ZevWarden Week 2022 Day 5: Promises
This is late! I know! I am sorry. Life happened. Anyway, I really just love writing dad Zevran. We're just gonna assume they had Gianna years after Morrigan had Kieran, but before Inquisition. I hope you enjoy it!
“It’s the greatest promise in the world,” Gianna declared, sitting haughtily in her little chair. Zevran looked at his daughter with amused fondness. Her brown hair was coming loose from the pigtails he’d done on her and she had chocolate all over her mouth. She split the small strawberry cake in half with her little silver butter knife and set one half on Zevran’s small plate and the other on hers. This small tea set had been far too costly for what it was, but it was beautiful and he loved having tea with his princess every afternoon. (Alright, they drank hot chocolate or passion fruit juice.)
“The greatest?” Zevran reached over to clean her mouth with a soft napkin, and Gianna sat still with her big, silvery grey eyes focused on him.
“Mhm! If you break it, papá, you get stabbed in the eyes!” Gianna smiled so mischievously, all he could do was laugh.
“And who told you such a thing?”
“Tía Divina! She said secrets and promises are very important to keep… Unless you and mami need to know. She said if I’m really good, I can tell her secrets and she’ll trust me with some too!”
Ah… Leliana. When she had told Gianna that she worked for the Divine, Gianna had begun to call her ‘Tía Divina’ and the name had stuck. Leliana delighted in it.
“Hm… Your Tía Divina is correct, though I am not sure how mamá will feel about you becoming a spy so young.”
Gianna sighed despondently.
“But that’s why it’s a secret!”
Zevran chuckled. “Alright, mi cielo. Alright.”
“So, papá, will you do the promise with me?”
He took a sip of his drink. That day’s concoction was of strawberries, milk, heaps of sugar and sweetened cream. It was… it was a lot. But Zevran had long learned to put ingredients on the table that taste well together, lest he repeat the infamous ‘King’s juice’ that she made when Alistair had visited the summer before. It was a mix of grapes and whatever juice she had been given in place of the wine the adults had, which wasn’t bad. But then she’d added whatever her tiny hands could reach.
Vinegar. Salt. A chili oil he understood a four year old could easily mistake for the strawberry syrup she put on all of her desserts.
Andraste bless Alistair.
“Is it good? I picked the strawberries myself!”
“It’s as sweet as you are,” he replied. Gianna beamed at him. “Tell me, vida mía, what is this promise you wish I make?”
Gianna looked at the doll and stuffed animal that sat at the table in their respective chairs; the doll, Isabelina and her bear, Alistair, Not the King. She brought her finger to her mouth, telling them to stay silent before looking at Zevran so seriously, she looked like her mother.
“It’s very important.”
Zevran leaned in, careful that his legs did not hit the small table.
“Of course.”
Gianna motioned for Zevran to come closer and when he did, she covered his eyes. He held in his laugh.
“I have a secret,” she whispered rather loudly into his ear. “And no one knows, not even Isabelina! And she knows everything!”
“Does your mamá know?” he whispered softly and Gianna quickly shook her head.
Her whisper was softer now. “No. It’s gonna be a surprise.”
“I love a good surprise,” he mused.
“It’s… hm.” She moved back and he found her pouting, as she often did when she was thinking. Then her face lit up. “I can show you!”
“Alright, my little spymaster. You have my full attention.”
Gianna got to her feet, wiping her hands against her sky blue dress. Her gold bracelet glimmered on her wrist, just like the tiny ring on her pinky. She looked around before walking right up to Zevran and held out her hands as though in offering. He watched her pout, looking at her hands with so much concentration he felt she could have summoned fire.
And then she did.
Zevran’s eyes widened as she held the small flame in her little hands, finding her still wholly focused on it. He and Leliel had always known there was a chance she would be born with an affinity for magic, but until that moment, she had never displayed any signs.
“This is wondrous,” Zevran said softly. “You are divine, cariño.”
Gianna blew on the flame and when it would not go out, Zevran carefully closed her hands, holding them in his. She looked at him with such sadness, Zevran felt as though his heart would tear in two.
“It’s really hard, papi,” she muttered. “It’s kinda scary.”
“I am not a mage, but we all get scared of things we don’t know, and that’s alright. Your mamá can teach you, so can your tía Morrigan- and she’s terrifying.”
Zevran chuckled, letting go of her hands. Gianna wasted no time in holding her arms out to him, something she barely did anymore but he would cherish till the day she no longer asked to be carried. Zevran took hold of her and got to his feet, his legs sore from sitting on a child’s wooden chair for so long. He cradled her against him and began to walk away from the yard and towards the terrace that overlooked the sea.
“So, you want me to promise not to tell your mami? I can do that.”
“I know. It’s not that.”
“No?” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Can you promise you won’t let them take me away?”
Zevran froze.
“Can you? I don’t wanna live in a tower… Then I can’t see you anymore and they’ll take me far away and you’ll forget about me!”
Gianna was crying and Zevran found his voice at last.
“No one is taking you away,” he said to her, holding her closer. “I will not allow it.”
“You promise?”
“I promise, Gia, te lo juro.”
Gianna cried in his arms for a time, and Zevran did his best not to join her. He thought of Leliel, and all that she suffered in the Circle. Of the nightmares that sometimes still plagued her. She was still wary of Templars and could not fault her for it. To think of his child already worried of such things… He whispered his promises to Gianna, words of comfort and reminded her of the family she had that would always protect her.
When Gianna’s crying turned into small hiccups, she held up her hand in a fist. Then she stuck out her pinky.
“You have to do it,” she told him. “Then the promise can’t break.”
Zevran wasn’t sure what she meant, so he adjusted her to hold her with his left arm as he held out his right hand to her. She tapped her little finger against the gold ring he wore on his pinky.
“You go like this.” She curled her pinky around his, well as much as she was able. So he did the same. “And now, you can’t break the promise.”
“Qué chulería!” he exclaimed and Gianna began to whine, wiggling her hand till he let go. Zevran laughed, moreso at the offended look on her face.
“I mean it! It’s not pretend!”
Zevran covered her face in kisses.
“I will keep this promise, I swear it on Andraste and all the gods.”
Gianna eyed him warily, arms crossed. It was like looking at a tiny, angry Leliel.
“Fine.”
“Shall I swear it on the Maker?” he asked playfully. “On Isabelina? Or better yet, your Tía Isabela!”
“What about Isabela?”
Zevran and Gianna both looked at one another before Zevran turned around. Leliel was walking towards them, looking at them rather suspiciously. Especially when Gianna wiped at her eyes.
“Papi made a pinky swear with me!” Gianna announced, and tugged on Zevran’s shirt. Zevran set her on her feet and watched her run off to Leliel who got down on one knee to embrace her.
“Hello, my princess,” Leliel said as she kissed Gianna’s cheek. “How was your day?”
“I did alllllllll my letters! And then I picked strawberries while papi did his training.”
“Did you, now? I can’t wait to see your letters.”
“And then we had tea! Isabelina and Alistair went, too. Alistair Not the King, Tío is still in Den… Den-ah-ren.” Gianna made a sound of annoyance. “He’s in his castle.”
“Oh, then we should go ask if they’d like to come inside. I have a surprise for you, maybe you’d like to share with them.”
Gianna ran off to get her dolls while Leliel and Zevran met halfway. He kissed her once, twice, before embracing her.
“Why was she crying?” Leliel whispered, bringing her arms around him.
“She… she wanted me to promise I’d never let her be sent to the Circle.”
Leliel gasped and pulled back. She looked mortified.
“How? Why would she even think of that?”
Zevran shook his head.
“She was so distraught I didn’t think to ask.”
Leliel closed her eyes and sighed. Zevran kissed her forehead and embraced her once more.
“I didn’t want to tell her about that yet.”
“I know, amor. I know.”
Zevran did not see Gianna at her table, and sighed.
“I swore to her I would never allow it. None of us will.”
Leliel nodded.
“Don’t worry, we will talk to her. Together. For now, we must find where she went. I am not prepared to be the dragon in her game again. That wooden sword hurts. No five year old should hit that hard.”
They began to walk back to the house but Leliel stopped him.
“Why would she even think she’d be sent to the Circle?”
“Ah. That. Well.” Zevran cleared his throat. “I am afraid I cannot say, preciosa. I have been sworn to secrecy, and if I should betray that trust, I will lose my eyes. I quite like them.”
“You’ll lose your what?” Leliel looked confused but then her eyes narrowed. “Leliana! Wait until I see her again. I’m going to strangle her.”
Zevran chuckled and took her by the hand. He kissed it and led her inside.
Gianna’s attempt to attack Zevran with her wooden sword was thwarted by the gift her mother brought her. It was a paint set, with lacquered brushes and small canvases. Gianna was completely enamored with it.
“Would you like to paint now?” Leliel asked. Gianna thought about it and then shook her head.
“I have a surprise for you, mami bella.”
“You do?”
“Yes. And then we can paint.”
Leliel giggled. “Alright, I like that idea.”
Gianna looked at Zevran who gave her an encouraging nod, and then she had her mother hold out her hands. Leliel looked at Zevran and he merely smiled.
“Okay.” Gianna placed her hands over her mother’s. “It felt better when papi was holding my hands.”
Zevran’s heart melted at that.
Gianna looked at her hands and concentrated, her little brows furrowed. She pouted, slowly becoming frustrated as nothing happened.
“It’s not working,” Gianna whined and Zevran went to kneel at her side. He kissed her cheek, earning a smile. With renewed determination, Gianna looked at her mother until a tiny spark sprang up from her hands. Leliel gasped inaudible as Gianna yelped, laughing nervously as little bolts of lightning danced over their joined hands.
“Oh Gia…” Leliel was in tears.
“Are you happy?” Gianna asked, closing her hands.
Leliel pulled her into a hug. “Of course! I’m so proud of you, my angel.”
“Papi said you and tía Morrigan can teach me how to use magic.”
Leliel hugged her tight. “Of course. We’ll have to send her a letter to come visit.”
“I can paint her a picture!” Gianna said suddenly, breaking free from her mother’s embrace. She ran off, taking her paints with her.
Zevran rose to his feet and held out his hand to Leliel. She took it and let him pull her up.
“Was this her secret?” she asked.
Zevran smirked. “Perhaps.
Leliel brought her arms around him.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“What for?”
“I had no one to protect me as a child,” she replied and Zevran felt his eyes sting. “I am so grateful to know that Gianna will never have to know what it is to be alone, to wish someone would save her. She has you… I have you. I love you so much, Zevran.”
Zevran embraced her, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair.
“I love you, con toda mi alma,” he said. “And so as long as I can help it, you always will. Te lo prometo.”
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De Frente | Los 'chairos'
De Frente
MIGUEL ÁNGEL | MATA MATA
) Facebook | @Miguel Ángel Mata Mata
1.
Chairo, el mexicanismo que estereotipa a los activistas en las redes, ha sido añadido, como palabra, por un grupo de lingüistas del Colegio de México, al Diccionario del Español de México (DEM), dirigido por el lingüista Luis Fernando Lara.
El proyecto de investigación es vigente desde 1973 y en el mismo se incluyen términos utilizados en el país desde 1921.
Según el académico, la palabra chairo viene de chaira, un vocablo popular mexicano utilizado para referirse a la masturbación.
Si una chaira significa darse placer a uno mismo sin entrar en contacto con otros, el chairo es alguien que se masturba mentalmente sin involucrarse con la causa que defiende, explica Lara.
Esta acepción queda clara en la última frase de la definición del DEM: “persona que se autosatisface con sus actitudes”.
— ¿Alguien negará haberse auto complacido en algún instante?
Quien diga NO es chairo.
2.
La grosera palabra, que sonroja a distinguidos socios de la Liga de la Decencia, la Vela Perpetua, Damas Isabelinas y Caballeros de Colón, se utiliza, en nuestra coyuntura política para referirse de manera despectiva a los activistas de izquierda.
Chairo es, por ejemplo, un necio que supera en necedad a los reclutadores de los Testigos de Jehová que domingo a domingo tocan a la puerta para llevar la palabra del Señor…
A pesar de las mentadas de inquilinos somnolientos, crudelios, trasnochados o ciudadanos domingueros que anhelan un descanso más allá de las diez de la mañana. ¡No a las siete!
Es alguien que tiene en la rápida punta de la lengua la respuesta fácil: “Pero el PRIAN robaba más” o “Es un honor estar con Obrador” “Eres fifi”.
Grosera o no. Masturbación, o su sinónimo, chaqueta, indica a una persona que se auto complace o masturba mentalmente para pretender imponer la sinrazón por encima de la razón.
— Son personas que se encuentran en la “chaira mental, principalmente en temas sociales y políticos”.
3.
Hasta ahí la definición es clara.
Un fifí, es todo lo contrario, aunque…
La masacre ocurrida en Teloloapan, que desnuda una realidad contundente de que las autoridades municipales de Guerrero se hallan coludidas con grupos criminales, sacó de muchos Fifis’s al Chairo que ellos llevan dentro.
Muchas masturbaciones mentales han comenzado a aparecer en las redes por parte de personajes que ven en el hecho sangriento algún escenario que satisfaría sus oscuros anhelos, sin tener contacto con otros.
Pero tan solo revelan la ignorancia de quienes, siendo consumados fifi’s, se transforman en chairos consumados.
— ¿Lo dudan?
4.
De entre todas, la contundente:
“¿Cuántos muertos hubo en Aguas Blancas que fueron causa de la renuncia de Rubén Figueroa? ¿Cuántos en Iguala que fueron causa de la renuncia de Ángel Aguirre? ¿Cuántos en Teloloapan? ¡Que renuncie Evelyn!”.
Como sentenció el clásico Eugenio Derbez al filosofar sobre la realidad:
— “¡Óigame, no!”
Figueroa se fue por el odio toluqueño que Emilio Chuayfet le profesaba. Al gobierno federal jamás les importaron los asesinados en Aguas Blancas. Ángel por justificar la tardanza de la entonces PGR en las investigaciones que se hacen evidentes hoy, que el nuevo gobierno no da pie con bola para hallar la punta de una hebra que permita justicia a los 43 jóvenes desaparecidos.
Éstos gritos chairos de fifi’s exigiendo en redes la renuncia de la gobernadora por un enfrentamiento entre grupos criminales a los que no ha podido apaciguar el gobierno federal es una auténtica masturbación mental del tamaño de King Kong.
— ¿Se imaginan esa chaira?
5.
Delicada, a punto de grave, sin embargo, la chairada de la presidente de la Junta de Coordinación Política del Congreso de Guerrero, Yoloczin Domínguez Serna.
“Los ayuntamientos de algunas regiones, como Tierra Caliente, no ceden predios para instalar cuarteles militares o policiacos”.
Los diputados Locales de Guerrero tienen, entre otras facultades, autorizar el presupuesto anual del gobierno del estado, de los ayuntamientos y “autorizar la donación de predios que pertenezcan a los gobiernos”.
Que alguien le diga a la diputada que es a ella a quien toca gestionar esos predios.
— ¡Válgame con la chairada legislativa!
6.
¿Y usted?
— ¿Se ha sumado o es de esas personas que se autosatisface con sus actitudes?
QUE CONSTE
a) Tantos gritos porque el ejército se quede con tareas de seguridad hasta el 2028. Siempre ha estado. Se acusa a militares de matar a Rubén Jaramillo, último revolucionario zapatista; reprimieron a ferrocarrileros, a médicos y metieron a la cárcel a miles de estudiantes y protagonizaron una guerra sucia. Siempre han estado ahí para tapar las deficiencias de gobiernos civiles o incompetentes o corruptos ¿O no?
b) No se ha dicho que entre las reformas a la ley a partir del 2033 aumentará el presupuesto directo a las policías de los estados y municipios.
c) Manuel Añorve Baños comentó a un columnista de la Ciudad de México: “Hay que hablar de que los militares se regresen a sus cuarteles, sí, pero después de que terminen sus funciones de seguridad pública y, obviamente, no antes de fortalecer a las policías municipales y estatales”.
PREGUNTAS QUE MATAN
¿A qué se refería la presidente municipal de Acapulco, Abelina López Rodríguez, cuando pide a los ciudadanos denunciar extorsiones? A su policía le toca prevenir esas extorsiones y a otro órgano investigarlas ¿Ignorancia o colusión?
¿Hasta cuándo va a informar al poder ejecutivo de Guerrero de lo que pasa en Guerrero la Fiscal General de Guerrero? ¿Por qué se reporta nada más con los mandos militares? ¿Se le olvidó que ya es autoridad civil?
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EL FIN DE UNA ERA
Rompen vara de oficio y retiran corona del ataúd de Isabel II
La capilla del castillo de Windsor ha albergado el último homenaje público a la reina Isabel II, fallecida el 8 de septiembre, en presencia de unos 800 invitados que han despedido a la difunta monarca en el mismo lugar donde se celebró el funeral por su marido, el príncipe Felipe.
Este lunes, Reino Unido ha ofrecido a su Majestad un último gran homenaje nacional, primero en la abadía de Westminster y luego en la capilla de San Jorge, en Windsor.
El féretro de Isabel II entró en el templo seguido de nuevo por los principales miembros de la familia real, entre ellos el rey Carlos III y su esposa, la reina consorte Camila. El deán de Windsor ha presidido una ceremonia puramente religiosa en la que también ha participado el arzobispo de Canterbury, Justin Welby.
Durante el acto, se han retirado los símbolos de la monarquía depositados sobre el féretro a excepción del estandarte real –la corona imperial, el orbe y el cetro–, para ser depositados repartidos sobre el altar.
El rey Carlos III ha depositado posteriormente sobre el féretro el color de la compañía de la reina mientras que el Lord Chamberlain ha roto su vara de mando y la ha depositado sobre el ataúd como símbolo del fin de la era isabelina.
Como ocurriese horas antes en Londres, el himno nacional, ‘Dios salve al Rey’, ha servido como conclusión al último gran acto público en recuerdo a Isabel II. El entierro posterior en la capilla de San Jorge se realizará ya en privado, según la Casa Real.
Isabel, la cuadragésima soberana de un linaje que se remonta a 1066, llegó al trono en 1952, siendo la primera monarca postimperial de Gran Bretaña.
Supervisó a su país, que trataba de hacerse un nuevo lugar en el mundo, y fue decisiva en el surgimiento de la Mancomunidad de Naciones, que ahora agrupa a 56 países.
(Foto: The Royal Family.- Aristegui Nocicias con información de Europa Press y Reuters)
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