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Lady Fortune (Servalan, Blake's 7)

Title: Lady Fortune
Character: Servalan, one-time President of the Terran Federation
Fandom: Blake’s 7
Prompt: Fortune and Her Wheel

Notes: Gentle reader, take care: Blake’s 7 can be quite a dark fandom...

Lady Fortune


When President Conol’s private guard stormed the Commissariat for Pacification and Public Order, Sleer was waiting crouched and head-bowed behind her magnificent desk. As the door buckled and burned, she rose from her chair, arranged herself and her feathers, and stood with arms stretched out, fingertips light upon the black glass. She had been here before; she would be here again.

The door broke, falling like a palace of cards. A dozen troops streamed in, forming a semi-circle around her. Sleer smiled at them, in turn, patient and forgiving as a goddess.

And watched them all waver, more or less.


Conol came to see her in captivity. He liked her caged, but didn’t know what to make of her, and didn’t know what to do with her. “Did you honestly believe you could go around unrecognized? Somebody must have helped you! Who helped you?”

So far, he has gone away unanswered—

“Or are you mad?”

—but returned often. Unable to resist. She was irresistible.


She lifted her eyes, huge and dark in a sun-starved face. Gestured him closer. Only a whisker between them. “Let me tell you all about it,” she breathed. “Let me tell you all my secrets.”


Residence One may be more comfortable than prison, Madame is heard to remark these days, but it has certainly faded since she was sole occupant. Since she was ‘Madame President’.

In the banqueting hall, the President bores his allies with complaints. She sits regal and untouchable at her end. When Conol stops to drink, Servalan dabs white linen against scarlet lips, then drops the cloth upon the floor. Two guests and three guards dive to retrieve it for her. When she speaks, wineglasses and allies and enemies and candlesticks quiver, to a man.

Poor Conol. Always so tired, these days.”


One sultry night, they walk together beneath the cold stars of which she was once Empress. Bodyguards follow them: two young men – discreet, anonymous, loyal.

She takes him to a secret garden. Red roses soften the air. He tells her that he worships her. She clasps his head between her hands, kisses him. The young men obey her signal.

All these boys, she thinks, as they drag the body away – they are her own. They know her for what she is; they know she will use them, but never waste them. It is very like love, she thinks. Only honest.


The day President Servalan took office again, she stood alone before the Presidential Palace, and swore an oath to serve and rule, to judge and protect. She looked pale and vulnerable before her black-clad guard.

But it was not an unequal partnership. If they kept her here, if they never wavered, they knew she would take the stars back for them. And if not...

She had fallen before. Yet here she was again.

Servalan stood upon the threshold. Her office was made of light and air, black glass at its heart. Beautiful, she thought, and turned the handle once more.



( 2 votes — vote! )
Jun. 15th, 2008 06:07 pm (UTC)

I barely know who Servalan is (having seen only one episode, ever, of B7), but I don't need to in order to appreciate this perfect faceted gem of a story.
Jun. 16th, 2008 08:35 am (UTC)
Thank you, very much! I was conscious that I was writing for a general fandom ficathon, so I tried to make sure it could be read without prior knowledge of the show. I'm glad that worked. Although one of the benefits of B7 is that the canon is so sketchily drawn that you can impose pretty much what you like on its canvas!

This icon shows Servalan with her feathers.
( 2 votes — vote! )

The Challenge

Celebrating the possibility that (at long, long last) either a woman or a person of color will be the next American president by writing stories and producing icons, vids and graphics about people of color and women in positions of political power.

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