FATE UP AGAINST YOUR WILL

[Proddy 2415]

FATE AGAINST YOUR WILL

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After so many years of tribulation over the matter, Peter Amadeus de Sarkozy finally grasped the circumstances behind his mothers death.

 

The truth had tore his spirit asunder and weighed heavy upon his heart for the majority of his visit to Sutica; even now dried tear stains still grazed his cheeks, his eyes glazed and misted from the waterworks that had run from them earlier. It was heavy truth, and hard to handle; his mother the Princess Henrietta Alstion had come to Sutica not to see his grandfather at all. She had came to die by her own hand, discontent with the many griefful circumstances of her life; her unhappy marriage to his father, the near extinction of her house and family as well as her own social status and position with the Orenian Empire. It made him consider, even for a second, that she didn’t love him and his siblings enough to even entertain the idea of staying alive, just for them.

 

A mother's love for her son is endless… his brain echoes the thought to him. A sentiment a good friend had once told him, not so long ago. The Sarkozy would rise steadily to his feet, content with the time he has spent at his mother’s grave. He had got to say a proper goodbye, and that was that.

 

He turns then to face his chaperone and accomplice; the Trade King of Sutica, Corwin von Alstreim and his Elfess bodyguard. Though this was only his second time meeting the man yet he couldn’t help but have a small amount of respect for him already - in their meeting today he had granted him the story, told him exactly of what he’d known in extensive detail. Was there anymore he could have done beyond that, to cool the heart of the ill-tempered and brooding young Pompurelian lordling? There was no telling, though the revelation would allow Peter Amadeus closure; a bridge to look to the future and not to the past any longer.

 

As Peter would walk away, having given his thanks to the Sutican monarch for his honesty, he paused. One question still lingered in his mind… he had been told that his mother wrought to take her own life, yet when he’d asked how she did the deed before, the question was quickly avoided and the subject changed. A nascent feeling in the youth’s gut would begin to stir at that instance… one of mistrust and wary.

 

Stopping in his tracks, he spins back around to face the Trade King and his accomplice.

 

“How did she do it?” he questions at once, noticing a rapid shift in demeanor from Corwin after that. A nervous and even weary expression taking the monarchs face. He would open his mouth to speak.

 

“I was under oath to kill her as a traitor to the Aurelian Empire, and so I did - I assisted her in her suicide, though rather than give her a traitors death by beheading, I pierced a blade through her heart.”

 

An intense anger began to burn and scorch hot then as a realisation struck him; a terrible reality, yet a reality all the less. Through this whole exchange he had been vehemently lied too; this ‘suicide’ story had been a lie concocted to cover up the great crime of this despicable man that stood before him; that he had murdered a mother, a daughter and a wife in broad daylight with little remorse or second thorough.

 

The Sarkozys hand began to quake and writhe with wroth, his digits curling inward to form a balled fist. Murderer, murderer…. His mind began to chant and scream on it’s own. Murderer….

 

Peter Amadeus would succumb to his rage on that unfortunate day, and his vision would turn red.

 

---

Some moments later….

 

“Fine. Don’t duel me then. Only know that one day, I will kill you. You won’t know when it’s coming, or how. But when you are laying there bleeding out on the ground as my mother was, you’ll know it was me.”

 

“I’ve made preparations to live for a long time. I cannot say the same thing for you.”

 

At once the King of Sutica’s gauntleted hand would grasp Peter by the scruff of his collar, throwing him to the ground. The Sarkoy would try in vein to slice into the monarchs arm with his dagger, but he would be too late; his knife being thrown from his hand as he’d be shoved to the floor.

 

Peter would have little time to react to the act of aggression; the tyrant of Sutica would pin his foot down hard onto his legs so that’d be unable to move. With his zweihander clutched in both hands, he looms over him and thrusts the blade down into the gut of the sixteen year old. Watching him as he’d cry and shriek in anguish.

 

So then did his bodyguard come hither; the Elfess. Her black mace clenched tightly within her hands, she brings it up skyward; and then downard, pummelling it mercilessly like a barbarian against his skull. The Count Pompourelia’s son would let out a pained cry, a nasty, bloody gash forming on his face his his features would fill fresh blood, the flesh beneath the skin on his face bared for all to see.

 

“P-please…” he’d whimper, almost as though reverting back to a frightened child. “D-don’t kill me… I won’t tell a soul you killed her, only let me live.”

 

“Rest with the maggots now.” the brutish Elfess would murmur, positioning her mace as she swings it at his head, cracking his skull and bringing his life to an end. A young life with a bold future ahead of him, full of endless possibility brought to an abrupt and brutal close without any consideration for life and liberty.

 

 

---

 

Back in Helena within the courts of the Palace de Novellen, rumours would begin to circulate like wildfire on the whereabouts of Lord Pompurelia’s eldest son. Many knew that he had gone on a short trip, but where and the nature of it would be unclear to the vast majority…

 

If one dared to search the chambers of Peter Amadeus and rummage through his cabinet, they would find an open letter - unsealed and folded-over, yet distinctly in his handwriting.

 

To whom it may concern,

 

If you come across this letter and I haven’t returned to Helena after a Saints Day, my trip was to Sutica to speak to the Trade King Corwin von Alstreim about the circumstances regarding my mother, the Princess Henrietta of Alstions death. If I have not returned within a Saint’s Day, I am likely dead also or within the Trade King’s custody, as he is the only person in Sutica I’ve scheduled to visit and I make plans to depart swiftly once my business there has concluded.

 

I urge whoever finds this letter to turn it into the relevant authorities if necessary. I also urge the Ministry of Intelligence to speak to Tatiana Lorina d’Arkent immediately, as she can confirm the details of my trip as I have documented here.

 

Yours in trust,

-P.A Sarkozy.

 

 

 

 

THE LORD PETER AMADEUS DE SARKOZY OF POMPOURELIA

1755 - 1771
 

 

 

[libertyybelle 6187]

Mary Lucille had a nasty gut feeling after her last conversation with Peter Amadeus. Only a day before his disappearance at the Debutante ball of Elizabeth Anne.

 

”It's much of what I always feel - I can suppress it, run from it… but I can never kill it. Never destroy it, if I have too.” He spoke to her as they danced in a hushed whisper.

 

” When I am upset do you know what I do? I think about how far I have come. How far I can go. I think something that brings me peace, for that it is my sisters or my business. My career. I think about how I want nothing more than to be nothing like my mother or father. Then I count to ten in my head. Listing off one thing I am grateful for or that brings me serenity.” 

 

In a deep state on pondering trance, he nods slowly. Squinting as he collects his thoughts before looking her dead in the eye. “I think I know what I must do… and I have the strength to do it.” He grips her hand tightly suddenly, leaning down as he would plant a heavy kiss upon the back of her hand. Sucking in a quaky breath as he gazes back to her face. “I must go. But thank you.”
 

That was that. A month or two later the girl went to speak with him, wandering into the Novellen after hearing of his lack of appearance in court. She saw his room was not changed and it had looked almost pristinely unbothered. Her gaze followed across until it landed on a cabinet that was left open. Oddly out of place. Lucille’s feet froze, knowing it wrong to delve into the secrets that may be within but alas the curiosity and worry that bubbled in her took over and as she blinked she was already searching through.

 

There it was. The letter. Her hand covered her mouth as she read the contents. A pain flashing in her chest as she pressed the paper to her chest. 

 

”God, Peter. I pray you have not done what I think you have.”

[MunaZaldrizoti 8037]

Lorena Annabelle Helvets would sit alone in her bedroom, looking at the puffy reddened eyes that reflected back towards her.  The bright and cheery child was now devoid of all of her warmth, in her childish mourning.

 

“Oh Petey...” She’d whimper, as she felt the ghost of a hand’s ruffle grace the top of her great mound of hair.

[Ivoreyy 2303]

Elizabeth Anne returned from a conversation with Mary Lucille d’Arkent – entirely changed. Truly, she had fought to keep her composure within the other girl’s presence. Yet once confronted with the heavy silence of her solitude, she could no longer.

 

“What have you done, Peter Amadeus?” The girl murmurs to her empty chambers, the letter’s words echoing throughout her mind. “I told you not to dwell upon your pain – to rely on those who supported you”

 

Death was a confronting, morbid thing. It was something that this girl of sixteen had yet to face, yet to bear the pain of. Her eyes drifted to a single preserved flower, lifting to return it to her hair as she’d worn it so many years ago. As the night fell, and hours of a restless mind continued, Elizabeth did the single thing she knew how to do amongst a world of unknowns.

 

She wrote.

 

[Axelu 4333]

Somewhere above, the Countess of Pompurelia, Princess Henrietta of Alstion, loomed alongside the eldest of her progeny – both tortured, and both taken too soon – and embraced him, perhaps for the first time. 
 

Meanwhile, among the living, Princess Tatiana  was informed of her duties stipulated by the young Pompourelian heir in his final letter. Duly, she sought to oblige after a period of appropriate mourning, proffering a letter to the Minister of Intelligence.

[venclair 713]

Eleanor Victoria d’Arkent sat peacefully in The Dragon’s Rest Tavern - sitting at its balconies with a piano book propped open at her hands. The youth perked up as she heard her name called by a familiar voice. It was her cousin Mary Lucille, asking her if she had heard of the news. Bemused, the young d’Arkent queried what she spoke of. What she had heard after broke her heart entirely. 

 

Her eyes fell back to the piano sheets - beads of water started falling down one after another, without a sign of stopping. Her lips trembled and her shoulders heaved with emotion, unwilling to back down.

The girl’s lashes brimmed heavy with tears; hands clenched into shaking fists, in a desperate battle against the grief.  

 

The older d’Arkent pulled the young girl into a tight embrace in an attempt to lull the child. Her whole face was now washed with a dull red, including the very end of her nose. Eleanor whimpered to her cousin as Lucy offered words of comfort to the young kin, “Never let death prevent you from living. In the end, GOD has a way to make things right and I know Peter looks down and smiles at you. You must smile back.”

[Cracker 4570]

After the cursory sweep of the Pompourelian heir’s belongings, the Archchancellor suspicions are heightened. He begins to send out for some of the youth’s companions to question his motives prior his disappearance and death. 

[Stump 709]

The news struck her heart like cannonfire when she heard.
----

----
Lorena Antonia’s head spun with conclusions, people to blame, and aching regrets invading an already troubled mind. She’d been wandering the Novellen grounds, on the look out for the boy lost while considering how she’d ask him something, and on meeting only a group of palace-goers with worried eyes, the woman found herself stumbling back to her room. There Lorena wept, caught unaware by how she let the disappearance of a son that wasn’t hers cut as deeply as it did. Perhaps he’d come home, she made to reason, but her question for him rung through her thoughts to mock her all afternoon long.