Emmeryn Lowell, Crown Princess of the Halidom of Ylisse.
As I am certain you have already heard, my father has marched off to war with the mutual enemy of both our nations, the 'Isoldian League'. No doubt your own father already has plans in motion to join him.
What you may not know, is that my sister, the Lady Aversa will be joining him. She is skilled, but inexperienced. This will be the first, and Grima willing, the only time she will have to see war. With any luck (and by the will of the Gods), the conflict will be a short one, and at as low a cost as possible. Not only for the sake of peace, but so that we can resume our correspondence without the risk of Isoldian interference.
Perhaps with luck, you may visit Thebes for the Yalda Festival this year? If the war is short, and with our fathers agreement, of course. Perhaps I might visit Ylisstol for Yule in return? If I remember correctly, Yule occurs after Yalda, (which occurs for four days: the day of the Winter Solstice, and the three days leading up to it.) although do correct me if I am wrong.
Respectfully yours, and may the blessings of Grima and Naga both be upon you.
Your friend,
-Robin Alexios
Sat in her father's study, Emmeryn smiled as she reread the latest letter from Robin for what must have been at least the sixth time since receiving it that morning. The fact that he was still contacting her, despite the actions of her now former countrymen, pleased her greatly. As did the (admittedly unofficial) invitation to visit her friend for the 'Yalda Festival'.
She knew it was important. Her grandmother had boasted at length of taking advantage of the holy celebration to launch a series of surprise attacks on Plegia...and this boasting had lasted right up until the Plegian's had responded in kind, launching an offensive of their own on a day considered holy by Naga's faithful. Which Isolde had not taken well..at all. There had been many executions, both of Plegian prisoners and of her own commanders.
She shoved the letter into one of her pockets as her father entered the room. Her smile faded, and her now well practiced public mask slid into place. "Father?"
"It is time, Emmeryn." Nicholas told her calmly. "The ceremony will soon begin...and unfortunately, it must be done in front of witnesses."
"Of course father." She responded. "I understand."
She rose from her chair, and soon fell into step with her father as he strode wordlessly through the palace. It was an uncomfortable silence, after all, no Exalt had successfully completed the ritual in over a century. The odds were that Nicholas too, would fail. This was a fact he was very aware of, and were it not for tradition, he would have declined to partake. The last thing he needed was obvious evidence of Naga's disfavour.
They passed through a set of heavy oak doors. The knights positioned either side of it eyed the pair, but said nothing. The Royals made their way down the winding halls down to the chambers below.
The circular room beneath the palace was lit only by braziers. It was vast, with a shallow pit in the centre. Within that was a large, cubic rock, within which rested the holy blade, Falchion. Herschel Morris, the current Hierarch, was slowly pacing around the outer ring. When the royal pair made their entrance, he offered a deep bow, and made his way over to them.
"Your Radiance, Your Highness." He greeted with a thin smile. "Good day to both of you. I pray that you are both well?"
"Well enough, Hierarch." The Exalt replied. "If a tad...apprehensive. One only has a single attempt at this, after all."
Before Morris could respond, the Royal Herald strode in and cleared his throat. Both Nicholas and the Hierarch leveled similar looks of disdain in his direction. To his credit, the Herald soldiered on.
"Isambard Cicero Lowell, Ducal Regent of Whitecliff Bay, Lord Admiral of the Fleet and Prince of the Halidom." He announced as the man strolled into the chamber. Isambard was a full decade younger than his brother, his blue hair hadn't begun to gray, and he yet carried himself with a youthful swagger.
"Izzy." Nicholas greeted with a nod. "It is good to see you."
"..Nick." His brother grinned, before glancing towards his niece. "And little Emmy! Look at you!"
"Hello Uncle." Emmeryn smiled, and promptly stepped forward to embrace her Uncle. He cheerfully obliged her, spinning her around in an embrace of his own. When he finally let her go, she was red faced with embarrassment. "H-How fare my lands?"
"Eheh.." Isambard cleared his throat, and bowed deeply before his niece. "Your lands of Whitecliff Bay are prosperous as ever, Grand Duchess."
The heir or heiress to the Ylissean Throne was traditionally granted the Grand Duchy of Whitecliff Bay upon their tenth birthday, or upon the accession to the throne of their Lowell parent. But, in a strange contradiction, the law stated that said heir or heiress could not legally 'hold' the title until they were of age. Instead, a Regent was required, as was the situation in Macedon across the border. However, as the Grand Duchy was the dominion of the heir to the throne, regents took the title 'Ducal Regent', rather than the more common 'Lord Regent'
"Thank you, Uncle." Emmeryn replied, choosing her next words carefully. "Your services are, as ever, deeply appreciated."
"Indeed." Nicholas nodded, before turning to his daughter. "Emmy, go have a talk with the Hierarch, I need a word with your Uncle."
Emmeryn nodded once, and headed off to the man that guided Naga's faithful on the correct course, or was supposed to, at least.
"It should be you claiming the blade." Nicholas told him. "You can wield it better than I."
"I am better at hacking at people with a sharpened length of flattened metal than you are, Brother, that much is true." Isambard conceded with a good natured grin. "But that is it. I am not a better administrator. Nor a better peacemaker. Nor a better knight. Go claim the sword, Your Radiance."
"Naga willing, of course." Nicholas pointed out with a smile. "Nothing is certain, after all."
"Don't be pessimistic, Nicky." The amused tone of Exalt-Consort Maria drifted into the ears of the trio as she approached, the rest of the court following in behind her. Her family was actually foreign, from one of the many nations of Valm across the sea. The House of Renault was one of the five Princely families of the Serene Entente, and Exalt Isolde had married her son to one of their daughters in exchange for the Renaults making weapons and armour for her armies. The Renaults had eagerly obliged, and fulfilled the order a full six months early. She herself was not unpopular, but at the same time, her efforts to educate her children about the wider world beyond Ylissean borders had been stymied by their tutors, the majority of whom had until recently had been Isoldians. "You're as worthy as you can be."
"..Thank you for your confidence, Maria."
"We march for war at dawn." Nicholas sighed. "Regardless of what happens today."
"Ha! I have a bottle of fine Rosanne Wine for when we return, Brother." Isambard grinned. "It's a sad fact that I must admit I was keeping it for when our bitch of a mother died, the onset of real peace is as good a think to drink to as any, no?"
"..There really is no need for language like that."The Exalt quietly commanded. "...Heartless though she was, she was still our mother."
"Yes yes, don't speak ill of the dead and all that." Isambard waved a hand dismissively. "But frankly, I hated the woman ever since she had Father executed."
Nicholas said nothing, instead he marched into the pit as silence fell around him. The eyes of the entire court were on him now, and many fingered coins for various bets amongst themselves. Hierarch Morris' voice filled the chamber. "...You may proceed, Exalt."
Nicholas knelt in front of the blade, hands slowly wrapping around its hilt. A prayer to Naga left his lips, and he closed his eyes, and pulled. A pillar of glorious, golden light engulfed him, and the Falchion left its rocky prison, resplendent as the day it was formed. To Nicholas, it almost felt weightless, and ever so slightly warm. The light around him dimmed, to reveal him standing, holy blade in hand, to the onlookers.
Nicholas frankly looked bewildered, as if he couldn't quite believe that the sword was free and in his hand. "Hierarch, are you able to confirm for my people, that what has happened here today, is by the will of Naga?"
"Aye, Your Radiance. Proudly." Morris cleared his throat, and his voice boomed throughout the room. "Good people of Ylisse! I gives me great pleasure to announce that, by the grace of Naga, Exalt Nicholas Lowell has been found worthy of wielding the holy blade, Falchion! A Wielder at long last!"
Silence. At least thirty people were in the chamber, and there was nothing but utterly shocked silence.
"Frederick?" Nicholas called, breaking the silence. "I have need of you...Get me paper and ink, I have a letter to write."
Unto the traitorous swine of the Isoldian League,
I wish to extend my greetings to you all, and to inform you of your impending imprisonment and/or death.
However, I am bound by certain laws. Ones I am unwilling to break simply to deal with the likes of you.
And so, in accordance with the Laws put down by Exalt Aloysius the Younger, you have until the start of the next moon to surrender to my authority and rejoin the Halidom of Ylisse. No harm nor punishment will come to you should you choose to follow that course of action. As per the aforementioned Laws, your recent actions will legally be seen as an extreme protest to recent political treaties.
Should you refuse to stand down, you shall be destroyed utterly without mercy or hesitation.
Understand this. Should you pursue that course of action, you will fail. Your soldiers will die for a pointless disagreement. For the simple fact that their masters desire to hold onto power. Not for any self-righteous bigotry or racism you might prefer to claim.
May the blessings of Naga be upon you and yours. You are sure to need them.
-Nicholas Lowell, Exalt of Ylisse and the Wielder of Falchion
I am unlikely to be updating any of my stories before the New Year, so I would like to take the opportunity to thank each and every one of you for your support (and patience) this year, and wish you all the best for the coming year.
-Rem