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TITLE: To Serve A Queen - the DVD Commentary
AUTHOR: Tielan
PAIRING: Elizabeth Weir/Ronan Dex
RATING: 17+
NOTES: You asked for it, you got it! I don't quite know how these things work so it'll be touch-and-go and me trying to work out what to put in. If you want to see something in these commentaries, then let me know ASAP and I'll try to include it!
Link to original text, without commentary.
SUMMARY:
Ronan has lived in slavery for seven years, used and abused by the Queens who owned him. He swore never to willingly serve one of their kind. But when he is bought by Elizabeth Weir, the Queen of Atlantis territory, he must adjust to a new life - a life that promises honour and service - and love - he never dreamed of.
He came to her court, wary and embittered, and Elizabeth was determined that he would know his freedom. She sees the man he was born to be - a Warlord Prince with all the strength and power of his caste. And sees a man who she might claim as her Consort, if he could only trust her with his soul.
[The blurb was written after I'd done this chapter, trying to give a brief background in the grand tradition of romance novels. *g* I think it succeeded, although I really hate the tone it presents. I feel it cheapens the story to dramatise it so. Still, it was the Harlequin romance challenge!]
To Serve A Queen
Ronan counted out the twenty-five lashes in tones of gritted pain and never lost count.
To lose count would be to show weakness and he would never do that before Heleri and her court. They could beat him until he died and he would not break for them: he was stronger than that.
He was stronger than them.
[If you've read the Black Jewels trilogy, you'll probably notice that at least a few of the scenes and scenarios have been used and adjusted for this story. This scene echoes Daemon Sadi's whipping by Dorothea after he helps Jaenelle out in Daughter of the Blood]
And when they were finished, and the air was salty with his blood, they left him in the sunlight of the gardens, hanging by his arms between the two stone pillars to which he'd been chained for the punishment, while the court went about their daily entertainments.
His neck and shoulders ached, his back screamed, but he gritted his teeth and bore the pain. In seven years they had beaten him and used him, forced him to play their games in the court and in their beds, and he had borne it, stubborn and determined never to submit.
[One thing that even I, as an author, enjoy reading, is the description and how its used to convey a scene. This one was supposed to be garish - Ronon's bloody back in the bright sunlight, contrasting with the seeming elegance and grace of Heleri's court. A brutal contrast between what the Blood here pretend to be and what they are.]
They might take his choices, but they could not take his honour.
He might be a slave, but he did not serve these Queens.
He did not and he never would.
As he hung by his arms, concentrating on his breathing rather than the pain in his flesh, Ronan repeated the words by which he had held himself for seven long years.
I am Ronan Dex, Red-Jewelled Warlord Prince of the Blood. And I will serve with honour or not at all.
[This turned out to be a useful phrase in crafting the story. It sets up who Ronon is and what he wants - so the story is about how he achieves it.]
Seven years ago, the refrain had been easier to remember.
Seven years ago, he'd been newly enslaved, holding onto the belief that someday he'd be free again.
Seven years ago was seven years ago.
Pain was today.
Voices drew near him, conversational and light, and his eyes drifted closed, concentrating on identifying the two women who approached him.
Heleri was obvious enough, her voice shrill and petulant as she spoke with her companion. But the other...
In the bright sunlight, his back afire with pain, Ronan shivered.
The second voice crawled down his spine like a finger gently traced, a clear, rich voice of roses and dawn. Her voice put him in mind of evenings in bed and mornings of pleasure, of a life he'd almost forgotten - so far away from this place where he'd only known humiliation and fear. It ignited long-dismissed dreams of a Queen to serve and a witch of the Blood to love, of people who demanded nothing but his protection and returned him their respect.
[The most difficult thing about writing this story was avoiding infodumping - I had to balance between enough info to get the story but not too much. Here, the object was to connect Ronon to Elizabeth - to establish his interest in her as Warlord Prince to Queen, and also as man to woman.]
He didn't need to look at her to know she was a Queen. Her psychic scent coiled around him like a perfume - fresh and light; taming and yet tender; and something stirred within him that he hadn't felt in years.
Then he heard the words she spoke and his soul turned to grit and ashes in his flesh.
"...quite a strong slave, then?"
"Stubborn, more like it," Heleri said. "The only way to keep him in check is to use the ring of obedience. And even that doesn't always stop him."
"A man with spirit," the woman said, sounding appreciative. "How much do you want for him?"
Ronan looked up into green eyes that studied him with cool neutrality and fought back a shudder as one slender finger reached out to tip up his chin and turn his face from side to side, studying him.
He'd seen witches look at him as though he were cattle, and witches regard him with predatory interest; he'd seen witches measure him by his muscles, and witches measure him by his cock.
This woman regarded him with none of that: nothing but a calm emptiness that was worse than any of the prurience or possession he'd previously encountered.
This Queen didn't even think of him as a person.
[Or she's trying to hide her revulsion at what's been done to him.]
Beyond the woman, Heleri looked disbelieving. "You want to buy him?"
"You're not willing to sell him?"
Heleri's eyes narrowed. "If you want to use him, I can have him cleaned up." The auburn-haired woman smiled, "I'll exchange him for one of your entourage."
Dark curls were tossed back from skin like dawn alabaster as the woman straightened. "I don't want to use him, Lady Heleri, I wish to purchase him. I have a need for slaves with spirit." Something curled in her voice, a darkness that crawled through Ronan like sweet sleep and bitter poison. He could almost hear the words she didn't say: I like breaking them.
[Another scene echo, this time from The Invisible Ring (a prequel of sorts to the Black Jewels Trilogy) where the Grey Lady purchases Jared from the slave blocks in Raej. The difference between Jared and Ronon is that Ronon's already found his place in society when he's ringed and enslaved. He's not struggling to work out who he is - he already knows. What he's struggling to make sense of is what he can make of himself once he's free.]
Heleri looked from the dark-haired Queen to him and back. "One thousand gold marks." [Later in the story, it actually changes to five hundred gold marks - I didn't want Ronon to be too expensive for Elizabeth to afford.] An exorbitant price for a slave.
The smile was beautiful - and terrible. "You have a deal." The green eyes turned back to Ronan, and he glared at her with all the hatred and defiance he had in him.
Buy my body if you will, but you will never buy my soul.
He wasn't even aware he'd used a psychic thread to cast the words at her until her eyes widened and her smile died.
I don't want your soul. Burning truth and fierce passion in her words, and a disgust that was as painful as a blade in the heart.
Then she gathered her skirts and turned her back on him, striding away from the slave she'd just bought as a hearth-witch purchases meat.
And Ronan watched her go and wondered why he couldn't breathe.
--
[On the whole, this chapter should have established the basics of the two protagonists, the society in which they exist, how they meet, and the attraction from one to the other. And it would have all stopped here if it wasn't for you meddling kids! *g*]
AUTHOR: Tielan
PAIRING: Elizabeth Weir/Ronan Dex
RATING: 17+
NOTES: You asked for it, you got it! I don't quite know how these things work so it'll be touch-and-go and me trying to work out what to put in. If you want to see something in these commentaries, then let me know ASAP and I'll try to include it!
Link to original text, without commentary.
SUMMARY:
Ronan has lived in slavery for seven years, used and abused by the Queens who owned him. He swore never to willingly serve one of their kind. But when he is bought by Elizabeth Weir, the Queen of Atlantis territory, he must adjust to a new life - a life that promises honour and service - and love - he never dreamed of.
He came to her court, wary and embittered, and Elizabeth was determined that he would know his freedom. She sees the man he was born to be - a Warlord Prince with all the strength and power of his caste. And sees a man who she might claim as her Consort, if he could only trust her with his soul.
[The blurb was written after I'd done this chapter, trying to give a brief background in the grand tradition of romance novels. *g* I think it succeeded, although I really hate the tone it presents. I feel it cheapens the story to dramatise it so. Still, it was the Harlequin romance challenge!]
To Serve A Queen
Ronan counted out the twenty-five lashes in tones of gritted pain and never lost count.
To lose count would be to show weakness and he would never do that before Heleri and her court. They could beat him until he died and he would not break for them: he was stronger than that.
He was stronger than them.
[If you've read the Black Jewels trilogy, you'll probably notice that at least a few of the scenes and scenarios have been used and adjusted for this story. This scene echoes Daemon Sadi's whipping by Dorothea after he helps Jaenelle out in Daughter of the Blood]
And when they were finished, and the air was salty with his blood, they left him in the sunlight of the gardens, hanging by his arms between the two stone pillars to which he'd been chained for the punishment, while the court went about their daily entertainments.
His neck and shoulders ached, his back screamed, but he gritted his teeth and bore the pain. In seven years they had beaten him and used him, forced him to play their games in the court and in their beds, and he had borne it, stubborn and determined never to submit.
[One thing that even I, as an author, enjoy reading, is the description and how its used to convey a scene. This one was supposed to be garish - Ronon's bloody back in the bright sunlight, contrasting with the seeming elegance and grace of Heleri's court. A brutal contrast between what the Blood here pretend to be and what they are.]
They might take his choices, but they could not take his honour.
He might be a slave, but he did not serve these Queens.
He did not and he never would.
As he hung by his arms, concentrating on his breathing rather than the pain in his flesh, Ronan repeated the words by which he had held himself for seven long years.
I am Ronan Dex, Red-Jewelled Warlord Prince of the Blood. And I will serve with honour or not at all.
[This turned out to be a useful phrase in crafting the story. It sets up who Ronon is and what he wants - so the story is about how he achieves it.]
Seven years ago, the refrain had been easier to remember.
Seven years ago, he'd been newly enslaved, holding onto the belief that someday he'd be free again.
Seven years ago was seven years ago.
Pain was today.
Voices drew near him, conversational and light, and his eyes drifted closed, concentrating on identifying the two women who approached him.
Heleri was obvious enough, her voice shrill and petulant as she spoke with her companion. But the other...
In the bright sunlight, his back afire with pain, Ronan shivered.
The second voice crawled down his spine like a finger gently traced, a clear, rich voice of roses and dawn. Her voice put him in mind of evenings in bed and mornings of pleasure, of a life he'd almost forgotten - so far away from this place where he'd only known humiliation and fear. It ignited long-dismissed dreams of a Queen to serve and a witch of the Blood to love, of people who demanded nothing but his protection and returned him their respect.
[The most difficult thing about writing this story was avoiding infodumping - I had to balance between enough info to get the story but not too much. Here, the object was to connect Ronon to Elizabeth - to establish his interest in her as Warlord Prince to Queen, and also as man to woman.]
He didn't need to look at her to know she was a Queen. Her psychic scent coiled around him like a perfume - fresh and light; taming and yet tender; and something stirred within him that he hadn't felt in years.
Then he heard the words she spoke and his soul turned to grit and ashes in his flesh.
"...quite a strong slave, then?"
"Stubborn, more like it," Heleri said. "The only way to keep him in check is to use the ring of obedience. And even that doesn't always stop him."
"A man with spirit," the woman said, sounding appreciative. "How much do you want for him?"
Ronan looked up into green eyes that studied him with cool neutrality and fought back a shudder as one slender finger reached out to tip up his chin and turn his face from side to side, studying him.
He'd seen witches look at him as though he were cattle, and witches regard him with predatory interest; he'd seen witches measure him by his muscles, and witches measure him by his cock.
This woman regarded him with none of that: nothing but a calm emptiness that was worse than any of the prurience or possession he'd previously encountered.
This Queen didn't even think of him as a person.
[Or she's trying to hide her revulsion at what's been done to him.]
Beyond the woman, Heleri looked disbelieving. "You want to buy him?"
"You're not willing to sell him?"
Heleri's eyes narrowed. "If you want to use him, I can have him cleaned up." The auburn-haired woman smiled, "I'll exchange him for one of your entourage."
Dark curls were tossed back from skin like dawn alabaster as the woman straightened. "I don't want to use him, Lady Heleri, I wish to purchase him. I have a need for slaves with spirit." Something curled in her voice, a darkness that crawled through Ronan like sweet sleep and bitter poison. He could almost hear the words she didn't say: I like breaking them.
[Another scene echo, this time from The Invisible Ring (a prequel of sorts to the Black Jewels Trilogy) where the Grey Lady purchases Jared from the slave blocks in Raej. The difference between Jared and Ronon is that Ronon's already found his place in society when he's ringed and enslaved. He's not struggling to work out who he is - he already knows. What he's struggling to make sense of is what he can make of himself once he's free.]
Heleri looked from the dark-haired Queen to him and back. "One thousand gold marks." [Later in the story, it actually changes to five hundred gold marks - I didn't want Ronon to be too expensive for Elizabeth to afford.] An exorbitant price for a slave.
The smile was beautiful - and terrible. "You have a deal." The green eyes turned back to Ronan, and he glared at her with all the hatred and defiance he had in him.
Buy my body if you will, but you will never buy my soul.
He wasn't even aware he'd used a psychic thread to cast the words at her until her eyes widened and her smile died.
I don't want your soul. Burning truth and fierce passion in her words, and a disgust that was as painful as a blade in the heart.
Then she gathered her skirts and turned her back on him, striding away from the slave she'd just bought as a hearth-witch purchases meat.
And Ronan watched her go and wondered why he couldn't breathe.
--
[On the whole, this chapter should have established the basics of the two protagonists, the society in which they exist, how they meet, and the attraction from one to the other. And it would have all stopped here if it wasn't for you meddling kids! *g*]