SHE WHO SHALL NOT BE IDLE

[Eryane 3698]

Spoiler

 

 

SHE WHO SHALL NOT BE IDLE

 

In a vast wave, those within the Savoyard throne room rose from their seats with cries of glory for humanity, for the empire. Peers of the regime turned as the echoes of Philip’s speech faded out in the high ceilings, and joined behind the aster-clad pair that stood in the midst of the room before the dais of Prince Olivier I. Friends of old and people of present gathered behind Anastasya and Philip as a collective, many with tears in their eyes. It had been enough for them all; enough of the declining empire, of the silenced voices and the muffled peoples. In each of their eyes she could see it then, the sheer power of hope. 

 

Her fingers laced around the cross that dangled from her neck, one cross that held a faint glow and shimmer from the aurum and its fine craftsmanship. She pulled the totem from her neck and plunged it into the air, crying out, 

 

“RALLY THE FAITHFUL!” 

 

“RALLY THE FAITHFUL!”

“RALLY THE FAITHFUL!”

 

“RALLY THE FAITHFUL!”

 

And it reverberated across the hearts of the imperials who shouted it after her. This was the Aster Revolution, the movement which succeeded as a collective action amongst the majority of Orenians who had known it was enough; Orenians who knew that they should never be idle in the face of suppression. 

 

 

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There once was a girl, dedicated to her faith for it was all she had known. Reading scripture was as much a pastime as playing games with the other children at the nunnery. One might have even remarked that she had much of the holy written word memorized, if they had known her. Yet she was the daughter of a princess and be it destiny or mere life, her time at the nunnery was coming to a close. With her veil tightly kept in place and a nun accompanying her travels home in the capital –if it could be called such with her estrangement to the city– she set out for the place where her life had begun. 

 

The people were as distant from her as she was to them. Frivolous dresses of lightly-shaded, extravagant colors were paraded about the imperial court she was now to be integrated within. They could barely understand her speech, perhaps as much as she could understand theirs. They all spoke better than her, while her words were broken and not of the highest literacy. She was ungraceful, ballet was better suited for a farm animal than herself. The scent of powder and makeup became suffocating and a hateful reminder that she was not welcome there, for her mother attempted to lather her in it so she might be amongst the rest. 

 

At every turn she found a way to separate from the quietness of her youth and into the outspokenness that became a wall of defense for her culture, traditions, and customs. She would not remove the veil from her hair, she would not wear lighter clothes, nor would she respect those who looked down upon her for her differences. Assimilation was her war, and each battle against it she found a way to win no matter the cost or lack of mannerisms displayed. For her mother, she was an embarrassment. For her father, he was amused by the actions of his daughter that caused a stir at court. It was arguable if there was any love there from him for his wife or his children. Home life was a topic better left away from the dinner table, for the memories of her parent’s horrendous marriage ran deep akin to scars.

 

Yet her unruly nature caused many eyes to fall upon her as it did her equivalent in troublesome behavior, the prince to one day inherit the empire. Detestment between the two haughty children became friendship, which in turn became utmost confidentiality in one another. In time, this friendship and confidentiality was marriage and happiness. The spitting image of Julia, the emperor called her, upon the day of her wedding in which she became one with the imperial royal family.

 

It was not love the two newlyweds held for one another, but the highest respect in their equal partnership. Together, one day, they would rule one of the oldest countries in the empire. Their names were praised for their controversial, immense reforms and ideas to shift the empire in a different direction than that of the rules of the recent rulers. The question of family, of children, hadn’t changed their views until the moment it came. What sort of life would their children have? And without a word save for a single letter to a childhood friend, they sailed off to distant lands of freedom. 

 

They raised their children on a private, secluded isle where they made their new home. Each year, they heard rumors of the nation they left behind from merchants who came and went. Each time, the news became grimer and grimer. Yet they were happy, they were free. The smiles of her children brought her a satisfaction that nothing else in life had done before. Motherhood was her greatest responsibility, no matter the trials and tribulations. 

 

It would have been a beautiful story to conclude the life of Anastasya of Kositz, where she would grow old and spend her life maintaining the isle of Nac’an with her children. Her father was proud of her now, although she never felt in all her life that he was. Her mother was satisfied, to see that she had taken her word of advice and not allowed the cruelties of royalty tear her down. She would have passed away in her elderly age, with no tension in her shoulders and no worries to wear her away. This would have been her future, until she received a letter from an old mentor written to her and Philip. It was a cry for help, a call to home – which Philip, swiftly, refused. Anastasya departed under a disguise, spending months watching the empire and its people, speaking to them, and at last meeting with her old friends who pleaded for change. A spark had been lit, and the flame was only growing. When she returned, Anastasya recited verses from the holy scripture as she had when she was a child and begged him to fulfill his birthright as was promised to him by God. Their people were suffering – how could they be so selfish as to enjoy their quaint lives, raising children whilst they had the chance to make a change? So they returned. 

 

Once, her mother wrote; 

 

Dearest Victoria,

 

Childe, you know I was remiss upon hearing of your betrothal - I do not blame you for failing to tell your poor mother, however, given my reaction when I did learn of it. Please, though, think of your own future - with Philip, you shall be shackled by the bonds of my relatives - and I fear you shall find yourself damaged in the process. With

 

This old, battered letter remained within view as she drafted up a letter to the one woman who spewed hatred more than any other the night that she met with all her friends and mentors of the past: Lady Mary of Carrington. This particular letter would never be shared with another living soul, not even her husband. Anastasya demanded the immediate assassination of Prince Philip Aurelian in the name of the revolution. Flashes of her time spent with her father-in-law came to mind. She could see his smile, she could see the love he bore for his children. She could see the father that she had always wanted, but never had, in him. Anastasya stared at the old, faded words of her mother. She stared at them for what must’ve been an hour, then sent off the letter. The little girl in her died that day, in place of a woman who cared not for the means that would go on to justify the end. One death, for the salvation of the empire. These were the sacrifices she must make so her husband could save the imperial realm from disaster. These were the sacrifices that she convinced herself were necessary in the name of the populace she loved; not the family she knew.

 

They took the empire in a few mere months, with the support of the Principality of Savoy. Each decision she made that further separated her from Anastasya vas Ruthern and pushed her towards the Imperial Crown left her hollow, pained, yet stronger. The humiliation of the Petty Schism, of turning against the one institution that she had always trusted in because of the miscommunication of a spy (who had instead spotted the formulation of the coalition) brought her to a bitter state. Such was physically displayed across her face, with the burns that destroyed her youthful beauty and left her looking akin to a monster after a close assassination attempt. This destruction of herself, of who she was, was justified –in her mind– by the happiness and flourishing of imperial life around her. She could feel the empire come to life again, but she could also feel the chaos that she and her husband had sparked by returning to these lands. Were the costs worth it? She would watch her own children giggle and laugh in the palace gardens that weren’t built for her to remind herself of what she and Philip built. 

 

The Edict of Kositz marked the last remaining individualistic perspective she had to hold. Now, entirely, she was the Imperial Crown in name and law by decree of the emperor. Now, she reigned in her own right as Anastasia I, forever August. 

 

Each passing year of her reign alongside her co-monarch, Philip III, those around her could see her diminishing health. It was not physically that she faded away, but the deteriorating mental state of a woman who was destroyed by the guilt of her own actions. The blood of those who she had indirectly, or directly, sent to their graves kept her awake at night and drew bags beneath her eyes. Each strand of gray hair that came too early was another execution that she gave order to, or seen through herself. The girl who was once praised as to potentially be monikered the pious during her tenure turned into the woman known in history to be the ruthless and twice excommunicated. 

 

In spite of the toils that went on in her mind and those lost around her, there had been one remaining pillar that had stood at her side throughout it all; throughout every earth-shattering moment, to her firstborn child’s cry, to the coronation, to the humiliation walks of penance, and to the battlefield where they both were left bloodied. Philip. She had lived more of her life with him always at her flank, and now he was gone. The wind’s howls were empty now. Her heartbeat was unusual now, her breath short and lightheadedness overwhelmed her. Nausea consumed the nothingness of her stomach, then pressure and pain. Anastasia I crumbled to the ground;

 

The sands were gentle beneath her as she stepped out onto the beaches of the isle of Nac’an. A red-headed girl laughed so loud it echoed beyond, and water splashed beneath her small feet. 

 

“Papa! Papa! Look at what I found!” Catherine rushed up to the smiling man, who knelt down to her height. Philip’s smile seemed to only grow as he looked at Anastasya and beckoned her closer. She, too, dug her knees into the sand – careless of its effect on her attire. 

 

The little girl held out her small hands to present a seashell, which Philip held close to his heart. “I’ll never be happier than I am here with you, Katyushka,” Anastasya muttered as she brought Catherine into her embrace and rested a hand on the back of her head. 

 

It may not have been Nac’an, yet Philip was at her side. Some of her children were there: Frederick, Anna, and Victoria. She saw the last life drain from him, and felt the rest of hers go too.

 

“My son,” Anastasia croaked out as she reached out a weak arm. 

 

“Yes, mother?” 

 

The empress reached for her son’s hand and clutched onto it with the remaining strength she had. “Finish what we started. This empire… The eighth empire was molded by the candid men of yore, and now you must be the sword that gives it strength.” 

 

There were no tears in her eyes, no fear of death. She pressed a worn paper into his hand and whispered, “Change the world,” and released her last breath. 

 

Did she regret all that she had done? Would she have taken it back to be who she truly was? Would she have taken the penance offered to her, to reconcile with the Church she so dearly loved or to pray until she stopped washing her hands of the invisible, unfading blood of the innocents? Of the family members burned, of the friends lost?

 

No. She would have done it again, and again, for her empire. These were the last thoughts of Empress Anastasia I before she passed away on the coast of Mardon.

 

 

[kuerbis 3802]

 

Spoiler

reserved for four hours

 

[Nord 346]

Augustus would be in the square with the rest of Blackvale as he'd come to know of the empress's passing "With that begins a new chapter of the empire" 

 

[pkdon 1978]

Hadrian pays  his respects to the fallen Empress

 

[Dogged 2879]

Leopold welcomes the monarchs into the seven skies and forgives them for his death.

[Cepheid 4304]

Valyris Wynasul received the news of the passing of the Empress, the elfess expected such to come eventually but not quite so soon. She gazed around the Arcanic Court as a deep-set sadness fell upon the ginger and she removed a beret. She moved to place it down on the table as she paced forwards in a solemn silence that rang in a deafening manner throughout the room. 

 

"So this is grief..."

 

Anastasia was a woman who had only shown the world kindness, shown the world the possibilities of what could be. It was the first friend she had truly made amongst the humans, and perhaps one of the last. The elfess remained in thought throughout the day of  the rare piece of humanity's greatest gift they had known after seeing generations pass. She would watch generations more come to follow, yet she was not expecting any to compare to what once was. 

[winterblood 11181]

In the distant north, carried by the winds that whip at the castle of Woldzmir are words of celebrations.  Bittersweet, in truth.  "Oh, what would have happened if they hadn't chosen to banish me for my advice?" The Moth ponders.

 

Meanwhile. . .

 

Margaux Helvets welcomes new guests into a place far beneath The Seven Skies.

[The Media Wizard 2958]

 

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The elven prince walked the streets of Providence in a daze. His heart was heavy with the loss, but it was not a feeling a long-lived being was unused to. As he passed beneath the overbrush, he wiped away a falling tear. "Rest well, oem'ii. You will forever remain in my heart as the young girl who sought to understand the world outside your own walls. Ame nae evareh, Anastasia."

[Junoix 2301]

The once Imperial Governess packed her bags, looking back over her shoulder only once more at the Palace before continuing out the city's gates.

[Tigergiri 3073]

The youthful Princess that died too early in spirit, gazed upon the empress in the cerulean skies, “the martyr of the Faithful. For you did rally the world.”

[sergisala 3451]

"Will no one speak to how the Empress was the one who planned the assassination of His Imperial Highness the Heir Apparent, to how the Emperor appointed an Anti-Pontiff and caused a schism against the Holy Mother Church, to how the Emperor started an unnecessary war against the Grand Kingdom of Urguan and his allies that only brought us a giant defeat, to how the Emperors were declared Anathema by the Holy Mother Church and lost their title of Defenders of the Faith?"

 

"All that for what? A lost empire, a collapsed country ready to turn on itself. A great nothing." said the old Sir Charles Galbraith to himself in quiet tone, as the Viscount of Rivia administered him a new dose of laudanum.

 

"It would have been better if the recent Emperor and Empress stayed and died on that island."

[Ramon 5186]

"It would seem Our predecessor was right when he named them children at play rather than rulers." Tylos II mused in private. He thought it unfortunate they had not made peace when they had the chance. "A shame. May God have mercy on them all."

[Azie 657]

A piercing scream emitted from the walls of the Aster Palace, reverberating in a deafening silence. The hurt and loss which surrounded the young Novellen imprinted an ever-saddening composure. 

 

Spoiler

saying once more, thank you so much for all you've done for oren. you've been an amazing empress @Eryane

 

[Taketheshot 3834]

Joseph d'Azor paused at the docks of Providence, the ship he had commissioned was sleek, it would carry himself and his wife on a grand voyage to Aeldin. The missive within his hand seemed to flutter to the ground, the man in disbelief letting out a loud gasp. So loud so that the workers who prepared the ship still cast their gaze over to the Duke. "No..." Was all Joseph d'Azor could let out. 

 

"What are you doing here?" Joseph queried, a young man in his own right he questioned the younger girl who dressed modestly, manning a baking good stand in Old Providence. "OH! Im trying to raise money for the church!" Joseph tilted his head, this was that Ruthern, behind the pair the rest of the Princesses and Noble ladies milled about the garden without a care, while Anastasya sat alone working diligently to raise funds. "Wouldnt you rather be over there with the other ladies?" He queried out. Joseph only recently having married knew the rigors of the social season and such social fortunes for those who remained apart. "No... This is what I must do." Anastasya responded with strength in the girls meek stature. Joseph d'Azor removed several coins from his pocket, purchasing a Wooden Husariya Cross, a smile emitted as he walked away down the bridge with a wave. "She will make a fine Empress one day..." 

 

The Duke clutched the cross within his pocket, that same cross as he drew it from his jacket. "How..." He muttered lightly, his voice seemingly sapped. Anastasya had been his friend as had Philip, they had been friends of the closest order, both gone now it was just him. They had taken an Empire together, and now it fell around the d'Azor. Bells tolled across Providence as shouts rose up. It had already begun...  

 

Spoiler

Im so glad I got to work with you @EryaneFrom first meeting you on the bridge I know you would do great things, Its a shame how everything turned out but I regret nothing, Ride or die. 

 

[kujo_ 2510]

A gaunt man bearing the forgotten face of an old lord stood before a tree. A line had been carved upon it, his own handiwork. 

“The crown takes another. May you find solace in the Hells, child.” And so he set an old Lorraine Cross at the roots, the talisman emitting a dim glow. The man trudges on, a duty nearing completion.