The Dohlman

[NDak 0]

A distant sea breeze swept through the grounds of the Ehaion, the palace of the Dohlman. Built during the reign of the third Dohlman, Elania the Strong, the gold-bricked domes of the four towers that anchored the walls that enclosed gardens and the central palace itself shimmered in morning sun. Encircling the outer wall was a three kilometer buffer of jungle. The castle itself, expanded on by the fourteenth and thirty-fourth Dohlmans, Elaan V and Hecal III, was a brilliant spike of marble, gold, and crystal cut into bricks.

 

From a high balcony in the east wing, a solitary figure looked out over the jungle to the city rising just beyond the jungle, the capitol and temple city of Ela. Her long black hair fell gently on her deeply tanned shoulders, marred by streaks of grey and white hair. A simple white chiton fell loosely, revealing her shoulders. A gold diadem with a dilithium stone caught the morning light as she leaned against the carved balcony.

 

Elaan of Troyius considered her life for a long moment on this most glorious morning. She had been born from a marriage of the fifty-second Dohlman, Sarii II, and the Prince of Honon Cor of the Arema, Jaston. There were few days that passed that she did not wish to have known either of her parents. Jaston, heir to the realm of Arema, died in battle against the Troyians, while her mother took ill after her birth and never recovered. She wondered how different her life would have been had she not been thrust into the role of leader of her people, spiritually and politically at such a young age.

 

For over fifty generations her decedents had been the nominal focal points of Elasian rule. History told that she was the descendent of Elaa, mother of the Children. It had been Elaa and her children – Arem, Isan, Rohl, Gailion, Corineth, Yvirard, and Daeni who’d brought culture and civilization to a primitive world hundreds of years before. It was the stuff of legend and myth. A tale of great men and women who forged empires out of kingdoms and in part, united a planet in a loose coalition of noble lords who served the Dohlman – the descendent mother.

 

How real those stories were, Elaan of Troyius did not know. The popular theory amongst scientests and scholars on her world was that they had been visited by a race of aliens who’d saw fit to progeniate their theories of social development. Legend held that the children, the quasi-gods of her people, had left along with Elaa after a brutal war had erupted and destroyed an entire continent and led to the death of Daeni. For generations after that, the war that the Children of Elaa had fought continued.

 

The Council of Nobles kept the wars mostly small. The various kingdoms of the larger landmasses kept each other in balance, and the voice of the Dohlman meant that none of the wars escalated the point of entire war. The Dohlman, however, was not queen of her own realm or destiny. Lacking in population and resources, the authority the Dohlman wielded with the people came backed by the armies of the nobles who were bound by tradition to serve.

 

Even after the Treaty of Ga-Gaol officially ended the wars between the various kingdoms that made up the imperial state of Elasia, the Dohlman remained by and large a figure head. Elaan of Troyius knew her life story had been no different from her predecessors.

 

Perhaps if her mother had not died, her life would have been different. She sighed and pushed off the balcony and glanced briefly up at the rising sun. When her mother had died, she was barely a year old. The Council took stewardship over her, almost immediately. The war against the vile Troyians continued. Cloistered in the palace she could not recall having a single friend beyond the maid who cared for her, and even then, it was not if she could relate to a commoner.

When she’d came of age, certain members of the Council had saw an opportunity to bring an end to the war with the Troyians. Despite her best efforts, she learned why, despite their advantages the Dohlman of Elasia was never able to break free of the Council and rule outright. Her tears went unabated, and she was married to the young Prince of Troyius.

 

Despite having much in common – both monarchs held only ceremonial power, as the Premiere of Troyius ran the government itself, and both being young, rough-around-the-edges children from broken homes, neither she nor her new husband could tolerate being within five feet of each other. Still, she was married to him and would forever have ‘of Troyius’ attached to her name, a constant reminder of her bondage to the foul, blue skinned Prince.

 

Upon Prince Akito’s ascension to the throne, she found herself, the Dowager Queen of Troyius, forever the outcast in Troyian society. It was only when she was allowed to return home to the Ehaion that she felt any modicum of humanity. She’d grown despondent in her twenty years of marriage. Still, she’d accepted that it was for the best. Her continued marriage secured peace for her people. When Akito had died, she’d actually grieved. Not for him. Hardly for him. Never for him. But for her people. She’d grown old and had bore Akito no children. The joined empires that the architects of the marriage had dreamed of failed.

 

She’d returned to Elasia after the funeral in mixed emotions -- failure, joy, happiness. That had been ten years hence. When she’d left Elasia for Troyius, she’d been a young girl. A foolish, headstrong girl who cared only for her own happiness, a lifetime of denial of her own desires had taught her that her own happiness was subservient to the good of her people.

 

The man who commanded the ship that had ferried her away to her new life, James Tiberius Kirk was dead. He was a great man, a man wise beyond his years. He’d taught her much in their brief encounter. It had been the memory of that man, his faith in the goodness of all life that had inspirited her to push the Council to seek a close relationship with the Federation, despite their ties to the Troyians.

 

And now… and now her dream of truly securing peace for her people seemed slipping through her fingers. It had seemed so close only a few days before, but once more the winds of fate sat against her and would not budge.

 

Behind her, she heard the voice of her loyal and trusted assistant calling.

 

“I will be there in a moment,” she said looking back to the city in the distance. “Is the transport on the way?”

 

“Yes, your highness.”

 

“Good, the council will hear me yet; we must stop this before it escalates…”

 

“King Athormin will be difficult to persuade… it is…”

 

“I know,” she said disappearing into the palace. “But the safety of our people is more important to me…”