal devotion of the people, the paramountcy of the throne.

He watched his father, flawless in his duties; adoration clouded his sight at the magnificence of his father’s abilities. He could not see at this tender age the flaws, cracks that would become chasms by the time he took the throne. So much was kept hidden from the young prince, shielded in his gilded tower, surrounded by those who were au fait on court politics telling him where to go and how to act.

In time as he grew into manhood he understood more than those childlike dreams of a perfect world. He comprehended how the stars and moon appeared, not by the will of the King but by the natural laws, laws far above the throne of Antar. That was the first of his realization, that he was not a god, but a mortal. He came to understand that the legends of Antar, words so old, ancient musings, were just that legends, myths created by those who could not explain the laws of science, the determination of the physical world.

Time would not stand still for a mere mortal, and even the great king of Antar fell victim to prostrate before the death gates. This was the last lesson for Zan to learn, that even he would be mortal as he knelt at his father’s grave. The moment his father gave forth his last breath, the weight of the world pressed down hard on a very young Zan’s shoulders. Yet as time went on and the pain of death was forgotten, Zan began to diminish his responsibilities and luxuriated in the all the accouterments that the title of king brings one‘s self.

The life of a king’s existence brought emptiness to Zan, a loneliness that none could comprehend. Surrounded by people all day and night, yet alone, sealed away in his thoughts, in his voice, in his touch. From the cradle to the throne, he had endured this way, the blackness of companionship, of friendship. Until the day he walked into the palace, a distant cousin, a powerful warrior, brought to defend Antar against sudden increase of civil disputes.

It was this warrior that defied tradition, braved to love him as a brother, as a friend, one that challenged Zan the great King, one who voice dared to speak out. Rath was such a comrade, a devoted friend who failed to kiss the proverbial ass displaying his thoughts openly to Zan in what the masses were thinking, wanting, demanding. He bore the King’s secrets; he bore the people’s needs.

Each morning Rath began the day with the prayer of the mortals, a prayer said in Zan’s name for the Ancients to bequeath the king long life and perception beyond measure. Zan never offered up the old prayers seeing them as archaic, superstitious beliefs of a people who feared the elements. He stood there watching Rath go through the ablutions, scoffing and mocking him and his old ways. Rath would just smile and continue, undaunted by the King’s attitude in such matters, knowing in the end he was protecting the King’s soul.

Zan was never meant to live a peasant’s life, those whose trades and prospects were minor in retrospect, minimal work or intellect was involved. No he was destined for greatness, to control the most powerful army the Federation of the Five Worlds had ever seen. It was this army that grew more powerful and more terrifying under the command of the warrior Rath; whom Zan made his second in command, the next to rule Antar.

The masses endeared Rath to themselves, for he was more like them than he was a royal. Having been brought up far from the palace, in a military lifestyle, he had an air of arrogance about him, arrogance that was earned in the blood of battle not given in the cradle.

Time slipped away like water, days bled into months, years passed, mere blurs on a calendar. Those of the royal dynasty drank the nectar of the age of abundance and ate ambrosia of the halcyon times of peace. Yet under the façade of a new world, on the very brink of a Golden Age, deep flowing currents were sweeping through the kingdom, undermining, eroding the foundation of Zan’s social reforms. Rumors became rampant, the King was ridiculed and humiliated at every turn, the trust and friendship of Rath was placed into question. Soon factions emerged, many sided with Rath, becoming frenzied in their devotion, fanatical in their loyalty to him and the fervor to place him on the throne of Antar. Those who defended the monarchy took up arms in defense of Zan and would clash with those who titled themselves Rath Worshippers. The warrior Rath stands besides his king, never giving up his friendship or support despite the growing number that call to him to enact a coup. He watches countless hours for the visible enemies that may kill Zan, the undercurrent of treachery that has invaded the very walls of the palace.

Yet the greatest evil, that none recognized until the fall, where those invisible masses, the wretched, the paltry pathetic downcasts that no one counts. They rose up first in the poorest sections of Antar, those who fought with crude dull knife and stones, those whose stomachs growled out from famine, those who still died in childbirth, disease or neglect.

As in all circumstances one always is on the lookout for turmoil, to take advantage of a situation, to antagonize, to breath fire upon the embers. Even on Antar there was one who watched those, encouraged treason among the people promising food, shelter, medicine, in exchange for their blood in battle. A charlatan, a charismatic snake that wound his way into the palace itself, and into the bed of the Princess Vilandra, promised to Rath as a political bound of their two houses.

It would be her in the end that revealed the secrets, the plans of war that defeated Rath at every turn. Bedroom talk, whispers in the heat of the night, words that would lead to her brother’s death and her fiancées torture. In the end the night brought forth blood, even Vilandra died, in the massive fury of blades that sliced into the fog of confusion. Her death was the only one Ki’var regretted, and even that was momentarily.

Zan lay there now in the filth his fingers stretched out, clawing at the dirt, trying to reveal the secrets that lay just below, the words that were buried a myriads ago. The secret of life flowed in every particle of Antar; it was that secret if he could just acquire, just reach out and grab it, he could save Rath. Their blood became one as the pool beside them grew in dimension, their breaths labored and grew shallow.

“I give so that you may give.” Zan whispered into Rath’s ear, watching as his friend’s eyes closed, his heart ceased.

In the end nothing was accomplished, no benefit to the people, no glory nor victory. In the end all there was the blackness, streaked with the blood rays of the rising sun. A lone voice whispered as Zan offered up the First Prayer of the Mortals, a prayer Rath could not offer, before he too fell to the blackness of death.

<center>
Ancients
I beseech thee, find favor among those of virtue and bless those of just hearts and pure souls.
Ancients
I beseech thee to take this the First Prayer of the Mortals and find favor with us upon our deaths.
Lead us to the world beyond to the path of righteous.
Ancients
I beseech thee and find favor for Rath of Antar and all who died defending her
</center>
Last edited by suicide_eagle_rath on Fri Jan 11, 2008 10:33 am, edited 1 time in total.
Locked