NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge 2023, Round 2

Submitted: July 30, 2023

Genre: Fantasy
Subject: A campground
Object: A chair

Title: The Earthen Throne 

Synopsis: A young elvish princess must come to terms with her mother’s death and take her rightful place on the throne.

Final Results: 9th place (out of 15)
Next Round: Did not qualify

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“We’ll be there shortly, Your Highness.”

Elmira glances up, then looks back at the passing scenery. The carriage thumps loudly as it rumbles along the dirt road. Their chainmail sings with the motions. “I thought I told you not to call me that,” she says lazily.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” Zuriel says. She doesn’t miss the way Elmira rolls her eyes. “As I am now captain of the guard, it is customary for me to address you as such.”

Fuck customs, she wants to say, but instead, “Fair enough.”

Zuriel softens, but says nothing more. Elmira appreciates her for it.

When Elmira woke this morning, she felt as if her body were not her own. She was wracked with exhaustion and grief. She was numb as her attendants dressed her in her new ceremonial armor. They braided her dark hair, tied her engraved metal chest plates, strapped her broadsword to her hip.

The Queen, her mother, was dead.

“I still don’t understand. Must you truly go?” Elmira hated the way she could never keep a steady pace alongside her mother. Queen Nakhti always had a long, quick stride and never slowed down for anyone. Not even her own daughter.

“Yes, I must,” the Queen’s voice was soft, despite her tall stature and intricate armor that almost doubled her already imposing silhouette. “The Dundurian have never abandoned us when we called for help in the past. It is important we Aldarians do the same.”

“But this war is a disaster, mother,” Elmira jogged to try and look at her mother’s steadfast expression directly. “The beastfolk have somehow convinced the mages to join their cause, and they possess other-worldly powers. It’s suicide.”

Nakhti paused in her steps and turned to her daughter. Elmira’s pleading eyes trained on her own, and Nakhti sighed. She put her hands on both Elmira’s shoulders and bent down to meet her eyes. “The elves are people of their word, Elmira,” she said seriously. “Our responsibility, as the royal family, is to protect this land, our species, and our allies. Even if that means fighting in wars that are not our own.”

Elmira stared at her mother. Chiseled, symmetrical face, high cheekbones, slanted strong eyes, midnight black hair. She wore a singlet crown adorned with olive leaves, her pointed ears decorated with regal hanging silver chains. Her heavy broadsword was strapped across her back, the handle glinting in the sunlight that shone through the halls of the courtyard where they stood. Elmaira felt like an elfling again, looking up at the one person she could never quite reach. “I don’t understand, mother,” she whispered.

Nakhti brought her close, kissing both her cheeks in a customary elvish show of affection. “You will, daughter. One day, you will see. You will see everything clearly.”

The carriage comes to a slow stop. Elmira dismounts after Zuriel, puts both feet on the ground, and takes a deep breath. The Ancient Forest is thick and dense, with trees that stretch so far up to the sky that Elmira has to tilt her head all the way back to glance at the peaks. The sharp sweetness of the pines drifts through the air as Elmira takes a few steps forward.

Elmira pauses and turns to look at Zuriel. “Are you not coming?”

“I am not of the royal family. I cannot enter the Ancient Forest,” Zuriel says, bowing politely.

Elmira nods before turning back to the forest. She closes her eyes, trusting in her instincts, before marching forward. The forest guides her, telling her to watch her step and duck her head, turn this way and that. Hours must have passed, but it feels like seconds before she realizes she has reached her destination.

The clearing is small, thickets of pine trees surround a beautiful field of wildflowers. In the middle of the field is a tall wooden chair with vines of overgrowth twirling around the arms and back.

The first camp of the people of Aldarian.

And the first throne of the Queen.

Elmira still remembers sitting on her mother’s lap, ancient tome balanced on her legs, as Queen Nakhti recited tales of ancient battles between the different species of the Earth.

“One day, you will see,” Elmira hears her mother’s voice close to her ears, the fresh scent of lavender and honey milk on her skin, the tinkling of her earrings as she leaned forward. “The secrets of the Aldariani will be passed onto you when it is your turn to be Queen. You will be blessed with the knowledge and power to protect our kingdom and those who support us. Just as the knowledge was passed to me when I ascended to the throne.”

“Will you still be here to help me, mother?” Elmira had asked.

The Queen had smiled, soft and sad, and said, “Of course, my little leafling. I will be there.”

Elmira feels herself being tugged towards the throne. Her skirt drags on the tall flowers and grass as her bare feet sink into the foliage.

You will see, she hears.

Her hand reaches out. She watches, as if seeing herself from across the clearing, as her fingers touch the wood.

Warmth spreads throughout her body. The kind of warmth that kisses your skin on a dewy summer morning. Her mother’s tinkling laugh. The pitter patter of children running across the throne room. The cries of war, of loss, of love. She feels the thundering of boots in her chest, the swing of steel in her biceps. The soft caress of fingertips on her cheeks, the sting of thorns from the rosebush outside her childhood bedroom.

All this time, she thought. All this time, it was so simple. There was no grand secret to the throne, there was no ancient secret to be guarded, no timeless knowledge to be passed on.

You will see, Elmira.

Elmira smiles, and looks up at the sky. Tears stream down her eyes, though she does nothing to stop them.

Everything is clear.