Tarot Fic: The Wheel of Fortune
Sep. 22nd, 2007 12:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
infiniteprydeRequested by: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bentarc
Fandom: Chronicles of Amber (Caine, Bleys)
Spoilers: Through The Courts of Chaos.
Lyric from: Seanan McGuire, "Modern Mystic"
Colors flowed above them, gaudier and more bright than Bleys' orange and red. The strange fires opposing them, stars no sooner born than dying away, set light to the silver trimming Caine's black and green. The only refuge from the whirling, changing glows was the wasteland ground underfoot, or the blackness of the abyss beyond that ground's edge.
"A truce, then?" Bleys persisted, offering Caine the last in the skin.
His brother accepted the offer and drank. It was his own wine, after all. "So pressing. One might think you were afraid I'd put an arrow in your eye."
Bleys snorted. He gestured out toward the cliff without looking. "Brand might have been our mother's son, but Fiona and I fought him, too. Before you did. Who put him away?"
"Ah, yes. In the tower that Random was so conveniently able to reach."
"Our little brother had more skill than any of us credited him with, and the same damnable luck as ever. Besides, you'd slit my throat." Bleys drew a thumb across in demonstration. "Like you did your twin. Take the voice, not the sight."
"It'd save me from your spells, but not your dagger." Caine turned the wineskin speculatively, but not a drop fell. "If you thought to test the throne again, I'd have to find a new trick for you."
Bleys' smile didn't falter, but perhaps it sickened a little. "I'd have thought you'd be the first in line. You were the one who asked for his head on a platter. Something about cheating at cards."
"Before the great supernatural display that anointed him, yes. And before our father used his funeral to make his final point. No, Bleys; there's something Random understands that you never have, and for that, I'll be content to be prince in his kingdom."
Of all their brothers, only Bleys and Gerard would not have bridled. "Tell me, then."
"There were thirteen princes," Caine said, "and six are dead. There were eight princesses, and three are dead, possibly five. And Dad's gone, too. To replace them? Dara, who fights against us. Her son and Corwin's, whose loyalties will ever be in doubt. And Random's son, untested and unknown."
"We won all the same. Amber stands."
"So you believe. The problem with you is, Bleys, you're a casual gambler. Hell, so am I. We play for amusement, and pay more attention to the women than the dealing. But Random takes it seriously. What you think of as luck is what he understands."
Caine tossed the wineskin, sailing it off the cliff's edge into the endless fall: to follow their brother, their sister, their father, their feud. "Sooner or later, the house always wins."
bentarcFandom: Chronicles of Amber (Caine, Bleys)
Spoilers: Through The Courts of Chaos.
Lyric from: Seanan McGuire, "Modern Mystic"
Colors flowed above them, gaudier and more bright than Bleys' orange and red. The strange fires opposing them, stars no sooner born than dying away, set light to the silver trimming Caine's black and green. The only refuge from the whirling, changing glows was the wasteland ground underfoot, or the blackness of the abyss beyond that ground's edge.
"A truce, then?" Bleys persisted, offering Caine the last in the skin.
His brother accepted the offer and drank. It was his own wine, after all. "So pressing. One might think you were afraid I'd put an arrow in your eye."
Bleys snorted. He gestured out toward the cliff without looking. "Brand might have been our mother's son, but Fiona and I fought him, too. Before you did. Who put him away?"
"Ah, yes. In the tower that Random was so conveniently able to reach."
"Our little brother had more skill than any of us credited him with, and the same damnable luck as ever. Besides, you'd slit my throat." Bleys drew a thumb across in demonstration. "Like you did your twin. Take the voice, not the sight."
"It'd save me from your spells, but not your dagger." Caine turned the wineskin speculatively, but not a drop fell. "If you thought to test the throne again, I'd have to find a new trick for you."
Bleys' smile didn't falter, but perhaps it sickened a little. "I'd have thought you'd be the first in line. You were the one who asked for his head on a platter. Something about cheating at cards."
"Before the great supernatural display that anointed him, yes. And before our father used his funeral to make his final point. No, Bleys; there's something Random understands that you never have, and for that, I'll be content to be prince in his kingdom."
Of all their brothers, only Bleys and Gerard would not have bridled. "Tell me, then."
"There were thirteen princes," Caine said, "and six are dead. There were eight princesses, and three are dead, possibly five. And Dad's gone, too. To replace them? Dara, who fights against us. Her son and Corwin's, whose loyalties will ever be in doubt. And Random's son, untested and unknown."
"We won all the same. Amber stands."
"So you believe. The problem with you is, Bleys, you're a casual gambler. Hell, so am I. We play for amusement, and pay more attention to the women than the dealing. But Random takes it seriously. What you think of as luck is what he understands."
Caine tossed the wineskin, sailing it off the cliff's edge into the endless fall: to follow their brother, their sister, their father, their feud. "Sooner or later, the house always wins."
