Wind Nation

The day began much as it normally did, with a disgruntled wizard banging sharply on the door of the young prince, who would very shortly be equally disgruntled. Kalmut was accustomed to the sun dragging lazily in the spring sky by the time he awoke, not this perky, yellow light streaming through his window now. And Sebastian was shouting, which added a wonderful layer of grime to his mood. He sat up, snarling at the door in hopes that the man on the other side of it would dissolve. The shouting continued, however, so he figured he wasn't having very much luck with that.

"Kalmut," came the voice from the other side of the heavy oaken portal, "I have been standing here for no less than five minutes. That's five minutes you've kept your father waiting, and I can't imagine he appreciates--"

"Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on, granddad," grumbled Kalmut, reaching across the rumpled bedding to grab his trousers. Despite the appearance of his sleeping arrangements, the prince hadn't had a wild night, although he sorely wished this was the case. He'd inherited, somehow, his father's nightmares, and lingering in the back of his mind more potently than the eyes of Death herself, he could hear the discordant ringing of unmatched wedding bells. He was also dreadfully cold, and now the wizard wanted him to get up.

All in all, it was not shaping up to be a very good morning.

When he stood, he took the thick blanket with him, dragging it to the door which he opened with ha half-crazed leer. Sebastian continued to shout, at least for a moment.

"And furthermore--!" There was a brief pause as Sebastian drank in the familiar dark circles on the normally youthful face. "You look dreadful."

"Only ever as dreadful as My Lady declares me fit to be, of course," Kalmut returned bitterly. "Tell Father I'll be with him shortly. I need to wash, among other things." He shivered at the spring breeze that drifted through the open window.

"On second thought," the wizard said, in an attempt to be amicable, "go back to bed. I'll explain things to your father, and either I or the palace physician will be up to see you shortly."

Kalmut nodded, then turned on his heel and walked, zombie-like, back to his bed. He didn't even bother to close the door behind him.

Both brothers were handsome, strapping, and strong young lads, Kalmut being the stronger of the two. He wasn't known for being sickly, even as a boy, but it had seemed that as of late the goddess who had bequeathed Johann's mother, the previous sovereign ruler of their nation, with a prophetic madness had taken a shining to the woman's adopted grandson. The fevers he woke with were growing stronger, and he, in turn, was not. With his face buried inches into the too-soft pillow, he remarked to himself how frequent these fits were becoming, and he noted with some manner of interest that nightmares seldom would have been scary if he'd faced them in the real world.

These thoughts, and others, swirled in a cloud about his head before finally, the prince drifted back to sleep. He wouldn't wake for several hours.

His brother, the younger of the twin heirs to Johann's throne, was far more prepared to wake, being up already by the time the wizard got to him. He had managed to begin a painting in the brief time before the wizard's arrival, a pale creature that might have been a horse, fading into the canvas background. He seemed to be in better spirits than his brother, but his eyes were lined with the same dark rings.

"Not you too," the wizard grumbled, attracting the attention of the young painter. "Having nightmares," he explained.

"Oh." Kore paused for a moment, staring thoughfully at his canvas. "No, no nightmares here. I just couldn't sleep last night."

Sebastian looked relieved. "Your father wishes to see you this morning," he said, relaying his message as quickly as possible before he fled. There were other children of the household to wake.

"Had I left my wit in bed, brother dear, there would be no driving force behind me at all," Kalmut grinned in response. "I would be like you, wishing to be elsewhere, perhaps working my charms on some sweet young lady with unfortunate taste in haircolor." His fraternal smile returned to its more mischievous set, the words flying out of his mouth before he could stop them. Scrying lessons with the wizards had paid off, and although he knew very little about the young woman his brother so desired to see, he knew enough about her to make him uncomfortable.

Kalmut was well aware of the way Marcus thought of him, the talk of their family having inflamed more than its fair share of arguments between the two of them. The twins had been adopted before Marcus was born, and it was true that their parentage might have gone unnoticed if it hadn't been for the jibing talk of the court ladies. Kalmut and Marcus had never gotten along especially well, of course; in fact, Kalmut had rather enjoyed tormenting the boy once he was old enough to take it. But it had been a faithful day nearly five years ago that had severed all brotherly bonds they might have forged.

This prospect was rather disheartening for Kalmut, who, as previously mentioned, rather liked his brother despite mocking him horribly.

"Or worse!" the young man added thoughtfully, "withering away under the heat of a blowtorch as I made modifications to my one and only true love. What a life."

"Kalmut," Johann said warningly. The eldest prince fell silent.

His Majesty sighed, standing from the desk at the head of the hall and moving to stand in front of it. "My sons," he said, with emphasis on the plural (for he was well aware of what Marcus thought of Kalmut and Kore, but would have none of that attitude), "I heartily regret that I am forced to remind you of a certain tradition which the six great nations of Dusseteu hold every twenty years." He could see Kalmut growing paler, knew he was well aware of what was to come; Johann shared the same curse, linked not by blood but by circumstance. "You are to be--"

"Married," Kalmut interrupted. "You mean to marry us off." He was extremely level-headed about it, perhaps because he'd known previously. "We'll take wives, and likely we won't love them, like you and Mother, but the marriages will be meant to bring peace--right, Father?"

The king sighed, nodding reluctantly. He was beginning to feel as though his beard was growing grey. "There are but two princesess in the Water Nation, however--"

Kalmut scoffed, a scowl coming across his face as clearly outlined as a campfire in the snow. "Shall we draw straws, gentlemen?" he asked, placing his hands on his knees in a posture more suited for a gambling peasant than a prince. "Or perhaps, since Marcus is the youngest, he's free to woo his lady friend as necessary, and Kore and I will suffer his burden?"

"I can only wish that it were not the case, Kalmut. That these marriages were not a necessity." The king slumped into his chair, looking older than his sons had ever seen him. "Our people grow tired of this accursed war. When it comes to us, it is without rhyme or reason. The dragons will no longer fight needlessly." The last time the war had truly graced the Wind Nation's doorstep, Johann had struck a very important bargain. He wasn't sure he could strike it again, not now--at this thought, he glanced sidelong at the wizards standing dutifully at his side.

It was impossible to fool a dragon. From this point forward, they fought under their own power.

Kalmut backed away from his attack, aware that his father had been more than beaten, long before the conversation had begun. "Perhaps it won't be so bad. You and Mother are friends, are you not?" The king nodded. "And you have, in her full knowledge, taken a lover?"

"I did once, yes."

The dark-haired wizard made a point to make eye contact with his wife.

"Then there's hope, my lads," he said pleasantly, looking around again at his brothers. "Though, as for our poor sister, well, at least she's rid of us?"

Kalmut howled at the mention of wolves, grinning like a madman or a prince who hadn't gotten quite enough sleep. When he was finished, his face fell, and though he was still smiling, he appeared to be far more somber. "I don't think I'd have to antagonize him if I could get him to acknowledge me some other way," he said seriously. "It's not like I hate him, Ciara. He's my brother, whether he wants to be or not."

This was somewhat a bone of contention for Kalmut, and he quickly backed off of the subject. He'd irritated that nerve enough today already.

"Marriages!" he said, launching into his jovial explanation with ease. "That's right, I nearly forgot. I'm sure Father's told you about the tradition of the royal families of Dusseteu, yes?" There was a lull in their conversation, but he plowed over it with tactless persistence. "Well, apparently, at least three of us are going to be married off here in the near future."

Kore kicked him in the small of his back. He yelped.

"Kalmut is being insensitive," said the younger twin, speaking for the first time this morning. "What he means to say is that the twenty year period between Dusseteu's frequent diplomatic marriages is up. It is, in the end, our choice to go through with the marriages or not, although for obvious reasons it is encouraged." Kalmut nodded enthusiastically.

"Ah, but don't take it out on Father--it's not his fault or anything. He's just as upset about it as we are," Kalmut warned.

"We are to be married," said Kalmut helpfully, leaning back so he could look the eldest of his younger siblings in the face. "I'm sure I only just said that, however."

Kore gave him another kick, and he yelped. The King just shook his head, suddenly very glad that he had grown up without brothers himself. It seemed they could be more brutal than any lesson or lecture his father might have imposed on him. Of course, Kalmut and Kore were close; that was why each let the other get away with kicking and yelling imprecations into the long hours of the night. But it was not something that the king would have wanted during his childhood. He had, after all, been a somewhat pathetic excuse for an heir, and it had only been since the death of his mother that his health and stature had improved.

"Our brother is without tact," he explained to Zooey, sounding more than a little put upon by Kalmut's loud and obnoxious statements. "What he means to say is that every twenty years, Dusseteu has a series of royal weddings, the last of which occurred in the year of your birth. We are, to put it simply, expected to carry out this tradition. and will meet our intended fiancées at the Royal Ball Gathering that is to be occurring sometime in the near future."

"Tonight," Sebastian confirmed helpfully.

Kore nodded. "Tonight," he repeated. "I don't, however, think that mean that we have to be blindly devoted to our future spouses, of course." He was trying to make this situation sound as appealing as possible, somewhat for Zooey's sake, and somewhat for his own. For a poet and a romantic, it was difficult to accept that he might have to live out his life married to a woman who was not his true love. As ridiculous and impossible an idea as the alternative sounded, he had no say in how his thoughts worked.

Needless to say, the prince was a little pouty.

At a nod from the king, whose composure was beginning to waver, Cecilia trailed after daughters. She was ever aware of her husband's somewhat overprotective eye at her back. "She'll be fine," Johann reassured. The wizard wasn't sure if His Majesty was referring to Cecilia or his own daughter. From the uncertainty that painted his face, however, he assumed it was the latter--His Majesty was trying to reassure himself on the matter, and it didn't seem to be working as well as he'd have liked.

"Your Majesty," he said quietly in the king's ear, prompting a stern line of disapproval to cross the king's face. The two had grown up side by side (and then some)--surely there was no cause for such formal titles among friends such as they! "Johann," Sebastian corrected. His tone was tentative, the beginning of a question he was loathe to ask sitting restlessly on the tip of his tongue. "This troubles you."

"Of course it troubles me," Johann said, covering his face with his hands as though blocking out the world around him would help to marshal his thoughts. "They are my daughters, Sebastian. I love them with all my heart, yet I've been forced to clip their wings and send them away to live with--" His voice broke. It had been a long time since Sebastian had heard his childhood friend lose his composure, eons since he had seen him cry, and it seemed unreal that he would do so now. The king's normal, jovial calm now cracked like the shell of an egg. "Oh, gods," he mumbled hopelessly, doubling over in his chair in order to hide his face.

Sebastian laid a hand on his shoulder as comfortingly as he could manage. "They have your mother's free spirit," he said encouragingly, although from the shaking sob that accompanied that statement, he figured it hadn't helped. "Well, I mean, aside from a few...unfortunate conditions. And anyway, they have your father's--uhm." He tried for something more comforting this time, but nothing was coming to him. "Dog-headed desire to do exactly as he damn well pleased?"

"See where that got him." The wizard couldn't argue that point.

He sighed. "The point of the matter is, Johann, if anyone can handle a tough situation, it's your daughters. You and Terra have been shining examples of adaptation, and it's been passed down to them. And if they hate it--" He considered his next turn of phrase wisely. "Well, they have wizards somewhere in their ancestry. At least one, that I know of. Stubborn old codger, at that." He was, of course, referring to Johann's father.

The king appeared to cheer up. He wiped the remnants of the outburst from his eyes.

"They'll be alright, Your Majesty," Sebastian repeated. "Now, get yourself cleaned up, and no more of this crying business, understood?" The phrase, which he hadn't heard since he was a young boy with scraped knees, brought a smile to his lips.

--

The rest of the day passed with a sort of rude disregard for the plans of those trying to go about their business during it, cutting short baths and reducing the time for idle, reassuring conversation to zero. When all was said and done, the members of the royal family were loaded into their respective transportation, the princesses and their mother in one (accompanied by Cecilia), the princes and their father in another (accompanied by Sebastian). This was more for the purpose of comfort than custom or propriety; the girls had, earlier in their lives, expressed an urge to ride separately from their brothers on long journeys, a request which Sebastian had interpreted to their father as a request for "girl time," whatever that was.

It was the first chance that Ceclia had gotten to talk to the girls since they had walked out of their father's hall earlier that day, and she didn't know exactly how she felt about that. She could remember the days before her own marriage, which had been under similar circumstances. Of course, she hadn't been quite as claustrophobic as the girls, but it had been a considerable change in her life all the same. She pressed a hand to her stomach thoughtfully, as though the unborn child might have some sort of idea that she hadn't thought of yet. "It can't be so bad," she offered, as pleasantly as possible. "At least you girls aren't marrying someone like Sebastian."

She was acutely aware of how ridiculously unhelpful that was, but there was no going back on it now.