Vona was a lovely place. The grass was always green and flowers bloomed nearly year-round, it was told. And when it wasn't, there was a beautiful layer of snow. Never so high that you couldn't walk to where you needed, but not so shallow that you could see anything beneath it. It was also said to sparkle like crystals in the sun. Trees and forests were plenty, creating the most beautiful of views from just about any window. Farm animals grazed and grumbled their off-tuned notes to communicate with one another. Whilst the birds sang sweetly in the skies and trees, and wolves hid away in the forests, rarely exiting.
The kingdom was well known for its peace and quiet. It had been this way for many years and The king, in question, had been fair and good, allowing his people to do as they pleased as long as it was for the good of the kingdom and didn't interfere with the peace. He saw himself as any other person, a citizen if you will, claiming that "a crown is just a silly hat that lets the rain in".
The queen had passed away giving birth to the second princess. The time then had been mournful, for she had been just as sweet as her husband. But her death did not stop the king from raising two (rumored) beauties to inherit the throne. Princess Lucille and Emiline, were their names. Not many could claim that they had met them, none but few soldiers and the servants in the palace. Because of this, there were many rumors about them and what they were like. They ranged from an idea that they were quite rude and demanding, to another that they were sweeter than honey both in demeanor and personality.
Matthias himself had never seen the princesses nor did he have any intention or anticipation of meeting them up until recently… when his father died.
The great Lord Mikkel had been a large majority of the reason that Vona was as serene as it had become over the years. He was the commander of the militia and quite good at what he did. Known to be the kings best friend, he was the iron fist with which the peace remained. Not to say he wasn't kind- he was almost as famous as his Royal Highness for his large heart. But he was also known for his strength, and zero tolerance for wrongdoing. He had a lovely wife, her name had been Frejya, and two sons, Matthias and Berwald.
That all came to a screeching halt as of two weeks ago. Mikkel had suddenly grown ill with an unknown cause- at least no one had time to figure it out anyway… not before he died just as suddenly as he had gotten sick.
Upon the great commander's death, Matthias had inherited the position. Even though he had tried to argue that his younger brother, Berwald, would be a better choice for the honors. But they had said that not only because he was the oldest, but because his father had requested it personally.
Why? Why would his father, who was a wise and good man, want a fool like Matthias in his place? Matthias wasn't smart, he wasn't calculating he wasn't even good at reading maps. Berwald was all of those things plus he was better at sparring than he was. 'Because Matthias was far too sporadic and unthinking, like a common child' in battle, according to their mother.
Lord Mikkel had finally made a mistake in his long, peaceful run as commander. And Matthias was that mistake. And he wasn't the only who thought so. His mother had made quite sure he remembered it, too. All of the way until her own death only four days after their father. The very same illness, it seemed.
"I don't know what you were thinking Dad." Matthias muttered, running his hand on the coarse edge of the beautiful stone that he and his brother had carved themselves. A matching one stood just as stunningly next to it, but he didn't have as much to say to that one. The earth in front of the graves was soft, freshly churned from burying the coffins. There was no body in Lord Mikkel's, however. His had been burned like many great men before him. Belief being that when burned, a true hero's spirit was released from their confines of the people, to roam wherever he wished. Supposedly that made him an equivalent to a god of sorts. Whether that was in the after world- here, or somewhere they felt their influence was needed, Matthias didn't know. He was quite certain that he didn't believe it.
The king had insisted on a royal funeral for his closest friend. The gravestone had been made so that the common people who loved him, which were many, could visit. Numerous flowers and trinkets had been left on the two stones. Chains of daisies from children, Small baubles of glass from the local glass makers, a finely crafted blade from the smith, even the finest breads from the bakers. All had taken time and effort for the gifts. The same amounts of love had gone into the gifts for the dead commander as had been put into them when he had been alive.
"The uniform doesn't even suit me. I'd hate to see what the armor looks like." The tall son mumbled to the stone, as if it could hear him. Matthias' blond, tousled hair was ruffled as the wind blew through the yard. He almost heard his father's laugh in his ear, a distant memory. 'Don't be silly my dear boy, you look like a man'.
He didn't feel much like one.
In fact, he felt like a child. A lost, wandering child with no place to go but forward. But there was a fog or a cloud so dense that forward was still a blind wandering. The only thing that followed him was his own shadow, and the distant memories (and sometimes hurtful input) of his deceased parents. It was funny, sometimes he felt like maybe he was the shadow. Forward could be backward for all he knew. Maybe he was going in circles. Perhaps he wasn't even on any road- perhaps he was drowning in an ocean. He couldn't see the path that he was on and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Not yet anyway. He was afraid to.
He remembered the first time he had worn his father's uniform. He had been ten or something, and the uniform was far, far too big. The sleeves hung off his arms and the collar almost slipped off of his thin shoulders.
'One day you'll wear the uniform again my boy. It's a big responsibility, but you'll have to take it up when I no longer can. Maybe you'll feel like it doesn't fit yet, even though it's made just for you. That's when you're a man. You'll grow into a fine man, Matthias. I'm sure of it.
But one day… you'll put it on. Then… you'll realize that you've grown into a Lord, because it will suddenly feel like it fits.' Lord Mikkel had told him tenderly, and then had slapped his back with a booming laugh and kind smile. Matthias frowned. It still didn't feel like it fit, he still felt too small in the padded shoulders and under the markings for commander. And he was beginning to feel certain that it never would. Lord indeed. That day must have been far, far away from his wandering grasp.
"Well I have to go. The king has called an audience with me over something important, better not keep him waiting." He added softly. He kissed his fingers and pressed them to the stone, a common farewell gesture among family. Usually to the forehead, but a headstone would have to do now. "I'll talk to you again later." he let out a short laugh. "even now I need your advice."
He stood, brushing off the black slacks of his new formal uniform. The red and white of his coat was pristine and had been smoothed with a hot iron earlier. A burn on his hand, just where his thumb met his palm, proved it alongside that, making it hard to close his fingers. He wore the black gloves over that, and hoped no one would notice. The black strip of chain mail crossed from his shoulder to hip over that, sewn expertly into the coat so that it appeared to be cloth. The metal bits flashed in just the right light. Silver gauntlets adorned the sleeves over his wrists, shining from their fresh polish. A matching, long, silver cord crossed over his broad chest twice, hooking together over the closing flap of it with an iron cross holding it all in place right over his beating heart. It represented the "heart of the kingdom", or so it was told. He sighed and made his way over the field of graves in quick strides, silently giving prayers to each one he passed and making sure not to step where anyone could be buried.
"Matthias? Is that- Oh I mean Lord Matthias!" A familiar voice called. The blond looked up and around to see his childhood friend, Gilbert waving to him. He put on his usual smile and waved back, walking carefully towards the albino. He was shorter than Matthias, and had a fair amount of black soot on his nose. His white hair was tousled by the wind as well and his usual black apron was missing, just his tanned trousers and an off-blue shirt with a hole in the sleeve. And his dark leather gloves- as usual.
"Gilbert my good man!" he laughed, receiving the ridiculous bear hug from the Blacksmith. He seemed to have his younger brother running it today. Probably on a supply run to the village over, if his cart had anything to say about it. "How are you? Do you need help?"
"I'm doing just fine, just fine. And nah- I've got this. Just some iron from Alfred. Needed to get it for the armor orders we just got in." Gilbert said with a nod. But his face held more concern now, looking into the newest Lord's blues with his shocking red eyes. "And you? How are you holding up?" He asked, putting a hand on the other's shoulder and squeezing tightly. Matthias smiled.
"I'm alright, just trying to get the hang of all this." He said, turning his gaze to the palace just beyond the hills and then back to his friend. "It's… a lot."
"I can only imagine. What did you do to your hand?" He asked, grabbing the appendage and lifting it to examine.
"Ah- you noticed?" dang it. "I was trying to iron this uniform before I went in to see the king-"
"Of course I noticed you never hold your hand flat like that. You burned yourself? Ha! Here" Gilbert fished in his pockets before pulling out a small bottle. "Put that on it and it'll take away the pain. Promise, I'm used to burns. And we have a lot of it at home." He winked. "So, the king? Already? It's only been what- two weeks?"
"Yes well- some things can't wait. Especially in my, uh, new position. I guess." He sighed, tucking the small bottle into his trouser pocket.
Gilbert didn't seem to like that. But he nodded anyway and took the last moment to pat his shoulder. "Well. You shouldn't be keeping him waiting. And I have to get back to Elizabeta… she'll have my hide if I'm late with the supplies."
Matthias laughed and nodded, waving as Gilbert took back off with his cart, going back into town. "Tell her and Ludwig I said hello!" He called, receiving a barking laugh and accompanying wave in response.
He squared his shoulders, breathed deep and started to walk.
He found himself- after about a kilometer of walking- at the front of the palace doors. The young lord hadn't realized how deep in thought he had precisely been until that moment, and he mentally slapped himself. "Get a grip. You have a job to do." It was a very different job from chopping and carving wood… or lifting heavy things… or helping at the bakery. Like he was used to.
He took a deep breath, brushing his thumb over the intricate silver pummel of the sword that hung at his side. Another inhale, and he marched inside, nodding to the guards he passed.
"What do you think has father so worked up?" Princess Emiline asked from her chair in the library, a favorite place for the two princesses of the kingdom. Books lined the huge walls and the shelves were adorned with scrolls and texts. The oak wood of the furniture was polished to a beautiful sheen and the chandelier above their heads made crystal patterns reflect off the walls from the sun shining through the windows. She marked the page she was on with a finger and looked to her older sister.
Emiline was the smaller of the two, her hair was a pale blonde that was almost white in any source of light. She always curled ringlets into it in the morning, but her stubborn locks refused to stay in the springy style for more than a few hours and turned straight again by the end of the day. Her eyes had a wise look to them, their pale violet seemed to search the soul of whomever they gazed upon. Her skin was a delicate ivory, without blemish or flaw, but for a tiny scar under her jaw, which was hidden by her long locks. A round face with dark eyelashes, which was surprising, given her hair colour. She was thin but had a healthy curve to her hips and shoulders, while she always sat elegantly with her ankles crossed.
Lucille looked up at her, eyeglasses pinched between her fingers as she lowered them to her lap. The thick novel was pushed aside on the table. "I think- and with no light heart- that perhaps with the death of our dear commander, that we may be running into our first bout of discord in many years."
Lucille held a different sort of charm to her. As befitting a princess, she was firm, a straight back and shoulders back. Her legs were crossed while her hands were folded in place over them. Her simple blue dress covered her properly, but the power that resided behind her posture could not be missed by any. She had a wiry form, from training on the grounds with the soldiers in her spare time. She was, as many had said before, muscular for a woman. Thankfully, that fact had kept many from realizing she was the princess at all. But somehow, she kept the same grace and splendor that was expected of a future queen. Her golden locks were pinned up in a lovely bun, all but a single curl of hair that downright refused to stay down. Her eyes, the same colour as her sister's, were sharp, calculating, searching from under her long, blond lashes. She had a longer face, sharper features.
Emiline put a thoughtful hand to her chin and looked out the window. The glassy pane was wavy from its meltdown and reform, creating a distorted view of the outside. Grassy plains and trees waved their organic forms in the breeze, greeting the fresh day in their warped, twisted paradise.
"I fear for father, then."
"Indeed we should." Lucille nodded, resting her cheek in her hand. She twirled the two lenses carefully between her fingers, carefully contemplating what to say. "He's in no condition to fight."
Indeed he was not. The king, in fact, had just celebrated with his people his 77th birthday. And as happy as Lucille and Emiline were for his long, happy rule, they were also concerned for what could happen. Would anyone take advantage of his old age? And the absence of his commander? Such worries had put the castle in a constant state of unease. Soldiers were more formal, always ready for... something. What it was, no one knew. Though it seemed that, as of yesterday, the king may have gotten some sort of idea.
"You think it will come to that?" The younger sister quietly asked. Lucille shook her head slowly, not in a negative response, but in a worried fashion.
"I hope not. But hopes do not create reality, I'm afraid." She told her little sister. "I fear- well. I fear the worst is yet to come."
The two sat silently, neither reading or looking at anything in particular. There was much to think on, and little time, it seemed, to do it.
"Luci- when was that new Lord supposed to come-?" Emiline suddenly asked. Lucille looked up at her sister.
"Why do you ask? He is not supposed to arrive until-"
"Well I think I just saw a man in one of the uniforms come inside the main entrance." The younger said, looking from the window to her sister.
Realizing the late afternoon hour, Lucille stood in a flurry, putting the book and her glasses on the oak table, and let out a quite unladylike curse.
Hello and welcome to the Story! Let me know what you think/if I messed up e7 e bb