Work Text:
Officially, the story is as follows:
The President met his First Lady upon her interview to take over as Truthspeaker in the Ministry of Truth. For each of them, it was simply love at first sight. They had a fairytale romance, were married within the year, and have been unshakable and united ever since. Their stability together and love is a beacon for all of Imperia to admire.
This is, at least mostly, an accurate retelling of events.
…But not fully.
The way they actually met is this -
Long, long ago, before things had to change; before the purges and before anything broke, Imperia was a very different place.
It was winter, just after the elections to put Solev into proper placement as the President of Imperia. The first of many campaigns he’d win, of course, after his father had “endorsed” him. And he’d been making preparations, replacing those who needed replacing from the prior government, including most of the ministers.
Truth was an important one - they controlled the flow of information, of what facts it was necessary to tell the civilians, what it was pertinent they knew. And they had to be someone Solev trusted completely - they’d be the ones crafting his image, after all. Even if he had final say, he was a busy man, not every moment could be spent reading and approving the news before it was disseminated to the people. To be the Minister of Truth was really perhaps one of the most important roles beyond his own; fostering loyalty within the citizens with their words alone. Subtle. Influential. Essential to his claim on Imperia.
It had been taking far too long to pick someone to fulfill that role. Everyone was too eager for it. Fame, popularity, a recognisable name alongside his own? Not an option. If they wanted it too much, they wouldn’t fit nicely into the puzzle that made up the government balance.
Solev had been interviewing candidates, had been marking off possibilities from the list, and was heading downstairs to meet his latest option of the previous ministry employees when it happened.
A scream, an inelegant crashing sound and a muffled crack -
“FUCK!”
The guards mobilized quickly, but he was faster, sheer curiosity driving him as he sprinted out the doors. Safety be damned. And at the bottom of the icy steps, crumpled and pathetic, was presumably his last interviewee, curled in on herself.
Fuck, indeed.
“Oh shit.” Okay, infrastructure, add guard rails around the middle passage, probably contract Logistics to - nevermind that. Later.
He took the steps perhaps quicker than was safe, considering the nasty fall she had taken, the guards following somewhat more cautiously. It was snowing - and the cold had frozen it over into dangerous patches of black ice along the sleek roads. And… Solev’s gaze flicked over her, brow furrowing, she was wearing heels much taller than would be safe in that kind of weather.
She was muttering curses under her breath, eyes wide and glassy, clawed hands gripped tight enough around her calf that the skin was turning white. He’d seen her resumé, sure, but it wasn’t like they’d spoken before this. She was a byproduct of his father’s regime, under the employ of the previous Minister. So… why he immediately took a knee and offered a hand, he can’t rationalise. Really? In the middle of the street, in the slush? Are you insane? Your image -
“Alltiera, right? Can you stand?”
“I think I broke - it…”
She replies quickly, before looking up, eyes widening as she realizes who’s knelt by her side. Alltiera quiets, but her face turns a deep red with embarrassment, and she looks away from his eyes. It’s not out of respect, it’s apprehension, or something not-quite-fear that he can’t read - and for some reason, that catches in his mind. It’s bothering him, and the fact he can’t immediately tell why is an issue. Solev tenses, minutely. He takes his hand back, straightens, tries to ignore the urge to ask her to turn back and meet his eyes. To stay and look at her. Yes, she is beautiful, but she’s also injured, and running the clock against adrenaline before the pain hits isn’t really his goal here. Instead, he turns to address the small crowd gathered - don’t any of these people know how to act without instructions? - expression a flattened mask of indifference.
“Mercy, call for a medic to ready a room immediately, and bring one back with you to splint and stabilize. Triple, Slockmen, Cat, stand guard. The rest of you, disperse.”
Mercy is gone before he can even finish giving orders to the rest of them. He waves a hand, and the newly-hired guards blink at him for a moment - to which he only narrows his eyes in distaste, and they wisely choose to go elsewhere. Most of them have other work to do. He may be new himself, and younger than they might be used to the President being, but he knew well enough just how to seem imposing in the smallest of motions. He’s practiced it all for years.
He resists the urge to sigh once the crowd has dissipated, instead crouching back down beside Alltiera, who’d gone unpleasantly quiet. Her breaths are short and sharp, and she’s not looking at him. She’s still pink, though. Hm.
“It appears we may have to delay your interview,” Solev offers, a light note of humor to his voice.
She glances up, green eyes surprised - “I- apologise. I tripped, I was running late -”
“I’m aware.”
“I’m sorry, sir, really -”
“Relax,” he sighed, shaking his head. “You’re fine. The roads can be slick in heels in these conditions.”
Alltiera was watching him now, anxiety melting away into something he could only recognise as incredulity, mild surprise. She really was beautiful, now that she was bold enough to meet his eyes without fear. Usually, despite the recent change in reign, people regarded his instructions to relax with some sense of caution. Whether adrenaline or recklessness drove it, the deference and fear had seemed to melt away when she’d truly looked at him. Too deeply. That’s too much. She can read you like a book. And yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to tell her off for it. Instead, she just offered a smile, before it pinched in pain and she looked back to her leg. He frowned. It felt just wrong to let her be hurt, even accidentally. If he had to adjust Imperia itself to accommodate, then he would. Such was his job to keep his people safe, after all. You’re a terrible liar when it’s just you. Work on that. Sure, whatever. Again: Later.
At least Mercy and the medics were quick to return, allowing him to step back and let the silence go on. He stood with the guards, observing as the medics spoke quietly to Alltiera and stabilized the leg. He wanted… to have more to say to her. Logically, he did - there was an entire interview and selection process to go through. But not in that way. Something about her was compelling. Maybe it was the way she seemed to only defer to him because it was required of her, rather than out of fear. Maybe it was the fact her bewilderment that he’d concern himself with her injury at all was bothering him for some reason. Surely, surely.
Either way, for some godforsaken reason, when the medics explained to Alltiera that they’d walk with her back to a room in the Ministry of Health, he followed them. And out of the corner of his eyes, noting the guards falling into lockstep around him, he could see their confusion. Fuck. Well. Solev squared his shoulders, let his face go icy, and accompanied the entourage into the building, regardless. No one would question him outright, they wouldn’t dare. But their curiosity in its own right is dangerous.
Ignore them. Walk with enough confidence and purpose, you can get literally anywhere. (As if he couldn’t just do that anyway?)
It was unusual that he didn't know what he was doing. It was, in most cases now, dangerous to not have some grand vision for every step he took. But… Solev simply lingered, quiet, waited for Alltiera to be settled into her private room, before he turned to leave. He had work to do. Paperwork to sign - probably much more now, since she’d been injured on his front steps. Annoying, but manageable.
Manageable if he could stop thinking about the calculating and bold way she kept his gaze, at least.
Whatever. Whatever. WHATEVER.
--
Solev felt like a moron, which is very unusual for him, and not something he ever particularly wants to feel. And all he has to blame for it is himself, which was deeply irritating. He could, in theory, take it out on anyone of his choosing, but - not yet. Equally annoying.
Establishing a proper grip on a country takes time, and there’s work to be done yet.
No, he felt entirely all his age of twenty-one, rather than someone with lifetimes-over backlogs of prepwork and coaching. Someone like him should not be pacing around in circles, indecision biting at his mind. Someone like him should make decisions firmly, and quickly, and always have a plan already in mind of what the results would be.
His work had been all but abandoned, scattered across his desk like leaves. The snow had stopped overnight, which in the daylight had left a solid beam of sunlight splayed across them, highlighting the sheets of text. Not that he ever had the patience for paperwork, nor the attention span, but. Regardless, his attention had been haunted by Alltiera ever since their first meeting the day before. It was… unnecessary. And yet undeniable. He’d never been one to regard anyone with any particular attention for long, man or woman or otherwise, unless he had the urge to mold them into something else.
No such justification here.
“Korulein?”
“Master?”
“What was Alltiera’s diagnosis?”
“Spiral fracture of the left fibula,” she responds easily, lurking somewhere in the shadows of the office, “Surgical correction is likely unnecessary, however.”
“Hm.”
There’s a long silence, Solev ending his pacing to look out of the large window, glance edging to the right even against his better judgement. He can feel Korulein’s gaze on his back, even as she stands out of the sunlight. Of anyone, she’d been by his side the longest, further than even Mercy, though her pale face didn’t show a single sign of the years. Korulein knew Solev perhaps better than he knew himself, though neither of them would ever say such words. Her gaze is heavier than normal. Anticipatory. Like she knew he was already feeling out-of-sorts and was just waiting on permission to act on it. At least she wouldn’t comment on how stupid he felt, even if he knew she would know.
“Should we pay her a visit?”
“As you like. It’s likely she will stay in the ministry for at least a week or so… a break like that makes it difficult to move and care for oneself, and miss Alltiera lives alone. There is time.”
“I know. No, I’ll go now. Let them know we’re on the way. Just you and I and Triple, I don’t want anyone else to get in the way.”
“On it.”
Solev turned away from the window as Korulein began to type into her communicator, falling in line behind him even as she wrote. Korulein was good at what she did. Organizing people for his benefit, keeping track of loose ends. Mercy was efficient, but not quite as discreet. He trusted both of them, yes, but when it came to things that were more personal in nature for himself… Korulein was always there to turn to. Almost a friend.
As they traversed the Citadel downward, Solev glanced around as if truly looking at it with clear eyes - the construction was beautiful, yes, but inefficient to get in and out of. He’d make notes for service elevators to be added. It was unlikely they’d be able to have Alltiera’s proper interview in his office as he wished… there were just too many staircases for someone who’d be in recovery for months. Infrastructure for her sake will leave lasting beneficial changes, is all. He’d have to write to Logistics and their construction crew to draft new additions to the Citadel.
TripleLion joined them with a curt nod by the base of the elevators, the other Imperial guard having been waved off at the top. Really, the amount of guards assigned to be at his side at all times was a bit excessive. And their constant bickering was annoying. New soldiers were always irritating, in his experience. He’d rather just keep the personal guard he’d had assigned to his side since childhood. Until he could train that chatty habit out of the rest of the Imperial Guard properly, he wasn’t keeping large company. The slow changeover of rules from his father’s presidency would take getting used to, but nothing he couldn’t handle.
The handover was done in quiet, avoiding unnecessary commentary - Solev only nodded in acknowledgement as they made the brisk walk to the Ministry of Health’s building. Good, someone had noted the ice and cleared the walkways properly. The initial negligence would still beget repercussions, though. He’ll make sure to get files on who exactly was in charge of that. But for now…
“Young Master, Alltiera is in room 105 in the west wing.”
“Thank-you, Korulein, very good.”
He made no effort to explain his presence to the hospital staff who quickly scurried out of his way, though to the more terrified-looking of the nurses he gave a curt smile. For some reason, he felt a little lighter than normally when he’d have to do that, though. Almost excited.
Strange.
--
“I’ve been expecting you.”
For being in hospital, Alltiera was remarkably put together. Despite the blanket laid over her elevated leg, she was sat upright and had her hands folded in her lap, red hair fanned across the pillows and a smile on her face. What kind, he couldn’t quite read. It was unnerving. Somewhere between… gentle and amused? Intrigue? It bothered him, how elusive her expressions were. For anyone else, a boon, but - he wanted to be able to tell.
“That’s usually my line,” he manages, and Alltiera laughs. Really laughs, bright and cheerful, eyes narrowed as her smile turns elated.
Solev could feel his face warming, but embarrassment isn’t an emotion he’s normally used to. As much as he could, he tried to force back the heat on his face, on the tips of his pointed ears. With mock-confidence he hoped no one saw through, he strode into the room, and sat himself on the very nice chair beside the bed. Oh my god, this sucks. You idiot. You moron. What’s wrong with you? Disarmed by her laughter?
He didn’t have to speak for Korulein and Triple to post themselves where they belonged, one on each side of the doorway. Triple on the outdoors, Korulein inside. Though the room was brightly lit, her dark clothing clashing with the white decor, she was well equipped to become simple background noise and become unnoticed.
Not that it was necessary - Alltiera’s attention seemed entirely, squarely focused onto Solev, her laughter fading into giggles following a shake of her head.
“Well, excuse me! Again, sorry for being so late. As you can see… a bit of a mistake to sprint in heels.”
“That’s fine. Your interview for Truthspeaker is still on the table, Alltiera. It’s why I’m here, of course.”
“Oh?”
She blinked at that, tilting her head. It was unannounced - but Solev wasn’t exactly the patient type of person. Besides, for this type of position, surprises were to be handled with grace… even if the idea of making Alltiera uncomfortable felt somehow wrong.
“The injury is a set-back, but it’s irrelevant to your capabilities. We’re more interested in your mind. We need a new Minister of Truth. What is it we can expect you to do with such an opportunity?”
“We?” Alltiera challenges, folding her hands on her lap, “I’m applying for the position for Imperia’s sake, of course, but shouldn’t it be me taking their words for you, Mister President?
I’ve worked within the ministry for years, as you know. You can speak your mind any time you want... I’ll work properly to make sure it’s heard through a tone everyone in Imperia will agree with. I’ve kept my hand on its heart, the words Imperia hears, what it scorns. When to save my breath, to watch keenly and wait. Words are things to be turned to your favor, or used as a weapon - but as is silence. There’s much to learn just from meeting someone, speaking to them once… and understanding what is there within the lack of words, too. I know my physical capabilities may not be under as much scrutiny, but I’m here to serve my country as much as any other minister. Besides…”
She pauses, and Solev realises only then he’d been listening in rapt attention, the endless planning at the forefront of his mind quieted by her words. Ah. Here she is, then. His Minister of Truth. The reverie broken by the sense of curiosity, he gestures for her to go on, and she only smiles brighter.
“Would it not be in your best interest to have someone by your side you’re attached to already?”
That’s…
“Incredibly presumptuous of you.”
“I only tell the truth. You speak to me not as the President, nor with the voice of Imperia. You… like me, don’t you?” She offers, simply, but her face turns a soft pink hue in the following silence.
What in Ish’s name is wrong with this woman?
It’s captivating.
It’s perfect.
“I…”
And again, he’s speechless. Again, he is overwhelmed with the feeling that he’s young, and new to the position, and read to the bones by someone he’s spoken with only twice. But beneath that, something warm. Something blooming demurely, a feeling he’s never grasped before. A desire to be known as a friend, or more, admiration and enthusiasm where before only stress thought to settle in his chest. His face is red, but he makes no effort to hide it. It’s clear… she sees through him like no other. Perhaps the only person to ever have read his feelings so easily was Korulein, but she was a guardian first before becoming a friend.
Alltiera was something new entirely, disrupting his system of known comforts. He wanted… to know her. He wanted to learn more, and not simply by assigning a detail to note down her every action. Stunned by her beauty on first sight was one thing, but it’s her mind that he wants to understand. Not by espionage. No… Personally.
The fact she knew before he did was dangerous, and yet… The part of him that clings to paranoia loosens in her presence. Soothed by her voice and disarmed by shining green eyes.
“I’ll have to visit you more often,” Solev finally replies, a smile coming to him as he meets her expectant gaze, “you’re a very interesting woman, Alltiera.”
“Does that mean I’ve got the position, then?”
“Yes,” he laughs, “Yeah, you’ve got it.”
A brilliant grin comes to her face, and he gets the sense, suddenly, that he is very, very unprepared for this. Not welcoming her into the Ministry, that was easy. Even if he disliked paperwork, it wasn’t difficult. It didn’t haunt his every movement. Paperwork didn’t make Korulein eye him knowingly. Every other lesson ironed into proper cohesion, preparation and planning. But as for matters of the heart…
Well, even Solev is still just a man.