The Third Tablet of St. Lothar: Kin

[VIROS 2915]

THE LOTHAR STONES

THE THIRD TABLET

Kin

Spoiler

ABSTRACT

 

The Lothar Stones are marble engravings regarding life in the Balthalite Empire, otherwise known as Old Balian, dated somewhere between the fifth to seventh century. They are attributed to St. Lothar the Bannerlord, the final dynast of that ancient civilization. At least twelve of these stones are believed to be in existence, with each depicting the perspectives of Lothar and his countrymen on various topics. They are written in Old Balthalite, a script similar to non-Dragaari Flexio.

 

The tablet presented herein enclosed within a letter sent by the Marzban of Veloz to his daughter, Kathryn Virosi @MapleSunflower

SYNOPSIS

 

The Third Tablet, Kin, records the family of St. Lothar as it existed shortly before the end of the Balthalite Empire. By that time, war and intrafamilial conflict had greatly reduced the royal house. Its main line comprised only the immediate family of Bero IV, who was the last Balthalite Emperor and St. Lothar’s father. However, other lines existed from the children of kings’ secondary wives and concubines, and remained a constant threat to the dynasty.

 

DEDICATION

 

Beloved Daughter,

 

You are dearly missed in Veloz, but your family’s pride in you surpasses all else. You are the first of our house to return to the Aegisian exiles in nearly two hundred years. Our ancestors were common scribes and priests, sworn ever to serve greater lords. Yet now one of us may soon guide the fate of a great kingdom. I do not doubt that you are humble of this achievement and will say the path was cleared for you. But always remember that what you have done is also your work.

 

To mark your triumph for our house, I have enclosed a work of our best scribes: a translation of one of the tablets of your St. Lothar. His house was mightier than ours, but met a worse fate. He claims this was the channel his kindred dug for him. I believe we also dig our own life’s channel. You have made yours well, as I know you will for your kindred-to-be.

 

With Love, Affection, Deference, and Pride,

Your Devoted Father,

Arif Godfrey Virosi

 

 

III. KIN

 

This ink rendering of the third tablet depicts the arrival of Bero IV’s royal host at his capital, Sibilsgard, in preparation for a celebratory triumph. Note the different modes of entry on the left and right hand: according to a custom established by Bero IV’s great-grandfather, the day preceding a triumph was marked by a ritual expulsion of foreigners (with exemptions for concubines, slaves, and ambassadors). As the gates were shut to common traffic during a triumph, refugees had to choose between waiting three days outside the city or returning by boat. Meanwhile, on the right hand, the figure beneath the parasol is likely not Bero IV, despite his royal attire. The Balthalite emperor would have entered at the head of the army. Instead, it is probably a vassal king, brought along as one of his war trophies. Triumphs—and the wealth they brought—were essential in winning the support of Sibilsgard. Bero IV’s cessation of them in the latter half of his reign likely contributed to his unpopularity, despite his extensive victories abroad.

 

Kinship is water pushing water, so we Balthali believe.

Our lives flow through channels dug by those before us.

They made us as we are.

Their world becomes our world.

 

Before I, Lothar, was given life, my kindred had already set my course.

 

On the day of the Fourth Bero’s anointment, the priests brought a maiden before him.

She was called Adelheid, the holy name of Owyn’s wife.

They laid prophecies and blessings upon her.

She was promised to bear him a fated child.

So he took her as his wife.

He vowed to be faithful to her, as his own father had not been to his mother.

For his kin too had dug a channel for him.

 

My mother was kind and patient.

She forebore the pride of her husband.

And wrapped him up with sweetness, for a time.

 

Their first year of marriage bore my sister, Doda.

She had the name of our father’s mother.

She was bold and majestic.

She neither forebore nor acted in haste.

It seemed the prophecies and blessings of the priests fell upon her,

for she was swift in growing and knew many things before her time.

My father was pleased to have such a mighty heir.

 

Their third year bore my brother, Fulko.

He had the name of our mother’s father.

He was handsome and beloved by all.

He did as always as he was bid, and asked for no glory.

The people of Sibilsgard kept him in their heart.

 

So my father had a daughter and a son each.

It seemed the prophecy of the priests was finished.

The House of Balthier passed pleasant years together in Sibilsgard.

 

Those days ended before ever, I, Lothar, drew breath.

Yet still I think of them fondly.

The ebb of the past pulls at us all.

 

My father’s conquests took him far afield.

Old provinces he reclaimed, and new ones he named. 

His visits to the capital grew ever rarer.

Adelheid reigned over Sibilsgard in his stead.

She raised their children to know wisdom and restraint.

But war was always the true bride of the Fourth Bero, and victories, his best children.

 

Twelve years before my birth, the Great Rebellion rose up in the south.

It was the work of my father’s half-brother, Hanno.

He was the son of a concubine.

He made alliance with three mighty tribes, sealed with three brides.

The Fourth Bero brought his war-camp swiftly to cast down the host of Hanno.

But in his anger, he slew also his half-brother.

This was not the way of the Balthali.

The blood of kin we do not spill.

The Fourth Bero sought his vengeance upon the tribes.

 

He would not release them from their bondage, yet they would not submit.

They knew their own land well.

Thus their rebellion lasted another year.

But the Fourth Bero longed to return to conquest.

At last he made a peace, to be sealed with three brides.

He foreswore his vow of faith to our mother.

The widows of Hanno he took as his wives.

Then he married often to seal his conquests.

 

But the prophecy of the priests was not yet finished.

A channel had been dug.

 

The year of my birth was a mighty one for the Fourth Bero.

All the south was yoked beneath him.

His heir was now a woman grown with children of her own.

She had taken up rule of the capital in his stead.

All said the majesty and justice of Doda surpassed any since Balthier.

 

Then news came that Adelheid would bear a third child.

His chief wife had forty years, but was still as fruitful as a maiden.

He ordered a triumph in Sibilsgard to mark his many victories.

The House of Balthier surely flourished.

 

In glory came the host of the Fourth Bero to his capital.

He sent for his daughter and son to make arrangements.

His army would march through the east gate.

He would proclaim Doda’s rule in his stead as perpetual.

He would laden the city with trophies of war and give blessings to his wife.

Then he would depart through the west gate.

Only a single rising and setting of the sun could my father spare.

The world still awaited the conquest of the Fourth Bero.

 

But Fulko would not stand this dishonor.

He had seen the strain of rule upon his sister.

War brought no glory to Sibilsgard, but troubles.

The Fourth Bero’s heir was mighty, surpassing all before.

But he shirked his duty to her and his city.

His daughter’s children did not know his face.

His coming child would greet no father at his birth.

And he had foresworn his vow of faith to Adelheid.

He fathered other sons on other wives, all with claims as Hanno had.

Surely, the House of Balthier flourished.

 

Fulko spoke these fierce words to our father.

The Fourth Bero heard not, but marked them well.

Then he asked the thought of Doda.

 

My sister was too mighty a ruler to deny the truth of it.

But she was wiser in her speech.

She knew the minds of others.

Let her father lay down the burden of conquest, she offered.

Let him stay in Sibilsgard to see all he had won.

For his other wives and sons, let him set them aside with kindness.

Good pensions would ensure their loyalty.

But let the Fourth Bero stay to see the flourishing of his House.

 

He would not.

The Fourth Bero did not love the splendor of Sibilsgard.

His skill was in battle, and Doda’s in rule.

And what was the skill of Fulko, but audacity?

For his daughter’s sake, the Fourth Bero spent his life at war.

His work would be done when all the world was hers.

But no more would he return to Sibilsgard, if he troubled Fulko so.

This second vow he swore, and left.

 

At last, I, Lothar, was born.

My mother gave me the name of the priest who had brought her to my father.

The gift of a prince’s name was given in thanks for three blessed children.

 

No one comes into a world of their own making.

My life’s water poured into its channel.

 

Triumphs passed not through Sibilsgard in the youth of Lothar.

Each year heralds came with gifts and tales of glory from my father.

To my mother and I, he sent exotic treasures.

To my sister and brother, he sent trophies of war and few commands.

Only kind words they spoke of him.

Yet his gifts they passed on to me.

It seemed then that adults had no need for such things.

 

For me, the Fourth Bero was only a shadow of a tale.

But my kindred gave me happy days in Sibilsgard.

 

In that city, my mother taught me wisdom and restraint.

Her handmaidens were clever in letters and kind to a young prince.

My sister showed me majesty and justice.

She sat me by her side while she ruled in our father’s stead.

My brother gave me honesty and love of life.

He garbed me in peasant’s clothes and took me down among the people.

 

I did not see my father’s face until my fourteenth year.

Royal Doda passed suddenly from this earth.

Some whispered that the strain of duty took her.

Or perhaps the Creator reclaimed the fruit of Adelheid, in vengeance for my father’s vow.

But no duty was too great for Doda, and the Creator knows no vengeance.

 

Grief fell upon the Fourth Bero at this news.

His daughter had left six children.

They were each born but a year apart, and all as mighty as she.

Yet the keepers of lineage said her eldest could not be his heir.

A grandchild could not inherit before a living son.

This was not the way of the Balthali.

 

So the Fourth Bero foreswore another vow.

In rage, his host returned to Sibilsgard.

It seemed a siege was upon us.

He would not enter the city, but spoke from outside the gate.

 

The dictate of the Fourth Bero to his capital:

 

“My soldiers say a dog must return to his bone.

He cannot be free of it, while he knows where it is buried.

Now I, the Fourth Bero, return to you, Sibilsgard.

Do you remember the prophecies and blessings laid upon my daughter?

She surpassed all in majesty, you have said.

I have ridden far and won many campaigns, for the sake of her inheritance.

But all for naught.

 

Doda has passed, and my heart along with her.

Yet her eldest daughter I cannot even call my heir.

It is carved upon obelisks of lineage you love to praise.

They loom larger in your hearts than I or her.

 

What good are the prophecies and blessings of priests?

Only eight years has lived the daughter of Doda, and fewer still her siblings.

Yet I am told it is our custom to rob these orphans.

 

I will not enter this capital of mine.

Let Fulko rule you for now, if you love him so.

And let him raise up the line of Doda, as proof of his faith.

I shall ride far in my campaigns, and guard my life, only for their sake.

 

But first you shall send to me my youngest son.

You will not trouble his heart as you did my daughter’s.

A war-camp will be of better health to him than this City of Splendor.”

 

There was silence for a time.

The streets of Sibilsgard whispered of the wickedness of the Fourth Bero.

He had spurned his capital and would not name his son as heir.

He did not enter even to give comfort to his wife.

 

In darkness, he was called the Serpent King,

who returned not with glories but venom.

 

Yet honest Fulko came forth to do as our father bid.

For the sake of Doda, he swore to rule as best he could and raise her children up.

Then he gave me over to my father’s care.

I would enter the camp of the Fourth Bero, to learn the love of war.

 

Thus ended the happy years of the House of Balthier in Sibilsgard.

 

My kindred flowed through channels dug by those who came before.

In their flowing, they dug too the channel of my life.

Once they made me as I was.

Their world became my world.

As now my world becomes yours.

No branch is cut off from the tree of life.

 

Spoiler

Credit to @Cracker for designing this story and working tirelessly to teach me the magic of characterization.

Credit to @MapleSunflower for inspiring this tablet

 

[MapleSunflower 1889]

The courtiers docked upon the pier of Portoregne, just as they had almost 15 years prior. It had not changed in those years with its wooden planks weathered by the sun and salty breeze. At the end stood the daughter of Arif, Kathryn Virosi of Veloz, poised and attentive to those who set their soles upon the shores. The woman moved with an effortless elegance, each step quiet as she met the men with a kind warmth set upon her gentle visage. Dressed in a simple, flowing gown that swayed lightly with her movements, Kathryn fondly greeted the servants she had not seen since her youth. Together they carried a package wrapped in many layers of down and cloth to cushion it. It was evidently important and quite a burden to transport.

 

Heavy as it were, it was brought to her home near the port and unwrapped before her very eyes. Kathryn stood in awe, her fingers lightly tracing the cold surface of the marble tablet laid upon the table. The sacred inscriptions carved into its face brushed against the pads of her fingers; The Old Bathalite Runes not all-too-foreign to her. Some of the words she could decipher, but most others not. "What is it?" Inquired the brunette as she looked to the couriers breathlessly. The court messenger held out an envelope, sealed with the wax crest of her home.

 

The sun had fallen behind the horizon, the last rays of day streaming through her window. Kathryn was alone now, the courtiers resting after their long passage. Only the faint wobble of parchment could be heard as her fingers trembled slightly. It had been hours and Kathryn could not help but scan the paper over and over. The translation struck Kathryn; There was something about the intricate familial life of Saint Lothar that caused her to be... enamored. When finally the tale had been committed to memory, Kathryn picked up the letter from her father. That too had been read on repeat. 

 

As she read her father’s words, memories of him filled her mind, and a small, bittersweet smile formed on her lips. How she missed him and home; It had been so long... and yet, she knew her purpose was here. This was her path, carved by those before her and herself. The waters of her life, passed on by her father and his and his as far to Cecil flowed through Kathryn. She was born for this.

 

Preparing and inkwell and parchment, the eldest Virosi daughter began to write, 

 

"My beloved Baba, 

 

I wanted to take a moment to thank you from the bottom of my heart for the beautiful gift. It means more to me than I can express. Your thoughtfulness and care in choosing something so special shows how well you know me. I understand why you have sent this to me and I shall strive to uphold the lessons it contains in my own life. Its teachings shall be preserved and shared as Lothar intended them to be. I am so grateful for the way you’ve guided and encouraged me. I hope I will make you proud. 

 

Yelena and I miss you terribly. 

 

With all the love and admiration,

Your daughter, 

Kathryn Virosi