So, the day had finally arrived, Lelinus noted with some resignation. He stood before the mirror in the chambers provided for him at the cathedral, shifting his best blue and gold doublet. It was to be a festive occasion with the event attended by the great lords of Byrdain and those whom King Jorvik found worthy enough to take with him as he wed his only daughter to the prince of a hostile nation. The peasants were already celebrating in the streets. For the first time in years, food and drink flowed freely and men who had been conscripted into the king's armies were returning home. Already, the merchant's guilds were turning their eyes towards Fjellborg in the hopes that they would be able corner the market on the trade that would open up soon between the two countries.
In the grand scheme of things, a marriage was a small price to pay for the good of the realm, Lelinus knew. It still didn't stop him from feeling frightfully nervous at the thought of marrying a stranger who would be as likely to run him through with a spear as to bed him. At least he was not running a fever today. Thank Artemesia for small miracles. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he did not hear his father step into his chambers until he spoke.
"It is a momentous day, a man's wedding day," rang King Artos' old voice as he stepped into the room, his old body bearing the weight of his royal garments and jewelry remarkably well. Lelinus jolted in surprise.
"Father, what are you doing here?" he asked. The old king chuckled, stepping forward to grasp his shoulder.
"Is it really so odd for a father to come visit his son before he pledged his life to another in the sight of the Triune God?"
"I suppose not. But we are far from a normal family."
"Tis true. The burden of the throne taxes us all. I am glad to see you are doing your duty, though by rights, your elder brother should be the one wedding Princess Ingrid today. Tell me, what will you do once you are married, hm? What is your wife to be to you?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with some sort of design Lelinus was not privy to. The young prince frowned in thought.
"She is to be my wife. I didn't choose this, but I would honor her all the same. I could tell she was less than thrilled with this. I will respect her, father no bastards, and take no mistresses."
"Even if she despises you and wishes you dead for the rest of your time together?"
"She might get her wish in a few years," he quipped, "But yes. I would."
Artos smiled and held his son's head in his hands, "That is why it must be you, Leo. Your brother still has much to learn. I am proud of you. I do not say it as often as I should, but I thank Artemesia everyday that She had you live."
For a moment, they embraced as father and son, but soon enough, fate necessitated that they returned to their roles as king and prince of Byrdain. Artos smiled at his son, beckoning him to follow him.
"Come. I must find King Jorvik and you must await your blushing bride and Patriarch Julius, wherever he's gotten off to. If he's currying favor with Brynjar because he expects me to wake up dead soon, I will tan his hide, Patriarch or not."
"I suspect he will thank you for the privilege, Your Grace," Leo smirked as he headed down into the sanctuary to face the stares of the great among the lords of Byrdain. Let them stare. He wasn't afraid.