Description

"Power doesn't corrupt people, people corrupt power"

The Basics

Full Name:
Nicholas Cedric Brigham
Nicknames:
The Boy King
Gender:
Male
Age:
15
Rank/Title:
King of Falor
Sexual Orientation:
Bisexual
Kingdom/Alliance:
Falor

What's on the Outside

Hair Color:
Brown
Eye Color:
Brown
Height:
5'8
Weight:
132lbs
Tattoos:
None
Piercings:
None
Scars:
One on his knees from childhood when he tried to run up stairs and tripped
Description:
Nicholas is at that awkward stage where he is certainly not a boy, nor is he definitely a man. He has the height of man, but is still growing into his height, with narrow shoulders and limbs. While his face might still hold some soft features, he has a strong jawline, one of his few similarities to his father. As he is so young, his complexion is relatively blemish free. His face appears focused as he continues to learn of the world and what it means to be king. His eyes give him away as someone who spends much of his time reading.

What's on the Inside

Personality:
{Naive, Sarcastic, Intelligent, Even-tempered, Patient}
As a young man, Nicholas is somewhat naive. While years of the court have taught him not to take everything entirely at face value, he is still uncertain as to who to trust and who not to, and has a tendency to give most people the benefit of the doubt. His naivety means that he believes Christoph to be acting in his interests and that the engagement to Priscilla is merely Christoph helping to secure the lineage of the throne, no more, no less. He won't acknowledge that Christoph may have an ulterior motive. Nicholas has the tendency to be pretty sarcastic when people begin to irk him and has found himself in the habit of sassing people, particularly the other members of the council, when they disagree with his ideas for the kingdom. He looks to Christoph a great deal and seldom acts without first consulting Christoph of his opinion. He will only act without Christoph's advice if he is absolutely sure.
While far from being a wise ruler in his own eyes, Nicholas likes to think he is an intelligent young man. It's far more likely that you will find him devouring a tome in the library than you will find him engaged in combat practice. Sword-fighting is a chore, admittedly one he is becoming quite good at, while reading is a pleasure. While he may find some people irksome, Nicholas is rarely one to lose his temper and fly off the handle. His temper is generally quite a long one, but when he does lose his temper, people are very much aware of it.

Hobbies:
Reading, Horse Riding, Sketching
Habits:
-Bites his lips when he's thinking
- Cracks his knuckles
Oddities:
He can't run very far as either his knee and ankle have a tendency to go weak.
Likes/Loves:

Books
Summer
Christoph
His horse Raiden
Intelligent people
Summer storms
Music

Dislikes/Hates:

Dim witted people
Rosalie
Autumn/Fall
Inane bickering
Running
The deluded

What's Done Is Done

Biography
Place Of Origin:
Falor
History:
As the first born son of the royal family, Nicholas was always aware that one day he would become king. His preparation for becoming king began at a young age, giving the young prince little time to interact with people outside of his family, or even within his family. Rosalie and Nicholas's relationship with one another was awkward at best given that he was so clearly favoured over her and he wanted for nothing material because of this. He was a naturally bright child and his academic studies came easily to him and his love of knowledge and of books began flourishing. It was not uncommon for servants to be sent searching for the prince only to find him curled up in some distant corner of the library, surrounded by books. Nicholas grew up surrounded by the scrutiny of the court. Even as a child, he could feel them judging him, wondering if this skinny child would one day be a strong king. It was the kind of scrutiny Rosalie was exempt from; it appeared all she had to do to please people was be pretty and smile.

When Nicholas was approaching his mid-teens, the king became ill. Nicholas hoped that it was nothing fatal and that his father would soon recover. Such hopes were all but banished when he was told that the king was on his deathbed. The scrutiny of the court became even more intense as it became ever clearer that Nicholas would be king before the year was out. The king passed in the mid-autumn. Shortly afterwards, following Christoph's return to the palace, Nicholas's coronation was held. It was a bittersweet affair for the now king. He hadn't been able to grieve properly for his father and would probably never get the chance, but this was what he had been destined for since he was born, this was his rightful role and now it was his.

Not so long after taking the throne, Christoph announced Nicholas's engagement to his daughter, Priscilla. Nicholas was initially ambivalent towards the entire thing. He knew he would have to take a wife sooner or later and produce an heir to secure the lineage, so why not Priscilla? However, as he came to know her, Nicholas found her lacking and the prospect of taking her as his queen began to become less appealing. He knew that straight up breaking the engagement would make an enemy of Christoph, so he began delaying the wedding, claiming that he wanted time to properly court his bride, when in reality, he was searching for a reason to call off the engagement without alienating Christoph.
Happiest Memory:
Locking himself away in the library for hours on end as a child
Saddest Memory:
The death of his father

Face Claim:
Skandar Keynes

So begins...

Nicholas Brigham's Story

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#2015-01-09 20:31:33, as written by Mrs. Sara Banner

Evelyne watched the skies as her horse walked forward at a relaxed pace, the scent of freshly soaked earth surrounding her, as she hummed an old song under her breath* it brought a sense of ease to her, as she shifted her eyes towards the various Lords that Christoph brought attention to, until her eyes landed on the elderly man he referred to now. She chuckled at his comment, before turning to him, "I'll make sure to see it happens." she teased gently, under her breath with a smirk, before Tyrion approached them. She watched Christoph and the Imp exchange words for a moment, before Nicholas Brigham approached.

Evelyne bowed her head as he upon herself and Christoph, before watching her Lord, and the King converse freely.

(*For those curious, the tune was to that of Rains of Castamere, but with whatever the equivalent wording would be here in turn)

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Character Portrait: Priscilla Augusta Edwards

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#2015-01-20 00:56:02, as written by Scarlet Loup

The conversation between Christoph and Tyrion was short lived, consisting of only a greeting exchanged between the two. When it had transpired, the Count simply turned back to Evelyne as she returned his comment. His lips twitched upward in a smirk. "I appreciate it," he replied, crossing one leg over the other casually. She was quick, quicker than most of his women had been in the mental sense at least. Very few of his women ever joined him outside of his chambers, and the majority of the kingdoms' courtiers knew this, for they eyed Evelyne curiously as they walked by.

His attention turned to Nicholas then as the young King sat beside him, replying also to his remark. "You certainly received that wit and silver tongue of yours from your dear father, Gods rest his soul," the advisor shot back, though not necessarily maliciously, or at least not noticeably maliciously. Christoph toyed with a ring on his left index finger. "I believe she will be joining us soon. It is not like her to miss the festivities."

Lucas made the party one of four as he hurried up to the group. Christoph subtly inclined his head, and one might have thought he didn't hear the guard great him had he not then focused his gaze on the slightly disheveled captain of the guard. He wanted to tear the boy apart on the spot, call him out for leaving his king alone to possibly die, but he decided it wasn't worth the effort. After all, Nicholas had the final say, and the boy still cared for his guard. He was pulled out of his thoughts yet again by another voice.

Priscilla had woken quite early that morning when compared to an average day. She had dressed enthusiastically in light ink silk, adorning herself with pearls before pulling her hair up into an intricate style. In actuality, her hand maidens had done everything, for the girl was helpless when it came to putting an outfit together or braiding her hair. Still, when she left her room, she made sure she looked alluring.

Priscilla confidently mounted her horse, a milky-colored mare, and she only nearly fell off twice as she moved at a walk towards the small camp where she knew her father would be. Her own guards helped her from the horse to avoid any mishaps. "I can do it myself!" she protested, but she took the hand of one of the guards nonetheless. She gathered up her skirts in her hands once she had dismounted and hurried towards where her father sat. "Father!" she called out as she threw her arms about Christoph's neck, breaking a sort of silence that hung about. She had just narrowly missed the rain that now fell quite steadily outside of the protection of the tents.

Christoph returned the hug with a single arm around her waist as he cleared his throat. She remembered then, at his cue, that she was to greet her King first. She turned quickly to face him, nearly tripping in the process. "Good morning, my King," she said softly, curtsying cautiously so that she didn't lose her footing. The look of temporary panic in Christoph's eyes showed that he was worried such a thing would happen. Priscilla sat herself on her father's knee like a child and glanced about, meeting the gaze of Evelyne for a moment before looking the strange woman over with a questioning look in her eyes.

Priscilla certainly wasn't blind to Christoph's sexual habits, but she also knew that he rarely brought any woman with him besides those that mothered his children. Though Priscilla and Loras were the only two to have survived childhood, there had been more children and therefore more women alongside her father. She wondered if that was why he had brought the exotic-looking woman with him. The young woman turned to face her father then, opening her mouth to speak, but she was cut off by a horrid screech from a few of the women of the court.

Christoph looked up then, noticing a few of the royal family of Ostwall ride back on their horses with an animal carcass draped over one of the horses...but where was Ulfric? He stood slowly, and Priscilla slid off of his knee for a moment, for she watched the figures walk through the rain too intently to notice that her father was moving until she nearly fell on to the ground. "Oh..." Christoph said softly, beginning to discern Ulfric's graying hair from the bear fur of his cloak. He had never been close to the man, but like many there, he too had heard the ballads that sung his praise. He too had heard the tales from the border where Ulfric slew countless men from Falor. Priscilla's brow furrowed lightly as she looked up at her father. "Father...?" she asked, tugging gently at his arm. He watched Ronan, lips pursing, wondering how he could make this benefit him.

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#2015-01-22 22:51:57, as written by Zoey26123

Simon stared at the sight in horror, feeling something like regret and guilt even though he had not killed his uncle. He listened to Ronan's story, not believing this was how his uncle died. He believed Ronan, but was in disbelieving that his might uncle would fall in such a way. "Ronan," Simon begins upon seeing his cousin growing colder by the second. He didn't like that he was speaking to Renly that way, he didn't like it when he spoke like that to anyone.

Simon moved forward to help his cousin lift his deceased uncle, holding back the feeling he wanted to go crawl into bed and sleep forever. Simon grabbed the reins of his horse as they passed her, helping Ronan guide Ulfric's body on Ulfric's horse. Simon walked solemnly, his face devoid of any emotion. Where was his brother? Simon breathed deeply, not making eye contact with anyone as they moved forward. He hated it, he hated everything at that moment if he was going to be honest with himself.

"Ronan, have you seen Guy this morning?" Simon mutters under his breath, wanting to know if anyone had seen Guy at all. He knew Ronan and Guy had something against each other, but he had hoped the two might at least know each other's whereabouts on such a large day as a hunt.

Simon saw his uncle's arm fall off from where it had been on his chest causing Simon to turn away for a moment. The man who had taken him and his brother in, the one who had practically raised them, their father's brother, gone.

Guy smiled as he stepped back, looking at the web with drops of dew hanging off it as if it was hanging in his window. Guy looked out to see storm clouds brewing and frowned, pulling his painting inside but keeping the windows open. He liked the humidity storms brought. He studied his painting again, frowning now as he saw that he hadn't caught the light, he had neglected the light! He'd have to start over. He sighed and tossed the half dry painting on his bed.

Guy heard a rush at the door then saw a servant barge in. "Prince Guy," He begins, out of breath and looking horrible. Guy instantly knew something was wrong, something had happened. Was the storm worse than he had figured it would be? "Is Simon alright?" He demanded, fearful his twin might have broken himself should he have gone on the hunt. Simon had figured his brother would have just stayed in bed, not go on the hunt without him. Now he wished he had gone. "No, sir, you're uncle..." The guard hesitated, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do.

"Well?" Guy presses, moving to grab his vest. "You're uncle... you should come see him," The guard finishes. Guy nods, pulling on his boots and grabbing his cloak as well as Simon's. He had left it in Guy's room after their ride outside yesterday. Guy followed the guard, walking quickly. What could have happened to his uncle that had caused such behavior? He probably was just sick or had pulled something, wanting to have Guy around just so that he felt a little better.

Guy followed the guard until they were outside where the guard pointed to the tents. Guy saw his brother, his shoulders hunched, looking rather unhappy. Frowning, Guy accepted his horse from a nearby squire he looked relieved to be going back into the stables. Guy felt bad for making the kid stand outside for so long, but dismissed it as he mounted and rode towards his brother. He saw something on Ulfric's horse, perhaps his cloak. As Guy rode closer, he slowed, seeing people were crying or staring at Ulfric's cloak. "Simon... What's wrong?" Guy asks as he dismounts, approaching the small procession where he spotted Renly and Ronan as well. Simon's head sprung up, staring at Guy with something Guy had rarely seen from his brother.

"Where were you?" Simon asks, staring at his brother. Guy looks at his brother with surprise. "What do you mean? Simon what's wrong with uncle?" Guy asks as he walks forward, offering Simon his cloak.

Simon takes it only to throw it on the ground, furious at his brother. He needed an out, he couldn't let it out on Ronan or Renly and there was nobody else around that could take his anger but his brother, even if it was a little hard now. Simon looks around incredulously, then walks forward to grab his brother by the vest. "Don't you get it? How can you not see it? That's him, that's him right there, Guy. He's gone," Simon declares, pushing his brother towards Ulfric's body before turning and leaving, having a hard time taking the horror.

Guy looks at what he thought was Ulfric's cloak but catches sight of his uncle's pale hand. "Oh my God," He whispers, looking around and realizing what had happened. He wanted to fall on his knees, but withheld, staring at the body, then Ronan on the other side of the horse, then back at Ulfric.

Lucas noticed the disapproval from the count and his friends. Lucas nearly ignored Christoph altogether had it not been for Priscilla coming over. He couldn't believe the girl was sitting with her father, in his lap. He couldn't remember the last time he had sat in his father's lap, he couldn't remember the last time he had talked to his father about something like that.

His attention was caught when he spot the king of Ostwall was shown to be dead. He moved closer to his ward, standing right behind him. They had been apart too long, he was afraid now more than ever that he wouldn't be able to keep Nicholas safe, especially when one of the strongest king through the world was found dead, killed.

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Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir

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#2015-02-10 14:12:10, as written by Scarlet Loup

The King's hand brushed lightly against the scar that still graced his left cheek -- a bitter-sweet reminder of how he had come to stand here beside Genevieve. His coronation, given the lack of spiritual leaders in the widely-diverse Ostwall, was headed by one of the eldest chieftains within the kingdom's borders, a man of a staggering seventy-seven years. Ronan's hair and beard had grown out to appear more like his people, from whom he required approval. The thick fur of a bear, draped about his shoulders, only helped further that image and reflect the symbol of his father. The pelts seemed to weigh him down greatly. They most certainly were the reason beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow. Or perhaps they came from the worry that, somehow, they'd trace the murder back to him.

The death of Ostwall's monarch had brought the festivities to a screeching halt. Ulfric's burial had been a ceremonious one, and the kingdom had grieved for months, meaning the current coronation had been unable to occur until now, two months later. In the mean time, Ronan suddenly found himself in the shoes of a man he had only, until then, dreamed of becoming. He played the part well, and Genevieve had as well. It was only when they were behind closed doors that she lost her air of nearly-constant mourning. Even then, he had not permitted her to be joyful in public until far after he had announced his plans to wed her.

Ronan moved his hand to brush at his brow then, and as he looked up at the chieftain before him, he noticed Celia just a bit off, holding Volundr. His son. He could never acknowledge the boy as his own, for the kingdom believed he had been the child of Ulfric and Genevieve, but Ronan told himself that the young prince should rightfully bear the surname of Ronanson. It pained him that it should be otherwise.

The chieftain stumbled over his words, causing Ronan to look back at him. Ostwall, unlike the other two kingdoms, had never truly adopted the more traditional concept of coronation until Ronan had insisted upon modernizing the nation. The chieftain had little idea as to what he was doing, and the words on the page made little sense given the fact that he was just barely literate. His stammering ended soon, thankfully, and he moved on to the crowning of the royals. The crown that was placed upon his head was nothing more than a thick band of iron with ornate patterns carved into it. The real beauty and power laid in the heavy chain that was placed about his neck, further weighing him down.

It was a relic dating back to times before even Falor had been unified when the clans of the North would give the chain to the strongest chieftain in the land. Over time, the simple chain had been added to in terms of links and precious stones until it hung heavy enough that it was only used for ceremonies. This, of course, was one of them.

As Genevieve went through a similar ceremony, receiving a less burdensome crown and chain that he had had created, for up until this point, the consort of the king of Ostwall had no political say. Though he had most certainly received the approval of the others in his kingdom, he knew they hardly approved of this action. Nevertheless, he turned around to great his people, hand reaching for Genevieve's as he did so. The chieftain cleared his voice once more before speaking in his thickly accented voice.

"I present to you King Ronan Bjorn Ulfricson, first of his name, and his queen, Genevieve Hansdottir of Falor, first of her name."

The proceeding festivities were a welcome change for all in Ostwall, having been in a period of nearly perpetual mourning for two months. A mixture of traditional and foreign instruments played, inspiring many to leave the banquet table in order to dance. Ronan, a bit too drunk by then to gracefully find his footing, resolved to stay at the table where he held the one month old Volundr in his arms. The King brushed a finger along the boy's cheek, laughing as the young prince gripped it and inspected the calloused finger with fascination.

"It's wonderful, is it not?" he remarked, looking out on the crowd of nobles, local and foreign, who occupied the hall. "It's ours now." Ronan continued to look about, meeting the gaze of a few nobles who watched the pair closely, with judgement visible in their eyes even from at the royals' place at the table. He knew they spoke about him and Genevieve quite often. It was most certainly scandalous for anyone to marry their widowed stepmother, let alone just months after her husband's death, but there were no laws regarding marriage in Ostwall.

Propping the small child up in his lap, Ronan gripped his tankard of ale and sipped from it for a moment, positioning it afterwards so that it attempted to block out the gossiping nobles. It hardly helped, however, and he simply turned back to Genevieve with his arm once more around Volundr.

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#2015-02-10 21:06:53, as written by Caged Bird

cxcＤｉｓａｒｍｙｏｕｗｉｔｈａｓｍｉｌｅ & ｌｅａｖｅｙｏｕｌｉｋｅｔｈｅｙｌｅｆｔｍｅｈｅｒｅ
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It had been months since Ulfric's death and yet one question still fluttered around Renly's mind like a phantom mayfly, causing bouts of extreme uneasiness...where was the boar? A boar had killed Ulfric, but surely it would not have escaped Ronan...it can't have scurried off into the forest with a dead king now amidst his credentials...Surely Ronan would have.... Renly shook off those hasty thoughts with determination. It was not his place to question the story, to do so would be treason and as it stood, he was still a guest in the king's castle...the new king's. He tried to let his mind wander to pleasanter thoughts, like those of his dalliance with the handsome stranger at the masquerade. Coronations were a tedious affair, all stiff backs and solemn brows, and he found he'd of preferred to be back in his chambers pouring of the royal family history or studying all the texts the maester had left with him but alas, that was not an option, so he stood on ceremony and daydreamed about romance.

It was a genuine miracle that Renly was still permitted to remain as a ward there. For whatever reason, he could tangibly feel Ronan's intense dislike for him almost immediately upon being brought to the castle by Ulfric. It wasn't as if he could've blamed the prince now king though, who wants a set of strange prying eyes set lose upon one's home? But as much as Renly didn't want to admit, being forced to leave this place now that Ulfric was dead would be tantamount to heartbreak. It too had become his home, the blocks of stone growing sentient to him with time, replacing all that he had lost in it's security...a family. "My darling," This citadel would say if it could speak. "you’ve been looking so pale of late. I’ve seen you sweetening your mead with laudanum and waltzing with the ghost of your mother through all my empty rooms. How many nights has the moon drunk it’s fill of your beauty and left the sun to mourn?

Oh Renly, my son, your eyes have been attending more to books than bed rest as of late. I can hear your haunted footsteps wearing furrows in my floors, and your nervous arpeggios are keeping the servants awake. How many sleepless nights have we seen since your king was slain in the forest, I wonder?

My child, come cast your candlelight on the portraits of your ruler's forebears, come admire my string of black pearls. I have no arms to hold you with, but all homes are made to be mothers, and all mothers know a bedtime story or two. Look, the history of my occupants is a rich one. Here is a once great king, thrown from his mare during the autumn hunt, and his lecherous cousin, stabbed through the eye by a scullery maid, and his poor little nephew, swallowed and drowned by the tarn on an Easter Sunday. Here is another grand monarch, a queen, mouth sharp as a guillotine and braids white as a captor’s rope. Let me tell you of that terrible day when she found her daughter and son undone and gasping on the stable floors. I hid them in a oratory, away from her catechisms and screaming. I poured my dark into her heart for love of my children. I whispered damnation and despair to her from the eaves, and when her trembling hands closed around the hilt of her husbands dagger, my runners supped on her blood.

You see, your treasonous thoughts are not alone in between my blocks of stone, I have mothered quite a harrowing brood. Paper my walls with all your secret sins and see how well I keep them, until my columns crumble and moss has grown over the name on your grave. After all, what is family for?"

The idea of the castle comforting him was calming, like he wasn't alone or judged for his thoughts toward his new potentate. They, he and this stronghold, would both know the history of the family and how many secrets it harbored.

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#2015-02-11 00:07:40, as written by Zoey26123

Guy and Simon had stood beside each other during the ceremony for Ronan. Both were even thinner than before. They stood close to Ronan but not very close because their title wasn't as high as some other people's titles. Guy and Simon had been rather surprised upon hearing that their cousin was going to wed their aunt after their uncle had just died. It was a rather strange outcome, but it had happened before.

Their child, or perhaps it was Ulfric's son, it was a ratehr confusing mess, was extremely close to Ronan. The twins liked him, but weren't sure about anything and often kept to themselves for the most part over the months of mourning.

The two stood side by side, looking up at their cousin, both with different feelings. They matched with their coronet they had been told to wear. They had both not wanted to really attend, not telling the other, but did knowing they had to.

Simon looked to Ronan, for the most part respectfully, but also somewhat unapprovingly, covering up the latter emotion extremely well. Guy, on the other hand, might as well have held a sword at Ronan's throat for all he was hiding his emotions. He knew his cousin knew he was not entirely trusting of him. He would have to talk with Ronan about his curiosity. There was just too many coincidences. Simon had been the one to teach him there was never such a thing as a coincidence.

Upon arriving at the party, Simon looked around for his brother. Wondering where he might have gotten to. The two of them had tried avoiding the party but had yet again been told to attend by some advisers. Simon saw his brother sitting at the banquet table, sipping from a glass of wine as he watched people dance.

As he made his way over to his brother, he heard his cousin talking to his son. "It's ours now," He stated in a way that caught Simon's ear but not enough to really think about it more than that initial second. He continued his approach to Guy, leaning against his chair and picking at a lock of his brother's hair that rested inside the dreadful coronets both didn't like wearing.

Guy and Simon, though originally not talking to each other because of their anger and grief, were closer than ever now. The two had made up after Guy had gotten into a brawl in one of towns upon hearing some idiots complaining of how weak some of the royal family had been in response to the death. Simon had been looking for Guy so they could go to a meeting when he found his brother losing the fight. Simon had gone in to help his brother and the two had walked out relatively okay, but both knowing they couldn't fight like that had again.

"How're you doing?" Simon asked softly as he watched the dancing on the floor continue. Guy shrugged. He still didn't really want to do anything these days except stay in his room. Simon had found his brother wrecking his artwork the day before. They had really bad days on occasion and Guy had had one the day before. Nearly all of the artwork in his room had been destroyed. He had just about torn apart a beautiful painting of a spider web when Simon had caught him and wrestled it away.

Guy took another sip of his wine then set the glass on the counter. He ran his finger over the rim as if considering his words, then looked up at Simon. "Everything is so different. I don't like it. I feel like I can't walk down the hall without having to look over my shoulder for something to come get me. It's just really hard," Guy said simply. Between the two, Guy had more bad days and was taking everything worse than his brother.

"I know, and you know things always get better, slowly," Simon said softly, ruffling his brother's hair. They didn't like the sentimental feel, but it did make them feel better. "Why don't you find a beautiful girl to grab for a dance?" Simon asked his brother with a hint of mischief in his voice now. Guy smiled slightly, looking over the crowd. "I'm afraid no female can match my own beauty," Guy announces rather overdramatically. Simon rolls his eyes before taking up Guy's wine glass and sitting beside him, taking a sip for himself.

"Are you ready for the trip to the town tomorrow?" Simon asks, knowing Guy had been planning a trip to town for weeks to pick up supplies. Simon had feared his brother wouldn't go after his episode yesterday, but was relieved to see Guy give a strong nod, looking as if his thoughts were elsewhere even though he was listening at the same time.

"I think I'm going to retire, I'm rather drained," Guy admitted quietly, standing and looking down at his brother. Simon nodded, taking another sip of wine. "Alright then, see you in the morning after your trip to town," Simon said with a smile and a tiny wave. Guy returned the gesture, then moved to leave, hoping Ronan wouldn't ask to speak with him as he walked past the new king.

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#2015-02-14 04:50:05, as written by Scarlet Loup

Christoph, as per usual and to no one's surprise, had carefully placed Priscilla on one side of Nicholas and himself on the other at the start of the banquet. Other than these brief moments of familiarity, the coronation overall was an unusual scene for all involved. Ostwall hardly allowed outsiders into the kingdom, let alone the palace. In fact, many nobles would not see the royals save the decennial celebration. Very occasionally would the northern tribesmen migrate all the way to Falor's palace for a celebration. Perhaps a wedding or a coronation might be enough. Ulfric had been quite public, despite his conservative ways. His son was only more so.

Coronations were unheard of in Ostwall. Christoph was intelligent enough to know that. Already, the new King was proving himself to be different than his predecessors. He looked about slowly, clever eyes taking in as much as he could.

Priscilla, on the other hand, looked about in a more carefree manner. She hardly even noticed the strand of hair that had fallen lose from her intricate hairstyle until she looked back at Nicholas and it flew into her face. Hastily, she tucked it away and beamed at her future husband. "Do you suppose our wedding shall be an affair as grand as this?" she asked, her voice a bit too overexcited and bubbly. She looked about at the people dancing and nearly dared to ask Nicholas to dance with her, but she decided against it, resolving that her father might not want her to. Then she worried that perhaps he would want her to ask her future husband to dance with her, in which case she ought to say something.

Christoph cut Priscilla off just as she began to open her mouth. "I remember when Ulfric took the throne of Ostwall," he mused. "Only two years his senior, and now he's dead. So soon these monarchs die..." He looked to Nicholas then. "He's eight years your senior, this king, yet I must admit he has far more to learn than you ever did when your father died." He folded his hands and looked once more at Ronan, smiling down at the child in his lap. "What is your opinion of the new King of Ostwall?"

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Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir

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#2015-02-16 05:36:29, as written by Zoey26123

Lucas had been watching for the girl, yet he hadn't seen her again, not since that night he had asked her to dance. He sighed softly from where he stood in a small alcove behind where Nicholas sat. He would much rather prefer standing, or sitting, next to his friend and talking to him rather than pretending his only care was keeping him safe.

Lucas stood, watching Priscilla and Christoph with contempt that was only visible to people who knew him really well, in other words, Nicholas. His gaze floated to the recently made king. He wasn't sure how he felt about the man. It was clear to Lucas that he wasn't all he seemed to be, and that his wife probably was already in love with him before his father died, either that or he took in a widow for his father, though Lucas couldn't help but doubt that.

Lucas had his hand lazily on his sword though he was more alert than any of the surrounding guards. He could appear lazy but be taunt as a horse during a gallop. Lucas watched the crowd, growing more and more tired of his task of watching the crowd than ever before. He wondered if Nicholas would be kind enough to come save him from his duty by going to bed. How wonderful that fantasy sounded.

Lucas thought back to a happier moment to distract himself. He was standing on the packed dirt that served as a training grounds for squires though Lucas was using it as a guard by the age of fourteen, a young and bored guard, but a guard nonetheless. He was training with an older guard, perhaps his current age. The older male was not going easy on small Lucas and Lucas would walk away with many bruises and cuts, yet he was easily holding his own against him. His task for the day, appearing like he was trying his hardest while throwing the match. His most recent teacher had wanted him to practice his hiding his abilities and it wasn't all that difficult.

The older fellow seemed to smile as his saw an opening Lucas had left open on purpose. He took the shot and Lucas pretended to nearly miss deflecting it before falling down and ending with the sword at his throat. It had been a great day since he had successfully completed the task in his mind. His master later chastised him for not being good enough, but the original pleasure of the memory held within Lucas's mind.

He turned his full attention on Nicholas again, finding that he couldn't help but continue to think of that girl from those many months ago either. He had been embarrassed about staring, yet had truly been happy to see her during the ball, and work the nerve up to talk to her after being abandoned by his ward. A strange situation yes, but still, it had worked and he had gotten to talk to the beauty that had captured his attention.

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#2015-02-19 22:27:10, as written by phoenixheart

Judging by the mood in the room, coronations were rare events in Ostwall, if they actually happened at all. Nicholas wasn't entirely sure what to expect; the last coronation he had been at was his own. Being a guest at a coronation was entirely different. He was not the focus of everyone's attention. That was something he was grateful for. What he was not grateful for was being sandwiched between Priscilla and Christoph, once again. He constantly wanted to look around the room to look for Renly. He hadn't seen Renly since the day Ulfric had died, and even then it had only been for a few seconds. He still wasn't sure if Renly had seen him. Nicholas had made his excuses and left as soon as he saw the boy coming. As much as he had wanted to stay, he didn't want Renly to know who he was. And there was the risk of giving themselves away. Christoph was the sort that always noticed more than he let on. Since then, opportunities to see Renly had been few and far between. His own stupidity astounded him sometimes.

"Do you suppose our wedding shall be an affair as grand as this?"

Nicholas looked to Priscilla, slightly at a loss for words. He knew they would be married. Short of one of them dying or some horrendous scandal being discovered, it was inevitable. Still, Priscilla's sudden question left him on the back foot. Acutely aware of Christoph sat beside him, Nicholas smiled, "It can be as grand as you like. Well, within reason." There was no point bankrupting the entire kingdom for a wedding he wasn't even sure he wanted.

"I remember when Ulfric took the throne of Ostwall. Only two years his senior, and now he's dead. So soon these monarchs die..." Nicholas turned his attention to Christoph "He's eight years your senior, this king, yet I must admit he has far more to learn than you ever did when your father died." Christoph looked across the room to Ronan, as did Nicholas. "What is your opinion of the new King of Ostwall?"

Nicholas thought for a moment, studying Ronan. He'd had few dealings with him, the two only seeing each other in passing. He seemed to be a capable warrior, whether that made him a capable king remained to be seen. And he didn't seem particularly broken up over his father's death. "He seems to be a decent sort, a capable warrior. Whether he's a good king remains to be seen. But I do think there's more to him than meets the eye." When he could, Nicholas would keep an eye on Ronan until he could be certain the new king could be trusted.

Priscilla seemed to be getting more agitated than usual. Nicholas gritted his teeth as he leaned over to Priscilla, determined to give the impression to all concerned that they were two young people who were very much in love with one another, "Would you like to dance, my lady?" he asked quiet enough that only Priscilla would be able to hear him.

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#2015-03-21 03:44:52, as written by Scarlet Loup

His gaze wandered about the hall, for Ronan had never been one to focus on one thing for too long. Renly, a distracted look in his eyes, caught his gaze first. Oh, Renly. Poor Renly. He would not, could not say why he let the teenager stay in Ostwall's castle. Both young men had never been particularly fond of each other. Ronan had always resented his father's ward, for Ulfric had seemed to dote on the boy more than he had on Ronan.

Perhaps the King knew, deep down, that he could not dispose of Renly without having the concern of resentment from the people on his hands. Already, their loyalty was something he questioned daily. One slip up would, potentially, cost him the throne and even his life. He resolved to speak to Renly, for he wanted a mind such as his on his side rather than against his.

Genevieve's response pulled him out of his reverie. He gave a slight nod of the head, coupling it with a smile. No more worries. In his drunken state, he attempted to convince himself that there truly was nothing wrong. The paranoia within him, however, gnawed at the back of his mind, plaguing him even as he watched his wife and son attentively. His mood noticeably soured, marked by the look of disgust that befouled his expression.

Nevertheless, he managed to pull on a semi-satisfied smile as he adjusted the position of the baby in his arms. Genevieve’s grip on his arm, which he matched with his hand placed over hers, seemed to calm him a bit more. But then he let himself gaze about the room again, meeting the gazes of the King of Falor and his advisor. Both men spoke to each other with their eyes still fixated on the newly-crowned monarch. Ronan’s mind began to turn on him, creating twisted ideas of what they might be whispering to each other over their respective goblets of wine or ale. He forced himself to look back down at the child shortly before Nicholas turned his attention to his fiancée.

It was truly unfortunate that Guy chose then to walk past Ronan, who caught a glimpse of his cousin on the edge of his peripheral vision. Having been coming to a boil for the past few minutes, Ronan found that his cousin would be the best victim to receive the extent of his drunken rage.

”Leaving so soon, dearest cousin?” he called after Guy, his voice dripping with feigned civility. ”I don’t recall giving you permission to leave so early in the night.” He passed Volundr to Genevieve before gripping the arms of his chair to push him to his feet quickly. The sensation of blood rushing away from his head causing a disorienting sense of lightheadedness that caused him to lean against the table for support. After a moment, he pushed himself off of the wooden table and continued moving towards Guy. ”Did my...did my father teach you nothing of civility?” His face had reverted once more to a twist of a grimace, antipathy radiating from him.

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#2015-03-24 02:34:10, as written by Zoey26123

Simon paused midsip upon hearing Ronan addressing Guy. It was rather clear to both twins that Ronan had had a few too many drinks and that this was anything but unintentional. This was an easy way to mess with Guy, calling him out and all. Guy froze midstride, nearly past his cousin. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his temper from reaching him. He moved his hands behind his back and clasped them, squeezing painfully hard to clear his mind from his own quickly rising temper.

Guy faced his cousin, studying Ronan quickly. He was definitely not entirely sober, then again, neither was Guy. Two drunk cousins who didn't really like each other was not going to work very well in their favor, or Guy's favor since Ronan was the king now. "It has been a rather eventful day hasn't it, beloved cousin?" Guy returned Ronan's fake voice with ease. Ronan may have more power, but Guy was easily... well, what was he? Sassy, he decided in his drunken state, Guy had more sass in his little finger than Ronan did in his whole body. The good kind that was, or at least, that's what Guy though considering his thoughts were slightly muddled. He wasn't drunk to the point he was stupid though, as he knew he was treading dangerous territory.

Simon watched his brother with his cousin and wanted to groan. The two of them were both hardheaded, and stupid when drunk. They did not need to be fighting, on Ronan's coronation day, in front of foreign dignitaries, at all. Simon moved forward, moving to stand by Ronan as he watched his brother, hoping he could communicate through eye contact that he needed to shut up. Right then. Immediately. "Cousin, perhaps here and now is not the ideal place or time to chastise Guy for his manners. We do have guests," Simon managed to speak under his breath, looking into Ronan's shoulder rather than at his brother.

Guy was insulted by the way Ronan seemed to think his father was only his father. Guy managed to stay somewhat civilized in his response. "Dear cousin, 'tis all but a matter of habit. I am not quite accustomed to such procedures considering, well... this is all so new to all of us, the change in ruling that is," Guy managed, not really saying anything insulting, but making it sound bad considering his tone.

"Cousin, do not act rashly, you are both slightly drunk. Perhaps dealing with this in the morning would be a better idea," Simon practically begged to Ronan though he managed to make it sound more advising than pleading.

"Do I have your permission to leave now, cousin?" Guy asked, his voice coming out slightly mocking though he managed to cover up most of it. He didn't really want to get killed, or hurt, or tortured, but the more drunk you were, the braver you were, even if it was stupid bravery, not nearly close to the good type of sassy that had run through Guy's mind earlier.

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