Chapter 1: Where a boy becomes a man and finds himself overwhelmed by the feeling
It was a warm day, with a gentle breeze that made you feel as if something had gone right with the world. It was the sort of day where you sat on the grass and flew paper airplanes into the sky. There was music in air, from the twittering birds to the mawkish military trumpets in the distance. A young woman stood near a tree, playing into a harmonica. The melody was sweet and simple and blended tenderly into the air. She stopped after playing a few bars, and looked around her. She exhaled happily; she was glad to be at that hill, at that very moment in time when everything was peaceful. A piece of paper was in her hand, along with a pen.
"Carnava is not a country known for its technology. Other nations, such as the floating city of Veneti, are far better known for the advancements they have made for the betterment of their people's lives. All Carnava has to offer was nature, and magic. The two have melded together to become integral to the citizens of the land, and everything that happened in that country was governed by those two factors. If Veneti has its tall towers stretching into the sky, Carnava has its glorious mountains. If Shqiperise has its idol singers, Carnava has earthy ethnic melodies. It all makes for a strange juxtaposition of technology, schizophrenic in its implementation, yet beautiful. When people travel across the great Continent, they find something unique in each land."
The young woman stared at the paper in dismay.
I call this total rubbish. A monkey with a coconut for a brain would be able to sell this place better than me. No, scratch that. I suppose a monkey with a coconut would have some trouble holding a pen.
She scratched her nose idly with the pen, leaving a small black ink stain.
Maybe I should ask one of the soldiers for pointers. The Specint guys tend to be good at this sort of thing. Oh to be a Carnavan, sailing upon the briny seas. How did he even come up with something so... random?
"Hi!" A voice suddenly interrupted her reverie. It was a warm, friendly voice; deep but not too deep and eminently cheery. She turned to face the owner of the shout. He was a young man, maybe two years her senior. He was fairly tall and well-built, with the poise and posture of a swordsman. He had short, black hair, cut in the style acceptable for a soldier in the Carnavan Armed Forces. His eyes were a deep shade of blue.
Ultramarine. If they used a particular paint for his eyes, then I think that would be it.
Weird girl, sitting by herself. Wonder what she was writing. She seems less than happy about it.
"Hello there." She smiled at him in response. "Care to help me out a little?"
Forward, aren't you?
"Sure. What about?"
"I'm writing an essay. On travel in the Continent, though the point kind of is to encourage more tourists to Carnava. Problem being that there is no earthly reason why you would actively travel here from abroad." Her speech was terse and clipped.
Eh...? Who is this person?
"Oi, I like this country. I'm a soldier for a reason, you know."
I didn't realise that, you know.
"You mean you aren't the victim of an elaborate ploy to force you into armed service because of your family name and its connexions with warfare, battle and specific links to the Magic Association that we all know and secretly loathe?"
What. The. Hell.
"Come again...?" He paused, looking at her in amazement. It had been a brief but fiery speech coloured with the woman's contempt for the Association. She looked angry and more than a little bitter. "Oh, no, nothing of the sort at all. I am from a military family, but I assure you, my decision to become a Knight has nothing to do with that. Also, that was likely the longest sentence you have used thus far, and I don't doubt that you have a tremendous grudge against the Association."
"But of course. I simply consider them cowards for their actions during the incident at Redwall Beach."
Roland blanched at the mention of that incident. Redwall Beach was infamous in Carnavan history. During the war against the creatures referred simply as Beast Fiends, a refugee camp filled with survivors from the previous battles, sixteen years ago, had been brutalised. The Magic Association, led by one Duc d'Oreille at that dark time, had isolated itself and refused to help the dying camp. Despite pleas from the late King Carnava, he had refused to act, and the entire colony of two hundred people, most of them women and children, had been wiped out. It was a blot on the Association's history as well, and Dia, the Brilliant Witch, and current leader, had done her best to make amends for the atrocity.
"The leaders of the Association then and the leaders of the Association now are completely different. You cannot blame Miss Dia for what her predecessor did." He said, doing his best not to physically harm the smug woman in front of him.
"Then I won't. I'll still hate them nonetheless."
"Why?"
"I lost my mother in that incident."
"Oh." He paused, "My apologies in that case."
That was real smooth.
"Would you have laughed at me if I gave any other reason?"
"No, never. I too lost someone very important to me that day."
"Then why do you not despise them as well?"
"I know the witches personally. I cannot hate my friends after all. Besides, as a person, I guess I can't condone judging people on such flimsy grounds. I mean, they had nothing to do with the incident."
Loyal sap.
"Well, never mind that. My essay. Read." She commanded him with the air of being used to getting her way. He gave her a look filled with injured pride, and quickly skimmed through the essay, or rather, what little had been written thus far.
She sounds so angry about Carnava being behind the rest of the Continent.
"Might I suggest," He said warily, more than aware of the dark glare the woman was giving him, "That you consider riffing on Carnava less and complimenting it some more? And also sounding more sincere while you do that?"
"Huh, was that the problem?" The question was clearly rhetorical. All she had wanted was for someone to see the same thing as her. "A thank you is in order, I suppose." She was surprisingly dismissive, especially after the argument the two had had just a few minutes previously.
Grateful. Yes. Most grateful.
"Not a problem."
The woman got up and dusted off her dress. It was simple but elegant, and complemented her small frame beautifully. The sight caused the boy to pause for a minute. She gave him a mocking look that immediately dissolved this pleasant image however, and turned away towards the road. She had only gotten about twenty metres away from the boy, when he called out to her.
"My name is Roland. Roland Gallia! Might I have the pleasure of knowing yours?"
She turned to look at him in mild disbelief, coloured with a certain amount of pleasure at his courtesy despite him having no idea whatsoever about her identity. She appreciated his gesture even if it was not quite so evident on her impassive face.
"Elena. Elena Riesevelt von Hahnenburg."
Roland's eyes widened in shock as she said the name. He could merely stare after the figure as she walked down the road, away from him.
"Oh my God. I think I just met the Princess."
Roland felt like a duck. There were precisely 6.0221415 × 10^23 places he'd far rather be in, and he wasn't sure if all these places were on the planet. Ahrtania might have very well been in that list as well. His face was calm, as always, but his insides were vertiginous, roiling with his nerves. Calling them mere butterflies would be like calling a nuclear blast a tiny fire cracker.
Oh bloody hell, why am I even here? Help me, Rasche, I think I'm going to faint.
The hall he was in was a large one. The ceiling was maybe 20 metres high, and the entire room looked terrifyingly oversized, even with the 98 cadets that were about to become Knights of the Kingdom. He measured the hall to be approximately 50x70 metres, thought a large amount of that space seemed devoted to glorifying various leaders – their statues were obnoxiously tall and snooty.
Stop. Thinking. Now. And measuring crap – it doesn't matter how tall this building is – I think that lady needs new shoes pronto – Roland, stop. NOW.
His heart was racing. It wasn't supposed to be this way, but somehow, just the thought of finally achieving his dream left him desperately in need of some extra oxygen, and the urge to notice tiny insignificant details like the crack on the wall that looked like an adorable little skull.
If this doesn't end soon I think I'm going to scream so help me I'm suffering here.
He could feel the stares of the crowd on him, the top student of his class. One particular standout was likely the Princess he had inadvertently bumped into just a few hours previously. She was the reason, he realised, that he was so nervous. That his collar seemed like it belonged to a much skinnier person than he.
The military uniform he was wearing, a stark contrast from his usual armour, was tailored for him. Neatly cut, it snugly covered his body, accenting his newfound height and bulk. The collar was high, and he had to wear a tie with it, but until that day it had never been quite so asphyxiating. He had graduated on top of his class so why? Something about the Princess's cool look left him decidedly winded.
I haven't felt like this since high school entrance exams. What the hell? I thought those were bad. I miss boot camp. Would they let me back in if I asked nicely?
"Roland, are you ready?" Gaston looked at him with approval. Despite his wayward, anxious thought, Roland looked the model soldier. He was neat, with his hair swept back away from his face, and his polished boots clicked on the ground as he walked up to the pedestal.
Nope. Not even a little. No.
"Yes, sir. I am."
That was a lie.
"Good, now repeat after me."
"Sir."
"I, a member of Carnava's Armed Forces, hereby pledge to serve with all my heart and soul, the country and Queen to which I have now given my life to."
Roland repeated the words, slowly so that he wouldn't stumble over them. His classmates followed suit.
"I am prepared to give my life, my body, my heart and my soul at all times in honour of my pledge as one of the Royal Knights of Carnava, so hear me God, as I take this vow and carve it into my heart."
Grisly metaphor that. No, wait, that isn't a metaphor. That's a simile – oh no, I'm doing it again.
He said what he had to, and sighed imperceptibly.
"Well done." Gaston smiled proudly at his young protégé. He then turned to the other knights, "You are all now Knights of Carnava. Bear your titles well."
"You did it, bro!" Rasche appeared from some obscure corner to capture Roland in a fierce hug.
"Ack. Choking. Windpipe no longer functioning." He gasped, trying to extract himself from his brother's grasp. The two of them looked at each other and burst out laughing. It was still a bright, warm day.
"Congratulations, Roland!" Rina came up to them, beaming. Over the last year, just as Roland had, she too had grown tremendously, resembling more than ever a woman rather than a child. She had grown her hair out at a certain young individual's request, though it was still rather short when compared to people like Fatima, who let her hair sweep out behind her like a black wave of silk. At least, that's how Roland pictured it.
I wonder how those two are doing.
"Shall we go to our spot then?" He asked the other two, grinning broadly.
"Sure thing." They replied, almost in unison.
Their hill was nothing special. It was simply a small, but secluded hillock that had the minor advantages of facing the riverside, and providing an excellent view of the fireworks during the Starflower festival. But it was theirs. No one knew about the tiny hill except for the three of them, and it had become their haunt, their secret base, for nearly ten years.
"Professor!" The boy called out to the old man, "Wait up!" The two of them strode up the sloping greens.
"Come, child. We have to walk faster or we'll miss it."
"Miss what?"
"Your surprise, of course."
Roland suddenly woke up from his reverie to the distinct sensation that someone was stuffing grass up his nose. He waved his hand at the offending grass-stuffer and turned around to try and go back to sleep. The dream had felt warm and familiar. There had been another person with them as well. A girl. A distant shadowy figure wreathed in the mists of his memory. He wanted to reach out and grab the figure but it was too far away.
"Are we ready?"
"Good to go, boss."
"Good man. Where's the Princess?"
"Dunno. She was playing hooky."
"Then find her, you fool."
"Boss, she ain't here. We checked her rooms an' everything."
"Try harder!"
"There is no time. We must proceed with our objective regardless of the missing Princess. Ready the charges."
"Aight sir!"
There was a muffled boom from far away that jerked Roland out of his slumber once more.
"What was that?" He asked, looking around wildly. There was smoke, he noted, rising from the direction of the palace.
"Oh shit. I think someone just blew up the palace." Rasche said, staring at the ever increasing plume of grey staining the sky. He looked far too surprised to react appropriately.
C-come again? BLEW UP THE PALACE? React, Rasche. Don't just "Oh shit full stop" me.
There was a muffled scream from behind them, and a young woman slipped and rolled down to rest at Roland's knees. It was the girl from the morning.
Huh. It's her.
"Princess Elena? Are you really the Princess Elena?" Roland asked her in disbelief. She recovered from her fall with surprising speed, and gave him a harsh look.
"Never mind me, get to the palace. Aren't you a knight?"
"Well, yes, but your safety..."
"My sister is far more important than I. Get to it, man!"
"Right away, my lady." Roland stared at the Princess in surprise. He had always pictured her to be more gentile, less blunt and abrupt. Less prone to rolling down hillocks and then ordering people about as though nothing had happened. He shook his head to clear his mind from the odd thoughts that were passing through it, and set off at a run towards the palace. Rasche followed suit. Rina did not, however, causing the Princess to glare at her and ask her why she had not deigned to save the people in the palace.
"With all due respect, my lady, I am not a knight, and I choose to ensure your safety above the others." She replied, not realising the will behind the princess's eyes.
The Princess Elena Riesevelt von Hahnenburg merely laughed at her, and told her to get on with her rescue mission.
I'm not important enough. In any case, I'm safe as long as I don't go near the palace.
Oh. I hope Richter is alright.
Roland reached the palace within fifteen minutes, noting that it was a new personal record. The whole place was in an uproar. Maids were screaming, soldiers were tearing about, hunting for the perpetrators.
"Roland, is that you?" A voice called out to him.
Roland whipped around, sword drawn, to face the Queen Sophia herself.
"Your Majesty, you're safe!" He exclaimed, joy evident on his face. She nodded at him with a smile, after which her expression darkened as she looked up at the burning tower in which she had been just minutes before the blast.
"We need to leave. We could head to the Royal villa, could we not?" Roland continued, still keeping a sharp lookout for any assassins that were still lurking about.
"Indeed." She said, her face downcast. "Ah! Have you any news from Sir Richter or Sir Gaston?"
"There is no need, my Queen, we are safe." Richter's voice cut into the conversation as the two knights strode up to the Queen. They bowed to her.
"Do we have any way to escape?"
"Yes, we do. We've arranged for a fast carriage. Roland, you, Rasche and Rina will be responsible for her guard, along with the two of us. I trust you can find your friends quickly?"
"Of course!" Roland replied, with far more enthusiasm than he felt. "The Princess as well, she's at a hilltop not far from here."
"Excellent! Then she is well?"
"Aside from a few scratches from tripping and rolling down a slope, yes sir, she is quite well."
"Come again?"
"Er, I would prefer not to think about it."
Roland jogged away, so that he could find Rasche and Rina. He located them soon enough, trying to extract a young boy from a burning room.
Crap. I think they might need a little help.
"I take it that you are aware of the perpetrators of this reprehensible incident, Richter?"
"Indeed, Your Majesty. We have... suspects."
"I trust then, that you will take action once things calm down?"
"Naturally."
I do hope that Elena is indeed as alright as Roland claims she is.
A/N: And we're back! This chapter takes place before the prologue, because somehow I like the idea of narrative time going around in a circle, as opposed to chronologically. The chapter was supposed to be longer, but 3000 or so words is enough to be getting on with.
There's a lot of action left, and the reason they land up at Jotzenchoc needs to be addressed (see, I haven't forgotten the setting of the prologue). Additionally, I've been adding lore and history to Carnava because the game has very little (and that glossary isn't enough really), and that isn't quite enough for the scope of this story. I'm kind of sorry about the OCs, but they end up inviting themselves in such a setting, and no Mary Sues is the guarantee I give you, right now, even if our princess has a verbose name.
Also, I'll admit that Roland is far more snarky here than in the game, but that falls under my personal interpretation of him which is basically: no one is THAT nice all the time, and I know that he's far more of a perv (Spa conversations...) and snarkier than he lets on.
References and additional chapter notes:
1) Duc d'Oreille - Yes, he is the Duke of the Ear. First name is Boucle. Couldn't think of anything more emasculating that would do as an aristocratic name (for anyone who doesn't know French) at a pinch.
2) 6.0221415 × 10^23 - Yes, this was indeed a chemistry joke and I hope you'll forgive me.
Thanks and Acknowledgements:
Thank you to Tobilas for your review, and I promise you, you'll get to see exactly what happens to Gaston the chapter after the next. And thank you, my dearest psychology teacher (even though you'll never see this), for making my day and thus giving me the energy to finish this update.