Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Arise, Erya."

With a nod, the scholar raised her head and turned her eyes to stare at the Bear Throne before her: where none other than the Aureate Emperor, the Totally Righteous Elton IV Yudkow sat.

He gestured to Erya to come close to his throne, she complied, silently arising from her spot to face him. The moonlight peering through the window landed on his face, giving it a glow in comparison to the rest of the dark throne room. The Hawaiian Guard stood at attention nearby, closely watching the scene unfold.

His face was old. Tired, wrinkled, and old. He'd been much more full of life as a young man than he was now, no doubt the pressures of the Empire weighing on him.

"You have not been to court in some time, Miss Bingen. What are the results of your work?"

Erya quickly reached under her robes for a scroll, and then cursed as she dropped it. She'd always been clumsy, more so when she realized she broke Imperial Protocol before the entire court.

"Language!" came the angered tone of a white-robed bureaucrat, but the Emperor waved aside his complaint.

"Erya? Are you alright?"

"Yes, Your Majesty..."

"Then continue. Tell me and the court about what I asked."

She turned to face the court, unwrapped the scroll, and began reading. "Under orders of our Imperial Majesty, the Emperor Elton, Fourth of such a name, Aureaute Emperor of California, the Totally Righteous, the Dianet of Dianet-"

"Spare us the necessities. This is a matter of great urgency, and we must act quickly before the agents of the Traitor inform him of our session here. I absolve you of that necessity."

With some resolve, Erya straightened her composure one last time and began the story: "Yes, my lord. The Emperor has asked me to research what happened Just After the End..."

The Celestial Emperor raised his hand before Erya had a chance to begin, cutting her off once more. "Erya." came his stern voice, "I know you intend to start with what our dear capital was like in the days after the Fall, but I am not interested in that. Tell me the earliest records, the most important, that you possess."

"Yes, my Emperor: does your will persist for me to start with Socal?"

"It does persist. Continue."

Erya unfurled a tapestry depicting men of all sorts riding out on many-colored chariots under one flag, the flag of the Imamite, as they charged into a burning mega-city. With that, she began. "In the days Just After the End, petty warlords rose abound the land. All sorts of tongues and faiths contended with one another for dominance, and as quickly as they rose, leaders fell, cut down by the blades of their officers, their sons, their wives. The common people had their rights trampled; their hopes crushed, their lives seized in fits of madness that we know comes hand in hand with the gust of hegemony. Socal ate the brunt of the initial anarchy: no doubt, my liege, we can imagine many thousands of people had their lives snuffed out like a candle on the daily. Perhaps this is what makes the rise of Zakariyya so interesting."

"His origins, oh Narrator?" came the almost mocking voice of one of the bureaucrats whose loyalties Erya doubted: no doubt wearing robes padded with Valleyan gold.

"They don't matter, Subprefect. That's what Zakariyya would emphasize, anyway, if we take reports at face value. Zakariyya set himself apart from other post-Fall warlords by the virtue of his seemingly amicable nature, allowing waves to roll over him and standing tall like a mountain, provided that-"

"Mountains erode over time with such exposure, no?" responded another sneering courtier. Erya simply nodded and replied, "We'll get there another day, if His Majesty would be interested. Right now, I intend to complete my orders," making clear her strong disapproval at further interruptions.

"As I was saying, within a few years of his rise, of which sources are in total disagreement about, Zakariyya managed to consolidate a realm in southern Socal, from Balboa to the outskirts of Anaheim. His warlord realm was different, arguably not a warlord state at all, for he quickly instituted law and order, pardoned the many who made up the slave armies of prior rulers in the region, and set about redistributing land to the poor. His actions earned him the enmity of the elite of Socal, and, no doubt, he spent much of his life fighting them as much as he fought enemies abroad. Zakariyya was, aside from a ruler, a scholar, a religious one, at that, as I am sure everyone here is familiar with, and-"

"The Guru Zakariyya teaches us a lot, to be sure, but did he not have the failing of consolidating his rule based on his religion? Is that not a-" came the same bureaucrat, who was suddenly silenced by The Emperor slamming his fist down without another word. The Bureaucrat flinched back, deciding that his position was shaky enough without further interrupting Erya.

Erya responded to this rather annoyed. "On the contrary, this is what established his state authority: Zakariyya did not discriminate based on religion or culture, as I am sure you know from the tales of his many-pathed companions, only two of whom were Muslims like him. Continuing on, Zakariyya took a look across the realm, and across Socal, and was not satisfied with the chaos that seized the land. Though he had consolidated the southern coast, much of Socal was in chaos" so he began sending overtures for unity to some, and his army to others. Zakariyya dreamed of a united Socal, and was ready to risk life and limb for the peace that settled within Balboa to be extended everywhere under the sun.

Among all tyrants of his days, none earned Zakariyya's enmity so fiercely as one Alan Smithee Hays: whom I must confess I know very little of. Few records survive, and fewer references exist: all I can gather is that, aside from his dominant position out of Hollywood, Alan Smithee wrote many tracts and scripts, presumably for plays, all long lost to history. In any case, Alan Smithee played too close to the Lion's cage, and made a daring attack against Zakariyya's hometown of Anaheim. The attack was quick and vicious: within hours, the famed pre-Fall palace that graced the city was reduced to rubble, and many residents were forcibly taken, enslaved, or killed outright by Hays and his armies. Though we know little of what the Kinemite creed taught, we do know that the Hays Code doctrines were particularly reviled and brutal, and are more than enough to put this High Cult into the pages of damned paths throughout history.

With such a daring assault, Zakariyya made the choice to rid the City of Angels of the demons that plagued it. He decided his men would instill the rule of law, even if it took them street by street in order to do so. Zakariyya saw the chaotic state of Los Angeles and sent overtures to all rulers therein, save for Hays: demanding they submit or face his wrath. Some submitted immediately, others waited until their spies confirmed that Zakariyya had set out with his host, and still others attempted to fight for survival: surely meeting their end in the process. And so it was that on the 5th of October, 2055 by American Dating, that Zakariyya started his campaign, and the Battle for Los Angeles had begun."

"What else was occurring during this time, Erya?" asked the Emperor, no doubt familiar with the incessant stories about Zakariyya.

"Well, my Emperor, there was another dreamer who was just taking his first steps at this time as well. He's in San Francisco during this time, if you'd like to hear..."

"Another time, Erya. We must adjourn for now because this meeting is no doubt being observed."

Chapter Text

As the Emperor called for adjournment, the court dissipated and the Emperor himself retreated to his personal chamber. Meanwhile, Erya gathered up her scattered materials including the tapestry and all her scrolls. The tapestry in particular took some time to roll up but she did it carefully, as there was only the one.

“Enjoy your audience with the Emperor, little cub?”

Erya turned around and was greeted with a familiar face, though one she had never had the displeasure of meeting in person. It was Ricardo Ortega, a deceptively plain looking man of an olive complexion with short cropped hair. A subject of the Governator, Ortega was another creature of the Valley. Erya reminded herself to tread lightly.

“Of course, it is my pleasure to serve the Emperor, he wanted to learn about the world… as it was.”

That made Ortega smirk a little, and Erya had to hold back a frown herself. She hated having to perform for these people, the words of dead men were often preferable to those of the living. The dead can’t mock you behind your back, they can’t plot against you.

“The world as it was… so you like to study how things were after the Fall?”

“Yes, that has been my focus for some time now.”

“You must have problems with primary sources then, no? It was chaos back then, after all.”

“Sources? Well, there are some primary sources from-”

Perez put up his finger and Erya fell silent in response.

“Let me guess, from Socal?”

“Well yes, from Socal. The majority of our antiquarian archives are sourced from there, in fact.”

“Interesting then that it speaks so glowingly of Zakariyya and his Imamites, how they saved the people of California from the evil Dalton and reigned over a kingdom of tolerance and love for centuries.”

“Are you suggesting-”

Ortega leaned forward and cut Erya off again.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been doing. I have eyes everywhere, you know. The Early History of the Canucks, The Blood of Spokane, Always Coming Home, you aren’t borrowing these books for light reading. You’re trying to write something on all this, a historical chronicle of some sort. This was never really about teaching the Emperor about his empire, this isn't even about California anymore. This is about you.”

Erya pursed her lips at that and tried to move past Ortega, who blocked her. She looked at him, visibly shaking.

“Haven’t you said your piece?”

“Just one more thing, cub. All these books you’re borrowing, to write this… thing? They’re trash, I hope you realize that. Nothing from that era is reliable, and why should it be so? It was six centuries ago! You’re trying to write a history based on lies, poetry, and fiction. These... so-called religions, these societies, it’s all a sham. The Emperor may humor you with these… audiences, but this is not scholarship. This is entertainment.”

He finally moved out of the way, and Erya stormed out of the chamber, tears brewing in her eyes. It felt like an eternity before she reached her quarters, and the breakdown finally occurred, curled up on her mat.

She had the favor of the Emperor now, everything she could have ever wanted. But now, Erya felt as small as an ant and just as puny. Why did he have to say such things, was she not a fellow scholar, a fellow human? Was her work worth nothing?

After some time, Erya picked herself up, wiped her eyes with her robe, and returned to her writing desk as she did every day. Her manuscript sat there, unwieldy, unpolished, and massive. Sitting down at the desk, Erya had a strange sense of relief, like she was finally home. This was where she belonged, not out there. She would tell the stories of all those people, Californian or barbarian, rich or poor, from before the End or after it. Their stories were worth sharing, and her quill would be their voice.