Isidor Briar Durant (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heirtothedragonsfire) wrote2017-03-28 08:33 pm
heirtothedragonsfire) wrote2017-03-28 08:33 pm
Entry tags:
The unexpected idol
I had been taught by men since I was old enough to walk. The grueling method of sink or swim worked well with me; I had always been a fighter. When I grew older and my mother came to spend more time overseeing my lessons I saw no way she could contribute. I was fierce, I was strong, formidable in my own right. My patron god was Ares and even the smallest battles I faced as a child were conquered easily and proudly. What could my mother possibly teach me?
She was nice enough and very patient. Pretty, but I didn’t like it when people called me pretty. She didn’t teach me new magic or how to disarm a man blindfolded. Instead of citing Sun Tzu she gave me The Prince to read. Politics were incredibly boring to a child who didn’t see why she couldn’t just duel her opponent into submission. Eventually I vented my frustrations after she tried, yet again, to make me understand the value of logistics.
“If someone disrespects us why don’t we just fight them?” I asked for the hundredth time. “We can beat them! We’re way more powerful than anyone else. We could fight anyone and win!” My mother looked dubious and disappointed. Determined not to lose another battle I pulled out my winning point. “That’s what father did, and now he’s Archon. Everyone has to do what he says.”
She looked surprised, but then her features softened and she smiled gently at her daughter. “And you want to be like your father?”
“Yes!” I was adamant.
“How many of his fights did you hear about?” She asked quietly.
I wavered before my confidence returned in full force. “He defeated the Burned Man!”
My mother nodded. “And? Who else?” This time my hesitation dragged on. Her smile settled while I became more flustered. “Your father fought one man and has never needed to fight another since. He made sure to only fight when he absolutely needed to. Instead of defeated opponents he has allies and friends, and a safe home to raise his children.”
It was only the start, but it got me to listen. I began listening more closely to become more like my father, but as time grew so did my admiration for her. Every time her lessons stuck with me I minded less and less. There were so many things I didn’t understand, things I didn’t want to be part of my world. The older I became the more reality of life tried its best to put out my ambition and my fire.
“I hate doing this,” I hissed, flushed with upset and embarrassment as I stared at the dress hanging on my wardrobe door to let her apply eyeliner. “It feels so… so false, so fake. I feel like a doll dressing up for everyone else.”
She pulled back and put her hands on my shoulders to look me directly in the eye. “This is your warpaint, and that is your armour.” She touched under my chin. “With this you stun them.” Her hand dropped and her gaze intensified. “With your words you disarm them.”
“Never let them think they have an inch over you,” she told me as she handed me my first set of heels.
“Show them you aren’t as easy to knock as they think,” she told me as she taught me how to walk in them.
The first time I corrected a distant uncle’s misinterpretation of The Prince she smiled with such pride. When I went on to challenge his view and sway his opinion she had to hide her laugh.
When by my own initiative I diverted two family friends away from each other at a party lest they rekindle old grudges I remember her being not only surprised, but stunned silent for a few precious moments.
I learned to be fearless in another skin. My patron god was Isis and I navigated the dangerous waters of this political world with wisdom. I never let anyone sink me and I discovered how to cut my opponents at the knees with a sharp tongue. I was fierce, I was strong, formidable in my own right, and now nobody else could deny it. I wouldn’t let them.
“My dear Isidor...” When she saw me standing tall in this new form she gasped and sighed in that way only a proud mother can. Then she took my hand and told me, “You are a goddess. Don’t let anyone forget it.”
She was nice enough and very patient. Pretty, but I didn’t like it when people called me pretty. She didn’t teach me new magic or how to disarm a man blindfolded. Instead of citing Sun Tzu she gave me The Prince to read. Politics were incredibly boring to a child who didn’t see why she couldn’t just duel her opponent into submission. Eventually I vented my frustrations after she tried, yet again, to make me understand the value of logistics.
“If someone disrespects us why don’t we just fight them?” I asked for the hundredth time. “We can beat them! We’re way more powerful than anyone else. We could fight anyone and win!” My mother looked dubious and disappointed. Determined not to lose another battle I pulled out my winning point. “That’s what father did, and now he’s Archon. Everyone has to do what he says.”
She looked surprised, but then her features softened and she smiled gently at her daughter. “And you want to be like your father?”
“Yes!” I was adamant.
“How many of his fights did you hear about?” She asked quietly.
I wavered before my confidence returned in full force. “He defeated the Burned Man!”
My mother nodded. “And? Who else?” This time my hesitation dragged on. Her smile settled while I became more flustered. “Your father fought one man and has never needed to fight another since. He made sure to only fight when he absolutely needed to. Instead of defeated opponents he has allies and friends, and a safe home to raise his children.”
It was only the start, but it got me to listen. I began listening more closely to become more like my father, but as time grew so did my admiration for her. Every time her lessons stuck with me I minded less and less. There were so many things I didn’t understand, things I didn’t want to be part of my world. The older I became the more reality of life tried its best to put out my ambition and my fire.
“I hate doing this,” I hissed, flushed with upset and embarrassment as I stared at the dress hanging on my wardrobe door to let her apply eyeliner. “It feels so… so false, so fake. I feel like a doll dressing up for everyone else.”
She pulled back and put her hands on my shoulders to look me directly in the eye. “This is your warpaint, and that is your armour.” She touched under my chin. “With this you stun them.” Her hand dropped and her gaze intensified. “With your words you disarm them.”
“Never let them think they have an inch over you,” she told me as she handed me my first set of heels.
“Show them you aren’t as easy to knock as they think,” she told me as she taught me how to walk in them.
The first time I corrected a distant uncle’s misinterpretation of The Prince she smiled with such pride. When I went on to challenge his view and sway his opinion she had to hide her laugh.
When by my own initiative I diverted two family friends away from each other at a party lest they rekindle old grudges I remember her being not only surprised, but stunned silent for a few precious moments.
I learned to be fearless in another skin. My patron god was Isis and I navigated the dangerous waters of this political world with wisdom. I never let anyone sink me and I discovered how to cut my opponents at the knees with a sharp tongue. I was fierce, I was strong, formidable in my own right, and now nobody else could deny it. I wouldn’t let them.
“My dear Isidor...” When she saw me standing tall in this new form she gasped and sighed in that way only a proud mother can. Then she took my hand and told me, “You are a goddess. Don’t let anyone forget it.”