Disclaimer: The world is not mine, although many of the characters and all the words are.
Ceraano Pollias Solidor was born the son of the fourth Emperor of Archadia. His birth followed by six months his grandfather's death, caused by a plague he had contracted on a state visit to one of the new colonies. No one had suspected that he was ill, so strong was his self-mastery and so firm his resolve to cause no worry, until the disease was too far advanced for even the best in the realm to cure.
Common gossip held that it was coincidence that Gramis's second son had been born eight months after that fatal visit. It seemed to them a sign that the new Emperor (for Gramis had established his rule immediately) had been aware that Archadia would soon be in want of a second heir. They whispered of secret experiments in the Draklor Laboratory under Gramis's direction, experiments which had produced a poison capable of imitating plague.
These gossips were entirely wrong: Gramis had had nothing to do with his father's death, nor, as all the researchers at Draklor, feeling their autonomy threatened, were quick to disclaim, did he have the authority to direct that or any other experiment there. He accepted the whispers as the inevitable consequence of coming into his inheritance sooner than expected.
For the next several years, Gramis had much work to do in order to transfer all the functions of Archadia's government to his control as they had been under his father's. He therefore saw little of his second son until the boy was nearly four years old.
By that time, Ceraano had become quite definitely a person rather than a mere infant. His eyes were as dark as his father's and as merry as his mother's, and his small nose showed every sign of developing into the traditional Solidor beak. To Gramis, Ceraano looked the very image of his uncle and namesake, whose name he had been given out of a sentimental wish that Ceraano have a chance to be the second son he should always have been. That wish was the only visible sign that Gramis's thoughts immediately after his father's death turned often on the past.
The resemblance grew more marked with time, and it was not only physical. When Ceraano was ten, he had expressed to his brother, then fourteen, the desire to become a scholar. Gramis encouraged him in this choice, the more gladly because it was unlikely to bring him into conflict with Zulia. Accordingly, Ceraano immersed himself in histories, plays, and records of the thousand and one affairs of Archadia's long past.
He made himself at home there to such a degree that most of Archades, including his mother, scarcely recalled his existence three days out of four. What friends he had were mostly students like himself, interested in history, magick, or literature: younger sons, all. Heirs had no time for such impractical pastimes.
Zulia resigned himself easily to his brother's eccentricity. He was acutely aware that, much as he might occasionally wish for a brother with his head less permanently in the past, it would have been ill for him had Ceraano been interested in politics. Since he had no need to fear his brother, he was free to like him when circumstances reminded him that he had a brother. As with Ceraano and most of those bound to the present, they were ever distant, but none the less fond for that.
The affection betweeen them delighted Gramis, who had feared that the constantly shifting pressures of lords and land would set them at odds. It was one of his private dreams to see his sons remain all their lives at peace with one another and bring new life to their ravaged House. He was glad of his chosen wife on that account, for certainly Ceraano had not inherited his love of peace from his father. He was glad too of Zulia, sensible enough not to see a threat where none existed. Most of all, though, he was glad of Ceraano, whom he loved as his lost brother made flesh once more.
As much as Gramis wished it, Ceraano was far from a replica of his dead uncle. He was more easy in his rank than the elder Ceraano had ever been and less easy in his trust. His genuine indifference to hunting, drinking, and the other amusements popular among the young nobility made him a difficult target for the silver-tongued wastrels who could speak of little else. His friends, few though they were, were true.
While studying history with a group of other noble scholars, Ceraano befriended and was befriended by a boy roughly his own age, Quinas Bunansa, whose father, Zerides, had once been Gramis's dearest friend, before adult interests had driven them apart. The sons grew closer far than ever the fathers had been, until anyone looking for Ceraano was advised to first seek Quinas, who was the more noticeable and memorable of the two.
Unlike their fathers, Quinas and Ceraano showed no signs of growing apart upon coming of age and being compelled to take some sort of place in society. Quite the reverse, in fact; ladies planning the small, intellectual gatherings common among the Gentry of that period soon learned that an invitation sent only to one of the pair was an invitation wasted, so close in affection were they. Most of the social occasions Ceraano attended were on the strength of that affection, for Quinas both enjoyed them and was popular at them, having received at birth a full allowance of the famous Bunansa wit. Ceraano, perseverant hostesses discovered, could be induced to be nearly as quick of tongue when he was at ease in the company, and the friends' verbal spars provided much enjoyment for the literary elite of Archades.
Ceraano was comfortable in the role of younger son, especially as his brother had been betrothed since the age of nineteen to a daughter of House Zecht who was, if not so well-born as some women Zulia might have had, every inch the dignified, noble lady Zulia dreamt of. Ceraano had every expectation of remaining the alternative heir for the rest of his life, with access to the Imperial Library and all else a scholar might want.
By this it may be seen that Ceraano had inherited not only his mother's gentle smile but also her lack of ambition. Not for him were throne and crown trophies worth murdering for; he preferred knowledge to power and his relatively unfettered life to the regulated one of an Emperor. He knew enough of the responsibility his father shouldered to know that he was ill-suited to it, and his conversations with Zulia were enough to affirm him in his belief that the world of political machination was not for him, nor he for it.
He loved and respected his father for what Gramis capably did each day to keep the ever-expanding Empire on an even keel. The affection between them was the stronger because they were so different: Gramis had the kind of personality that appeared to best advantage if not required to compete with others of a similar type, which Ceraano emphatically was not. Moreover, their daily lives were so disparate that neither ever encroached on the other's beloved sphere. To Ceraano, speaking with his father was speaking with history as it came into being; to Gramis, speaking with his son was speaking with the past, with the brother whose death he regretted as nothing else in life.
He had the love of his father, the trust of his brother, the respect of his colleagues, the comradeship of his friend, and the future of his dreams: what more had Ceraano to desire in life?
According to his mother, he needed a wife, in case Zulia should have no sons. Ceraano did not agree, but he appeared when required at his mother's parties, though they were larger and, to him, duller than those of his accustomed circle. He and Quinas laughed together over their parents' variously subtle stratagems to introduce them to "suitable" maidens. Despite Strella's best efforts, no engagement, nor promise of one, was forthcoming. Gramis, who knew full well that Ceraano had as yet no wish to marry and would deny him nothing if it did no one harm, refrained from involvement. He believed that time would do what demands would not. All the same, unwed, intellectual young ladies began conversations with Ceraano at his own preferred gatherings with ever greater regularity. They, too, recognized that he was a Solidor, and that a life with a scholar was one of the best open to them.
This dance had been going on for a year and a half when everything changed.