THE CORONET

[MadOne 4945]

THE CORONET

“Equal Succession Rights!”

The jeers and calls of the Haeseni ladies of the court filled the streets of Karosgrad with great pomp and cheer as a new demand for rights was brought forward. In front of them stood a large pyre prepared by the Queen, yet the pair sat watching seemed to pay it no mind. Adelric, Bishop of Reinmar, perched alongside the Grand Prince of Kusoraev, Karl Sigmar. The two had spent the better part of the early morning learning the faith, and now they sat enjoying freshly made dried jerky. Therein next to them gathered a host of men, who were in similar shape, until a man - bearing the heraldry of the Prince of Savoy pushed forth beside them with a horse, tired. He was gasping for breath, as is the case for those of his vocation. He produced a dinky bugle from his belt, and brought his dried lips upon it and would give a mighty sound - had the Bishop not stopped him to give forth the man a canteen to drink upon.

“Take, my child, and say what you have to say...” The Bishop would murmur, and the herald told them of the Court that was being held at Savoy.

---

 

The Bishop’s cataracts focused upon the large dais that had a place of prominence and honor in the Savoyard Lands, and the elegant woman that stood forth, making her proclamations - the old man recognized her as one of his kinsman, and a honorable lady who made dealings with Prince Johann prior, yet the woman he saw today was in a much different countenance than he met prior. Her mental state seemed to be erratic, as he clutched onto the sleeves of his son as the men placed in front of her in court jeered at the mention of a regency, with many reaching the handles of their weapons. Their eyes glinted with dissatisfaction, glaring towards the councilmen of Savoy, whose visages were held together by an unmoving mask of ivory in their elevated position. A position, even the likes of Ulrich Alsterim, and Jurgen Barclay were familiar not. 

Then Adelric saw it.

He saw a mother, dazed and confused.

He saw the men, who would kill for their Prince.

He saw a boy, angry and alone within his own lands, laid out in front of him a path of circles, he saw it.

The path went around and around in a cycle of violence and power.

So he changed it.

The Bishop now began to hastily put quill ink to parchment, his letters scrawled and misshapen as the clamor and resentment to the regency began to grow. After a long moment, the letter was sent off. The boy must be crowned. The pontiff shall see this right.

The bird flew at a pace, and as hands began to grasp to steel, the Pontiff’s reply came from a man in the livery of his Holiness. 

 

 

---

 

Karl watched the proceedings as Ser Reinhardt towered above him, even the giant struggling to endure the sense of foreboding that embalmed everyone within the court. Held aloft upon his hand was a circlet of gold, that bore the insignia of a prince. He never knew the significance of this golden band that frequented his brow - for it was afforded to him ever since he was a babe, and learned not to think of it.  

His eyes spied the Bishop, who pushed forth from his honored place among the Haeseni knights, a new look of determination washing over the old man’s gentle visage. He carried no mask of ivory, yet stood in front of the dais all the same, holding out his hand.

“Rest your hands, men!” He loudly proclaimed trying to calm down the situation. As this unfolded, the golden band upon Karl’s head was naught but forgotten.

The Bishop called him forth, and hastily asked for the coronet upon the boy’s brow, and only this overt statement brought the boy’s attention to the band.

He knew not the wisened man’s intentions yet could see the Barclay's passion inflamed with determination, and without protestation he removed his Princely insignia from his brow, not knowing how his coronet would unfold the fate of the South.

 

---

 

Adelric looked before the men of the court, their hearts rested as the young Prince’s bellowing voice. He was impressed much with what the boy had to say, yet he could not stop the racing of heart and the worry upon his brow. Upon his left hand, did he hold the beloved Prince’s Coronet, which jittered in anxiety as the men murmured among themselves.

The Bishop’s hand turned the coronet into a symbol, rather than a trinket upon Karl’s visage.

He raised the newfound symbol with both hands for all to see, and lowered it onto Lucien’s head.

“By the grace of GOD, His Exalted and Saints in the Skies, I proclaim, His Serene Highness, Lucien of the House Asford de Savoie!” He bellowed, and the court fell into silence. 

His eyes gazed upon his kinswoman of the South, who barely held his tears as the ivory-clad councilors rested with their indifferent gazes upon the woman’s plight. She was nothing but erratic, raving about her misfortunes in a court that proclaimed nothing but her regency, and her son’s right to rule. Adelric would utter a prayer for her, and resume his position at Ser Reinhardt’s side, his visage betraying nothing but determination and faith. Faith for the boy’s rule, faith for Catherine’s restored mental state. Faith for Savoy.

 

---

 

Karl, was surrounded by a host of familiar men, and he could tell most of them apart by name, and the others by face, be it his own host or the Savoyard arms-men, yet there was one group that he seemed not to recognize at all. They sulked in the shadows, and seemed not to break bread with any men who sat in seats of honor in the court.

One of the shadowy men made a step forward, and his underlings marched in order, their revised and perfected trot contrasted the ravings of Catherine anxious and bewildered. The squad of shadowy men all unanimously reached into their hips, and their leader pulled forth a blade. Jurgen Barclay and his kinsman Reinhardt were coordinated rest, for they had not drilled for this court, and their blades rasped from forth their sheaths to defend Catherine. Ulrich Alstreim rushed forth in fury to defend his Princess. Guided by their stalwart defense, all the swords of Savoy, Haense and Myrine unleashed upon the assassins, but the monotone and unanimous movements of the assassins uncovered themselves too late. The assassins exchanged nods, and their voices echoed across Savoy’s halls.

 “Glory to Prince Lucien!” 

And so Princess Catherine laid dead.

 

---

 

Adelric saw the boy-prince’s tears long before they came, as he saw his mother strewn across the floor by men he did not recognize as his counterpart of Haense did not prior. Upon his head, rested a covenant guaranteeing his mandate from God.

He now had a nation to guide, and bore the regalia of a true Prince.

 

[TryaxReck 377]

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[helldiving 5793]

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[clonky 1976]

The little Black Swan of Ruthern had made an appearance upon court, descending from her sleepy quarters and the dimness that engulfed the Palazzo Aggrade. Stefaniya vas Ruthern cracked open the door from the main hall of the Palace, her head peering unto the courtroom, where many of her people were gather, new and old. She slid unto the courtroom, where the Princess Catherine pronounced herself, a blur of an arising plot, a hint of something peculiar. 

 

A familiar face appeared to Stefaniya in her fervor, her eyes attentive on her half-brother, Rhys, Duke of Vidaus. 

"What is happening, borsa?" The eyes of the Ruthern seemed troubled, her mind wandering to foreign places, as she herself was in a foreign land. 

 

Though, Stefaniya did not need an answer, as the voice of her mentor rang throughout the halls. 

"He is not ready, he is far too young!" Princess Catherine's voice rang from all the others, proclaiming her regency to those Haeseni and those Savoyards. Stefaniya knew though, this was far beyond true. The boy-prince sat in his silence, perhaps a contemplation, as the crowd roared for his voice. They clambered over each other with vocals, clawing to hear from Lucien whilst Catherine was seemingly ignored. 

 

"I shall allow the regency to continue, though I shall remain in my birthright until I am of suitable age." Proclaimed he, the one all wished to hear from. The courtroom ran silent, attentive eyes watching the moves of the boy-prince. Not a noise was heard, but the eagerness was loud. 

 

"I shall revoke my position as regent." Exclaimed Princess Catherine, in a madness, a solemn, a state of unknown. Stefaniya believed that she was already floating into the Seven Skies, and prayers ran in her mind as the ease of the courtroom turned into disdain of the wailing Princess, who grew near to her son. Lucien proclaimed his love for his mother, a caregiver and nurturer, yet in her last moments, Stefaniya saw a different nature, one that was no longer a guide or a mentor. 

"She is nearing the Prince! She is nearing the Prince!" Suddenly, all was a blur, Stefaniya's gaze fading in and out, until a glimpse of metal, and the unsheathing of a sword came, and the light of God struck the sword's blade. Stefaniya then saw Catherine slip into the ground, though her spirit arose, a vision about the Ruthern, who feared what she saw was true. 

The horror, a terror striking through the courtroom, as Lucien had been crowned, a life anew, where one was lost again. 

"Long Live Prince Lucien, and so shall his mother." 

Stefaniya prayed that night, for the soul of Lucien's mother, hoping she found her way to the Seven Skies. It seems she had work to accomplish, and asked God to guide her path. 

[HogoBojo 4725]

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[Twinny 1622]

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[GMRO 6187]

Karl Sigmar did pray for his friend, there was surely trials to come as a Prince that had not yet revealed themselves. He hoped nevertheless, the ghosts of his forebears would finally leave the young Prince alone.

[rukio 8924]

Spoiler

Stop ******* posting 'r' for gods sake. 

 

[Inferno_Ougi 1454]

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[Jentos 9422]

"Is he the one ?" A green-cowled monk asked to the sky above. 

[Britannicvs 2508]

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[Capt_Chief26 1207]

Ser Reinhardt Barclay thought in the deeds done today, as he rode back North to his homeland, he wondered what his cousin Catherine had any regrets in her final moments of life… maybe she sought forgiveness? Sorrow? Maybe she regretted betraying her son in her final moments of this mortal plane, eh… it did not matter that was discussion between her Gott who might forgive her.

[Axelu 4333]

It was a quiet day, the Eleventh of Horen's Calling. The Princess Catherine had bid farewell for the last time to her beloved husband, Olivier the Second. Issuing her a rosary as his fingers grazed against hers, the Prince had murmured lovingly to his wife, "Guide him, Katharina. You have been a great mother, I will not doubt you now." She would oblige, as he commanded, and yet in her loomed a wretched worry. What she refused to tell her husband was of the nightmare she had experienced the eve before - three Basilica bells clanging, a great flame, and the eclipsing of the sun by the inglorious moon that would wane all light and warmth from the land. 

It was no coincidence. After all, she had dreamt of the same nearly ten years before - the month of her own father-in-law's abdication. A month before the death of each of her parents. The Princess of Savoy, renowned for her complacency and timid spirits by courtiers, was given a purpose... a purpose she was perhaps ill-suited to undertake.

 

As she faced the court, later that day, to convey the final wishes of her husband as Prince of Savoy - so that all her children, and the one among them that would be his heir, would receive an education not only with the dedication of a regent but the love of a mother. What she would encounter, when vying to speak with her people, was none other than an incursion of foreign persons who sought to put her young son - a boy of thirteen that could be easily swayed - upon the throne of Savoy. Despite her best efforts to honor he, his father, his grandfather, and their most August lineage as a whole, Catherine's voice was drowned in a sea of violent roars. And so, she prayed. Prayed she did as they spat at her and called her deranged, a usurper, a fiend. Their words meant naught to her; God's light had already begun to embosom her. She felt his engulfing goodness around her. As she passed her uncle, The Landgrave of Alstreim, a man who had betrayed her to comply with sinister whims, Catherine could not regard him. As the fretting Count of Freimark trailed behind her, as devoted as ever to the well-being of his cousin, Catherine could not halt to acknowledge him. She shuffled onward, and onward, until she was assailed in all directions by radicals loyal to the foreigners' cause.

 

Dying a death as violent as Catherine is not a fate she had ever wished upon anyone. It is often the good intentioned that reap the worst rewards, especially in a world as cruel as theirs.

 

She breathed her last in a frenzy. Poetically, it was upon Catherine's death that the infuriated men seemed to still and - for once - she was finally heard. 

 

 

[trinn 5139]

Melia scratched her head and went to hurry to grab her bags at the news, the nervous elf muttering and rambling about crazed human politics.

[__Stal27 2126]

Adhemar Dusek would have begin riding north away from Savoy, taking a moment to glance to his weapon that had the blood of an assailant that had murdered the regent, his hand reaching down to the hilt of his blade as he rested his hand lazily onto it. He would have ridden beside his Mentor, letting out a huff as he knew that this list would only grow longer with time, "Eam going to remember this... but Ea hope he can do well Da.. but Ea don't look forward to cleaning this" He would have muttered about the events that had just taken place, nodding along as they rode in formation.