[M] War and Peace ~ Breggo and Hannelorian [IC]
Asterious was beautiful in the summer - as long as one stayed away from the border of the Empire and avoided travel in late August as the storm season came about bringing with it torrential downpours that flooded rivers and washed away roads. The mud made travel especially treacherous for anyone daring to brave it on a wagon or carriage, the wheels getting swallowed in the earth and causing the passengers to constantly get out to assist the device out of their predicament before clamberring back into the relative comfort of the carriage only to repeat the exercise a meer 200 meters later. During the storm season, Asterious closed down to all but the bravest or the most foolish, the rains marking the end of the harvest and foreshadowing the winter that would come sooner than expected, starting more often than not in the second half of October. As rain gave way to snow, the countryside would be transformed into a wonderland, the roads becoming passible as the mud solidified in the cold and the winter trading would begin in earnest before the darkest time of the year.
Regardless of the season, traveling the borderlands was ill-advisable. The southern border was an active war zone against the Tyrenease Conglomerate, fortifications and walls lining the battlefront, nameless graveyards from both sides already beginning to disappear beneath freshly planted oaks, a tradition of Asterious that was, according to some, responsible for the empire’s lush forests. To the north, rebellious forces hid among the mountain peaks, prefering to hide among ice and snow away from the prying eyes of the Flight and stocking rumors of a freedom that many lowly citizens silently prayed would come. The western seafront was plagued by pirates, an annoyance for the country but it successfully blocked the royal fleet from continuing its typically steady advance. And recently, tensions started to rise to the east as Lys threatened to break the peace pact established over twenty five years ago. All this forced the empire to remain on high alert, adding to the conqueror image of Asterious from long ago.
Originally, the kingdom of Asterious was just like any other, vying for survival under the sun and struggling to compete with its neighbors. Its royal family didn’t have magic like its neighbors and some said, had the first emperor of Asterious not discovered the Bonding ritual thus bringing dragons under the kingdom's banners, most likely the small kingdom would have ceased to exist. As emperor Sebastien, the first of his name, claimed the throne from his cousin, the new empire rose to push away invaders, continuing to grow to its present size, slowly conquering each new land with each new emperor. Presently, it was fighting to keeps its borders strong and intact, slowing to digest everything it had consumed over the past few generations.
Too much, though the young Emperor, huddling deeper into his cloak from the rain seeping in among the oak groove. Although the mighty trees that grew on the eastern border blocked out the worst of the weather, the storm season made for a less than enjoyable expedition. It was a pity that this particular diplomatic endeavor could not be postponed until finer weather passed - time was of the upmost importance as any delay increased the inevitability of a war. Alistair had never ventured to the eastern borderlands before, spending his military career in the southern campaign, however, he could sense the same tension in the air, weighing heavy on everyone in their current makeshift camp. Typically, the emperor wouldn’t give it much thought as the hot breath of his black dragon reached his skin; however, in order to avoid any unnecessary attention, he was alone.
Sharp, cold eyes observed the men before him with boredom as the warriors accompanying Duke Riddle and two other high-ranking politicians moved among their chores, some double checking the tents, a few cleaning their weapons as they wearily watched the shadows in the trees. A small group gathered around the main fire, chatting quietly over the huge pot of stew and laughing softly among themselves. If not for the three pompous men huddling under a temporary tent, Alistair could almost be happy. Almost for the second his eyes landed on his politicians, the fattest of them immediately started making his way over. Stifling a groan that threatened to escape him, the young Emperor waited for the man to approach, nearly slipping in the mud and cursing loud enough that the soldiers around the makeshift camp jerked their heads up in alarm.
“I do not believe the word ‘inconspicuous’ is in your vocabulary, Lord Riddle,” Alistair didn’t raise his voice yet it seemed that his cold tone pierced everyone around him. The duke’s pudgy face immediately melted into a scowl before he got his emotions under control once again. It frustrated the young emperor that he could not remove this man from his toasty position as the Lord Diplomat just yet although a full cleanse of the stuffy and overly confident cabinet of advisors was one of his top priorities. Unfortunately, simply dissolving the cabinet would be equivalent to declaring an all out civil war and while he did not fear a scrimish within the capital, he understood enough about strategy to know it would invite others to attack while Asterious was bleeding. As such, it had been a slow battle to move out the old aristocrats who reigned for his father and brother, starting with the minister of internal defense. That post was crucial to Alistair as he could not phantom having his second in command be a man he didn’t trust and he certainly did not trust Marques de Pombal. Thankfully, with a bit of digging, there was enough evidence to encourage the Marques to resign and leave for his country estate, allowing Alistair to promote his own to the post, causing an uproar in the cabinet. A few harsh words and threats of whipping quickly quited down the most vocal.
“Your imperial majesty,” the duke started as he bowed before the emperor but catching Alistair’s gaze paled and gulped.
“You are mistaken, your grace,” Alistair’s expression remained disinterested.
“Sir Alistair,” Riddle corrected himself but the emperor’s brows furrowed in disappointment. “I mean to say, Sir Alexander.”
“You were highly recommended to me as the most savvy diplomat in the empire,” blue eyes lazily watched the duke’s cheeks flush in anger. “However, I am disappointed in your inability to remember such a simple alias that I have adapted for this specific envoy.”
“If your….if you, Sir Alexander, would only appear before the Lys court without disguise, we could avoid this whole charade and we, as the delegation, could focus solely on our mission as opposed to wasting time and effort in remembering your alias,” Riddle huffed before wrapping his expensive travel cloak further around himself. “Or better yet, remained in Asterious as your father and brother had done.”
“I am neither my father nor my brother. Lest you forget, Lord Riddle, I will be sure to remind you. And believe me when I say, forget you will not.”
“Are you threatening me now, boy?” the duke snarled, losing patience as his muddy green eyes lit up in anger.
“It’s not a threat, it’s a promise,” Alistair’s lips curled into a predatory smile, exposing slightly elongated canines. “Cross me again and you will bear the reminder of my forgiveness etched into the skin of your forehead for all to see. What were you cabinet rats whispering about?”
The duke was resembling a poisonous mushroom, alternating red and white spots on his pudgy complexion and struggling to breathe from the anger that consumed him. His fists clenched inside leather gloves and his nostrils flared as his murderous stare turned to the ground. Alistair waited, not bothering to acknowledge the hatred that the older man was struggling to hide. The hatred and the fear. Even as their small campsite continued to be embraced in a steady rain, the emperor could see his vassal shaking in his boots. This fear and yet pompous bravada that the cabinet constantly wanted to display amused Alistair on some days and made him want to howl on others. It was as though each and every one of the old men sitting in the capitol and wearing flashy swords for show wanted to test his temper and confirm on their own skin his wrath. Keeping himself restrained was getting harder and harder although the old politicians had a knack for stopping just before he really did anything that he’d regret.
“We were discussing your desire to keep your brother’s engagement commitment in tact, sir,” with a huff, the duke of Qieren gathered his features into something resembling calmness. “It is a perfect time to step away from this agreement that was binding the previous Emperor to Lys. Asterious only stands to lose if this marriage goes through - the kingdom is weak with the king on his deathbed and the princess does not have any of the royal gifts that were a primary consideration when the original agreement was drawn. If we step away now, we will not lose face and can align ourselves with another powerful ally.”
“Your worry for the empire is noted, you are dismissed,” Alistair waved to send the duke away however Riddle would have none of this.
“You are acting like a spoiled child, sir,” he noted, “Chasing, rushing into something that does not guarantee any benefits for the empire. Lys is a kingdom with nothing to give us and this attempt to honor the agreement that was made practically when you were born -”
“I said you were dismissed,” Alistair’s voice had the effect of an ice water bucket thrown over the man before him. “Ensure that your grace and your cabinet rats get enough rest tonight. We will continue early and push to arrive by nightfall. If you aren’t ready to leave when we are, I will leave you behind.”
“You wouldn’t!” the duke’s eyes widened.
“Do not test my patience further,” the emperor slowly rose, straightening his frame until he towered over the older men. “Your tend to forget that I am the sole ruler of Asterious and my word is law. I have earned the respect of the Flight by spilling blood and I will not hesitate to do so once we are back. You, duke of Qieren, are replaceable in my eyes as are the rest of your kind. You have the honor of advising an emperor, not a right. Now get out of my sight.”
Turning on his heels, Alistair didn’t wait to hear the response on Riddle’s lips, his long strides carrying him towards the outer edges of the campsite and as far away from his responsibilities as he could manage. He could feel all the gazes upon his back - angry, concerned, confused, understanding - but straightening his shoulders and raising his chin, he ignored them all. Once, when he was young, he craved the attention constantly bestowed upon his brother, wishing someone, anyone would look at him. Oh, the irony was cruel indeed - now, everyone watched his every move, holding their breath each time he stepped out of the confines of decorum. Tugging the hood of his cloak onto his head, he ended up perching on a fallen tree trunk, eyes turned towards the darkness of the forest.
It was a stupid idea to sneak into the deligation heading to Lys, he had to admit it even to himself. The only reason he hoped to get away with it was that no one knew the new emperor of Asterious - he had always stayed in the shadows either by choice or circumstance and anything that people knew about him were rumours spread of the Flight in general. By some joke of fate, he did not even resemble Sebastien closely. There was no softness to his features, no warmth in his gaze and he even skipped the royal family’s typical blonde hair-green eyes coloration. Alistair was certainly an outcast among his own. Once again, the predatory smirk exposed his canines, making him appear almost feral with the hood hiding his eyes in shadows. Fate was a funny thing indeed.
It had been fate or misfortune that forced him to take this opportunity. It had been during the preparations for his brother’s coronation as he was leaving the castle when he felt a strange urge to turn around, his blue eyes sweeping the landscape with his usual bored disinterest when…his heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t wearing anything special, just a simple summer dress adorned her figure, hiding her body in flowing silks and lace yet it heightened the flush of her cheeks and the brightness of her intelligent eyes. A soft smile played on her lips as she listened to those standing beside her though he couldn’t tell what exactly was on her mind. Regardless, Alistair couldn’t move until his comrades brought him back, the Flight requested to return to the South. It took him a few days of inner torment before finally discovering her identity and…
“I wanted to check on you, sire,” the voice of his friend brought him back from the past. Turning to look at the broad shouldered warrior with the hazel eyes, Alistair shook his head. Beside him, Westley sighed before starting to humm an old ballad under his nose, pulling out a small piece of wood and his knife. As the song progressed, accompanied by the rain, a pile of shavings started to grow at the mens’ feet. Growling, Alistair swung to look at the casually relaxing comrade.
“Will you shut up?”
“Are you asking me as my friend or as my emperor?” Westley raised an eyebrow, his hands continuing to carve a small figurine of a dragon. “If its the later, I will stop immediately and await my punishment.”
“Your jesting talents were wasted on the flight,” the emperor grumbled under his breathe. “I wanted to be alone.”
“And I wanted a warm bed and a hot body in my arms,” the reply was cheery as could be. “I cannot understand why you decided to trug through to Lys of all places and not even as yourself.”
“If this is your attempt to raise my spirits, you are doing lousy,” The two men sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the forest around them. Finally, Alister sighed. “What do you know of the prince regent?”
The prince regent of Lys leaned over his father’s work desk, absently tapping the edge of his quill against his lips in thought. His dark brown eyes slowly traced the words on the parchment before him, going row by row, over and over again. Mountains of scrolls, books and notes stood on every available surface - chairs, side tables, the floor. Off to the corner, a large and well detailed map of Lys laid sprawled out with colorful pins stuck into it marking off nearly every populated part of the country. Used goblets, empty jugs and bottles and a tray with half eaten food completed the surroundings, candlelight flickering on the golden utensils.
Crysos sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair before dropping the quill on the table and pushing away. No matter how many times he re-read the silly poem, no matter how much he wanted to gleam just another clue about where to find the answer to his problem, the universe laughed and hid any new knowledge from him. He had spent countless hours trying to glean anything that would narrow down the search for the savior of his kingdom, anything past the blood moon on a summer solstice that marked her birthday. Involuntarily, his lips started to repeat the prophecy now etched into his memory.
Beneath the crimson moon's embrace,
A witch of power, born with grace.
On solstice night, her fate decreed,
To face the dragon riders' greed.
Her magic strong, a fiery art,
To save or doom, a world apart.
With courage firm and heart aglow,
The kingdom's future, she shall sow.
As dragon riders seek control,
Her choice to mend or take its toll.
To stand against their empire's might,
Or let the realm succumb to blight.
Her path unfolds, an ancient rhyme,
A prophecy forged in threads of time.
The kingdom's destiny she'll claim,
In her hands, its hope and name.
Through trials deep, she'll rise above,
With power fierce, she'll reign and love.
A witch of greatness, truth be told,
The kingdom's tale shall then unfold.
As the last line fell softly into the air, Crysos grinned like a silly boy. It had been so simple in his mind - having a minor gift of prophecy, the crown prince had known from a young age that it was possible to go against one’s fate. With that knowledge, he was determined to find a way to keep Lys independent from the Asterious Empire to the East that threatened to consume the smaller kingdom. Although the treaty arranged by his father with the empire ensured peace, it was a price much too high in the prince’s eyes. And so, Crysos tried to find anyone who could give him some sort of direction to follow.
He had almost given up hope when fate finally smiled upon him. A powerful fortune teller, a traveling gypsy, caught his eye at a fair in one of the smaller towns of Lys. Although Theobald had warned him against it, Crysos could not pass up the opportunity to glimpse into the future. The old elf frowned as she looked at his palm and muttered something under her breath in a language he couldn’t understand before standing up and rummaging in her worn out trunk. The look over her shoulder had made the young prince wonder if he perhaps it was a bad idea and Crysos looked around the hazy tent to find an inconspicuous way to leave however, before he could muster up his courage to slip away, the fortune teller was back, spilling the pile of vials, pouches of powders and other trinkets on the table. With the first scented candle, Crysos forgot everything that was happening; however, when he came back to his senses, the scroll with the prophecy was in his hand and he was frowning as he read it over and over again.
His father would hear none of it - as Crysos tried to catch his breathe, eyes aglow with excitement, the older man frowned and locked his hands in front of him in a dome, elegant fingertips touching each other. His deep brown eyes hid under the salt and pepper brows, giving him a slightly hawkish appearance as he pondered what his son just told him before leaning back in his chair and shaking his head.
”I wish, my son, you would stop chasing fantasies and spend more time preparing for your sister’s wedding and coronation. This fan--” he stopped as a violent cough made him nearly double over before taking a few shaky breaths and slowly dabbing the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. ”This fantasy you harbor, this prophecy you seek to believe will only bring the kingdom into disaster. Lys needs to prepare for the inevitable and maintain as much of our own as we can.”
“But father --”
“Go Crysos, I desire to rest…”
That memory never angered Crysos, rather causing him sadness. King Poloneous the Forth had been the present monarch for over forty years. To some, the beloved king was synonymous to the prosperity and stability that Lys had gotten accustomed to. He managed to bring together the most conservative and the most progressive of the kingdom, aligning his policies to keep the people fed and happy. His waning health was a blow not only to his family but to everyone who called Lys their home. Crysos inherited a kingdom ready to be consumed by the empire when his sister married the new Emperor Sebastien and it seemed time was of the essence. Finally the de facto leader, the young prince dove into finding merritt in the prophecy, only pausing when Theobald pointed out Saskia’s warm regard for the ruler of Asterious. As he fought to put his sister’s happiness above the kingdom’s freedom, news from the East changed everything.
The emperor was found dead on his bed within weeks of ascending the throne, the crown going to his younger brother Alistair. Overnight, the peace seemed to have cracked with the engagement between Lys and Asterious covered in uncertainty. The new emperor was rarely seen at court and, more often than not, completely forgotten by the royal families of the world. He was a dangerous man however, a warrior who had proven his skills in countless battles and skirmishes, surviving encounters that would have killed other men or, at the very least, turned them into babbling idiots. Most importantly, he was merciless and cold, able to murder in cold blood if that is what was required to secure a win. Ad maius bonum seemed to be his motto and, if Crysos was honest, it frightened him.
And overnight, it seemed that the heavens blessed his search for independence. Crysos only had to look at his sister to realize that he could not force her to make such a sacrifice for Lys and, as such, dedicated all his energy into finding the witch that the prophecy spoke of. No one dared to go against him but he could hear the whispers in the hall, see the pity in the eyes of those living in the palace and the quiet disapproval of the older generation. To him, it did not matter and with his head held high, the prince continued to come closer and closer to his truth. As the hunt for the savior of his kingdom consumed him, he felt his determination grow and it steadied his mind that he was doing what was right.
“Crysos?” Theobald’s voice from the door shook him awake and dark brown eyes rose to meet the deep blue ones resembling the darkest depths of the ocean. “How can you breath in here?”
“Theo, close the door,” Crysos smirked as he watched his older brother try to sneak into the large office, his efforts complicated by the disarray currently in the room. Shaking his head as Theobald Ward closed the door on quiet hinges, the prince walked to the furthest window, opening up the colorful glass pane to let in a slight breeze, almost immediately dropping down to the floor to gather the loose leafs of paper that were scattered there. “It really isn’t so bad…”
“It’s stuffy, muggy and has a distinct stench of coffee. Stale coffee,” Theo’s voice remained flat but that only made the prince chuckle.
“The maids will clean it up and air it out tonight when we host the banquet for the Asterious delegation though I still don’t know why we are bothering. I will not allow Saskia to marry that bloody bastard.”
“The emperor will not risk war until next spring,” Theo offered as he strode over to help the younger men, his armor moving silently as though it was a second skin. “You do not take Saskia’s own feelings into consideration.” It was a statement but Crysos’ lips curled into a frown.
“Of course I take her feelings into consideration! She doesn't even know this new emperor - none of us do! Though there are enough stories reaching Lys that even if she knew him, I would not in my right mind allow her to marry a murderer.”
“Are you planning to break off her engagement fully then?” The men froze as the words hung in the air. If Crysos really did break off the engagement or, rather, did not renegotiate, it would effectively destroy the peace that prevented the empire from attacking Lys for as long as he was alive. The prince had complained about this countless times before and quite vocally however there was his father to calm his temper or his sister’s happiness to hold him back. Now, was he really ready to throw such an insult at the most powerful military country close to Lys?
“We should prepare for war, rally the troops and start training the militia,” sitting back on his heels with a thick stack of papers in his hands, Crysos paused before straightening. “Regardless of how this negotiation goes, I do not want to be caught unprepared. As you mentioned, it would be unwise for me to disregard Saskia’s thoughts on the matter.”
“You are wise beyond your years,” Theo smirked, straightening himself and passing Crysos the papers he collected. “Though this wild goose chase…”
“It will work. The circumstances of this witch's birth are so specific, I doubt there will be many who were born on that day. Besides, the gypsy said she will be no older than the treaty itself.”
“You are ready to trust a gypsy and risk Lys based on her words?”
“I have to! I cannot stand to see my homeland disappear from existence,” Crysos placed the pile on the desk, moving one of the heavy statues standing as decoration to stand atop it and press it down. Running a hand through his hair, he turned to Theobald. “It has been my dream to keep Lys safe since I was born. More than a dream, its my duty. Why can’t you see that this is my only chance?”
“I…I think you’re wrong but,” Theo raised a hand to stop Crysos’ angry response. “But I will support you. You are my brother and I will go looking for this witch.”
“Thank you,” Crysos clasped hands with the captain of the guard. “I would not ask you of this if I didn’t believe.”
“I know, I will leave at dawn.”
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