Manus Amoris

[Axelu 4333]

Manus amoris

Mater et filia Orenae

A positive depiction of

The Princess Royal, 

When a youth,

Gripping Her Majesty’s Hand.

 

---

 

 

A tempest had roused over the imposing edifice that was Castle Stassion, reducing the bustle of courtiers, dignitaries, and servantry within the courtyard. They had retired indoors, now occupying the court’s sitting rooms, canopied gardens, or bed chambers to converse with their peers. Lords took time to acknowledge their families after a busy day, young maids gossiped on settees, kindling in hearths warming them during the ides of Spring, and children fabricated games to pass the time. It seemed like any other evening in the Heartlands - yet it was not. The Kingdom’s men and women of valor had fought that day, just as they had the day prior, just as they inevitably would the next day, and perhaps even the days after that: for King, for country, and Orenian dignity. 

 

In the residential wing of the Royal Family, the eldest of King Frederick and Queen Vivienne’s daughters lounged in her chambers, stiffly poised atop a velvety comforter and silken pillows. Staring dully at the ceiling, the youth had grown considerably jaded since the time of conflict had begun. Already a notoriously solitary young lady, the limited circle of companions Maude had since entered their own sequestrations in the various fiefs surrounding Vienne, resulting in a lonely atmosphere for the maturing child. Her youngest siblings could be heard playing amongst each-other, limited in their use of the corridor abridging their rooms. The sister closest to her in age, Princess Maxima, frequented the gardens in their isolation whereas her twin, Prince Frederick, had himself joined the war effort - valiantly, Maude thought - despite his young age. This left the Princess Royal alone in her chambers, pondering the similarities between her present circumstances and the time of the accursed Rot, the ailness that vastly plagued their continent and obliged families to stay indoors. Often did she peruse the set of poems her mother had written and gifted her for her tenth nameday, or brush the coat of her childhood Teddy bear, Bartholomew, but one day, after having overheard the atrocities of war spoken by gossiping maidservants, she was spurred to write in her diary. 

 

She sought to write in a fashion reminiscent of the stories she often indulged in, or even the potent hymns that the Queen herself had written. Nothing came to mind, and young Maude glimpsed longingly at the likeness of her mother and her completed many years ago, framed in a silver fixture that adorned the wall adjacent to her nightstand.

 

Manus Amoris, it was titled, depicting the ornamented hand of the Regina Orenae and her eldest, the Filia Orenae. Painted by Rosina of Cathalon, an Orenian artist and noblewoman of growing renown, the painting was of impeccable quality - depicting not only the love between mother and child, in the most literal sense, but also the adulative relationship between Crown and Country, Monarch and Subject. To Maude, however young she was, on the brink of adolescence and ladyship, the implications behind this painting were not lost. Plucking aloft a quill from her desk, garbed still in her nightgown, with her unkempt hair fastened only by a gossamer sash, Maude wrote with a determined quickness. Modifying, erasing, and the ilk, for many days, The Princess Royal concluded her missive and duly wiped her brow. After having sent her draft to her tutors, and being returned revised by their knowledgeable scribes, she seemed content.

 

---

 

Oren, 

First, before conveying my sentiments, it would favor me to define you, in my eyes. You are not solely the Heartland we inhabit, nor the territories of my father’s demesne. It is you, I, all of us. Oren is the air we breathe, drafted inwards from our great rivulet Anastasie. It is the sustenance we consume, bred in the farmlands of Acre and Mardon. Oren is the love in our hearts - the connection that tethers us so fervently to our families and our humanity, no matter our station in life - no matter the pedigree of our birth. 

 

In my studies, I have learned that Oren, throughout what the great statesman Simon Basrid referred to as the ‘Tapestry of Man’, the compendium of human history, has withstood the test of time itself. Before the Kingdom we know today, there were the Empires of our forefathers, the Holy Orenian Empire and the Empire of Man. Much before then, there were interregnal periods and other iterations of a Kingly Orenian Crown. Despite the change in Crowns, in state, and other institutions, there has been one source of continuity - War. 

 

War, necessary at times, is not at present times. War is what has fractured humanity and driven it to pieces across history. It limits progress. I pray each day hoping my father, his chancellors, my younger brother, do not each succumb to its victimization. I dream of a day where fathers, mothers, daughters, and sons, in a family just like mine, and perhaps just like yours, do not have to bear any torment because of war-driven casualties. 

 

Nonetheless, this war is no fault of ours, Oren. We prosper, all thanks to your faith in the present state. I fear others seek to harm us and diminish our progress. Withdrawn to my rooms, I feel helpless as a deceitful incursion disturbs the peace. I mentioned this war is not necessary. It is not, and yet, it is Oren’s duty to finish it - and decisively too. Our humanity is in peril but in our hearts, entirely full of love for what it means to be Orenian and to be humans, a united front, lays the answer. Follow in the example of the brave Jazloviecki and Barclay, men not native to our lands but every ounce as integral to the Orenian identity - men who have devoted themselves in service to the perpetuity of their chosen country. In turn, offer your prayers to our kith abroad who have strayed from you, their home, in favor of ambition and caprice. It is our duty to proffer the Manus Amoris, the divine Hand of Love, to the misguided and bring them into light and sanctuary. We must defend what we know as true, solemnly and righteously. I will do my part through my writing because, often, I feel as though my voice is not yet enough… but perhaps enough to inspire you, my country and people, to uphold what is just. Do not forget what it means, Oren, to be of our stock.

 

Signed,

Her Royal Highness The Princess Maude Fredericka Augusta Mary, Princess Royal of Oren, Renatus, Curon, Kaedrin, Salvus, and Seventis.

[Cepheid 4304]

Mariana's smile turned upright as she read over the words so elequently put by her dear friend. "Ave Orenia," She whispered before leaning towards the candle that sat upon the desk and she blew out the flame with a wordless prayer given for the people and those she held dear.

[MRCHENN 4741]

"It is our Orenian duty to defend the peace and offer clemency from the tyrannical men who will sacrifice blood for the price of political expansion. For who else will?" The Chancellor remarked.

 

"We will defend the faithful and save those they oppress. Regardless of what it takes."

[tcs_tonsils_ 3666]

“Rarely in war is there ever a perfect black and white. Wars make the horrors that burrow deep in the back of our minds spring forth with ferocity, making even the best of men corrupted with bloodlust and gain of coin or power or… land. There are always those who see themselves in the right, even when clearly in the wrong… though who is to say who has such truth? Certainly not I. Such things will be defined at the end of time, a knowledge only known by the wisdom of our creator above.” Sebastien said, though nodded some as he carefully folded the words of his cousin. “Still… besides the minuta and the endless argument of who is in the right, one thing is certain, a well spoken message to bolster the people, something to be respected for sure. I should be off to tell her my thoughts in person…”