A Queen's Wisdom

[Halt 1338]

Spoiler

 

 

 

S.A. 170

midst the cold, stone walls of an ever-populated keep, a young boy, one Alexander Caius, lies in his bed atop one of the towers...

 

 

The dome of glass gave way to the night sky, which, perhaps, was reflected in the starry circlet gifted to him upon his fifth birthday celebration. His mother, the Queen of Aaun, sat by his bedside. Amelya was regaling him with the tale of Sir Alwyn and his great victories across a lifetime of knightly endeavors. As the tale carried on, his thoughts began to wander.

 

Reminding him of their plans to pick strawberries tomorrow, she rose from her chair and gradually put out the lights. As he lay in the growing darkness, he pondered her words. He still had much to learn and many more stories in which to feature. Perhaps one day, he would be the person to best in the tales of someone else. Until then, his hand would find companionship in a quill, and his gaze would meet the blankness of parchment. He lit the candles his mother had previously sought to dim and began writing. His chambers were filled with books aplenty; he did his best to mimic some missives of great renown, though his intellect was perhaps belied by the childlike imperfection of the letters themselves. Art was scarcely found on his walls, much the same. Thus, inspiration, too, was borrowed and imprinted upon another blank piece of parchment. In the morrow, he would pay this woman yet another visit—at least, he would endeavor to.

 

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A faint tap awoke the young lad, startling him slightly as he realized he had dozed off during his mother's tale. The queen regarded her son with a gentle smile as he began to recount his own day's events to her. With great gusto, he regaled her with a tale of his own valor against the odds and overcoming a much more powerful combatant—another queen, a certain Catherine I of the Petra.

---

 

She placed a hand on his head and ruffled his hair gently before remarking that perhaps he hadn't simply overwhelmed his opponent in the duel. Perhaps she, in her graciousness, had decided that, like many before her, it was her duty to allow others their simple moment of triumph. After all, she had little to gain from besting a boy, and he would gain a lifelong memory. A surge of renewed respect went through Alexander as he listened; too, an expression of malcontent washed over his features. Was the victory folly?

[Sefardi 1501]

Prince James's gaze drifts through the crowd in the Holy See, bored as the coronation had not yet begun when out of the corner of his eye, a strange sight caught his attention. He could not believe it at first, but squinting to make sure he was not seeing things- he noticed a young Prince Alexander entering the church, but not alone. He rode atop the shoulders of a Queen, the Petran Queen to be exact. The victorious smile on Alexander's face said everything it needed to his brother. With a shake of his head and a light chuckle, the little prince points out the view to his own father.

[ibiou 1570]

In St. Andrik did she spend her time as of late, in her room, keeping to herself. She found the place familiar, yet so far away - a resident in a complicated twist of family relations, who witnessed though did not act upon her thoughts. The candle in her room slowly ran out of spark within the last hours. JADWIGA JAZLOWIECKI found sleep hard to come by this eve, for the past year left her mind in disarray. Was she truly growing older? Talking with the Alstion princes, the Halcourt boys and Catherine had cemented the inevitability in her mind; Queen Amelya's offer distant, yet too soon. She made her way towards the window and crawled onto the windowsill, perching herself in its arch.

 

PRINCE ALEXANDER had come to mind, then. The boy had much vigor in him, so much hope. Despite her relcutance to like him at first compared to his older brothers (perhaps a certain incident, with her feather, had fueled this), Jadwiga couldn't help but stand in awe whenever he was near. So much character within him: not knowing 'Robert' and 'robbing' were two different words, yet the ability to recite words as if he held the knowledge of the world beneath his palms. It brought her to a brink of stifled laughter in the dawn of night. Whether he was involved with 'Catherine' or 'Catherine, the Other', Alexander always had a tale to tell and something to do. The girl shook her head and looked onward past towards the church and treeline, and onto the Hand of Horen in the distance. She could faintly make out the tower's silohuette in the dark, but barely, only able to distinguish it from any other landmark by the faint glow of the windows.

Her candleflame eventually went out, all at once, so Jadwiga returned to her bed. Before she slept, she prayed for the young Alexander to never lose his sense of self.