675-12-08 - Royal Talks 4: Zephan

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Royal Talks 4: Zephan
Summary: Prince Zephan has a confrontation with his mother. (OOC warning: which may a bit disturbing to read for some)
Who: Abegayle Onimus and Zephan Onimus
References: None
When: December 8th, 675
Related Logs: Other conversations of Queen Abegayle with Nathan, Madalyn and Jerrick
Date of RP: 09/01/2015
Where: The Queen's Chambers, Isle of the Crown, The Isles
Room Desc: This room is massive, roughly a quarter of the size of the Great hall of the castle. The ceiling is vaulted, around the edges of the room the vault is less pronounced compared to the center of the room. Pillars can be found in the center of the room, helping to support the ceiling above. The pillars are crimson in color with decorative vines winding their way up the pillars with the blooms of roses, lilies, and canary creepers stud the decorative vines in ways to enhance the beauty. The blooms and vines both are covered in gold leif. The ceiling is adorned with decorative patterns around the edges of each slope of the vaults, with a cascade of decorative feathers adorn the arches between the vaults. All of the decorative touches including the feathers are inlaid gold. The floor is white marble like the rest of the castle, though a large collection of various rugs and furs cover the floor. This both covers most of the white and also provides a warm, soft surface to walk upon as opposed to the cold, hard marble underneath. Hanging from the crest of each vault are golden chandeliers with tallow candles. Silken crimson sleeves cover the chains which connect the chandeliers to the ceiling above. Entering from the main hall the first thing one typically sees is a large portrait of Matyas Onimus, the husband of Queen Abegayle Onimus, which is centered on the wall. Surrounding this portrait are other portraits, all in gold frames, of the Queen or her husband, or the two of them together. Opposite the wall of portraits and a few feet from the door to the main hall is a massive bed with an intricately carved headboard and baseboard, covered entirely in gold leif. Running between two of the central pillars as well as between those same pillars and the wall is a golden frame that surrounds the bed, from which hang silken curtains of crimson with a golden trim and also stitched in gold is the sigil of House Onimus itself. To the left of the main entry doors are windows covering the entire wall to let in the light of the sun, and perhaps to enjoy sunrises as well. The windows are framed in gold and panes of the finest glass fills the spaces between. A few plush benches have been arranged by the windows to allow one to sit and enjoy the view. Opposite the windows is a wall with a set of double-doors matching those that lead out into the main hall, crimson in color with decorative golden frames and knobs. This door leads to an antechamber for use by the Queen and her husband only, and is almost always closed. The rest of the room is furnished with end tables, chairs, couches, a desk, and a table as well. All of these are crimson in color with gold trim, accents, or the like.


Prince Nathan, Princess Madalyn and Prince Jerrick had already spoken with Queen Abegayle Onimus. There was only one child left – apart from the eldest, Abell Kiari, who was still at home on the Isle of the Sleeping Volcano. Zephan sprawled leisurely on the bench in the antechamber, the expression on his face that of amused boredom – so very unlike what he could glimpse on his siblings prior to and after their visit to the queen. He had mostly ignored the healer who had stayed and kept him company. It is when the door opens and Jerrick steps out that Zephan will rise. A cold stare is given his twin, and a light smirk curls his lips. When the healer disappears briefly to return shortly after, announcing: “Your mother wishes to see you now, your highness.”

There is a light rolling of his shoulders, as if he were getting ready for a wrestling match, which he was, at least from his point of view. Zephan follows the healer inside, pale blue eyes taking in the figure on the bed, the faint echo of her former self, Queen Abegayle of the Isles. Lips purse as he assesses her, that smirk deepening while his eyes manage to darken somewhat. “Mother. You look terrible.” There is little sympathy in his voice. Zephan pauses and glances from Abegayle towards the healer. “So you wish to have him hovering here while we talk? If there is anything to talk about, that is?”

Abegayle regards her son with an expression that is mostly weary but also pained, and showing contempt as well as sadness. Even a tiny touch of fondness, because Zephan is - despite him being such a great disappointment – still her son. Her lips press firmly together, and her eyes close for a moment, a line appearing between her brows, possibly from a sudden wave of pain. Her hand moves to where her heart is, the thing probably that is the main cause for her current indisposition. Her skin is pale, and there are shadows below her eyes. “Will you leave us,” she says to the healer, instead of replying to Zephan directly. A plea which the man will obey to, offering a bow before he moves off a little reluctantly.

“Should I be worried?”, Zephan asks coldly, raising a brow as his gaze follows the healer on his way to the door, before it returns to his mother once the door has closed behind him. “Or is this just an attempt to make you look the strong queen you used to be?” He chuckles with contempt in his tone. Slipping closer now to the bed he will watch her reaction as he sits down on it, beside the frail looking form of the queen. “You may deceive the others, but not me.” A dark smirk conquers his mien and he extends his hand, watching how she will react as he reaches to brush against her cheek in a gesture that for now seems gentle enough.

Abegayle swallows, she straightens in her seating position, adjusting the pillow behind her back with one hand as she watches Zephan warily. Shifting pointedly a little away from him when he sits down, his admission hardly surprising her, when his gesture does take her unawares and she averts her gaze from him, one corner of her mouth twitching when she feels his fingers brushing against her face. “I have not asked you to sit down,” she clarifies with a frown, a tremble in her voice that also shows strain from her effort to control her tone and appearance, to keep it regal, and less intimidated. “But as it is, you may remain seated. I’ve wished to see all of you, and now only Abell is left. And you. Zephan. I know there is a lot of discord between the two of us. I would like to ask you for the reason.”

Zephan snorts, his eyes are lowered as he breaks the gaze. “Questions you have for me, mother? I may have one for you, before I am willing to give any answers.”, he states coldly, as he withdraws his hand. “I promise I will give you a truthful reply, if you give me one first.” His pale blue eyes study her attentively, although there may be a dark flicker in them.

Air leaves Abegayle’s nose in relief when he pulls back from her. His words have her brows lift and she cants her head to the side, studying her son in turn. “What question would that be?”, she inquires carefully, rubbing her hands against each other as they are obviously a bit cold.

“Bastards,” Zephan states flatly. “More specifically, my bastard. You know I never asked what you have done with him? But maybe… I’d like to know. Now, that Nathan’s had a bastard as well.”

Abegayle’s lips press against each other in what is clearly a disapproving frown. “You know I will not tell you. There is no point really, Zephan. There are no bastards of House Onimus. Even Nathan’s has vanished.” Her eyes lift to meet his cold stare. “Why should you care anyway?”

“He is not dead, is he?”, Zephan asks instead of giving a reply to his mother. His hand is once again extended, and fingers brush agaist the white skin of his mother’s face, her cheek, exploring the wrinkles at the corner of her mouth and her eye with this gentle caress. His voice little more than a murmur. “Oh, how I hate you mother.” The admission comes with surprising matter-of-factness.

There may be a brief moment of hesitation, and even if she should know better, the Queen admits: “He isn’t. I gave the child to the pirates. There, your reply.“ She shoots him a glance and she draws a deep breath. “When did I deserve your contempt, your hate? I cannot recall neither action nor words, that may justify such. So why? Why do you hate me, Zephan? Why do you hate your family?” Her features soften for a moment as she regards him with a hint of fondness. “You weren’t like that as a child, you know? Always wild, yes, but you were a good boy back then…”

Zephan continues to brush his fingers against Abegayle’s face, with a smile of odd fascination. “Because,” he says, in a low detached murmur, “you don’t deserve better, mother.” The tone has a chill that cuts right through Abegayle’s reserve. His fingers are slowly drawn downwards to her neck, where they will remain, tightening a little about her throat but not enough to really strangle her. It will suffice to make her breathing harder – especially when it becomes more labored, and thus a panicked expression enters the eyes of Abegayle Onimus as she inhales deeply, tensing below his grasp, her hand moving to his hand that causes her discomfort, to push it away.

But he does not let go.

“Are you afraid?”, he mocks her, a gratified smile curling his lips as he brings them closer to her ear. “Is that heart of yours beating fiercely? Are you sure it can take more? Like, the truth, mother?”

“Let go off me! Now!”, the queen presses forth between her lips that are pale, but not as white as her face looks now. She tries to wiggle free from his grasp, her hand pulling at his, but alas, she is weak.

His grasp tenses.

“Why don’t you call for help?”, Zephan murmurs in a low mocking tone. “Because of the scandal? That they could catch your own son in the act of killing you? Or is it…” And here that dark smirk intensifies, his hate clearly visible in the dark fire burning in his eyes. “Is it that you want to hear the truth indeed? You proclaimed yourself Goddess, right? You conceived from Lotingus himself, I hear? Now what does that tell us about the Patrons, I wonder, when a child - of Lotingus and a descendant of Onimoria herself - is not allowed to live?” Referencing his mother’s latest pregnancy, which had ended in her losing the child before it was born.

“That the time… of Onimoria and Lotingus is over…?” He snorts, indulging in the terrified expression in Abegayle’s eyes as she squirms to get free, her weak hand pulling faintly at his, and she coughs, choking and unable to reply. Which does not seem to bother Zephan overly much, as he continues: “You want to know why I hate you? Because you will not allow me to worship MY only true goddess. My patron. You strangle the followers of Asmenachia with your prosecution, impose harsh rules upon them… the Blue Ribbon… Marking them as easy targets… And one of your own sons is one of them! Dalarmina…” His voice becomes gentle as he utters her name, and his fingers relax enough to allow Abegayle to draw a deep breath. “She saved me, when I was drowning as a child. Do you remember? I fell into the ocean… and she took me into her arms and brought me back, even though I wished to stay with her forever…” His fingers tense again about her throat, as he states that, which will impair her breathing even more than before.

The queen goes limp under his grasp, as her resistance subsides. Her eyes wide with terror, choking noises coming from the throat that Zephan will release now from his grasp. Abegayle rolls to the side, away from him, as she draws a breath the act of which sounds painful enough. While he continues to speak in that detached tone, indulging in her agony. “I see this as an experiment, mother. I will challenge the Patrons… or fate, as none-believers would call it. You know all these things about me now. I am a follower, against the Law of Lotingus, I tried to kill you. Will I get punished?” He chuckles. “Will you accuse me? Be able to?” He observes the fit of coughing that shakes the frail body of Queen Abegayle Onimus with cold amusement.

She is unable to speak, her eyes wide with terror as she turns once again in her bed to regard him while Zephan moves to stand. She stares at him, her face as white as a sheet of paper, her lips trembling, perhaps in an attempt to muster a reply.

“You are looking worse than before,” the prince will reply, the sarcasm obvious in his tone. “Allow me to fetch the healer to look after you.” He leans forward and places a gentle peck to Abegayle’s forehead, the queen flnching under this unexpected and unwelcome carress. “You are still my mother, aren’t you.” Then he will head towards the door at a casual pace, call for the healer. And leave his mother to his care.