"Glory Gives Herself" - Grimer&Verance L.

[Verance Lilicria]

"Glory Gives Herself Only To Those Who Have Always Dreamed Of Her"

In royal politics, daughters are like currency. One trades them for peace treaties, trade routes, maps, treasure. No one ever asks them their opinion, because daughters should be like money: seen, bought and sold, but certainly not possessed of its own mind.

There is an unusual amount of traffic passing through the Aguia's capital city, Vaida. Set imposingly against a backdrop of craggy, sharp-looking mountains, the walled city looks cold and unwelcoming. The surrounding terrain is mostly rocky plains or moors of tough grass. Within the walls, the city is an unmanagable labyrinth of twisted roads and alleys that none but a native can traverse with ease.

The castle of Vaida rests behind its own comfortable wall, snuggled up against the knifelike mountains. It watches sternly over the entire city, its watchtower eyes burning long into the night. Behind the castle, known only to a select few, run a series of tunnels and caverns carved straight out of the mountains, an obsolete escape route left untouched for hundreds of years.

A couple of days journey from the city, just visible from the castle as a silver shimmer on the horizon, the Lake of Suntor. The lake is famed not for its exceptional beauty, but for the ancient ruined temple, rumoured to be the final resting place of the last god said to walk the earth. Until twenty years ago it was open for all as a pilgrimage for those that worshiped the Bright God; within the span of a day it became a forbidden name to even whisper. The king died not many months after proclaiming the Lake a restricted area. The widowed queen fell into a semi-lucid fever and never recovered, dying fitfully in sleep. His youngest son, Azarad, inherited the throne after his brothers disappeared.

Queen Escua of the Cavalo kingdom, a strong and viscious ruler, has petitioned Azarad endlessly since he ascended the throne for permission to investigate the Lake. She believes there is some sort of treasure to be found there - or even better, some kind of ancient and terrifying power. But Azarad always refused, until his son reached his eighteenth birthday and was still unmarried. A desperate act from a king who had little idea what he was doing - and Escua's and Azarad's children were betrothed. The powerhungry queen was unemotional about using her own children as bartering chips - the thought had never crossed her mind about securing anyone's happiness but her own, and most likely never would.

A Small Family Tree



So our story begins with the Crown Princess, the Queen and her immediate family having arrived in the capital of Aguia. Things are hectic with preparations for the wedding.

[Grimer]

~~~~The Anguian Palace, Some time in the Early Afternoon~~~~

Ebrahm Val'Storan Neil Ganis sat in his green drawing room at a intricately clothed table for an early supper before the evening's festivities. One cheek cupped in a bony palm, the other mindlessly chewing at a seasoned broccoli, his mouth between the two could be described as something between a frown and scowl. His own father's power vacuum had got him into this mess, and now it was his job to get them out of it.

After a hard swallow, he looked over at his servant, who stood obediently behind him, a metal tray in hand if he needed anything. Servanthood must be a simple life, Ebrahm thought smugly. It lacked the complexities of royalty or the idiosyncratic squabbling of politics.

At the first of the month there was the dispute over his legitimacy to the throne. The issue has come up before in the past, but never with the fervor that he'd seen earlier this month. Now that he is to be married, being the crown prince suddenly had much more meaning. Despite the fact that he looks nothing like his father, and has a striking resemblance to one of the servants, both his mother and father swear that he is their son and the rightful ruler.

Maybe a fortnight ago was the problem with the national treasury. Attempting to fill the shoes of his grandfather, his father wasted away a larger portion of what was to be the funding for the agricultural department. Not only was this coming marriage to be a seal on the document that he was their son and he would be king, but it was an attempt for his father to write over his mistakes with new blood.

And now here he was, chewing on what was supposed to be his favorite dish, in what was supposed to be his favorite parlor, preparing for what was supposed to be his favorite evening event: Royal Socializing. He shuddered as ice clinked in his glass of sparkling tea, his (actual) favorite drink, brought only after he refused to drink anything else, and even then had to have it brought secretly by his servant.

Eighteen years of education, dueling, riding, memorizing kings and their dukes and duchesses, war games, and a mastery of four different instruments and three different painting styles amounted to the purpose of marrying away in hopes that father can learn to play with the hand he has been dealt, Ebrahm lower lip curled up as his hand rolled off his cheek to be greeted by his chin. The rapier belted to his waist had never felt heavier.

Suddenly, he stood. Pacing to the window and looking out at the grounds, he looked back at his servant.
"What am I to do with this? How could I possibly make this out to be even a remotely enjoyable experience?" He looked at his servant and then back out the window at the carriages that rolled up the drive as people began arriving for the pre-marital festivities.

"Here I am, dressed as the glorious Anguian crown prince, ready to walk to my own public hanging." He brushed the idea off of his white coat, embellished with medals and insignias honoring his families achievements, all of which he had to memorize in exquisite detail.

He straightened himself out, assuming the accepted posture and stance as if to greet the countless political officials, "If it would please my father and mother to be puppet to their cruel game, then my own happiness must not have been written into my marital contract."

[Verance Lilicria]

Today we rode into the city. You cannot imagine the first sight of it, how it fills the stomach with rocks. The city rises from a faceless wall, and all that surrounds it is mud and rocks and sand.

I feel as though I shall suffocate here. Is this how you felt? At least you had the sweeping valleys full of Krema's crops to welcome you. And the knowledge that you were riding to your new throne. A Princess has not much to look forward to, even when she becomes Queen. All I shall be allowed to do is embroider and take a turn about the gardens, if this place even has any. But don't worry, brother - if I cannot amuse myself legitimately, I shall turn to mischief soon enough. So I shall not be without some amusement.

The delicate scritch-scritch of the quill ceased as Lady Casimia o Ligia Oura raised her head thoughtfully, and a small smile played over her lips. A moment of pondering further, and the quill pen lowered once again.

Riding through the city had so many twists and turns that I felt positively sick. And the castle! For a place that should be the centre of luxury and decadence, it was severely lacking. The rooms I have been given are dusty, and decorated in a mismatched shade of faded pink and rotten yellow. Are these what pass for royal chambers here? Or are they simply trying our patience to see how much slighting we can handle? Of course, I cannot speak for Mother. The Queen has kept largely to herself since we have arrived, and for that, at least, I am thankful.

Thankful was not the word to describe it. Oh, the opinions she could write about her mother...they were simply ready to burst from her hand. But the sound of anxious footsteps outside her bedroom forced her to drop her quill, and as the door opened Casimia quickly hid her hand among her skirts.

"My lady!" The shrill cry of Vari, her maidservant, left Casimia wincing slightly. "Where have you been? We must make you presentable for the feast tonight, it is the first time your future husband and father shall see you! Don't you want to make a good impression?"

"I wouldn't trouble myself with it overmuch," mused Casimia, although she allowed Vari to lead her to the baths and briskly undress her. "I believe he's already pledged to marry me, and cannot retract it so easily."

As she helped Casimia step into the milk bath, Vari shook her head with such force that Casimia feared for a moment it might cause her an injury, if her head weren't so full of air already. "But if you do not please the King, or worse, the Prince, who knows what these savages will do to you?" As she began to wash the Princess's hair vigorously, she leaned forward as though she was about to impart a great secret. "I heard that they once ate a Princess who did not meet their standards!"

Casimia had to laugh at that, and it echoed all round the baths. "You listen to too much gossip, my girl. Have you seen yet the standards of these people? I hardly think that even in my worst state I should not fulfil - indeed, overthrow entirely - their standards." Perhaps she was a little too confident, a little too used to everyone pampering and fawning over her at home. But she was a confident young woman, well aware of her attractiveness and not at all unwilling to use it to her advantage. She laid her head on a cushion once Vari had finished with her hair, relaxing comfortably in the warm milk bath; she paused in her recline only to frown at a servant girl scrubbing a little too hard at her ink-stained right hand.

"This entire court, I am sure, has not one person of wit or vivacity in its midst. If a little scandal occurs and I am not dressed to the extremes that they would like, well, I am sure it would only do them good." Casimia closed her eyes and smiled once more, then allowed her face to relax as creams and powders were applied. She liked to think of herself as being a spoonful of spice, adding some flavour to the dull courts of royalty. In fact, she was doing everyone a favour, going above and beyond her meagre duties of batting her eyelashes and dancing prettily. Her sharp humour and wit were much admired back home, but she could not expect such excitement to be welcome here. But if she must be carted away to a boring kingdom of rocks and bushes, then she may as well condition the court to her sort of entertainment.

[Grimer]

A rattle traveled down the wall across Ebrahm's green room, turning his attention to it abruptly. They used the baths in the pink room? He shuddered at the thought of the few parties he had to bare in the worst room of the palace.

"What is the meaning of this?" He turned to his servant, who was left speechless and powerless at the question.
Ebrahm quickly calmed himself, his face becoming emotionless again. This event would require more control than he'd ever have had to exercise at any one event in his entire---

"Sir!" A familiar voice came in from the double doors in the far corner. Ebrahm slowly turned to recognize his sparring partner and oldest friend, Euvan. Much more like a brother than a manservant, Euvan was raised to be Ebrahm's closest and much trustworthy assistant. He stopped as he realized his question was answered as he entered the door.
"I see you are already dressed and ready?"

"Euvan, I told you not to call me 'sir' or 'your majesty'; you and I are much closer than that." Euvan nodded in apology and Ebrahm continued, "You know I can't sit still when I am lost in thought." He waved off the maidservant with the tray, making their conversation more private.
"Did you see her leave her carriage as I instructed?" Euvan gave the big, hearty laugh he inherited from his father.
"How improper, your majesty, spying on your bride to be! Surely we do not live in a time where rumors and childish games are to be taken seriously."
Ebrahm was unamused, "Euvan, you will tell me what you saw, and you will stop calling me that."
The grin quickly left Euvan's face, "Of course, Ebrahm. I only got to see a glimpse of her and her maidservant, and overall I did not particularly dislike what I saw."
Ebrahm frowned. More than once he has had to cover up Euvan disappearing to sleep with maidservants on the grounds. Euvan quickly tried to change the unspoken subject, "I would assume that the rattling pipes are her bathing as we speak."
Ebrahm nodded, back to business, " Those were my thoughts exactly. Who's idea was it to put them in the pink room? Am I not to marry this woman, not scare her off?"
Euvan smirked and looked away, "Given the choice of the former or latter, I'd have to stop and think about it."
A large, ornate clock gave a loud twang in one corner. Showtime.
Euvan led Ebrahm to the stairs down into the garden, where these kind of parties are usually held, both dressed in their required regalia. Euvan leaned over before leading him down the steps to the small crowd below, "The usual speech, I'd assume?" Ebrahm held back a laugh and whispered back, "I suppose I can't have you give it for me."

After the initial toast and the welcoming to the joyous occasion and onsuch and nonsuch, a small brass choir began to play and the people below began to socialize. Ebrahm waited stoically on the steps for his bride, as tradition dictated. Euvan would lead her servant, if she chose to bring one, and they would tend to the newlyweds for the evening.
Ebrahm questioned this premise of the maiden of honor being fashionably late as his knees began to become sore.

The evening air quieted suddenly as the butler at the door raised his voice to call out to the group.