No Child (Open)

[Greater Ale Permars]

Accompaniment: Bathtime music?
Ten years after “The Lady’s Dismay”
The Whitestone Keep
Damecité

Eleanor woke up to the gentle sunlight on her face. She rubbed her eyes and got out of bed, stretching her arms and back as she turned to the back bedposts which held up the canopy of her bed and pulled a rope connected to a bell to let her courtiers know that she was awake.

As soon as the signal was given, the Lady of the Bedchamber, accompanied by her mother and ladies-in-waiting, swiftly entered her chambers. Upon entering, they all curtsied before Eleanor. After curtsying and saying their “Hellos”, her mother stepped forward and stood beside her daughter, facing the rest of the women.

“Countess LeBlanc,” She said looking to one of the ladies-in-waiting, “Have Her Majesty’s bath drawn.”

The woman gave a nod alongside another curtsy and walked out of the room. Turning to the rest of the women the Queen Mother looked her daughter up and down and gestured to her snapping her fingers.

“Undress her,” She commanded, and the women went to work quickly disrobing the queen from her sleeping garments.

The Countess, Belsante LeBlanc quickly returned to the Queen’s chambers with maidservants in tow, carrying a full washtub, alongside other bathing instruments. After setting the tub on the floor, the maidservants curtsied to the naked Eleanor and quickly exited the room.

Looking at her mother, Eleanor gently walked over to the tub and with as much grace as she could gather for so early in the morning, lowered herself into the tub. Feeling the warm water against her body sent shivers up and down her spine as she held her breath and submerged herself fully under the water. Quickly, pulling her head out of the water, Eleanor resurfaced gasping for air as she resettled above water, pushing the golden strands of her hair away from her face.

“What is on our agenda today, mother?” Eleanor asked as the ladies in waiting approached the tub to begin washing her.

“Well, your Majesty, first we will be composing the invitations to your coronation.” Rina, her pale face still as youthful as the day her daughter was born shined a radiant light as she walked over to her desk and began thumbing through her letters.

“Anything less tedious?” Eleanor said with a hidden smile.

“Well…” Her mother said turning around, still holding Eleanor’s letters. “If you consider hearing the petitions of commoners, less tedious I’ll be sure to let the Lord Constable know you’re ready to begin performing you’re royal duties.”

Leaning forward, Eleanor sighed deeply as Belsante began the process of washing her back.

“Fine, fair point. Who are the invitations being sent to?”

“Nobility, clergy, neighbouring rulers, really anyone who may have some business with the Kingdom.” Her mother said distracted as she read through one of the letters, absentmindedly beginning to list through all the possible guests

Finished with her bath, Eleanor rose from the tub, water flowing off of her body as she stepped out of it. Quickly grabbing dry towels the ladies-in-waiting, dried her off before dressing her in first her undergarments and then dressing her in a crimson red, fitted, bodice dress with a V-shaped neckline and full skirt which obscured her feet.

As one of her handmaidens pulled the bodice tight, Eleanor sharply inhaled. Trying to resist the constrictive power of the dress.

“Be careful not to choke on your breath, dear.” Her mother quipped.

“I’ll try,” Eleanor said adjusting to the tightness of her outfit.

The dress itself was embroidered with golden thread throughout the chest and skirt forming mesmerizing pattern across her body. Around her neck was a collar of white lace and around her wrists cuffs of the same fine white lace. Around her neck was placed a tight, silver necklace, studded with diamonds and rubies that sparkled brilliantly in the morning sunlight.

In her ears, were placed a pair of silver ruby earrings, and on her right ring finger a small, steel signet ring engraved with the sigil of the Épéisteian dynasty, the symbol of her father.
Eleanor lovingly, twisted the ring on her finger, for a moment being overcome by nostalgia.

“Now I’d like you to write the letter by yourself, your Majesty.” Her mother said putting down the letters she took from her desk.

“Couldn’t I just say what I want and have you or Countess LeBlanc write it down for me?”

Eleanor said, slouching slightly forward as she looked into her vanity mirror as her ladies-in-waiting tended to her long wavy blonde hair which flowed down to the centre of her back.

“Sloth does not suit a lady of your stature…” Her mother walked over to her placing her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “And always remember good posture.” She said pushing her thumbs into her back making Eleanor sit up straight as she stared back at herself in the mirror. Watching her own emerald eyes wince as her mother touched her back.

“Please mother, I am not a child anymore,” Eleanor complained, slightly annoyed.

“You will always be a child to me dear.” Her mother said with a warm yet somewhat snarky smirk. She leaned in close to Eleanor’s ear and whispered. “Now be a good girl Eléa, and get that first letter done. We’ll have the scribes copy them all so you can be spared the time and effort. Good?”

Eleanor gave a subtle nod.

“Good,” Rina said standing up straight. “Now come ladies, I have some tasks for you all.” She chirped, as she left the room, with Eleanor’s handmaidens in tow.

Letting out a deep sigh once again, Eleanor walked over to her writing desk and moved all her mail to the side, placing a piece of fresh parchment paper in front of herself. Taking her quill from its holder she quickly dipped it in ink and began to write.

Spoiler: The Coronation Invitation

“To who it may concern you are hereby invited to the Coronation ceremony of Her Majesty, Queen Eleanor I of Deuxraces.

The ceremony will take place on the sixth day of Harvestrise, at the Grand Cathedral of “The Blessed Lady Gloria” in the city of Damecité

The following celebration festivities will be conducted in the Whitestone Keep, throughout the week following the coronation.”​

 

[Sir Supple]

Spoiler: A Coming of Age Story

The War Council was in full swing today.

King Jozzulon II, along with his ministers and generals, was currently standing around a massive slab of petrified wood, gazing intensely at the scene laid out before him. Atop the slab was a miniature battlefield, a battlefield that resembled the fortifications along the Foglands. Specifically, it resembled the borders of Lord Thevran’s domain, down to the smallest of details. Everything, from the walls themselves to the small soldiers standing atop them, had been painted and constructed as if they were the real thing. Currently, one of the toy soldiers, a Cynocpehali Swordbreaker, was lying prone on the floor, surrounded by a number of monstrous black models.

“As we can see”, remarked Chancellor Umeran, gesturing toward the fallen miniature Swordbreaker, “there have been an increased number of attacks on the walls as of it. The latest incident involved some sort of magical tentacle and a moderate amount of missile fire. Luckily, there was only a single causality, but still this attack is cause for concern.”

King Jozzulon rubbed his chin as he studied the models that had been placed before him.

“Tell me, Chancellor. What is the likelihood that the creatures are able to breach the walls?”

“Preposterous!” , cried out Lord Goval, interrupting Umeran before he could speak. “The walls have endured for centuries! To suggest that a bunch of savage Fogbeasts could ever defeat them is absurd! Truly, your Highness, there is little cause for concern!”

A few of the other lords spoke up in agreement.

“Hm. You seem to be rather sure of yourself, Lord Goval”, Jozzulon responded with a slightly irritated tone.

“Forgive me, your Highness, but the mere notion that these primitive beasts could ever do harm to your Kingdom is just laughable! Why, only a fool would believe-”

“Only a fool?” King Jozzulon replied, cutting Goval off before he could say anymore. “Only a fool could what exactly, Goval?’

Goval went visibly pale as he realized his mistake. “For-Forgive me, your Highness, but I certainly was not referring to you.”

“Oh? And who exactly were you referring to, Goval? Your fellow Lord, perhaps? Members of my inner court? Some invisible being that I am somehow unaware of?”

“I…I just…no, your Highness, I-”

“Now if you have nothing of value to contribute”, Jozzulon said as he ignored Goval’s stammerings, “perhaps you’ll allow my Chancellor to answer the question I asked him?’

“Yes, of course your Highness!” Goval replied, just a bit too quickly. The rest of the lords who had spoken up for him were also noticeably silent.

“Hm. Please, Umeran, go on.”

“Very well, your Highness. As it stands now, it is unlikely that the creatures will be able to defeat the walls. That being said, their attacks grow daily, and grow ever more bold. It is likely they will be able to find some sort of weakness in our defenses sooner or later.”

“I see. And the latest attack was in Lord Thevran’s domain?”

Umeran nodded in the affirmative.

“Very well. You are to inform Lord Thevran that he is to travel immediately to the walls, to see firsthand what sort of state they and his troops are in. I will expect a comprehensive report from him within the next week. You are dismissed. All of you are dismissed.”

With that, the meeting broke up as the various Lord’s went about their business within Wepmore Castle. Just as Chancellor Umeran was about to leave, King Jozzulon motioned for him to stay for a moment. They waited until the last of the Lords had left the chamber before they spoke to one another.

“Forgive me, your Highness, but I fear that might have been a bit much. Lord Goval is known for his…fragile ego.”

“Ego aside, I find his interjections most unhelpful. Especially when I am trying to get my questions answered.”

“Be that as it may, I’m not sure about the wisdom of angering your Lords, your Highness. You will need their support, as undesirable as it may be. Who knows what the Fogbeasts are planning?”

“Nothing good, surely. Hence why Thevran will find out what’s going on. He’s willing to put himself in danger and eager to prove his skills. I have faith in his abilities.”

“Far more than I do”, Umeran replied dryly.

Before Jozzulon could rebuke him, a loud knock sounded on the door.

“Enter”, Jozzulon commanded.

As the doors opened, a lone Manicule floated in, holding a letter within its outstretched hand.

“Thank you”, Umeran said to the Manicule as he took the letter and opened it.

“It is from the Kingdom of Deuxraces”, announced Umeran. “The young Queen Eleanor has come of age, it seems. You have been invited to her coronation.”

“Is that so? I suppose we’ll have to attend, then.”

“Absolutely, your Highness. I will begin preparations at once. What shall we be sending as a gift? A pair of ivory bracers, perhaps? A pearl necklace, or some other item of jewelry?”

King Jozzulon thought for a moment.

“It seems to me that the young Queen Eleanor might be wishing for some companionship as she goes through this period of transition. Someone that might support her unconditionally through the trying times she will no doubt be facing as she assumes the throne.”

“You mean…?”

“Yes. A pet, of course. I’m sure she might appreciate it. I’m thinking a pair of Gold Digging Ants: they’re suitably small and fluffy for a human girl to handle. Make sure they’re both male.”

“Of course, your Majesty. I will go at once. Will you be writing the response yourself?”

“Yes, I’ll take care of it.”

“Very good, sire. Then I will take my leave.”

With that, Umeran bowed before the King as he exited the chamber. King Jozzulon and the Manicule went back to the petrified wooden table. Jozzulon cleared off some of the models and placed a sheet of vellum flat on the table itself. He took out an enchanted quill and began to write:

Spoiler: The Invitation

To the most honorable Queen Eleanor of Duexraces:

I offer you my most sincere congratulations on your ascension to the Throne of Duexraces. I, King Jozzulon II of Wireennas, hereby accept the invitation to your coronation. I look forward to the upcoming festivities and splendor that Duexraces has to offer.

-King Jozzulon II, Protector of the Realm, uniter of the Demi-Races, Breaker of Forest Bulls and supreme sovereign of the Kingdom of Wireennas.

 

[Pikabo]

When the servants saw Sidapa walking around the palace, grumbling and stomping as he did, they knew well enough not to disturb him. With those two pointy horns on the God of Death, it was best to not interfere and leave him alone to clear his head, or steer clear when his head starts charging on unfortunate mortals. Not when somebody who was supposed to be in bed with Sidapa is missing.

Eventually, Sidapa returned to the one place where he could privately tear things up: The Throne Room. He could start with those pesky petitions-

"Have you read this invitation?"

A young man sat on the wooden throne, his legs hanging on an arm rest while his head leaned precariously at the edge of the throne. His white robes barely covered his glowing torso and tattoos.

His white eyes beckoned at Sidapa, telling him to approach. But the young man frowned and tried to wave him off.

"Keep your distance, you smelly carabao." Bulan tapped Sidapa's head with the invitation.

Sidapa ignored the young man and slipped his hands under him, effortlessly carrying him in his arms. The young man flailed around. The invitation flew away from his hand.

"Just put me down! I know how to walk."

"I've sent the best part of this morning looking for you. I'm not letting you out of my grasp anymore today."

"At least talk to me about this invitation-"

"It's a waste of time."

"We're not alone in this world, you know. We can't shut it out."

Sidapa growled. "I don't care about that."

"Fine. It's not like you've cared about anything."

"I care about you."

"If you did, you wouldn't have taken me from my friends and family in the first place."

"Okay. Fine. Bulan, you win! If you want to go, we will go."

Bulan slipped out of Sidapa's softening hold. He looked at Sidapa with narrowed eyes. "Don't ever pretend this domesticity is mutual. I never agreed to this. I will always be your prisoner."

Sidapa watched Bulan walk away.

"I'm close to cutting off his tongue."

 

[E.Phelps]

dibs

 

[Tardine]

When the door to the Royal Chamber was opened, Queen Laviat was reading some papers. It seemed like the royal duties were interminable, yet, this was the life the Gods had chosen for her. She waited the figure to approach her desk, then looked up and said uninterested.

"Riggo, please take a seat." The man, in his late forties, looked much older than the Queen and he knew that. While he had grey where once his hair was dark as a nighthawk, Queen Laviat had still a pristine golden hair. The man's hair was balding too. He'd envy a bit her elven traits, who would allow her to get older slower while the rest of humanity would be already dying of age.

"Ahem." She said again, in drier tone, as he was seemingly lost in his own thoughts. "Did you come all this way just to watch me do my job, Advisor?"

The last word was hastily pronounced like an insult, but it did the trick. He was startled for a second, then answered her.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness." The Advisor, Riggobertus 'Riggo', answered in an apologetic tone. "I fear that I may have brought upon you an issue."

"Don't tell me it's about those treacherous High Elves again?" She sighed. "Aren't they tired of their little rebellions, dubious schemes that can never get what they want?"

"No, my Queen, it's not about them." Riggo was almost sure he heard a small 'phew' escape from her lips, but shook the thought and kept talking. "However, it's about the Kingdom of Deuxraces. Their Queen has finally came at age."

"How are our relations with them, again? Friendly?" She asked almost uninterested. "I do remember our spies had cast some doubts regarding their old King's death, years ago."

"Yet they didn't prove anything, my Queen." Riggo said to her annoyance. "Please don't tell me what I already know, Riggo." She pointed her finger towards him. "I may highly value your opinion but it doesn't mean you can treat me like I'm one of you peasant friends. You know there must be some boundaries."

"Yes, my Queen. I'll take that in consideration." Riggo apologized again, and the Queen smiled pleased. "All things said, we should continue, Riggo. What is it about Deuxraces you wanted to say?"

"This." He then showed her a letter, from the Kingdom of Deuxraces and waited until she finished reading it. "It looks like their child-Queen will finally become a proper Queen.", she addressed.

"Yes, my Queen." He made a pause, letting her think. "Will you attend the ceremony?"

"Of course." She answered without thinking twice. "It won't look good for us if we don't attend our most prestigious neighbor's coronation of their Queen."

"I agree, Your Highness." Riggo said as he looked at the amount of papers. "I must leave you to your affairs now, my Queen."

He got ready to leave, but the Queen demand him to wait. "We still need to discuss what gift shall we give to the soon-to-be Queen." Riggo looked back and sat down again. "What do you think it would be appropriate?"

"Something that shows our strength but at the same time is a sign of friendliness." She quirked her eyebrows in thought. "I recommend an artifact from the royal family, my Queen."

"Hmmm." She pondered for a while, still furrowing her brows. "I know the perfect gift! The Rosarium Amulet, it lets you channel your inner magic, even if you think you aren't capable of using it. It also enhances a bit the magical power of those who are already capable of using magic."

"It seems appropriate, my Queen." He agreed with her. The child-Queen would need to learn how to protect herself, outside of others' influences. Nothing better than giving her an opportunity to have something of her own, something others can't control: magic. But still, it wouldn't make her as powerful as their best mages, which means she wouldn't think too high of herself and invade their Enlightened Kingdom. A perfect fit, it is.

Seeing that everything was decided, Riggobertus left the Queen alone. After all, the preparations for the Millennium Feast would soon begin and she would be busier than ever. For now, it's best to not waste much time into these things. Tomorrow is another day.

 

[Greater Ale Permars]

Accompaniment: *Medieval Vibing Noises*
The Pontifical Palace
Damecité

The vibrant flames of the fireplace crackled with embers as the Pontifex, Thibault Beauchamp sat comfortably beside it. His white calotte placed neatly on the small wooden table beside him. The old man stared into the fire, watching it dance about as its reflection flickered across his brown, empty eyes.

From across the room, the chamber’s large wooden door creaked open. Turning his head to look at who had entered his chambers, the seated Pontifex watched as one of his counselors, a man by the name of Laurent Dembélé, the Archbishop of Damecité, entered the room bowing to the Pontifex who gave him a simple nod and gestured for him to take a seat with him by the fire.

“Your Holiness.” The man said, bowing once again to the Pontifex before sitting down beside him.

“Archbishop.” Thibault said with another small nod, adjusting himself in the small wooden chair.
“What brings you to my chambers at this hour?” He asked, settling back into his chair.

“Well your Holiness, I wished to inquire your opinion on a matter pertaining to the future of our Queen and the House of Épéiste.”

Once again looking into the flames, Thibault responded.
“Go on…”

“Seeing as the young Eleanor is to be crowned in the coming weeks, I would like to know your plans for how we are to keep her in line once she exits the regency?”

“Neither will pose an issue to our design, Laurent.” Thibault crossed his arms.

“If I may ask, how are you so sure of this?” The Archbishoped asked, leaning in close.

“Her mother has seen to it that the girl knows nothing of intrigue or politics, she is a wholly blank slate to be imprinted on as the Queen Mother sees fit. She’ll pose no real threat.”

“And her mother?”

Thibault gave a sly, knowing smile . “She has her own secrets, to which I am privy. Secrets which her friend, our humble regent, would not wish to become common knowledge.”

“Are you implying what I think you are?” The Archbishop said in disbelief.

“The pair are entwined like a patch of briars, with thorns sharp enough to cut crowns to pieces.”

The Archbishop sat for a minute in shock as the Pontifex continued.

“When the time is right, the Queen Mother and her paramour will be removed like the splinters they are, and when they are gone we will make sure, as the Holy Church of the Lady, to protect and guide the young Queen to the best of our ability.”

“Very good, your holiness.”

“Do you require anything else from me, Laurent?”

“No, your Holiness, I believe I will take my leave.”

“Very well then Laurent, I will see you on the morn.”

“Of course, your Holiness.” The Archbishop quickly bowed and made his way to the door exiting the room.

Alone, Thibault continued to stare into the fire quietly thinking of the many hard days to come, pondering to himself whether or not the Lady would bestow upon him forgiveness for what he soon needed to do.

As the fire crackled, he was reminded of an old story his father once told him, about a young knight who to save his ancestral land from those who would seek to exploit it, sold his soul to the spirits of evil for the power to cast his enemies into the abyss. Yet, even though his land was saved, the knight, once he had defeated all his opponents and all was peaceful and right within his domain. The reaping arm of perdition pulled him below and damned him to a fate of eternal suffering.

He prayed, that the Lady would understand.

 

[Greater Ale Permars]

Accompaniment: Coronation Time
Cathédrale de Gloria
Damecité
Eleanor arrived at the Cathedral in a slow, measured fashion, the cheering masses surrounding her as the horses pulled her ornate carriage before the grand entrance of the holiest church in all of Deuxraces.

Forming a perimeter around the entrance, the royal guardsmen placed themselves between the crowd and the carriage, making sure that no one could pass between them.

Stepping out from the padded luxury of the wooden car, the soon-to-be coronated queen lowered herself down onto the cobblestone pavement, assisted by Grand Master Cyril Vaganay, who after the death of the previous Grand Master of the Oathkeepers Samuel Varlay, had ascended to the role of Chief Protector and charged to defend her until his death.

As Eleanor stepped out into the chilled autumn air she could feel the blood rush to her face and head as the gravity of the situation began to finally make itself present. It was as if each step she took, made a crater and every beat of her heart a quake.
She was dressed plainly, robed only in a long, white chemise which reached down to just above her ankles, her hair was down and unornamented and her face left without makeup of any kind.

Yet from her cheeks, and face there was some kind of ethereal glow present as her pale white skin shimmered in the sunlight and blonde hair cascaded like a golden waterfall.

Walking forward towards the Cathedral, she could hear the echoing chants of the choir within. Their many voices sounded the words of glorious legend.

"So walked the Lady, onto the ground of her most holy father and into the loving embrace of her holy mother! From heaven she was delivered unto us, and before us, she does walk!"

The stone floors of the Cathedral were cold and hard, in contrast to the sun-heated cobbles of the entrance. Eleanor stifled a shiver as she took step after step toward the altar, her head bowed before the crowds of men and women who stood as witnesses before her.

"The sev'n-fold gifts of grace are Thine, O Finger of the Hand Divine; True Promise of the Father Thou, Who dost the tongue with speech endow."

Slowly, the young Eleanor made her way to the altar and once finished with her approach, she stopped only five feet away from the Pontiff, who was seated in the Cathedral's Cathedra and looked down upon her from his chair.

"Eleanor Épéiste of the Épéisteian Dynasty, I petition you! That the most holy Church of the Two Divines retain under you its traditional rights as they were under your father and his father and all those that came before them, to that what say thee?"

Keeping her head bowed, in reverence, she replied. "I stand a humble, supplicant, to the Two Divines and their most holy Church and shall honor their ancient rights under the natural order."

"To keep you ever mindful of the law and the Words of Divines as the Rule for the whole life and government of Glorian Princes, receive this oath, the most valuable thing that this world affords. Here is Wisdom; this is the royal Law; these are the lively Oracles of the divines."
The Pontiff said now reading from a heavy tome.

"Our Majesty, the Church, whose settlement you will swear to maintain, is committed to the true profession of the faith, and, in so doing, will seek to foster a righteous realm. The Coronation Oath has stood for centuries and is enshrined in law."

"Are you willing to take the oath?"

Eleanor nodded and replied. "I am willing."

"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of the Kingdoms of Alarie and Tovon, and all your other Realms and the Territories to any of them belonging or pertaining, according to their respective laws and customs?"

"I solemnly promise so to do."

"Will you to your power cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgements?"

"I will" She nodded again.

"And will you preserve unto the Bishops and Clergy of the Divines, and to the Churches there committed to their charge, all such rights and privileges as by law do or shall appertain to them or any of them?"

"All this I promise to do. The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep. So help me, the Divines."

Nodding, the Pontiff rose from his Cathedra and descended to Eleanor's level, receiving the ancestral sword of the Épéisteian Dynasty, "Feu" into his hands alongside its gird. He carefully adorned around the waist of the queen saying "Accept this sword from our hands." And after a moment, the archbishops of both Occide and Dibonne approached her equipping her with golden spurs. "Accept these spurs from our hands" Said the Pontiff turning, back towards the altar and after receiving the holy ointment turned back to Eleanor and said the words.

"Prostrate yourself before the Divines, for the sake and glory of their names and the good of the holy church."

In response, Eleanor lowered herself to her knees and gently placed her face against the floor, hands above her head in deep reverence.

After waiting a few moments, "Rise." He commanded, to which Eleanor stayed on her knees, gazing up upon the Pontiff who bore the holy oils.
Approaching her, the Pontiff untied the laces of her Chemise and attendants pulled the garment back to reveal her chest and shoulders.

And after removing some of the ointment from its ampule, anointed first the head then, the breast, between the shoulders, on both shoulders and on the joints of both arms, each time saying.

"I anoint thee queen with holy oil in the name of the two divines and their most holy daughter."

And after saying several prayers, her chamise is readorned and tied.
From which point Eleanor arose, and was adorned with a tunic of red and white, speckled with Golden symbols of the Épéisteians.

Next, she is given her father's silver lion signet ring, placed over velvet red anointed gloves enlaced with golden thread.

"Receive the sceptre, the sign of kingly power and the Hand of Justice"

Then from a red velvet pillow upon the altar, the Pontiff took the golden, ruby and diamond studded Crown of Deuxrace into his hands and said the blessing.

"Receive this crown, for you are blessed in the name of the Divines."

After which, the Pontiff gently placed the crown upon her head, making sure that it fit.

Stepping back, he allowed for all the assembled peers of note, to lightly place their right hands upon her crown and bless her alongside the Pontiff.

After withdrawing the peers resume their former positions and Eleanor, bearing all the instruments and garments of authority, rises and walks to take her place on a throne, just beside the Cathedra of the Pontiff. And resuming his seat, the Pontiff looked out among the assembled crowd and shouted.

"Let thy hand be strengthened and your right hand exalted. Let justice and judgment be the preparation of thy Seat and mercy and truth go before thy face." Taking a breath he continued.

Long live, Her Majesty Eleanor the First!
Long live the Épéisteian Dynasty!
Glory be to the Divines!"

And so all except Eleanor and the Pontiff repeated the words, as the Cathedral erupted into roaring cheers.

 

[Greater Ale Permars]

Accompaniment: Party Time
The Whitestone Keep
Damecité

The sounds of feasting and merriment rose from the grand hall as a hundred or more lords and ladies of the realm drank and ate to their hearts' content, with two long tables lining the sides of the hall for the guests and on the raised platform before the throne sat one shorter table across the width of the hall for Eleanor and her entourage.

At the center seat of the table sat the newly crowned Queen, whose coronation attire had now been replaced by one of her usual court dresses.
To her right sat Raymond, the former Regent and Lord Constable, who was at the moment engaged in a deep conversation with the man to his right, the Royal Chancellor, Valéry Lemaître* and to her left sat her mother, Rina who through the cheers and shouts of the partygoers whispered in her daughter's ear as she pointed down below to one of the many guests.

"Oh, he'd make for quite the dashing match, wouldn't you say Elea?" She gestured to one of the many rowdy young men around the table.

"He's the son of the Duke of Colom, his mother tells me he's quite the huntsman." Rina gave a sly smile.

"Huntsman?" Eleanor said with a scoff, watching as the princeling drunkenly smacked the behind of the servant girl pouring his wine. "He acts like an animal." The disgust was evident in her voice.

"That's how young men behave, child. They fool about in their questing years but grow measured with age. It is the mean cycle of their simple, and short lives. That's for human men anyway, elves are much different but that's beside the point." Rina took a sip from her cup.

"That being?" Eleanor said, wishing her mother would get to the point.

"The heart of a man is shallow, and weak" Rina continued. "Obsessed with his desires and weak whims. Completely detached from the world."

"You're telling me this, why?" Eleanor asked, confused, her mother had never imparted advice like this before.

"You're a queen now, so when you inevitably take a husband and enter a union, you must be prepared." Rina

"Prepared to do what?" Eleanor narrowed her eyes slightly.

"To twist a man's heart, a skill which you have yet to learn."

"Why would I need to do that? I'm their Queen, they'll follow my commands whether I twist them or not." Eleanor still did not understand what her mother was implying.

"It seems subtlety is another skill you lack-" Her mother said with an air of condescension. "You must at times in your position, exploit a man's weaknesses and tolerate his inadequacies to accomplish your goals."

"Take the Duke's son, for example, a real animal. Now, you want him to do something for you? And that could be anything from resolving a dispute, swaying his father, whatever. But what you must do is you must hold leverage, and what's better leverage than a beautiful, young woman such as yourself?" Rina let out a small laugh. "I bet he'd kill his own father- just for a taste."

Eleanor made a face in disgust, her voice rising slightly in pitch. "That is an awful thing to say, mother!"

"And yet it's true, child. These mortal men would do anything to..." The bombastic sound of a herald's trumpet drowned out her words as the hall filled with its echo.

"Coronation gifts have arrived for Her Majesty, Queen Eleanor of Deuxraces!" Cried the herald who was perched at the end of her banquet table.
Turning away from her mother, still processing in disgust her previous words, Eleanor shouted.

"Bring them forward."

The herald nodded and beckoned two men at the entrance doors to the great halls to open the doors, and heeding his command they opened them allowing for delegations to enter the hall.

From the grand wooden doors entered an entourage of anthropomorphic animals, who arrayed in two lines carried two iron cages. The humans and elves alike marvelled at the alien creatures.

"The Kingdom of Wireennas brings before Her Majesty, gifts of two gold-seeking ants, for Her Majesty to hold as companions." Announced the herald as these foreign creatures of fur placed the cages on the ground before Eleanor.

The ants in question were large, around the size of her father's hunting dogs, with reddish skin and large, cute black eyes.

"They seek gold?" Eleanor asked the herald.

"Yes, your Majesty. They are quite similar to our truffle-finding pigs of Venton and work in mostly the same way." He said reading from a piece of parchment.

"Well, I very much appreciate the gesture." She turned to the entourage. "Thank you all, so much for these gifts, I wish your King well and would hope that you will tell him that I very much appreciate these pets. I've never seen anything like them before in my life but am extremely excited to see them do their work." She watched in slightly stunned amazement as the ants wandered about their cages, sniffing the bottoms and observing the hall.

The emissaries of Wireennas bowed deeply in respect, and not saying anything filed their way double-filed outside of the hall. As the herald continued to announce gifts.

"Next, we have his Grace, Duke Charles of House Corbeau, Duke of Fontagent, Lord of Rivié and Master of Ville d'Argent. Who comes bearing the fruits of his domain." Announced the herald, as trumpets from below announced the Duke's entrance.

The Duke walked into the room at the head of a large train of servants, all of whom carried items made of silver. At his side, walked another man dressed in fine red and gold clothing, carrying a silver crown entwined with gold, and studded with rubies on a small velvet pillow. Arriving before Eleanor, Charles and the man kneeled before her.

"Your Majesty, we as your humble servants present to you the finest works of our silversmiths that the Silverlands have to offer."

The servants stepped forward placing down the silver objects before her.

"My son, Marcel. Has for you yourself, a personal gift." The man from beside him stood up from his knee, and walked up to the main table of the Queen. "A coronation requires a crown. And although we know your majesty already possesses one, we feel it is not worthy enough to be companion to your beauty."

Marcel approached Eleanor, his hair was golden brown with eyes to match, he was broad-shouldered and possessed all the physical traits of a paragon knight of the realm. His father in contrast was a much older and weathered man, with charms and beauty long passed, but still in his eyes just like his son was an odd look, a sort of fire or passion which emanated from their countenances.
Marcel laid the velvet pillow on the table, bowing before Eleanor once more.

"May I do the honor of placing it upon your head, your majesty?" He said, giving her a small, coy smile.

"Of course," Eleanor said, as she tried not to get stuck in his eyes, and took off her less ornate golden coronet and leaned her head slightly forward towards Marcel.

The Duke's son lifted up the crown from the pillow and with both hands gently placed upon her head the crown of silver and gold.

Lifting her head Eleanor softly smiled at Marcel as she politely curtsied in respect to him and he bowed once again to her.

While off to the side watching in both entertainment and full knowing, Rina smiled a great big smile at the exchange, thinking to herself what seemed to her, the funniest thing in the world.

 

[Greater Ale Permars]

Accompaniment: Hawks and Mockingbirds
One Day Later
The Whitestone Keep
Damecité

"Must we speak of this now?" Eleanor asked, lightly rubbing her temples, as she rested her elbows on the great council table. The night's festivities left a dry, ill taste in her mouth and a pounding head. Too much wine, she thought to herself cursing her overindulgence.

"Your majesty," Raymond sighed, his hands flattened out as he leaned forward on the council table. "The Queen Mother has insisted that we," He impassively gestured at the table of men assembled as her Council. "Assist you in deciding on a suitable match with whom you'll be able to begin the process of... producing an heir," Raymond said with an uneasy tone, she could see how the subject made him squirm like a timid cat.

"My mother," Her tone was full of distaste. "has been trying to have me married since I was eight years old, Lord Constable. I see no reason why it cannot wait another day." It was true, her mother from what it had seemed to her, had been trying to marry her off, since the day her father died.

Raymond caught off guard, paused momentarily, clearing his throat awkwardly. "We should at least, Your Majesty, look at some potential suitors who have presented themselves." She cut him off.

"No. Lord Constable," Eleanor's voice deepened, her eyes staring daggers. Take the hint, my lord. "I would rather discuss something else."

The attending counsellors looked almost as shocked as Raymond did, as his jaw dropped slightly, and he stared at her dumbfounded.

From the far end of the council table, the amused Lord Chancellor Valéry Lemaître spoke up, cutting through the awkward silence. He was an older man from Venton, a loyal knight of his father's who had served on his council before he had passed and was raised to the rank of Lord. The Chancellor was gray of hair, but his face lacked the wrinkled visage of others his age, he wore a blue and silver white doublet, the colors of his House.

"If I may Your Majesty, I may have something which you may find more intriguing than what the Lord Constable has to discuss." He smiled at Raymond, and took a letter out of his pocket, the yellow, star seal broken. "It seems as though your coronation isn't the only thing that has caused quite a stir this week, my Queen." Raymond, his head bowed, took his seat beside Eleanor.

"What do you mean 'a stir'?" Eleanor wondered aloud.

"This letter, which I received late last night by bird, seems to indicate that your cousin Lord Dyrll's wife Lady Emma, has had her baby."

"Have they been given a name?"

"Ada is the name they've chosen, your Majesty" Lemaître passed the letter down the table.

"We should send a gift." Eleanor knew her cousin had been desperately hoping for a child, she was happy for him.

"That would be most wise, your Majesty." Chirped, a fat Gilles Bonnel, the Lord Treasurer. "I'll see about having something commissioned for the girl, perhaps a gown of Khurrabaashi silk, for when she comes of age?"

Eleanor nodded "See it done then, and I'll send a letter of congratulations myself."

"Of course, your Majesty." The fat man stood, ambled up from his chair and kissed her ring before leaving the room.

"Is there anything else left for us to discuss?" Eleanor looked to the rest of the men assembled. All of them were older than her by at least thirty to forty years, experienced and wise beyond her years, but it often seemed that they were often too busy with their own pursuits and games.

Raymond having taken this time to recover himself, and finding his courage turned to look at Eleanor grumbling. "Your majesty, the Lords of the Realm will be demanding that you take a husband. And the longer you wait the less likely, you will be able to secure a strong match and produce an heir. It must be done."

Her grim stare returned, but Eleanor said nothing.

"Please, your majesty." Raymond insisted.

"I will be married when I see fit, Lord Constable. And as it stands I am your Queen and the Kingdom's, so I would suggest that both you and the realm wait." She enjoyed torturing the man, a lapdog for his mother is what he'd always been and when he spoke her words spilled out, she couldn't stand it.

Eleanor stood from her seat, the pounding in her head becoming more pronounced. "This meeting is over, I wish the rest of you a good day, my lords. We'll meet sometime again in the next day or two."

The rest of the men said their courtesies and left the chamber, as Eleanor followed leaving Raymond alone with Valéry in the Council chamber.

"You've done a very poor job at influencing her these past few years, you know?" The Lord Chancellor quipped.

"I've done what I can," Raymond responded defensively.

"Clearly not enough," Valéry rolled his eyes. "Her father's hard-headedness still remains with her."

Raymond shrugged annoyed. "So then what would you have me do, beg some more? She's right cannot force her to do anything."

"There are other means than words to convince someone of something," Valéry leaned back in his chair. "Something that has not fallen unnoticed by our mutual friend."

"What could he possibly do? She's inflexible." Raymond was incredulous.

"Men and women both have their weaknesses. Like for example, many men are weak to lust, blinded and controlled by it until it consumes them turned into thralls by the very mention of a woman's breast. Women, on the other hand, are different animals, much more complicated. They do not lust in the way that men do, but they certainly love, and love my friend is the greatest thing a man can yield over a woman. Because a woman when truly in love, will follow a man to the ends of the earth without even so much as questioning why he's going there." Valéry said, with a wide grin.

"We'll make her love the idea of marriage so much, we won't even have to ask for her to choose. She'll do it herself."