Enbarr Castle - Noon - Clear
Vridel von Hresvelg
Vridel swung down from his horse, extending a hand up towards Thea to assist her in the same, little as she needed it. He helped Lyanna down, too, but save Reynard the rest of those around him could rot, as far as he was concerned.
Thales had long since disappeared, of course, but it was clear enough that his presence was only barely tolerated by some of these others. And some of them were people he'd known in some capacity for much of his life. Like Ladislava, the wyvern-mounted general of the empire's flight troops. A cold, perfunctory, businesslike woman who was still very obviously angry about losing her entire 5th wing to the Professor's lightning almost a month ago.
He felt a little sting in his chest at the thought, but he pushed it away as he knew he must and focused ahead. More than once over the course of seizing control of the army—something he knew had only worked because Thales was content to allow it—and negotiating the terms of surrender with Lyanna, he had found himself wanting nothing so much as Cyril's advice. He'd *known* he relied to some degree on his teacher's insight, but he had not predicted how difficult he would find these things to be without the possibility of seeking advice.
Thea and Lyanna had been helpful, of course. Reynard had been especially so. But they were three allies in what now seemed to Vridel like a sea of enemies. And now, finally returned to the city of his birth, he was not so sure of his plan as he had once been.
And yet still he knew he had to do it. There was no other option. No other chance of slowing the Imperial invasions of Faerghus and the Alliance, even now ongoing, he knew. It was no accident he'd been kept away this long for a simple handover. No accident either that Thales had not bothered to remain. More important events were clearly taking place elsewhere, probably under the direction of the damnable Flame Emperor.
If he was going to have a chance against that, he'd need to be an Emperor himself. Straightening the cloak Cyril had given him for his birthday, Vridel made sure his sword was secure in his belt and the cloak pin was in place. Then he ran a hand through his hair and turned to Thea.
“Are you ready?" It was important to him to ask, because she was important. And he knew more than ever now that he was venturing into shark-infested waters. They were bleeding, all four of them, and the predators would smell their wounds. But still. But still, for those who remained, for the innocents they wished to protect, they had no choice but to try.
She glanced at him, her eyes soft as she smiled. It didn't quite reach her eyes, but she looked to be attempting as much, and nodded her head. “No matter what, we're in this together. Whatever may come our way, whomever may try to do whatever, I will be here. I'm ready to stand by you in anyway you need me to," she spoke, reaching for his hand and gave it a light squeeze. She released it, afterwards and glanced towards Lyanna. She nodded her head in her sister's direction and turned back towards Vridel.
“Let's do this... together."
Vridel smiled softly, squeezing back, but then turned his eyes forward.
The castle was an enormous thing, befitting the oldest seat of power on the continent of Fódlan. Or at least, the oldest such thing known to history. It was a soaring edifice, imposing, constructed of a stone so pale as to be almost white: nearly blinding in the full glory of afternoon like this, glowing even at night, and dyed in oranges and reds come sunset. It dominated the horizon around it, as the family within had once dominated the political and geographic landscape of the continent. A dominion unraveled in messy master strokes of rebellion, but one whose final nail was driven in by internal rather than outer strife, when seven noblemen had all but unseated his father, leaving the Emperor his crown and his throne and nothing to do with them.
A dead monarchy, they liked to whisper.
It might well be the greatest piece of white magic he'd ever worked, if he could breathe life back into it. Perhaps it would cost his in exchange, but he was prepared for that. As ready as a man could ever be to die, he supposed.
He tried to ignore all the ways in which that wasn't true, and held his head high. Their party passed through the gates, still flanked by Ladislava's riders, but Vridel had no concern for them. At the moment all the function they served was lending him more authority, for he refused to look the prisoner he all but was. With Thea beside him, he almost felt the monarch he needed to be. Flanked by Reynard and Lyanna, he thought he might get there, eventually.
The riders halted outside the entrance to the castle proper, unable to take their mounts inside. Only Ladislava, tall in stature even not astride her beast, and a handful of her people dismounted to accompany them into the Emperor's audience hall.
The herald at the door—Petrokos—recognized Vridel immediately and approached wide-eyed. Well into his sixties, he had the straight-backed bearing of a dignified servant of the Empire, and the kind eyes of a grandfather. “Your Highness. His Imperial Majesty is in Council with the Seven at the moment." He paused, pale grey eyes assessing Vridel for a moment before his expression settled into something rather more steely. “Shall I announce you regardless?"
“Please do, Petrokos. With as much flair as this place has let you keep, if you would. And my companions as well." There was a bit of sorting what to say on that subject, but Vridel wanted to make an impact, and so he would.
He extended an arm towards Thea. “The moment we walk through those doors, the most dangerous people in the Empire will know that I have chosen you above all others. Above their daughters and sons and wishes. You may never be or feel safe again." He knew, at this point, that her mind was made up. But he could not help but warn her, one last time, of what this meant. Of what it really meant to love him.
Thea shook her head, though. “I've told you before; you make me feel safe. As long as I'm with you, I don't... there's nothing they can do to try and intimidate me. They cannot take what is not theirs. I know... it'll be trying, but I'm not the same person I was a year ago. I'm... I'm more because of you. Because I love you, and whatever we may face because of that, I'm ready. Vridel von Hresvelg, for whatever it takes, I'm ready."
She looped her arm with his, her head held high, and her back straight. It was, perhaps, the most regal thing she'd ever mustered before, and she glanced at him with a smile on her face. “Shall we?" she spoke, her eyes steeling as she seemed to prepare herself for what was to come.
Vridel felt an overwhelming sense of pride at her words. Not only for himself, though it was not and never would be a small thing to him that he alone was capable of making her feel that way. But he felt pride for her as well, for the way she enfolded herself in a regality not natural to her, for the sake of the moment. For the sake of their aims. She would, he could not help but think, make his people a very fine Empress, indeed.
“We shall," he murmured.
Petrokos nodded to the pair of doormen, their expressions mismatched trepidation and glee, but to their credit they threw open the doors with all the theatrical drama this moment required, revealing a large audience chamber. The seven men arranged in a half-circle before the throne immediately turned, and that was when the herald's voice rang out.
“Announcing His Highness, Vridel Brandt von Hresvelg, Imperial Prince, Duke of Engels, Count of Weissburg, and with him his intended, Lady Amalthea Elaine von Kreuz, of Garreg Mach, Lady Lyanna Evir von Kreuz, Commander of the Knights of Seiros, and Lord Callum Alasdair Macneary, of Brigid." He pointedly did not announce the soldiers with them, which Vridel appreciated. There were plenty of names and titles to go around already.
He swept into the chamber, marching all of them up the center towards the throne. By this point every pair of eyes in the room, from the nobles to their bodyguards and servants along the walls, was fixed on the new arrivals, but he kept this eyes straight ahead—on his father.
Ionius was an old man, now. It seemed he had somehow been old for as long as Vridel could remember, but it was clear that of late his condition had taken a turn for the worst. Never hardy and hale, he was now pale and sallow, with sunken grey eyes and hollowed cheeks. He seemed to sit straighter as Vridel approached however, regarding his son with what the prince interpreted to be a mixture of surprise, confusion, and perhaps some lingering trace of paternal warmth, all dulled by time, or illness, or simple exhaustion.
Perhaps what Vridel had come to demand would be a relief.
The two nobles at the center of the semicircle—Volkhard and Duke Aegir, a rotund, sour-looking man with only a thin ring of ginger hair and a small mustache—were directly in their way. Volkhard moved; his was the pretense of politeness.
Von Aegir, on the other hand, spluttered. “What is the meaning of this?! You cannot simply interrupt a—" he finally stepped aside when Vridel made no sign of stopping and continued to stare past him.
He finally drew to a halt before the dais, dropping into the lowest bow he'd ever given his father. When he rose, his face was set. “Your Imperial Majesty," he said, raising his voice enough that it would carry throughout the chamber. There were murmurs of discontent from behind him, but no one was sure enough of what he was doing to try and stop it yet.
His father, however, tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing with a faint curiosity. “Vridel. To what do I owe the distinction of my son's company?" His eyes shifted to the others for a moment, coming to rest on Thea.
“I wish to bring two matters before the throne," Vridel said, straightening where he stood. “Though I hope that as much as I might be considered a subject petitioning his Emperor, so might I be seen as a son petitioning his father."
The Emperor leaned forward slightly, waving for silence when another noble—von Varley, he thought—tried to protest. “I see. And what are these matters you wish for me to address?"
“First and most importantly," Vridel said, glancing aside. “I would like for you to be the first to officially meet my betrothed, Lady Amalthea von Kreuz." He used the joining of their arms to gesture Thea forward slightly, indicating with a nod that she was very much encouraged to speak for herself.
She bowed, something more formal than she'd ever done before, and rose to smile at Ionius. “It is a pleasure to finally meet Your Imperial Highness," she spoke, straightening her posture back out. Her eyes were bright as she regarded his father, the smile never leaving her face. If she had felt any fear, she was doing a good job of not showing it. There was no tremor in her body, no shifting of her eyes. She kept them on Ionius, and seemed to drown everything else out that wasn't Vridel or his father.
Ionius considered her a moment, and then his eyes flicked to his son, and he almost seemed to sigh, though there was a faint smile on the edges of it. “I can hardly chastise you for your impulsiveness in such matters. I fear in that we are much the same."
It was obvious he referenced Vridel's mother, and though he found the comparison a bit... off, he did not say so, merely inclining his head. This seemed to satisfy the Emperor, who dipped his chin to Amalthea. “I have ever trusted my son's judgement. I look forward to getting to know the woman he has chosen, for surely, you must be extraordinary."
“As to the second matter." Vridel's expression resumed its former seriousness. “Your Majesty, I formally request that you cede your crown, and the rulership of the Empire, to me."
“What?! Of all the audacious—" the small crowd behind him erupted in protest, von Aegir distinguishable above the rest. “Your Majesty, you cannot simply—"
“Can I not?" Ionius's voice, reedy and thin and haggard as it was, sounded strong in that moment. Enough so to quiet the protestations. “As I recall, Duke Aegir, this is one of the very few rights left to me, and me alone." He swept rheumy eyes over his son's face; Vridel withstood the inspection straight-backed and proud. How could he do otherwise, when the very presence of the woman at his side was such a powerful reminder of the justice, the rightness of his cause?
“You have changed," his father said, quietly now. “I always knew you were the proudest of my children, but this..." He shook his head almost ruefully. “I shall take it for the sign it is." Straightening in his seat, he pulled in a deep breath and spoke in a confident, striking timbre.
“Vridel Brandt von Hresvelg, Imperial Prince of Adrestia. As your father and your Emperor, I ask you this: are you prepared to wear the crown of our nation, to sit upon its throne, and know that the fate of its people is now a burden for your shoulders alone?"
“With all due respect, Your Majesty," Vridel replied, squeezing Thea's arm against his side. “While I accept that the fault will fall to me if this duty is not upheld, it will not be my burden alone at all. There are those whom I trust to share it with me, and who in turn trust me to lead them in this endeavor."
Ionius looked a little surprised, blinking slowly, but then a slow, almost melancholy smile overtook his features. “Then you are more fortunate than anyone in this room as ever been. I entrust Adrestia, and her future, to you. Rise, my son, and take your throne."
Thales had long since disappeared, of course, but it was clear enough that his presence was only barely tolerated by some of these others. And some of them were people he'd known in some capacity for much of his life. Like Ladislava, the wyvern-mounted general of the empire's flight troops. A cold, perfunctory, businesslike woman who was still very obviously angry about losing her entire 5th wing to the Professor's lightning almost a month ago.
He felt a little sting in his chest at the thought, but he pushed it away as he knew he must and focused ahead. More than once over the course of seizing control of the army—something he knew had only worked because Thales was content to allow it—and negotiating the terms of surrender with Lyanna, he had found himself wanting nothing so much as Cyril's advice. He'd *known* he relied to some degree on his teacher's insight, but he had not predicted how difficult he would find these things to be without the possibility of seeking advice.
Thea and Lyanna had been helpful, of course. Reynard had been especially so. But they were three allies in what now seemed to Vridel like a sea of enemies. And now, finally returned to the city of his birth, he was not so sure of his plan as he had once been.
And yet still he knew he had to do it. There was no other option. No other chance of slowing the Imperial invasions of Faerghus and the Alliance, even now ongoing, he knew. It was no accident he'd been kept away this long for a simple handover. No accident either that Thales had not bothered to remain. More important events were clearly taking place elsewhere, probably under the direction of the damnable Flame Emperor.
If he was going to have a chance against that, he'd need to be an Emperor himself. Straightening the cloak Cyril had given him for his birthday, Vridel made sure his sword was secure in his belt and the cloak pin was in place. Then he ran a hand through his hair and turned to Thea.
“Are you ready?" It was important to him to ask, because she was important. And he knew more than ever now that he was venturing into shark-infested waters. They were bleeding, all four of them, and the predators would smell their wounds. But still. But still, for those who remained, for the innocents they wished to protect, they had no choice but to try.
She glanced at him, her eyes soft as she smiled. It didn't quite reach her eyes, but she looked to be attempting as much, and nodded her head. “No matter what, we're in this together. Whatever may come our way, whomever may try to do whatever, I will be here. I'm ready to stand by you in anyway you need me to," she spoke, reaching for his hand and gave it a light squeeze. She released it, afterwards and glanced towards Lyanna. She nodded her head in her sister's direction and turned back towards Vridel.
“Let's do this... together."
Vridel smiled softly, squeezing back, but then turned his eyes forward.
The castle was an enormous thing, befitting the oldest seat of power on the continent of Fódlan. Or at least, the oldest such thing known to history. It was a soaring edifice, imposing, constructed of a stone so pale as to be almost white: nearly blinding in the full glory of afternoon like this, glowing even at night, and dyed in oranges and reds come sunset. It dominated the horizon around it, as the family within had once dominated the political and geographic landscape of the continent. A dominion unraveled in messy master strokes of rebellion, but one whose final nail was driven in by internal rather than outer strife, when seven noblemen had all but unseated his father, leaving the Emperor his crown and his throne and nothing to do with them.
A dead monarchy, they liked to whisper.
It might well be the greatest piece of white magic he'd ever worked, if he could breathe life back into it. Perhaps it would cost his in exchange, but he was prepared for that. As ready as a man could ever be to die, he supposed.
He tried to ignore all the ways in which that wasn't true, and held his head high. Their party passed through the gates, still flanked by Ladislava's riders, but Vridel had no concern for them. At the moment all the function they served was lending him more authority, for he refused to look the prisoner he all but was. With Thea beside him, he almost felt the monarch he needed to be. Flanked by Reynard and Lyanna, he thought he might get there, eventually.
The riders halted outside the entrance to the castle proper, unable to take their mounts inside. Only Ladislava, tall in stature even not astride her beast, and a handful of her people dismounted to accompany them into the Emperor's audience hall.
The herald at the door—Petrokos—recognized Vridel immediately and approached wide-eyed. Well into his sixties, he had the straight-backed bearing of a dignified servant of the Empire, and the kind eyes of a grandfather. “Your Highness. His Imperial Majesty is in Council with the Seven at the moment." He paused, pale grey eyes assessing Vridel for a moment before his expression settled into something rather more steely. “Shall I announce you regardless?"
“Please do, Petrokos. With as much flair as this place has let you keep, if you would. And my companions as well." There was a bit of sorting what to say on that subject, but Vridel wanted to make an impact, and so he would.
He extended an arm towards Thea. “The moment we walk through those doors, the most dangerous people in the Empire will know that I have chosen you above all others. Above their daughters and sons and wishes. You may never be or feel safe again." He knew, at this point, that her mind was made up. But he could not help but warn her, one last time, of what this meant. Of what it really meant to love him.
Thea shook her head, though. “I've told you before; you make me feel safe. As long as I'm with you, I don't... there's nothing they can do to try and intimidate me. They cannot take what is not theirs. I know... it'll be trying, but I'm not the same person I was a year ago. I'm... I'm more because of you. Because I love you, and whatever we may face because of that, I'm ready. Vridel von Hresvelg, for whatever it takes, I'm ready."
She looped her arm with his, her head held high, and her back straight. It was, perhaps, the most regal thing she'd ever mustered before, and she glanced at him with a smile on her face. “Shall we?" she spoke, her eyes steeling as she seemed to prepare herself for what was to come.
Vridel felt an overwhelming sense of pride at her words. Not only for himself, though it was not and never would be a small thing to him that he alone was capable of making her feel that way. But he felt pride for her as well, for the way she enfolded herself in a regality not natural to her, for the sake of the moment. For the sake of their aims. She would, he could not help but think, make his people a very fine Empress, indeed.
“We shall," he murmured.
Petrokos nodded to the pair of doormen, their expressions mismatched trepidation and glee, but to their credit they threw open the doors with all the theatrical drama this moment required, revealing a large audience chamber. The seven men arranged in a half-circle before the throne immediately turned, and that was when the herald's voice rang out.
“Announcing His Highness, Vridel Brandt von Hresvelg, Imperial Prince, Duke of Engels, Count of Weissburg, and with him his intended, Lady Amalthea Elaine von Kreuz, of Garreg Mach, Lady Lyanna Evir von Kreuz, Commander of the Knights of Seiros, and Lord Callum Alasdair Macneary, of Brigid." He pointedly did not announce the soldiers with them, which Vridel appreciated. There were plenty of names and titles to go around already.
He swept into the chamber, marching all of them up the center towards the throne. By this point every pair of eyes in the room, from the nobles to their bodyguards and servants along the walls, was fixed on the new arrivals, but he kept this eyes straight ahead—on his father.
Ionius was an old man, now. It seemed he had somehow been old for as long as Vridel could remember, but it was clear that of late his condition had taken a turn for the worst. Never hardy and hale, he was now pale and sallow, with sunken grey eyes and hollowed cheeks. He seemed to sit straighter as Vridel approached however, regarding his son with what the prince interpreted to be a mixture of surprise, confusion, and perhaps some lingering trace of paternal warmth, all dulled by time, or illness, or simple exhaustion.
Perhaps what Vridel had come to demand would be a relief.
The two nobles at the center of the semicircle—Volkhard and Duke Aegir, a rotund, sour-looking man with only a thin ring of ginger hair and a small mustache—were directly in their way. Volkhard moved; his was the pretense of politeness.
Von Aegir, on the other hand, spluttered. “What is the meaning of this?! You cannot simply interrupt a—" he finally stepped aside when Vridel made no sign of stopping and continued to stare past him.
He finally drew to a halt before the dais, dropping into the lowest bow he'd ever given his father. When he rose, his face was set. “Your Imperial Majesty," he said, raising his voice enough that it would carry throughout the chamber. There were murmurs of discontent from behind him, but no one was sure enough of what he was doing to try and stop it yet.
His father, however, tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing with a faint curiosity. “Vridel. To what do I owe the distinction of my son's company?" His eyes shifted to the others for a moment, coming to rest on Thea.
“I wish to bring two matters before the throne," Vridel said, straightening where he stood. “Though I hope that as much as I might be considered a subject petitioning his Emperor, so might I be seen as a son petitioning his father."
The Emperor leaned forward slightly, waving for silence when another noble—von Varley, he thought—tried to protest. “I see. And what are these matters you wish for me to address?"
“First and most importantly," Vridel said, glancing aside. “I would like for you to be the first to officially meet my betrothed, Lady Amalthea von Kreuz." He used the joining of their arms to gesture Thea forward slightly, indicating with a nod that she was very much encouraged to speak for herself.
She bowed, something more formal than she'd ever done before, and rose to smile at Ionius. “It is a pleasure to finally meet Your Imperial Highness," she spoke, straightening her posture back out. Her eyes were bright as she regarded his father, the smile never leaving her face. If she had felt any fear, she was doing a good job of not showing it. There was no tremor in her body, no shifting of her eyes. She kept them on Ionius, and seemed to drown everything else out that wasn't Vridel or his father.
Ionius considered her a moment, and then his eyes flicked to his son, and he almost seemed to sigh, though there was a faint smile on the edges of it. “I can hardly chastise you for your impulsiveness in such matters. I fear in that we are much the same."
It was obvious he referenced Vridel's mother, and though he found the comparison a bit... off, he did not say so, merely inclining his head. This seemed to satisfy the Emperor, who dipped his chin to Amalthea. “I have ever trusted my son's judgement. I look forward to getting to know the woman he has chosen, for surely, you must be extraordinary."
“As to the second matter." Vridel's expression resumed its former seriousness. “Your Majesty, I formally request that you cede your crown, and the rulership of the Empire, to me."
“What?! Of all the audacious—" the small crowd behind him erupted in protest, von Aegir distinguishable above the rest. “Your Majesty, you cannot simply—"
“Can I not?" Ionius's voice, reedy and thin and haggard as it was, sounded strong in that moment. Enough so to quiet the protestations. “As I recall, Duke Aegir, this is one of the very few rights left to me, and me alone." He swept rheumy eyes over his son's face; Vridel withstood the inspection straight-backed and proud. How could he do otherwise, when the very presence of the woman at his side was such a powerful reminder of the justice, the rightness of his cause?
“You have changed," his father said, quietly now. “I always knew you were the proudest of my children, but this..." He shook his head almost ruefully. “I shall take it for the sign it is." Straightening in his seat, he pulled in a deep breath and spoke in a confident, striking timbre.
“Vridel Brandt von Hresvelg, Imperial Prince of Adrestia. As your father and your Emperor, I ask you this: are you prepared to wear the crown of our nation, to sit upon its throne, and know that the fate of its people is now a burden for your shoulders alone?"
“With all due respect, Your Majesty," Vridel replied, squeezing Thea's arm against his side. “While I accept that the fault will fall to me if this duty is not upheld, it will not be my burden alone at all. There are those whom I trust to share it with me, and who in turn trust me to lead them in this endeavor."
Ionius looked a little surprised, blinking slowly, but then a slow, almost melancholy smile overtook his features. “Then you are more fortunate than anyone in this room as ever been. I entrust Adrestia, and her future, to you. Rise, my son, and take your throne."