#deret beshelar
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[ID: a three panel comic depicting maia, cala, beshelar, and eshevis tethimar from the goblin emperor. 1) maia seated at the throne, his nohecharei behind him. he looks very weary and is saying, "what is your concern, dach'osmer tethimar?" the nohecharei look on past maia in suspicion and disapproval. 2) a closeup of tethimar, looking darkly upward and saying, "our concern...? our concern is..." he launches up, pulling a long, thin knife through the air, cloak billowing behind him as he says, "A KNIFE!" 3) cala and beshelar crowd in front of maia, who looks horrified. cala holds up a hand crackling with maz, and beshelar raises one arm in front of him, the other shielding maia. both are yelling, "NO!!!" end ID]
let me see what you have!!!! A KNIFE
this was @lollians 's idea thank you my beloved
redbubble
#how else did you think i was going to draw this scene#the goblin emperor#tge#my art#described#the goblin emperor fanart#maia drazhar#cala athmaza#deret beshelar#eshevis tethimar
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ID: A digital drawing of Deret Beshelar and Cala Athmaza from The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison. Deret Beshelar is on the left, dressed in faded blue robes and a red baldric with silver embroidery on it. He is shorter, with pointed ears, and pale skin and hair. His arms are crossed and he is looking at Cala with a disapproving expression. Cala is on the right; he is wearing a muted blue outfit with a maroon sash, and a red baldric embroidered with silver. He is taller, with pointed ears, glasses, and pale skin and hair. He is looking at Beshelar with a calm expression, one hand resting on Beshelar's shoulder. The other hand is at Cala's side. end ID.
Beshcala outfit swap >:))
#the main question being: who would have persuaded Deret to do this??#started this aaaages ago and finally finished it#deret beshelar#cala athmaza#the goblin emperor#tge#also im thinking of changing my name to something more tge themed... shoulda done it earlier but. yeah
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Someone just give Edrehasivar VII a hug
#the goblin emperor#katherine addison#maia drazhar#Edrehasivar VII#csevet aisava#Cala Athmaza#Deret Beshelar
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crown prince chenelu drazhar is a beautiful name for the breaking of the cycle of generational trauma
(beshelar has younger sisters, i am right)
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i love their relationship
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"There will be an eclipse of the moon in a fortnight's time, Serenity."
#the goblin emperor#vedero drazhin#maia drazhar#cala athmaza#deret beshelar#edrehasivar vii#i don't love the way this turned out but i'll post it anyways
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By far one of the more interesting things in the coup aftermath is Beshelar (and Cala, but mostly Beshelar) having a crisis over the fact that Edrehasivar does not necessarily trust him and it may partially be his fault.
#this brought to you by maia laughing at Beshelar's tirade re: setheris#(even though it's mostly stress laughing#about having someone hate setheris and Varenechibel for Maia's sake#after years of no support)#and telling the witness he couldn't count on anyone's support#during the coup#the goblin emperor#deret Beshelar#someone write it
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two a them...
[ID: Full-color shaded digital illustration of Cala Athmaza and Deret Beshelar from The Goblin Emperor from the waist and chest up respectively, on a gradiented dull green background. They are standing next to each other at a 3/4 view, Cala slouching and looking down at Beshelar with a smile, while Beshelar stares straight ahead, frowning. Cala has pointed ears, pale skin, wavy and wispy white hair, and round glasses. His hair is in a messy braid, and he’s wearing pale blue robes. Beshelar has pointed ears, pale skin, and straight white hair in a top-knotted undercut. He is wearing red robes and gray metal armor with brown leather straps. Both of them are wearing silver earrings and a maroon sash with gold embroidery depicting a snarling cat. End ID.]
#the goblin emperor#tge#cala athmaza#deret beshelar#described#my art#i did funky things with the shading here and i do like it on the faces and hair at least#very happy with how cala's hair turned out#as you may have noticed from my icon. lol
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my best best goblin emperor friends
#the goblin emperor#maia drazhar#cala athmaza#deret beshelar#if i have the opportunity to draw some guys with big ass ears im gonna take it#anyway everyone go read this book#my art tag
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ID: a digital illustration of deret beshelar and cala athmaza from the goblin emperor, drawn from the shoulders up, kissing. both are pale elves with white-silver hair. beshelar is shorter and muscular with a strong jaw and angular brows. he has an undercut with the top pulled into a topknot. he wears layered padded shirts in shades of gray and blue with a blue ribbon in his hair. his eyes are closed with an expression of slight desperation and he is flushed. cala is taller than beshelar and slim with a long face. he has a long loose braid down his back, and he wears glasses and a deeper blue robe. his expression is relaxed, eyes closed and gently flushed. he wears matching teal jewelry in his ears and braid. the background is a soft peach color. end ID
a redraw of an old sketch 💋
inprnt
#sneaking this in on the last day of june happy pride everyone lol#these bitches gay good for them#my art#described#the goblin emperor#cala athmaza#deret beshelar
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ID: a drawing of beshelar from the goblin emperor edited into a facebook post. the body of the post is submitted by katie dawson to the group "dogspotting" in new york, and reads "This hot pink bitch was named breakfast!!!" He is a slender young elf with thinning white hair in an undercut bun and a blue military uniform, standing with his back to the wall beside a doorway, glaring downward and away with a deep, stressed flush. end ID
#the goblin emperor#deret beshelar#my art#i dont h—okay i have an explanation but it just raises more questions
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A tiny Maia, a tinier Cala, and the tiniest Beshelar
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matter of time before csethiro’s dancing lessons become fighting lessons imho
[id: Three pieces of digital art depicting Maia Drazhar, Csethiro Ceredin, and Deret Beshelar from The Goblin Emperor.
1: In the first drawing, Maia is holding a sword in his right hand (viewer’s left) and blushing while Csethiro holds his left wrist from behind, her left hand on his waist and cheek resting on his shoulder. Maia is dressed in a loose white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows (exposing his scars on his left arm) and lilac pants with a blue and gold scarf attached to the waistband. He is wearing a gold circlet and dark earrings, and his hair is braided and pinned so it rests against the back of his neck, decorated with amber beads. His cheeks and the tips of his ears are dark with a blush, eyes wide, lips pursed, and his ears are tweaked up.
Behind him, an endless ream of text fades in and out, reading: “pay attention pay attention pay attention pay attention pay attention ohmygods listen [...] focus pay attention [...] she’s gonna [...] attention”. Mostly obscured by his thoughts is a speech bubble where Csethiro talks about “sword stuff.” Csethiro is wearing an orange and umber dress with the skirt tied up around her legs for easier movement. Her hair is pinned back in a bun with amber tashin sticks, and she is wearing mostly stud earrings. In the background, Beshelar makes an uncomfortable face with his hands folded behind his back, his ears dipped low and a light blush on his cheeks and ears. He says, “This is most improper, Serenity...”
2: In the second drawing, Csethiro has Maia in a headlock with her left arm (viewer’s right) while her right gestures and she said, “And this is a headlock.” She has her eyes closed and is smiling, wearing a dark pink dress with the sleeves rolled up. In the headlock, Maia smiles and says, “Cool!” with the dot of the exclamation point looking like a heart. He is wearing white draping robes and a plum-coloured lapel, and his hair is braided back loose so that they hang down. He is wearing a gold circlet and many hooped earrings. In the background, Beshelar shouts, “SERENITY!!!” blushing harder than before with his ears up and back, and his arms straight down by his sides.
3: In the third drawing, Maia practices his form with a wooden sword. He is wearing a sleeveless white gi with a dusty-purple sash around the waist, and has bandages wrapped around his hands. His braids are neatly piled atop his head, held in place with a silver comb, and he is wearing only stud and cuff earrings. He is sweating, and a puff of air can be seen as he exhales. An arrow points to him, captioned, “practicing for next week’s lesson.” In the background, Beshelar stands with his hands folded behind his back, with a slight frown and his ears in a neutral position. His eyes are closed, and he says, “...Don’t keep your feet so close together, Serenity.” /end id]
based on these tags i wrote like two years ago. truly this concept has lived in my mind ever since
plain text id: “I’m willing to bet that as well as the dancing Csethiro also taught Maia self defence, whether by swords or fisticuffs. Partly because she is always itching for a fight and to show off her skills, partly because she thinks Maia will appreciate the gesture. Beshelar objects (naturally) but ultimately he knows it would help Maia emotionally, if not because of all the assassination attempts then because of his childhood. Does he stealthily help correct Maia’s form when he practices alone? Am I getting carried away with this? Perhaps.”
#maia drazhar#csethiro ceredin#deret beshelar#the goblin emperor#katherine addison#my art#things i made#image described
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I’m 40% through The Goblin Emperor and I just want Maia to have some friends. That’s all I want from this book, like if it ends and he’s not got ONE friend I will CRY
#i want him cala csevet and beshelar to become BFFs is that so much to ask for ?#i kinda want someone to just tell me if they become friends (bc right now it doesn’t seem likely) but I don’t want spoilers or to cry LMAO#the goblin emperor#maia drazhar#cala athmaza#deret beshelar#csevet aisava
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Drinks With Friends | The Goblin Emperor
The emperor of the Ethuveraz and his nohecharei walk into a bar -
Well. Beshelar limped, mostly. Cala supported him, an operation made somewhat more difficult with how they insisted in keeping Maia safely between them.
“Oh, let us,” Maia said, too afraid to be mild and all out of patience with propriety.
It was, he thought, a sign of how fraught matters were, that he did not even feel badly for snapping; and a mark of Beshelar's character that even grimacing in pain, his appalled look was so distinctive.
"Serenity," he said, grudgingly. At Beshelar’s grudging nod Maia took on some of his weight with an arm around his shoulders.
Maia had braced for it, and almost staggered. A pair of guiding a group of young michen towards the festivities in the higher avenues looked at them and then away, plainly reproving.
Am veiled, at least, Maia mocked bitterly to himself. He shook his head away. Not the time for that, fool. He needed what wits he had clear enough to swallow the sour guilt from his mouth, and focus.
Cala's attention was on their pursuers, focused less on their steps that the streets around them; there was a good reason why the nohecharei of the body and the nohecharei of the spirit were vowed together, each with their own absorbing tasks, but Beshelar was not able to stand well-enough to do his own guarding presently.
Still, he was ever-focused on his charge, quick enough to help Maia take up Beshelar's weight.
“Pretend to be drunk,” Cala suggested out of the corner of his mouth. Maia, high-strung almost beyond bearing, nearly giggled at what Beshelar’s face did then.
They were not being followed. Almost certainly, Cala had said, just after they turned down the narrow alley under the arch, where three burstling streets met in a confusion of carriges and bunting; but almost was not nearly enough to lower their guard.
Maia was hardly an apt substitute - his mind kept leaping toward mad possibilities, imagining hidden daggers behind every worn door frame left ajar while the owners were out. For a brief, bitter moment he wished he were insignificant enough and selfish enough to walk inside of the townhouses with their worn stonework windowsills and tiled fronts, hide away from any seeking assassin without having his conscience weighted by the possibility of bringing danger to someone else's life.
One door, at least, was plainly open all the way.
They hesitated by the mouth of the street, keeping to what few shadows there were.
"Should we -"
"It is too much a risk," Beshelar ground out.
"We shall," Maia said, putting a courage he did not feel in his voice. "Cala, can you manage it?"
Cala's eyes unfocused for a moment. "There is a backdoor in the kitchen that goes two steps from the hidden entry to a common theater. If we place ourselves to the back of the room we could escape quickly, and make for the cover of the theater's basement and the catacombs underneath, until we find our way out of the city."
So it went, almost like a bad jest. The emperor of the Ethuveraz and his nohecharei walk into a bar -
Well. Beshelar limped, mostly. Cala supported him, an operation made somewhat more difficult with how they insisted in keeping Maia safely between them, an operation made somewhat more difficult with how they insisted in keeping Maia safely between them.
Maia had hoped there might have been an inn or rooms to let above the bar, but no such luck. The best to be done was to hide away in plain sight - "It can be done," Cala said, the soft curl of his voice lined with a strange inkling of steel. "The maz is simple enough, and the more convincing the simpler it is. Beshelar, how art?”
The sound of the door closing at their back would almost be a relief, if not for how Maia's heart leapt in his chest as he struggled to adapt his eyes to the dark room. What lighting there was spread itself dim and unenthusiastic over well-filled desks. It was the first time he went to a drinking place, and like as not the last. He might have enjoyed the change better if he were not still trembling with fear.
Beshelar grimaced. Under the grimy, scratched table, Maia felt him move his ankle, and stop very abruptly, before trying again. “A sprain only, maza. Nevermind that. Any news from our fellows?”
“Nought yet, since Kiru sent the message for flight,” Cala said. His eyes were on the door, the dark walls, the groups of shop-keepers and scribes huddling around their ale and their conversation; except that Maia had the unnerving impression that it was not his eyes that were surveying.
He turned those keen eyes on Maia. "Serenity," he whispered. "We hate to ask this of you."
But there was too much to focus on - the fear, and the indifferent faces turning to see who entered the bar, and looking for a place far back to sit upon. The men that had attacked Beshelar - that had attacked Maia, and been stopped by Beshelar - had used life steel, but there were many more dangers in the world besides hidden blades.
"Count on us," Maia ordered. "We shall keep guard, as you do your working." Then, speaking as the question came to him, aware of sounding a little ridiculous - "Only - is there ought we ought to do?"
"Stay where we are and be at ease," Cala said, and managed a taunt shadow of his usual smile. "As much as you can appear to be, Serenity. The thing I am to do is to blur the image of this table and those sitting around it, so the more credible we can be the easier it shall be. Beshelar knows how to."
"It will be as we trained, maz," Beshelar said gruffly.
Maia had not thought to think of what nohecharei training was like - sword forms for one and strange books for the other he had supposed vaguely. The notion that the two of them, or the four perhaps, spent their spare hours playing maz hiding games for the benefit of his safety, would be hard to believe, if Beshelar were not so capable at it.
He moved in his seat, so that the military lines of his back eased, and his harmed leg spread out comfortably. The starched line of his collars was unbuttoned at the middle, and without support it seemed to crumple in the comfortable dishabille of a guard's man on holiday leave.
Something strange happened then. It seemed to Maia that though he knew him, and had only the day before spent many long meetings with Beshelar standing beside the door directly before his desk in the Governor's manse, he could not quite keep his focus on him without his eyes sliding away as they would on the blurred surface of a rainy window.
Maia raised Cala’s worn old cloak around his starched brocade to hide the white of his sleeves underneath, and steadied his breathing and the slant of his ears. No one had given the shout - no one had said, Hail, there the emperor! - but there were enough engravings of Maia on the papers, and he did enough public appearances that someone might recognize him, if Cala's spell failed.
The fear abated a little, moment by moment. The room was shockingly warm in comparison to the winter evening outside; it was more strength than Maia had to keep his fists from uncurling a little. The server came and returned with a basket of flatbread Maia pecked at and a triad of chalices they only pretended to bring to their mouth.
No one paid them any mind in particular.
He wondered what they saw, or their eyes thought they saw; they made a strange group, but there were stranger in the tables, and rising up to dance when a fiddler struck a tune. Most eyes were for the fireside, where some men sat singing in a warm, almost harmonious choir, and soon a flute and viol competed with the fiddle. It was Winternight, not yet noon; there were many songs to be had, in the streets and the drinking houses.
“Were we but anything and not ourselves, we would set aside the prayers, and spend the day at home, for we seem to have the most cursed birthday in the land,” Maia joked weakly.
Winternight, and the most important part of the emperor’s visit to the Southernmost Province. Even now, he ought to be in his guest quarters in the Governor’s household, sitting in the high stool while the edochorai brought out the fine net of silver and pearls the city council had offered the emperor, and that Nemer was so excited over presenting with certain choice combinations of Southern silks and embroideries.
Without his cloak, Cala's robes were still plainly cut in the maza style, but few enough people met a maza for long. Beshelar was clearly a soldier by the set of his back and the engraving in his boots. Maia thanked Csetho that the drinking house they had chosen did appear to be popular with the city guard, who might have recognized his insignias.
And himself. There were other goblins, drinking and eating the noon meal, making ready for a merry night; and the attack had caught him at a rare moment of slightly diminished grandeur. The combs in his hair were silver, not gold, and subtle; his earrings and rings not very many. He might have been a rich man's son, merchant-born; a student of the University home for the holiday, or a young law-man.
Most importantly, he was veiled for the temple; as were a good quarter of the people inside, and more even outside. If anything, the veil won a few wry looks from patrons who imagined the story for him - a religious family, and a young fellow scurrying off from prayer for a drink with friends before the celebrations.
He tried not to stare too much at Beshelar. That would be - revealing, he suspected, even with Cala's guise shrouding them from recognition.
“We know you shall not like it, but we must,” Maia whispered wretchedly. “If we had not insisted on visiting the temple for Winternight prayers, we would not be so easily isolated for an attack. “This is our fault. We - I should not have been so -”
Witness, greedy hobgoblin, the Setheris that dwelt in his heart sneered. Hast the cunning of a door. Wantest play the peon in a play, and nevermind the weakness for thy enemies to make use of and thy nohecharei be wasted on thy whims.
Maia might have become stronger than ever he could have thought to be in Edonomee, both in will and in rank, could not quite silence him as he had often become able to.
At least, he thought wryly, he could look into himself and see what was memory and what was of his own making. Setheris would have little care for any servant of his, but even in his cruel imaginings he could not pretend to think of Beshelar or Cala or Telimezh or Kiru as anything other than his nohecharei, a thing different to all the devotions and services he was given.
Even now, he did not know how Telimezh or Kiru were. They had held the way out; and Beshelar had been fought and tripped in the confusion of steps and shadows, making the way up from the dark chapels of Ulis, deep underground the monastery in the heart of the city.
Every time Maia closed his eyes he saw the sprawling mass of the would-be assassin in the steps, and felt again the lurch of horror when Beshelar almost failed to rise beside his enemy.
“Serenity,” Beshelar gritted out. “We beg you not to apologize, It is us who must ask for pardon in shame, for failing you in this time.”
“Thou hast not ever failed me,” Maia said determinedly. His stomach turned with nerves once more.
“Nor would we wish that you should be sorry for taking the opportunity to pray,” Cala said, using the plural.
“Can we agree none of us ought to apologize, perhaps?”
Under the table, Beshelar was one tense and pained line. But he looked at him, as directly as he ever did, and nodded firmly.
Maia wished strongly that he could offer some comfort. He had a mad notion of extending a hand in friendship, to be clasped as friends did, or more fiercely still. But he could not do it, whatever closeness there was between them, if he did not know Beshelar would welcome it.
And he could not burden him with the question now. Guarding the emperor while being followed by treacherous enemies in a strange city while wounded was far from Beshelar’s preference, and almost more than he could bear.
Maia was not certain he had not hit his head in the struggle; he was very still as one that might be sick if moved too sharply, the muscles of his face and neck pulled to a taunt pallor, and Cala’s brief examination had healed the worst of the damage under the skin, he knew enough about maz to know it was a battle-working, quick and efficient and of little use against pain.
Maia felt the stillness before the movement; Cala straightened.
"The Governor and his staff have been apprehended, and Mer Aisava has identified the culprit. It seems the Governor's bursar has quietly been substituting the city guard with men loyal to his pay. His daughter is wed to the industrialists as opposed to the raising of the bridge. The men ordered to hold His Serenity are all accounted for," he said, and Maia heard Kiru’s intonation in his voice. "All among the dav are well. Serenity, preparations for the celebration in the town hall continue."
"That is as it ought to be," Maia confirmed.
Maia wilted in relief in his heart for only a little moment. Even Beshelar's unhappy mouth, Maia noted, eased its strained line.
A slow, relieved smile moved across his face - he barely felt it, and could not have stopped it.
The political muddle rose with pitiless clarity in his mind, and with it the certainty that there were at least half a dozen points he was missing; but he would not have the holy day ruined for it. "We shall join you presently."
Beshelar’s eyes, a little glassy and unguarded, were staring at Maia - at Maia’s smile. He could not look away; he ought to; he would not.
On his other side, Cala twitched. Maia turned to look at him; but whatever quicksilver gleam there was in his eyes moved away swiftly. He turned away; the singers were rising to their feet now, their voices rising in a rounded swell, a call for cheers - he watched with the rest of the patrons, cheeks burning with the close air, pretending he had not been caught looking, that he had not been looked at.
"To Kiru," Maia said, giddy, and strove to press his shaking fingers to stillness. He could not bear to clap, but the relief and sudden silence left his light-headed; he was suddenly very aware of being thirsty, and hungry, and quite tired.
Again he thought of his lent boudoir, the work waiting for him. There would be Csevet's fear - poor, dear Csevet! - his list of meetings, missives, orders to give: the matter at hand was treason, and if he thought of it he would become more nauseous than anything else.
If he were not what he was -
Maia took a rash sip, barely at the tail end of the collective raising of the glasses, and made a horrible face. No one had ever quite had the cheek to offer purple absinthe to the emperor so far; he did not think any warning might have done it justice.
Beside him, and entirely despite himself, Besheler huffed something like laughter, and silenced himself as quickly as he could. Cala's shoulders shook silently, grin barely hidden behind his hand, and with the other offered a flask of water.
"A little slower, perhaps," he teased, eyes creasing with his smile.
It was the smile that allowed Maia to feel steady again, more than the quiet. He allowed the alarm to soften over his own shoulders, as much as it ever did. If he leaned a little into Cala, and Beshelar kept his back to the door as he sat to his other side, that was nothing strange and remarkable: a dozen other young people in love did so on days of feasting all over Edrehasivar’s realm, and their small table was a safer place than much of the rest of the world just then.
#maia drazhar#the goblin emperor#cala athmaza#deret beshelar#the goblin emperor fic#fic#my fic#maia/cala/beshelar
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