The Coronation of Maria the Second

Name of official(s) attending: Michael Palinsky, Lana Sholokhov
Position of said official(s): Secretary of Foreign Affairs, Aid
Number of persons accompanying: Two

R.S.V.P. Form:
Name of official(s) attending: Tobias III Loðbrók
Position of said official(s): King of Prydania
Number of persons accompanying: one, plus four for security detail

R.S.V.P. Form:
Name of official(s) attending: Rahul Khanna
Position of said official(s): Imperial Secretary of State
Number of persons accompanying: one department staffer, three security guards

R.S.V.P. Form:
Name of official(s) attending: Amara of Helenburg and Getu of Helenburg
Position of said official(s): Amara: Empress, Getu: Royal Advisor
Number of persons accompanying: one assistant

R.S.V.P. Form:
Name of official(s) attending: Alva Haaldynen
Position of said official(s): Secretary for Foreign Affairs
Number of persons accompanying: 2

Hector straightened his tie. He looked himself right it in the mirror. Hector Lorenzo Rodriguez was the Secretary of Palace Affairs. It was his job to oversee the entire Monarchy’s functions. All of them. All of Plembobria’s aristocracy had chosen him as the man to save all of them. The entire antiquated system of family patronage that had run this entire country must adapt maintain its position. If only in name.

Today was the coronation of Queen Maria. She would be a challenge to work with. She spent all her time on fluttr and had little to no interest in any official duties. She was, however, thrilled to be Queen of a whole country.

Many royal families can relate to the awkward prospect of an official who was never intended to become the monarch becoming the monarch. It’s a difficult situation to adapt to, but it had to be done. It could take years or decades, but it would be done. With Hector running the palace, it didn’t matter how intelligent or composed or effective the Queen herself was. Hector was the power behind the throne. Literally, his office was in the room behind the throne room.

He gazed at his reflections for a few seconds longer and then quipped out loud to himself. “No pressure at all! Only the entire history and culture of the entire country is depending on you.” He headed outside. His car was waiting. He’d be heading to the palace where the motorcade would be put together and the Queen would begin her procession to the temple.

Rethel Palace

Timothy walked across the courtyard as the motorcade was assembling at the street. He looked behind him. The Queen was nowhere to be seen. Hector got out of his car and greeted the former King, “your maj…” “Uh uh uh!” Timothy interrupted, “that would be, your formerlyness.”

“That is, Your Highness, Your Highness. It’s my job title to continue tradition in this country and I intend to do it well! Where is the Queen?”

“Still struggling with the uniform, I assume.”

“Yes of course.” It was decided in the meeting among senior families that the Queen would appear in uniform instead of the flamboyant royal gown the likes of her mother used during her coronation. Why? She was being installed as the Head of State of a modern democratic nation. Her duties were to grab shortsighted, selfish politicians by the necks and demand their cooperation. She was not the object of fairytales and portraits. She was, at least in appearance, a stern and competent leader. Crisis was already brewing in the province and she would be ultimately called upon to rectify it.

Finally, they noticed her exit the front door of the palace. “Good morning, Your Majesty!” “Ok.” She responded, hardly looking up.

“Now remember. When you arrive, I and your brother will get out first. We shall prevent ourselves the crow. Then, our attendant here will open the door for you…” “Yeah and I come out everyone claps and they all love me so on and so on,” Maria interrupted, “I know what to do.” She rolled her eyes.

They got into the central car, and drove on to the temple.

R.S.V.P. Form:
Name of official(s) attending: Prince Lucas von Falkenstein and Princess Asta von Falkenstein
Position of said official(s): Niece and Nephew to the King of Ulstome
Number of persons accompanying: 2 aides, 3 security guards

Capital Suites
Rethel, Plembobria


Lana Sholokhov was up early going over the protocols of admission to such an event, she hardly ever got to attend these. She was warming up to travelling abroad. The hotel room was stunning. A bit too stunning. She thought the chandelier was too much. Still though she had not noticed on her arrival last night. Too busy wrestling a certain man into bed. The airport had been hectic, especially with an incapacitated foreign secretary. Checking in was worse. She had insisted that he not drink since the flight was only four hours, but he had ignored her pleas. Yet again. It was a common theme that Lana had grown used to over the past few years. However she was still prepared for such. She had made her special coffee for the good secretary. Two shots of espresso one shot of vodka. Easy. It was waiting for him at the night stand nearest to the snoring corpse. She had also arranged the man’s suit and itinerary for the day, laying next to him on the bed.


Lana took this free time to stand out on the balcony and smoke. She could see the palace from here. It too was stunning. The same sentiment remained however. Too stunning. There was suddenly a knock on the door to the suite. The small security detail was up. The scent of the coffee hadn’t worked. Guess it’s time to start the slapping Lana mused.

Rethel Palace, Plembobria

Tobias had only been to one coronation. His own. In a half-bombed out church that had to be hastily cleared of Syndicalist exhibitions. And before mostly priests, with very little nobility and no foreign guests there to witness it. He had, of course, visited Sherwin's enthronement, but this was a coronation. The distinction was...practically non-existent. Still, he found it nice to be at a proper coronation that wasn't steeped in the dourness of a freshly shelled city.

He found himself among a collection of foreign delegates, many he didn't know. That was ok. He liked the idea that, in this group of people in picturesque and ceremonial garb, he'd be just one of many. Hardly noticeable. He found a comfort in being...unremarkable. If even temporarily.

The palace was amazing too. He wasn't sure which continent had the better architecture- Gothis or Meterra- but Meterran buildings had a certain elegance that he found foreign yet appealing. Like a painting from an artist you weren't familiar with, but whose work you just knew you liked.

"Your Majesty" Laurids Hummel remarked, as he and his King made their way amongst the crowd. Tobias and Laurids didn't use their titles when they were speaking with each other alone, but they were in a public setting now. A rather formal one. Protocol had to be maintained.

"Lord General" Tobias replied to the commanding officer of the Knights of the Storm.
"Enjoying yourself?"

Laurids wanted to laugh. He was a country boy from central Prydania at heart. This was far too elegant a get-together for him.
"It's been interesting. So many important people. Was there this sort of wait at your own coronation, Your Majesty?"

It was Tobias' turn to hold in a laugh, but he failed, chuckling a bit.
"I don't know, really. I spent most of the time before the ceremony sitting on top of a stack of crates in the back. Trying not to break out in hives."

"You think the Queen is nervous, Your Majesty?"

"She'd have to be. People looking to her...whether you're ready or not, people expect you to be."

"Well" Laurids began, "you were something of a unique situation. The war, the struggle. It was a great vindication to see you crowned, Your Majesty. Queen Maria...she doesn't have that. Do you think she'll take to the same kind of duty?"

Tobias merely shrugged.
"I try to assume the best of people."

"That's very noble of you, Your Majesty."

"I try" the King replied, with a bit of a smirk.

R.S.V.P. Form:
Name of official(s) attending: William Bowers
Position of said official(s): Minister of Foreign Affairs
Number of persons accompanying: 2 children, 1 assistant, 2 security

Click to expand...

---

Rachel and Heather were pulled out of class once again, dragged into yet another "educational field trip". Though their past trip to Syrixia was focused more on the culture of the people, this trip was focused solely on one woman and the protocol wrapped around installing her as a world leader. They would learn about all the things their parents' boss eschewed when she came to power. Dressed in pretentious formal wear so they would be presentable, the children stood still between their father and the assistant he brought along to watch over them, no phones in hand, bored out of their minds.

Their father took notice. With no other business agenda to discuss since his assistant was only there to watch over the children if he needed to step away, he had all the opportunity in the world to play "helicopter dad".

"You know, you girls should get your memo books out and take notes," William suggested to his daughters. "Write about the temple. You have that report to write when you get back home."

"Yes, dad..." Heather reluctantly acknowledged.

"At least it's not two pages like when Mom took us on a trip..." Rachel contemplated.

With the girls occupied and looking busy, Will was able to concentrate on his duties once again and await the appearance of the new queen.

Amara's limo drove smoothly through the streets from the airport to the hotel. Along the way, there were many captivating views of the Palace and what she believed to be the High Temple where the coronation would happen. Amara hadn't been to a coronation before; well - other than her own; although she wouldn't call it a coronation. Amara's had been basically a large party attended by all the tribes she had helped unite, and they presented her with a title never used before in their history and a very fancy hat.

"Penny for your thoughts." Getu said to the silent car. Amara turned to her oldest friend and official Royal Adviser. He sat squashed into the corner of the car beside her, filling up most of the seat. He was clearly uncomfortable, adjusting almost constantly.

"Just thinking back on my own... 'coronation'... if that's what it's called." Amara returned to looking out the window wistfully.

"It was a good party." Getu stated simply. Yes, it was a good party. It lasted for days, the fire never going completely out. It would have continued for much longer, but they had run out of wine. Amara smiled remembering dancing, the endless feasts, and playing party games of archery and polo. It was definitely an informal affair. Not much fancy dress, or protocol. This coronation for Queen Maria would be a much different atmosphere, and Amara was understandably nervous.

"This is the coronation of a younger Queen, Maria." Amara's assistant interjected, shuffling his papers. He sat opposite to them, his lap and adjacent seat covered in files and papers he was sorting through and reviewing. "According to some sources, she is a Monarch in name only. They are democratic here, so this is much like our system. I wouldn't expect a party like back home," the assistant chuckled mechanically, still reading his papers, "this is more of a formal affair from the looks of it."

Amara stared at the assistant with a puzzled look. She had hired an additional assistant due to her nerves, to ensure she didn't mess up. "George." Getu whispered to her, reading her mind.

"Thank you," Amara whispered back, "George - do we know anything more about the girl. I mean, Her Majesty Maria?"

"She likes something called flut-errr... flutter? fluttr?" George attempted to pronounce the word, "It appears to be some sort of app on a phone."

Amara looked at Getu. Getu shrugged.

"I doubt you'll actually have any sort of sustained conversation with Queen Maria," George added helpfully, "we're here to just sort of, make ourselves known. Mon Civia is a brand new country, I bet half the people in attendance have never even heard of us."

'Very confidence inspiring' thought Amara returning to the window, staring at the ever-present and imposing Palace in the distance.

The motorcade made its way down the Queen’s Street, the main street going directly between the Palace and the Temple, which, in the plan of the Capital city, were directly across from each other. The sidewalks were lined with throngs of people looking to get a glimpse of their Queen as she headed towards the temple. “It’s important to wave, your majesty,” Hector said, “and smile of course.” The Queen, surprisingly, complied.

The former king looked out the window at the temple as they slowly moved closer. He remembered this day exactly 9 years ago, when he was coronated. The nation was in crisis then. His mother, the last truly loved Queen of Plembobria, and the final absolute ruler, had died in a tragic accident. The royal commission established to investigate her death had never officially ruled out assassination. Democratic activists jumped at the opportunity to fight for parliamentary government. This culminated 3 years later when he, conceding to protestors and elected senators, ordered a constitutional convention – alienating royal family members and ministers, and ushering a period of unstable government. Things had settled down – for now.

The limousine stopped. The guests were already arriving and waiving to the crowds. Hector spoke up again. “Your majesty will come out last. Your Highness, let’s go.” The two men got out. The crowds cheered and clapped as Timothy got out and waived to them. They made their way toward the entrance of the temple. Hector rushed immediately through the crowd into the temple. He had to make sure everything was prepared for the dignitaries to enter. Timothy, who had spaced out slightly gazing at the crowds, turned around to say something to Hector. “Do you think that…” Why were there two children in front of him? “Hello there! You must be…”

---

---

Rethel, Plembobria

"Be careful when you're reading that."

The voice that called the attention of Gat Timeng made him flinch. He quickly stuffed the letter in his pants, covered under his barong. The pocket underneath between the bright texture of the translucent shirt and the white undershirt easily hid such a puny paper document from even the sharpest eyes. He looked at the man, the newly-appointed cultural attaché Mr. Entac. Likes to call himself Sid, but Gat Timeng doesn't like him.

Gat Timeng looked up at the tall man. He still doesn't get why Sid isn't wearing a barong, as advised. They even offered him one of Timeng's own. Instead, this dark Lasakit chose to buy and wear a tailcoat.

"What now?" Timeng confronted Sid for the thousandth time. A man with so many ideas is a chore... He better has a very valid reason for annoying me once more.

Sid looked at a direction behind them, somewhere among their fellow foreign guests. Gat Timeng was about to snort until he spotted who was that very valid reason.

Shit! It's the King of Prydania.

"I think it was an overreaction." Sid said, brushing his hair straight and patting down his man bun.

"Ja..."

Gat Timeng heard about the stories in his circles. In that situation, he would've demanded some clear reaction. The diplomatic mission was being nice if all things were properly considered. The entire Republic no less if the situation wasn't doubled down. Although he's just a diplomat now, he's still willing to let out the Syndicalist still in him to straighten things out, and he doesn't care if that offends them. He's lived a life and diplomacy is his last hurrah. He's ready to throw hits and catch some blows to defend the honor of the Lawstoner Nation. Little Miss Lailani and her wife were too weak to defend their own culture against foreigners.

No wonder she only lasted a year in office. Maintaining the confidence of the Batasan is a test of character."

Imagine that. She? Former Chancellor? How on Eras did she manage to convince an entire party, let alone her constituency? What a gutless wench and waste of government resources. Hope she gets deathly sick of Craviterian winter and goes home limping like the coward she is.

...Wait a minute.

"Herr Entac. How did you know I was reading about him?"

Sid looked down. "Hmm. Well, you were sleeping in the car and the letter was in your hand. I only read the memo since I already knew the details."

Gat Timeng nodded. "Ah. Ja. You were the painter involved...and your husband was there to represent you."

"Ja. Ja. I was."

Well, recalling his duty as a fellow patriot, Gat Timeng is willing to give him some sympathy. He patted the big man...higher on his back to avoid any unfortunate development, something he'd despise to feel. Gat Timeng loves his liberties but he's still a Courantist.

Thinking about it, a painter or an artist, they're people of many ideas. Sid choosing this country might be for inspiration or an upcoming work he's planning.

Gat Timeng could already tell a lot of themes from this ongoing event alone. Being a staunch Republican since the abolition of the monarchy never really dimmed his eyes on the fantasy and grandeur of autocrats and their little worlds of magnificence. The pomp and circumstance carrying the full weight of history in their gilded and glittering spectacles, makes the anachronism of any regal event entirely worthwhile. At least to someone like Timeng. He was a child once, dreaming, among other things.

Back in the day, although it was mostly graffiti on walls, Gat Timeng considered himself some kind of artist. It's one of the great many things usually associated with activists. He used to draw people on the street for spare change. He got to work with the national artist Om Chopade himself on a charity piece in New Pataliputra. He never got any professional training related to the arts, but the world around him was both his canvas and inspiration.

Gat Timeng couldn't help but smile. Those were different times.

"So...why Plembobria?"

Sid looked up, getting in his thoughts. Smiling, he returned his eyes at Gat Timeng.

"I dunno."

Gat Timeng stared at Sid. He sighs. More like a man of many disappointments

Young people may tell him and his generation their envy of youth, but they'd rather get Alzheimer's than remind themselves everyday that children now reach adulthood at the age of 30.

“Arindin!*” I growl irritably as I scroll down the soon to be queens list of flutts “This woman is not a monarch Sarakhaid! She is an Idjott!!!” I yell in exasperation, tossing the phone onto the seat

The coronation of Maria II of Plembobria had already promised to be an unwelcome distraction from my duties but reading her empty-headed posts is now putting me in the mind that this event will be as having teeth pulled.

“Her highness has certain eccentricities, your Exalt” Sarakhaid replies diplomatically

If by eccentricities he means she speaks and never thinks my cousin is indeed correct, a ruler should have more reserve! we are leaders of our people! Shepards of our culture!

“Her Highness is a spoilt girl without a single worthwhile thought in her fool head!” I reply lighting a cigarette in frustration

Sarakhaid frowns and opens the car window as I take a long draw and exhale a cloud of noxious smoke

“Still smoking those infernal red crowns*, I see, didn’t the palace physician suggest switching to something lighter? Uncle Volkov’s* perhaps?” Sarakhaid asked in a placating voice

“He did, and I suggested that he keep his opinions to himself or I would have him thrown from the battlements!” I muttered taking another drag, Uncle Volkov’s...please, If I had wanted to experience spice I would have eaten a curry!

I stare out the window at the beautiful architecture, ancient and dignified spires and buildings rise around me. Plembobria’s elegant culture was on display at every intersection and along every processional. But I am no sight-seeing tourist, I am the empress of Astragon, ASTRAGON and I am many miles from my appointed charge!

“Why are WE here cousin!?” I hiss

Sarakhaid chuckles at that, he is well aware I am not a morning person, he passes over a cup of black coffee and waits till I have sipped before answering. He knows me well; I am every bit the manticore in nature before my first coffee.

“Trade Majesty, we are here to cultivate good relations and find lucrative new markets for our goods,” Sarakhaid says with a slight smile

“You could have sent any minister with a snap of your fingers! I have an empire to run!” I snap, grumpy but less vitriolic after the coffee

“Aye majesty, an empire that requires revenue to sustain itself, armies and great urban projects do not fund themselves,” Sarakhaid said his words prodding, he is, of course, talking about MY projects and armies

He has me there though whether I like it or not, the capital’s repairs in the wake of the civil war have cost billions and my recent unveiling of a new aircraft carrier in the Bay billions more still. Coin, a master that even empresses and kings must kneel before, my reign is no different.

“Has it occurred to you that the city-state of Rio is still aflame? Its citizens running Afeared! I should be in the capital organizing the re-integration!” I say deliberately using the Craviterean expression to irritate Sarakhaid

“Majesty, Sabhrain, if I may cousin, I must point out the old saying “the farmer that does not sow shall reap nothing” you wish Astragon to stride the world stage once more? Well, here we are! If we wish the world to take us seriously, we must be a part of it! "he says chiding me, dear Shaddai, metaphors have entered the game

“And on the issue of Rio?” I ask stubbornly clinging to my argument

“Rio Verde is not going anywhere, its leaders are paralyzed by indecision and its streets overrun, re-integration will not be spoilt by a few days away” He replies with a wagging finger for emphasis

I suppose he has a point, however grudgingly I admit it, Rio will not be claimed in a few days nor lost in an equal number. My need to be in control of the situation, to command, can make me decidedly irritable when I am pulled from my post.

“More to the point, it does you some good to see the world beyond offices and military bases, even an Exalt needs a change of scenery on occasion,” He says taking advantage of my thoughtful pause

“Hmmm, I suppose an Exalt must provide for her nation, our worker's products need markets, that still means we have to deal with this Maria the second though,” I say resigned to my unenviable fate

“I am certain your majesty is more than capable of surviving one conversation with her” he replies with a chuckle

I sigh and stub out my cigarette, mi starting to wish I had chosen wine over coffee to begin this day. Rumours my distant cousin, Tobias of Prydania, being present are at least one bright spot. A chance to meet is not to be taken for granted. The great walls of Rethel palace beckon.

“Rethel Palace ahead your Exalt!” The driver announces over the Intercomm

*Imbecile in Toruba
*Red Crowns, extra strength flavoured cigarettes, contain menthol, clove, nutmeg, resin and enough tobacco to send a weak set of lungs into organ failure. Sabhrain smokes several a day.
*Uncle Volkov’s, a popular brand of Fussian cigarette known for their distinct spicy flavour.

Getu stood behind Amara amongst the assembly of guests for Maria’s Coronation. Amara was waving and smiling at the throng of people gathered outside the temple to watch their new Queen ascend to the throne. Getu knew Amara, and knew that while she smiled and waved she was secretly dreading the large crowds and the noise.

“Let’s sneak off, find a pub.” Getu whispered in Amara’s ear. She grinned up at him and shook her head. Glancing at George behind him, Getu saw that he was still busy with his phone and clipboard. He seemed oblivious to the excitement, his nose stuffed in more reports and information.

Amara tapped on his arm and pointed, and Getu saw the motorcade pull up. Finally, Getu thought, let's get this party started.

Two men exited, one waving kindly to the crowd and another reminded Getu of a chicken without its head as he flapped up to the temple. Despite claiming he wasn’t excited Getu found himself stretching and straining, trying to get a glimpse at the future Queen of Plembobria.

“And hear I thought you’d be bored of this.” Amara joked as he bumped into her for the third time trying to look.

Getu blushed and put on his most stoic face, causing Amara to burst into laughter. The other dignitaries glanced at them oddly. Amara straightened herself, trying to look composed, now causing Getu to laugh as well. They both turned their attention to the Queen’s motorcade, while their bodies shook quietly with suppressed laughter at each other.

Laurids Hummel scanned the crowd. There likely wasn't going to be a security threat among this lot, but one could never be too sure. And besides, it gave him an excuse to ignore the unimportant chatter his King endured with various dignitaries. He then saw something that caught his eye and he made a snap decision.

"I'm sorry Your Majesty" he said, catching a convenient lull in the conversation between his King and a certain ambassador.
"But your cousin as arrived and it would be prudent to meet them before the ceremony." Tobias looked a bit confused for a moment before smiling and parting ways with the dignitary.
"It seemed like you needed to be rescued, Your Majesty" Hummel chuckled.

"Well thank you" Tobias chuckled softly. Does that mean a cousin of mine hasn't arrived?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, she has" Hummel replied.

"She?" Tobias asked. He ran through who it could be. It wasn't Klara, Stig's daughter. She was back in Eiderwig. He didn't think Penelope would be there either, and he hadn't seen Jadzia...but then he saw her. Sabhrain, Exalt Empress of Astragon. She was a distant relation- through the Hightonians actually- but a relation none the less. And though their nations were very different in many respects? They were, in many ways alike. Each had come to their crowns through struggle, and each knew of sacrifice. Sabhrain, unable to attend Tobias' wedding, had sent a crown, perhaps symbolizing this. They had been in brief yet friendly correspondence with each other, though they'd never met in person. It was perhaps because of their similarities in spite of the many differences that Tobias wanted to meet her properly.

"I figured, Your Majesty, that she would provide more engaging conversation than whatever fluff these other dignitaries could offer." Tobias chuckled, shrugging.

"Funny, the two of us meeting at a coronation of all things" he remarked as he approached his cousin. He had, in the nearly three years since his own coronation, met countless Prime Ministers, Ambassadors, Kings, Emperors, Princes, Princesses, Premiers, and Presidents. He understood the protocols expected, and yet he couldn't help but think back to William's lessons. He smiled at the memories- hated at the time but now treasured- and stopped before his cousin and her attendant.

"Your Majesty" he said with cordial smile and a subtle nod of his head- technically he wasn't supposed to do that, but it was a habit he'd given up trying to break.
"I'm glad we could finally meet."

The Prydanian party approaches, My Kaiderin snap to attention instinctively, I recognize the deer sigil of that far of Craviteran kingdom emblazoned upon the breast of each knights uniform. I know little of Prydania saved that it is cold, its people hardy and that thanks to ancient marriages and distant pacts, the man at the centre of the approaching party is my cousin.

“Your Majesty” Tobias says with a subtle nod “I'm glad we could finally meet” he smiled jovially as he said so, a warm and genuine expression

In Astragon a royal meeting is typically announced by the Ambhadzi, minutes spent bellowing titles and announcing bloodlines. I have endured enough scraping, bowing, prostration and kowtowing to make me wish to never hold another audience as long as I live. That Tobias does none of these things speaks well of him. I smile warmly and return the nod.

“Your Majesty or perhaps I should say, royal cousin!” I say with a beaming smile

If the sun and the moon had deigned to meet the contrast would likely have been less so, then I and my royal cousin Tobias. He is pale of skin and bears neatly combed blonde hair of a shade that reminds me of tarnished gold. He is young but there is a strength and intelligence about him, an aura of experience that only one raised in strife possesses.

It would take one well versed in genealogy to clearly spell out the nature of our relation, hours spent pouring over dusty tomes and ancient edicts. But there is something stronger than the tenuous blood ties that link us. We are kindred by experience, unexpected sovereigns thrust into power by unrest and war.

Like Tobias I suffered the loss of my parents, like Tobias I was never groomed to sit the throne and like Tobias I took my title by the sword. It is a circumstance that forever marks us from the assembled royalty of this gathering, we did not inherit our titles, our reigns were won by sacrifice. How different then the sense of duty must be, I think of the girl who is soon to rule Plembobria, does she understand the responsibility of her office?

I cast my gaze around the great palace of Rethel, it is a palace as elegant as any I have ever beheld, immaculate and serene. It is a different thing to be crowned in peace, to parade down undisturbed processionals. Tobias was crowned in a fire-damaged church by a skeletal remnant of Prydanian nobles, I journeyed to coronation via war-scarred streets carried there by soldiers who had fought for my right to rule.

A shared sense of duty pervaded both our reigns, the people had bled that we might rule, the sacrifices of our subjects had paved our road to sovereignty. I hope that Maria understands that ruling a people is about more than glamour or opulence, but I very much doubt it. Children raised in comfort and spoiled by peace are as iron without fire, soft and without focus.

“Would that our first meeting was in less...formal...circumstances...But all the same, Tobias Na Lothbrok, may our shared ancestors smile upon your days” I said solemnly

To have caught the attention of the former king was a surprise to not just Rachel and Heather but their father as well. Heather tried to duck away, nervous and shy, not knowing what to say or do, but Will nudged her back in place. Rachel looked up to Timothy, and then looked back to Will, and back and forth.

"Go ahead," Will told his children. "Introduce yourselves."

"Rachel," the older and slightly taller one said, with a little more confidence than she was originally feeling.

"Heather," the younger one said, just as timidly as she was feeling when Timothy approached.

"Now, give a curtsey like mom showed you..." Will instructed his daughters, who did as they were told. With the children having completed their part of the protocol, Will could turn to the former king and give his own introduction. "William Bowers, Dorsettian Minister of Foreign Affairs," he said as he politely bowed to Timothy. "I apologize that my wife couldn't make it this time. She's still nervous about leaving the baby with a sitter for too long."

"Well, this'll be a historic day for sure," Will continued on. "I'm sure you're busy; won't hold you up. I'm sure there'll be time later to discuss matters if you wish."

Name of official(s) attending: King Thibault II of Saintonge, Ambassador Ruth-Gertrude Laclaverie*
Position of said official(s): *Royal Santonian Ambassador to the Kingdom of Plembobria
Number of persons accompanying: 2

Sabhrain's circumstances had been of interest to Tobias. He could remember when he was a child, when William taught him all about his family. Not just those he saw killed, but his extended family. In Andrenne, Saintonge, Arrandal, Highton, and Astragon. The last one fascinated him the most, that he could have family in this far off and strange land. He had an idea of who Sabhrain was, but then the war in Astragon started.
Why it affected him was no great mystery. He saw in Sabhrain's own struggle a reflection of his own. He saw Murza denounce her, and he could hear the authoritatively crushing voice of Thomas Nielsen all over again. It got to the point where he, personally, could no longer stand to watch coverage of the conflict. Too many painful, haunting memories were recalled and knowing someone who shared his blood- distant as it may be- was going through what he went through was torture. That he lacked the means to even do anything about it, to aid in any way beyond symbolic gestures and statements, only added to his frustrations. So when the day came when his foreign policy briefing informed him that Sabhrain and her Iraelian allies had toppled Murza's regime? He'd been ecstatic.
He'd thought about it briefly- how interesting it was to be invested in the fate of a distant relative he had never met- but he didn't ponder for long. The anxiety, the fear he'd felt for her had vanished knowing that she'd succeeded.

There was a multitude of things he wanted to talk to her about, but the thing that came to mind was Maria. Tobias had often sighed to himself seeing how the young woman presented herself on social media. He'd grown up among soldiers, living in cramped bunkers and rundown safe houses. He'd subsisted off of field rations for months on end. He'd seen people he never knew personally die so that he could have a chance to be King. It had made it clear to him that these sacrifices in his name weren't made solely so he could be King. They were made because there was a belief that he could represent something better for their country and their people. It was a duty that weighed on him. To be worthy of that trust and that power invested in him.
And so despite his professed belief that Maria could the servant her people deserved, and his desire to see good in others? He'd found himself unsure of her ability to grasp just what was going to be asked of her today. He wondered if Sabhrain thought similarly?

“Would that our first meeting was in less...formal...circumstances...But all the same, Tobias Na Lothbrok, may our shared ancestors smile upon your days” she said solemnly.

"And you as well" Tobias replied.
"I have to agree, I wish it wasn't such an uptight affair" he continued with a smile, "but still, it's nice to see what a 'proper' coronation is supposed to look like" he chuckled a bit.
"It's a beautiful building. I just hope the pageantry isn't a wasted effort."

"It is indeed something," I say motioning to the elegant pillars and Decor of the main hall

In many ways Rethel is not so different from Tyrooz, it is an old and proud hall that has witnessed and weathered the tides of history and all of its roaring tumult. I wonder if it will still stand as a house for its royal owners, I wonder if it can survive the potential chaos its new monarch might bring.

"such pageantry for one so unworthy," I think without enthusiasm, I force the thought down so as not to say something I will regret later

"I suppose at least the soon to be monarch has the benefit of her predecessor's wisdom," I say trying to sound optimistic "Timothy was a well-respected ruler and his experience will prove invaluable"

Had Kaskaran lived longer perhaps I would have benefitted from his knowledge, perhaps the even-handed tutelage of a wise elder will prove enough to steer her towards good governance.

"Aye, but will she listen? " the doubts whisper in the back of my mind

"If nothing else this ceremony granted us a chance to converse," I say sincerely

A conversation with an equal is a refreshing change, I have spoken with many rulers before, most are formal and many unmemorable but Tobias is neither. I am reminded of the years spent on the Kraal, the time when the drill instructors would happily whack any recruit whether royal or not. It is a rare joy to be greeted without title or formality. There are few I can converse with in such a manner, it is pleasing to see that Tobias is one.

"It has, and for that I'm very grateful" Tobias replied.
"I've looked forward to meeting my distant family for a while now. It's truly a pleasure to meet you in person."
Sabhrain carried herself in different sort of way compared to Tobias. And it highlighted the main difference between them- appearances aside. Sabhrain had grown up a soldier. She carried that strong sense of duty with her, and why should the role of Empress demand anything else from her? She had a sense of an officer doing her duty. Tobias smiled a bit.
"She reminds me of Stig" he thought, "if Stig wasn't so dry."
Tobias, meanwhile, had never trained to be a solider. He had grown up among them, and he had been taught to fight and defend himself. He had even killed, in a warzone no less, but these were acts of survival more so than proper soldiering. Tobias' own sense of duty came from a sense of empathy he'd developed young. First dealing with the death of his parents and then later as he saw the suffering inflicted on the people of Prydania thanks to the Syndicalist regime. Still? Sabhrain's sense of duty didn't bother Tobias. He found it refreshing. He liked soldiers. They took their responsibilities seriously and were more willing to be truthful.

It was also true that Maria would have her father. He'd only had William, to instill in him what was expected of a King, and how he should act. William, however, was not a Royal. He knew what he had to teach the young Prince Tobias, but he was never able to pass on any wisdom for how to handle to the responsibilities of being a sovereign. He had to learn that himself. He sighed. He'd lost his own mother and father at a very young age, and he'd often found himself speaking to no one, asking for ghosts from beyond the grave for some sort of guidance.

"Timothy is a good man" he added.
"And one who understands what his people need. I admit..." he paused for a moment, unsure if he should say what he was thinking. It then occurred to him that it was just him and Sabhrain speaking, and their retinues. He didn't feel the urge to be especially diplomatic. He had to spend enough time doing that when people were watching. No need to force himself to do it when he had a degree of relative privacy.
"...I wish he'd held onto the throne. Maybe Maria could learn a thing or two more." He shook his head.
"It was only a year ago or so, I made a Fluttr post that was rather critical of a certain politician in the Principality of Sil Dorsett. I had a talk with some people afterwards, and I realized that in a moment of emotion I'd done something that I, as King, shouldn't have done. I felt awful about it truthfully, even if the person I was talking about turned out to be a criminal. But even still...I acted in a way that that I shouldn't have as King, in a public space. I've tried to be better since. But then Maria..." he shook his head again.
"I see what she puts out there daily, and I wonder if perhaps I've been too harsh on myself" he added with a chuckle.

He didn't mean that exactly, but he shrugged anyway.
"I probably shouldn't let it bother me. I have enough to worry about that's actually my concern. But the way that girl carries herself...I just can't help but feel disappointed. I trust Timothy knows something the rest of us don't though."