Invictus

[Decelia Andonel]

There is a story.

Long ago, before the Times of Old, when our people had not yet begun to record their existence and relied on words passed down from Speaker to Speaker, there was a lady. She was a good lady who gave proper consideration to the great spirits of the underrealms and always honoured the ways of her lineage. She was called Ios, which in the old tongue means "walks with a purpose."

She was a delicate child and as her age increased, so did her beauty. Many wished to have her for their own, but Ios was coy and merely basked in the attention. She was never cruel - everyone that met her praised her kind and refreshing spirit. That is why they gave her a second name; Laov, which is, "a healing balm upon painful wounds."

One day when Ios was newly a woman, one of the Great Kings descended from his throne and travelled to our lands. It was a very long journey and took many years. When finally the Great King arrived he was in ill-spirits. He began to rule our peoples with a great and terrible anger. Everyone was hobbled beneath his laws. This was The Time of the Twelve Sorrows.

Being formed of a just and gentle nature, Ios could not bear to see her kinsfolk in such misery. She came before the Great King and bowed before him.

"My Honoured Lord," She said with a voice that was as light and sweet as the waters that run in the River Belle, "I have come to beg of you a small mercy."

The Great King was very taken with Ios. Never before in all his years had he seen such beauty. "What is it that you would ask of me?"

"My people are downcast and toiling. We have long heard of the benevolence of the Great Kings, and yet you do not show us this. Instead there is only cruelty, sorrow, and pain."

This was very bold, but the Great King was struck to the heart as though by an arrow. He could not bear to have this lady speak such things to him. "What might I do to change your mind, dear one?"

Ios bowed her head. "Restore our lands to greatness, my Lord. Take care of my peoples - for they are yours too and if you are good to them they shall give you all that they have, willingly."

"Does that include you, Lady?" Said the Great King, for now he realized that he could not bear to let her leave. Ios was very quiet before she spoke again.

"If you do this little thing, my Lord, I will belong to you."

"I will do this for you." The Great King stepped down to where she kneeled. Never before had one of the King's done such a thing. "But I could not own you anymore than I could own the wind. Only let me make you great so that you may bring blessing to your people, and let me look upon you from time to time."

That is how Ios the Laov came to be the first Sovereign.


~


It was fitting that on the day of the death ceremony it rained. For weeks the weather had been insufferably cheerful, and the Chief Council had worried that the event would have to be moved indoors, where simulators could cast an appropriately gloomy pallour over the ritual. This was not ideal, especially for the farewell of such venerated persons.

When the skies darkened and let fall a thunderous clap of rain, which did not show any signs of slowing, a collective sigh of relief was issued. It was a sad thing that the only happiness to be found in weeks was directly dependent upon gloomy meteorology. Such were the times.

When the hour came for the ashes of Lord Jakef and Lady Aido to be put into the mausoleum, a hush fell over the citizens of Baraboo. Those present at the ceremony - thousands, pressing together as tightly as chleofish in a tin - wept openly but did not dare disturb the silence as the ornate urns holding the dead Nildur leaders were carried out. As the royal pallbearers disappeared from the grand hall, all eyes swept to the platform, which had been assembled before the throne.

Sovereign Shimel Dresden appeared physically drained as he looked over the gathered crowd, Nildur and Katar class alike. There were circles under his eyes which told of grief, and the strong draw of his broad shoulders was softened somewhat, almost bent under the weight of the task at hand. He stood and all dropped to a low, respectful bow.

"It has been done." Each syllable fell heavily from his lips, and he sighed wearily into the vocal enhancer. There were several approving nods in the crowd; he was Katar, but his was an appropriate show of sorrow. Spreading his hands to embrace the entire populous, Dresden continued.

"We shall draw together in this awful time. Today we are all one people, and we will mourn as one people. Our hearts are given in unity to Archduchess Andonel,"

Here everyone turned to look at the young woman, garbed uniformly in pale, shimmering green. Her dark hair was caught at the nape of her neck in a modest twist, and nestled on the crown of her head was a silver tiara ornamented with rainbow gems. She looked resolutely forward, face impassive.

"She has a trialsome journey ahead of her, through the valley of lamentation. It is not an easy thing, to lose a parent, and to lose both is infinitely harder.

"But know this, Lady," Dresden turned and looked at her, his eyes sympathetic. "We go with you."

As he stepped away from the audifier and those of his entourage rose, the great crowd broke out into fervent applause. Musicians with stringed instruments began to play, and the hall was filled with the aching sound of a lonely ballad, written in honour of the departed Awaiting-Sovereign and her husband.

Finally, as the last of the royal party disappeared in through an inner chamber, Archduchess Andonel stood up. The fabric of her gown wrapped around her intimately; she had grown shockingly thin in the weeks following her parents demise. The applause petered out. For a moment there was only this: the young, future ruler and her people, gazing at one another in uncertain purpose. Abruptly the girl took a step back - and then she was gone, exiting through the same door that the rest of the ruling class had gone through moments before.

Outside the rain fell.

[Decelia Andonel]

Many decades passed. Under Ios' rule justice and peace prevailed; the land thrived, citizens became wealthy, and happiness was found in abundance. Our people grew stong and their laughter filled the streets - which were wide and trailed through majestic cities. Everyone had a well-adorned home, and fields in which to reap produce, and a companion to work alongside them, and offspring to carry on their bloodline.

Almost everyone, that is.

Ios was nearing the third life season, where children can no longer be borne to women. She was pleased that she been able to provide so bountifully for her people, but she longed for a child of her own.

One day Ios called her subjects before her. "Keepers of my spirit!" She called to them. "I am distressed and sick at heart!"

The people loved Ios with a fiery fervour, and her words distressed them greatly. Together they called as one to her, "Oh Grand Lady! Why is it that you carry such pain?"

"It is because out of all the blessings bestowed upon me, that which I have ached for most is still lost to me!" She cried. "A child! A child! I wish for a child!"

The people wailed with her, so tangible was her desire, and they churned below her balcony. "Our Sovereign, our hope, tell us what we must do and we shall do it! We shall offer ourselves to the spirits of the underrealms and petition them to grant you offspring! Our young mothers will gladly surrender the labours of their womb for you!"

At this the pregnant mothers clamoured to prostrate themselves before Ios, beseeching her to choose their child above all the rest.

Tears began to flow down the pale and stately cheeks of Ios. She was moved very much by the depth of love her people had for her.

"I would not ask of you your lives - nor the lives of your children!" Ios moved to the edge of her balcony, and the people surged below for they feared that she would throw herself off. "Please, only this one thing - look amongst yourselves and let the kindest of your men come to me and grant me his seed that I may bear life; my soul and his soul, so that the child will be of the peoples blood!"

Now there was a young man amongst the throng named Iefan which is "brave and trusty", but he was called Ianto, that is "gentle and loyal one". He was the most treasured of the village males and without hesitation the people pressed him upward upon their shoulders.

Ianto kneeled upon the broad stone balustrade before Ios and so high was his esteem for her that he could not bring himself to look upon her face.

"Sovereign, if it please you, you shall have me."

Ios looked at his humble form, bent low in respect, and dropped until her face was level with his. She pressed a hand to his cheek; it was cool and soft and Ianto thought he had never felt such a touch as this.

"It please me, boy." Said Ios. "But I shall not have you anymore than I shall have the wind. Only let me create an heir through you that our people might always be looked after."

And Ios had a son and she called him in the fashion of his father, "loyal protector".

That is how through Ianto the Nildur peoples came forth.


~


For six days after the ceremony it rained without letup - frothing, white sheets of water that pounded against the glass windows of Theryn Fedd. The seals of the old castle were reinforced twice but it was to no avail. Streams flowed across the wide sills and dripped onto the marble floors where they pooled dangerously, creating hazardous obstacles for pedestrians. There hadn't been so much rain in over fifty years. In the end the caretakers were forced to surrender aesthetics for practicality; they placed thick woven mats beneath each window to absorb the steady downpour.

On the seventh day it stilled to a dull pounding. The servants and staff took advantage of the letup, plunging into the gardens to gather as much harvest as they could carry before the soil was washed away. Basket after basket was filled and carried into the vast storehouses, where the fresh produce joined the racks of dried meat, the vats of pickled winter vegetables.

For all the hustle and bustle, the great home of the Sovereign of Baraboo retained it's calm and stately air. The surface was never to be disturbed, all knew that. From the time of entering service in the household each and ever member was taught how to blend seamlessly into the background. There were never any mistakes.

Deep in the bowels of the East wing, the Nildur Archduchess stared unseeingly out of a bay window; her chambers were set far back and did not get much light but she refused to allow the artificial lamps to be lit during the day, preferring instead to linger by her lone glassed opening.

Despite the late hour Decelia Andonel had yet to dress for court, remaining swathed in a deep green robe patterned in gold filigree; the colours of her tribe. Uncombed hair that was black as pitch hung lankly about her face. There were deep hollows beneath her eyes, stained a purple-black, and above them the pale moss of her irises seemed to glow in contrast.

At the creaking of the chamber door, Decelia turned away from the torrents outside. An Pehr, her nursemaid, bustled in carrying a tray laden with food; wheatmeal with fresh cream, pink slices of carraba fruit sprinkled with sugar, eggs and crispy strips of fried bantha, more toast than a starving man could manage, two glasses - from a glance the Archduchess could tell one was filled with namana juice, the other milk - and a steaming cup of caf.

The smells were overwhelming - heavy and sodden, tangy and sweet - and Decelia's stomach lurched at the thought of consuming even a single bite. She turned away with an irritated huff. It didn't matter how many times she instructed An Pehr to bring only caf, the woman always turned up with enough food to feed an army. It was as though she thought it would somehow entice her appetite - if not the quality, then the sheer volume.

With a determined rattle, An Pehr settled the silver tray upon a gateleg table, swinging one of the eaves up and ferrying a chair over to the empty space. She was a broad-shouldered woman of generous proportions, but her face was delicate and beautiful.

"Now Lady Dee," Unlike her voice, which was a deep and gravelled rasp. An Pehr arranged the silverware intently before looking craftily at Decelia. "Look what a lovely meal has been sent up for you. Come now, before it grows cold."

"I'm not hungry."

An Pehr dutifully rolled her eyes. "And I'm a springbok. Come on."

Decelia twisted to look over her shoulder. She arched a slender eyebrow. "An Pehr, I said I wasn't hungry. I do not jest."

"No, neither do I, Lady." Came the quick reply. The two women stared at each other in silent contest before An Pehr sighed and lifted the cup of caf from the tray. She shuffled over to the window and pressed it into Decelia's hands; it was warm and she welcomed it against her icy skin. Thanking her nurse with a grateful smile, Decelia took a small sip. The bitter liquid swirled hotly around her mouth and scalded the back or her throat. She found crooked relief in the sensation.

The sudden warmth of the drink made her realize just how cold she actually was. Shivering, Decelia returned to her bed and burrowed underneath the thick duvet. It was Dramassian silk and very soft, shining a luminous rich gold. With the weather as cold and dreary as it was the young Nildur suddenly longed to never leave her bed.

As if reading her mind, An Pehr pointed a crooked finger at her. "Don't get too comfortable. You have an audience with Sovereign Dresden in a little over an hour."

Decelia clenched her jaw. "I don't suppose I can pretend to be taken ill."

It was not a question. There was simply no alternative; it was unthinkable on her part, the future ruler, to decline audience with the current.

And yet it was unthinkable on his part to demand it.

The cup of caf gradually cooled in her hands as An Pehr busied herself laying out clothes for Decelia. Another maid swept in. She bowed her head slightly but did not extend further ceremony; the young Andonel preferred to forego such customs, as had her parents.

"A bath has been drawn, Lady." The girl announced. An Pehr uncerimoniously yanked the covers from Decelia's legs. She winced against the sudden cold upon her exposed legs but nodded and abandoned her cup to the bedside table.

"Thank you. I will be there momentarily." Decelia murmured, nodding to the girl who returned the gesture before whisking out. With one more longing glance at the safe and isolated haven of her bed, the Archduchess rose and began the arduous process of readying herself.