Reluctantly an Heir

[Nectorist 12871]

Reluctantly an Heir

☩ ☩ ☩

Adrian’s cheeks were stained red with the tears that had fallen many times that day. He had taken a brutal beating at Enswerp, far worse than any he had in his life. As a flash of steel crossed his squinting eyes, the cold whisper of death came near to his ear. For a moment his life was to end, but a soldier under his father’s banner had burst from the bushes and pushed over his would-be killer. The soldier, a boy of sixteen named George, was cut down a moment later.

 

It had been a long, painful walk from Enswerp to Vallagne, but, aided by ox-pulled carts and the occasional goat, he had traversed the road for days. Defeat rung sharply between his ears, but a far crueler message had caught his attention. His father, Duke- no, King- Paul had been captured. As the soldiers of Enswerp, licking their wounds from the defeat, regathered their strength, the far prince made the long trudge to Vallange. All his life he had failed. His fleshy body was a prison of his own gluttony and avarice, and his soft fists had struck only servants. It was no wonder that his blade had been heavy and his swing limp. The only curiosity was why he had not died while his father was carted off to certain death.

 

War had not been Adrian’s desire, only the approval of his father, the one man who had fully, unequivocally, thought highly of him. It was a great shame that the only woman to do the same was the same woman he raised arms against. The walk to Enswerp, to heed his father’s summons, had been a bitter one. He was no prince, he was no marshal, he was no governor, he was a pathetic, fat, weakling who ought to hang himself. He was too craven to even do that, so he hoped that the feeling within his chest, like his heart would throw up from his mouth, was real. Unfortunately, it did not happen, and thrice along the road he collapsed from exhaustion and from the fear of what war was to bring. However, fear, which drove him in all things, was greatest where it concerned himself with his father.

 

He cannot die. I cannot fail him. I cannot see that look of disappointment.

 

Word of Helene’s death struck harder than news of his father’s claim to Petra. Only too late he had realized what a wretched brother he had been to her. No apologies would be given, no better future would be had between them. She was gone. He was not.

 

Now, as he knelt beside his dying father, Prince Adrian could not help but come to tears again. 

 

Why, oh why, does he still trust me now? I cannot do anything! I am no one!

 

The blessing had been given nonetheless. Somewhere, above in the skies, father would be looking down on him, perhaps Helene too, and while his road would rightfully lead to hell, he could not allow his years on the mortal plane to be worse than they. Adrian I. It sounded ugly. They were words he had never wanted to hear- he hoped to die before his father so he may never have to adopt them. Yet, the road had been walked. He was a traitor to Petra, he had fought at Enswerp, and now he was to be the claimant king of a cause that he felt was above him. On the walk back to Enswerp, he wished that some patrol would find and catch him so they could cut off his head and place it beside his father’s. Once again, such an easy end did not find him.

 

As he returned to Enswerp, the smiling, weary faces of the men and women there greeted him. It was as if to say they trusted him, that they mourned for Paul, but they knew that his good son, now King Adrian, would lead them well. One man even shouted that they needed to collect gold from the houses and fashion him a crown.

 

"Keep your gold-” Adrian said, his voice quivering. The false bravado he always carried himself with slipped more and more these days. “We need it for… uh… the war effort.” The talk of the army was ill-suited to him, as was talk of much of anything, save crabbing and cooking. How he wished he could be back in Solgaard doing both of those things. He ought to have never left.

 

After hours of tortuous adulations and acclamations, Adrian retired to the desk of his father, away in a small, cramped study of Fort Alba. It was there that he could finally put his mind to something. Rest eluded him, so instead he took a quill, an inkpot, and two letters.

 

[!] To My Grandmother, Renilde

Spoiler

"I want you to know

 

I am sorry that

 

I wish for”

 

 

[!] To My Cousin, Adalia

Spoiler

"I never wanted for any of this

 

I request my father’s b

 

There is still a hope for”

 

 

Both letters went unsigned, undated, incomplete, and were promptly discarded to the rubbish. Adrian, maybe just Adrian for now, could not falter at this moment. As he had tepidly inched down the path towards war, many others had readily backed the line of Valfleur. He could not disappoint them, he could not disappoint his father. It was not an option. His incurious gaze stared out the window, wandering across the fields of Enswerp as hundreds of soldiers set about making defenses. Perhaps he would never be his father, or his grandmother, or anyone, but he could at least rise above being a disappointment.

 

So it was that King Adrian- Prince Adrian- Adrian- whatever it was, bitterly swallowed those titles. Before him lay a number of choices, and with the space of time he could afford caution.

[Chorale__ 2147]

King Paul I of the Petra smiled someplace, somewhere, at what his boy had become.

[Enlightenment 2300]

Emilio Varoche clapped King Adrian’s shoulder, “You’ve what it takes, my boy, live up to Paul’s greatness!”

[ncarr 2806]

In the days following the battle at Enswerp Analiese's path did not often cross with her recent acquaintance. She, along with the Marnans, rested at Fort Alba in the hours following the battle; her part was small, though her untrained body ached from the few minutes of battle she saw. The camp whirred with news of the Petran King's capture and preparations began for a small militia to march on Vallange with hopes of his rescue from his Petran captors, though news of the King's death had dispelled any belief that he may be returned to continue his fight. The Alstion Princess found solace away from the talks of battle and raids in a small tower at the fort's edge, it was there that she wrote, 

 

Adrian, 

You have my condolences, I've only just heard of your father's passing as you're likely to in the coming hours. He was brave to have staked his claim for what was his and fought valiantly against the Petran aggressors during their attack. You have, now, a mantle you must take up in his stead. Know that you have the support of the Marnan Brigade. Forget not that what you do is true and right for what the realm needs.

 

May your path be illuminated by God's divine light.,

Analiese

 

The letter found itself to the, now, King Adrian upon his return to Enswerp, rolled neatly and clasped with a seal of red wax.

[rep2k 3192]

Chancellor de Rosius lets out a heavy sigh within the confinements of his keep, preparing to set upon a path towards Enswerp. The two are of similar age, perhaps he can offer him some solace.

[CasualNuker 1113]

"Long Live King Adrian I, rightful King of the Petra!" Elijah would say sitting alongside Junien Caisin in Fort Alba, as they recieve the missive from other soldiers milling around the encampment. @nunlover

[growingivy 3382]

The young Kharajyr, Godiva, grumbled unhappily. Still she held a grudge for the way he speaks to her, yet if he resembled his father in any way he could not be terrible...

[Phersades 1710]

Aleksi Mikhail would train to kick Nectorist's.... I mean Adrian's ass in this war

 

Spoiler

Can we vote on what Adrian's name becomes if he goes 'missing' on the field please please please please please

 

[Nectorist 12871]

3 minutes ago, Phersades said:

Aleksi Mikhail would train to kick Nectorist's.... I mean Adrian's ass in this war

 

  Reveal hidden contents

Can we vote on what Adrian's name becomes if he goes 'missing' on the field please please please please please

 

walter

[Tide1 4535]

Spoiler

Scribbled here upon this piece of wax sealed parchment is a single sentence.

 

 

We will be watching you . . .