Author's Notes: First of all, if you're reading this as a fan of anything else I've written, please do not panic. Nothing has been abandoned or put on hiatus. Secondly, I'd like to say that this story was started on a whim. It was a random idea that sort of started taking up far too much head space not to be written. I'm not certain I'll continue it too long, so don't wail and shriek if it suddenly gets ignored in favor of updating Sesen. This story, I think, is a little less silly than Sesen. I've tried to use a slightly stiffer style of writing to help it line up with the setting. Aside from shades on Monty Python, it shouldn't have too many gags. Or at least not as many as Sesen.
And I feel I should stress this: This is an alternate universe story. Characters may be in a different setting, or even play slightly different roles, but their personalities should be the same.
Prologue
"Kissa, my love, I must leave you, now," the young, dark-skinned man said to the dimminutive woman who so desperately clasped his strong hands. Their child, a small boy of no more than four years, looked on, wide eyes filled with anxiety. The man wore the bright white finery of a Holy Knight; his wife and son wore simple long tunics.
The woman pressed her lips together in a pale, thin line as a sob wracked her body. "Please say that you'll return," she pleaded. "Don't leave me to raise our boy alone."
"I'll not leave you alone, Kissa," the man said, tenderly kissing her hand. "Nor would I leave our son without a father."
The statuesque man quirked a brow as his son tugged at the hem of his jerkin, staring up at him with eyes brimming with tears. "Papa..." he managed to squeak out before his tiny voice died in his throat. He threw himself against his father, tears streaming down his rounded, dusty face.
"Don't fear, my child," the father said, scooping the boy up and holding him close. "Papa will come back. Papa will help Uncle save the kingdom, then Papa will come back to you. All right?"
The boy nodded silently, his tiny body shaking with quiet sobs. His father handed him back to his mother before taking the reigns of his waiting horse and waving them what may be his final farewell.
"Wait for me, my family that I love," he called. "I'll come back bearing weapons to protect us for generations to come!"
"Oh, shut up!" the king barked moodily, falling back against his cushioned chair in the balcony as the curtain was drawn across the stage, hiding the family of actors from the audience's view. Half the audience turned to face the balcony, most likely expecting to see some sort of argument transpiring. "Where was I when this play was approved?" He cast a questioning glance at the elaborately-clad man seated nearest to him.
"You were in bed ill, sire," the man, Mahaado, answered. "Now, if I may be so bold, please follow your own command before you disturb the entire room."
Atem pouted and crossed his arms against his chest, sinking deeper into the plushy chair. Mahaado may have been the closest to him of all the Holy Knights, having been unofficially assigned to caring for and tutoring him, he still excercised some decorum when cutting Atem down. It made it somewhat difficult for Atem to be angered by the jabs.
"That actor must be at least twenty five years my uncle's junior," Atem said in a hissed whisper, ignoring his knight's advice. "The old goat probably organized this whole farce."
The Knight nodded, causing the elaborate beading in his blond hair to jingle a bit. "He did, sire. The whole thing was written while you were ill, so he took the responsibility of directing its production."
"I was only ill for half a week," Atem deadpanned.
"I know, sire," Mahaado said, his voice carrying the same sentiment.
"It shows," Atem said. "Did anyone else notice that the woman he has playing my mother has stubble on her neck?"
The Knight smiled, obviously struggling to stifle a laugh. "If we noticed it all the way up here in the balcony, I doubt anyone missed it."
"A farce," Atem muttered. "An utter mockery of everything this kingdom stands for."
"You act as though you've been personally insulted, sire," Mahaado teased. "It was you who said that a play dedicated to events that took place a mere fifteen years ago was 'premature and ridiculous'. Do you remember?"
The young king glared at his Knight and gave a dismissive wave. "Go find a wine server and bring me a cup, Knight. This travesty of theater makes me thirsty for something more than water."
"Can't you wait for the party, sire?" Mahaado asked, getting up from his seat.
"That simply isn't an option."
The party bustled around Atem, who had wandered away from his Knights to mingle amongst the guests. Nobles and upper class citizens all, they were reserved and graceful even when at play. Dainty ladies in glistening gowns glanced coyly in his direction over their wine glasses while their well-dressed husbands discussed coin and politics, thoroughly distracted by the sound of their own voices. An especially beautiful lady, blonde with blue eyes and pale skin, flashed him a smile and handed her drink to a friend before approaching him.
"Evening, sire," she said, voice foreign and strange like her stark white skin. She was obviously some lower class foreign girl brought over to be a bride to a nobleman too unsuccessful or simple to snare a native woman of equal birth. Her expensively tailored gown hung in strange ways on her bony frame. She was obviously what Atem had heard Mahaado refer to as a fasting girl.
"Good evening," he said with a courteous nod. He took a sip of his wine, the same glass he had been nursing on since the middle of the play. Atem wasn't fond of alcohol on most occasions, and didn't drink much when he did crave it. "Who has escorted you here, if I may ask?"
The girl giggled and curtsied. "I've come with my husband, Headmaster Anum from the mage's academy. I believe he has gone off with some colleagues. I'm sorry that I cannot introduce you."
Atem nodded. "I've met your husband before," he said. He didn't add that Anum was a snivelling little worm of a man whom Atem's Knights strongly suspected of syphoning money from the school's funds to finance his personal endeavors. Like a beautiful, exotic, young wife and a lavish wedding.
"Isn't he such a glorious man?" she said cheerfully. Atem had to bite back his tongue to interject with 'gloriously greedy'. "He's so generous and kind. But... not very exciting. And a plain man." She paused, apparently considering her next words. "Ah! My name is Delitia. It's a pleasure to meet you, sire."
Suddenly desperate for an escape from this ridiculous conversation, Atem scanned the ballroom for someone, anyone, that he knew. His Knights nowhere in sight, he found himself terribly grateful to see his uncle helping himself to a small meat pie, one of many on a server's tray, a few short paces away. He excused himself swiftly, explaining that he had to speak to his uncle. Thankfully, the girl did not follow.
His uncle snatched another pie from the tray upon noticing Atem's approach and handed it to him with an amiable grin. The old man had been in exceptional spirits the entire night, and it was almost unsettling. Akunadin was usually a brooding sort of fellow, often going off on his own while Atem and the others enjoyed celebrations, yet he was lively and friendly tonight.
"It's a grand party, isn't it, nephew?" he said.
Atem smiled and took a small bite of the pastry. He had only been truly drunk once before in his life, and it had been a less then joyous celebration from that point on. It would be nice to put some food in his stomach as a sort of preventive measure. "It's wonderful, uncle." He paused to take another bite of the pie and wipe a stray bit of gravy from his chin. 'Damnable messy things,' he thought to himself. "Has anyone mentioned the performance yet?"
"Oh, not many," the elder said. "Though it's no consequence if it wasn't exactly popular. Your party is the main event, after all."
Another drop of gravy escaped uneaten and delayed Atem's reply. "Yes. I have to say that we waited long enough." He smiled almost sadly to himself and took another sip of his wine while his uncle went on. His father had been dead for almost two years. He had reigned as king for exactly one year. The 'official' coronation celebration had been brief and quite simple. Terranera had been thrown into a state of panic by war in the neighboring kingdom of Luropa. In hindsight, it had been little more than another one of the brief, self-contained civil wars that Luropians were so prone to waging and settling in the course of a few weeks, but the people had clamored for a true king. They demanded an absolute ruler, not a cabinet of nobles bickering over how to manage a country.
It had been a foolish decision on everyone's parts. The people had demanded a ruler, and after long debates between himself and the Knights, he had taken up the crown at the age of fourteen. The war ended in less than a month, and Terranera were left with a boy trying desperately to play at his father's game of politics instead of a proper king. Mahaado and the other knights had been supportive of him, maybe even too supportive in those stormy first weeks. All his schooling had failed to prepare him for the dire, and sometimes utterly trivial, decisions he had to make from day to day. A slew of appeals from prisoners in the capitol city's prison had arrived on the same day as the requests from his head general to change the army's rations to a different sort of meat. It was a disturbing contrast.
A strong hand clapped itself to his shoulder and shook him from hsi revelry. He whirled around to face another of his Knights, Kalim, who had gone to all the trouble of wearing a decent shirt for the party. Shaada stood just behind him. "It's time to give your address, sire," Kalim said. "The guests are waiting for you to speak."
Shaada cleared his throat and pointed. "Your shoe, sire."
Glancing down, Atem blinked. Then swore. His arm had gone slack as his mind wandered, and the overstuffed tart had spilled most of its contents onto his shoe. "Don't just gawk," he hissed, rather embarassed as Kalim snickered. "If you've something for me to clean up with, I'd appreciate it!" Shaada handed him a kerchief he had concealed somewhere in the many pockets of his tunic. Sometimes Atem swore it was more of a travel bag than a garment. Atem hurriedly mopped the chunky mess from his shoe and handed the ruined kerchief back to Shaada, nodding in gratitude.
The slighter Knight grimaced slightly and looked about for an opportune place to dispose of the meat-filled rag. Seeing none, he sighed and gingerly set it into a large pocket. "We had better hurry before your uncle steals the stage," he said with a teasing smile.
A thunderous sound rang out in the hall outside, causing any partygoers still sober enough to notice to jump into the air and turn to warily face the huge double doors. A lone palace guard ran in, clutching his arm to his side. He ran with purpose to Atem and his Knights.
"An intruder!" he exclaimed. "Summon the rest of the Knights and get everyone to safety!"