NationStates Jolt Archive

The Emperor sat in the Sun King Room in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, reviewing a brief file on the Roanian Imperial Family at his desk, underneath a wall-sized portrait of the room's namesake. There was a knock on the door, and a page admitted himself in to the room.

"Sire," he said. "His Excellency the Roanian Ambassador."

His Excellency the Roanian Ambassador walked stiffly into the room, his cane in his hand.

"Your Majesty, I bring you my letters of accreditation," the tall Altaran Dong Ah-Tai said, bowing in proper oriental fashion. Too old to put much store by ceremony, the new Ambassador remained standing purely through an intense desire not to show weakness.

The Emperor accepted the letters and gave them a polite looking over, although naturally he didn't actually read them. After satisfying himself, he set them down and rose to his feet. He motioned to the room's lounge suite.

"Please, Your Excellency, sit down." the Emperor said.

Dong bowed low and sat down on the suite. "It is an honour to be appointed, may I say. My last posting," He thumped his leg, which gave a hollow sound, "was to Somalia."

"I see." the Emperor said, arching an eyebrow at the peculiar sound from the ambassador's leg. "Well, I am always pleased to greet His Illuminated Majesty's ambassadors."

"Indeed." He looked around, and then leaned forward. "If I may ask, who was that delightful little girl I saw while I was being guided into the palace?"

The Emperor assumed the ambassador to be flattering him by the remark about the delightful girl in question, who was undoubtedly Princess Zoë. He was justifiably proud of all his daughters, and thoroughly pleased that they took after their mother.

"I take it you are referring to my daughter, Princess Zoë." the Emperor remarked. "I must admit, I contrived for you to meet her on your way here."

"Ah, that's interesting..." Dong said, leaning forward slightly. "You see, His Divine Illuminated Majesty, may he rule for a thousand years, has asked me while here to meet Princess Zoë and examine her...suitability."

"Indeed." the Emperor said. "Most interesting. May I ask whether you deemed her suitable? And for what?"

"It has long been the policy of the members of Imperial Families to form links by relationship between one another." Dong said, in his best storytelling voice. "To that end, I was told to see the girl in question, and then bring forward the idea of a marriage between His Serene Highness Prince Sebastian, and Her Highness."Â* The Ambassador twisted his face into what resembled a smile, though the wrinkles hid it well. "I would ask why you wished for me to see her..."

"I had something similar in mind." the Emperor nodded. "So, you have brought forward the idea, monsieur. I must say it is one which I find to be agreeable in principle. However, if I recall... His Serene Highness is just twelve years old. Of course, my daughter is only a little older. Obviously they are each too young to marry immediately."

There are ways and means around such a thing," The Ambassador dismissed, "However, Your Majesty, Her Divine Illuminated Majesty the Tsarina has demanded that before negotiations on an arranged marriage take place, the two...candidates... meet each other."

"I understand." the Emperor said. "It would all be rather impersonal after all if they didn't. I made sure that Zoë's elder sisters met their future husbands before they married them, so I understand Her Majesty's feelings on the issue. Perhaps His Serene Highness would like to stay here with us for a period?"

"I am sure that he would be delighted to travel..." Dong flipped through some notes on the subjects. "I'm given to understanding that he is a fan of the works of Inquisitor Simon d'Arquis II, in which he writes heavily of Pantocratorian society... yes, I foresee no problems there, Your Imperial Majesty..."

His Serene Highness Sebastian Chyornyev, Grand Duke of Agua, looked out the window of the airplane as it took off from Tarnaqin International at midnight. He wasn't entirely sure where he was going, but his father had told him that it would be an exciting adventure, while his mother had contented herself with telling him to call every day. Beside him, one of his guards snoozed against while the other was resting her head on the shoulder of the chaperone accompanying them, Simon d'Arquis V.

The Count seemed unperturbed by the use of his arm as a pillow. Indeed, he seemed almost to be encouraging it by leaning slightly towards the woman. Sebastian passed this without comment. He had noticed a great many men did unusual things when dealing with women, and he wasn't overly interested in the whys and wherefores right now.

Simon, however, had noticed the watchful eyes and with a slight scowl he moved his hand a little further away from the woman's chest. Then the scowl passed, and the Count was smiling again. "Sebastian, your mother ordered me to make sure you slept during the trip so you weren't overly jetlagged."

The young man sniffed. "Not tired." He mumbled, looking away and fumbling for his book. Finding his place, he curled back up in the seat and began to read. Finding a word he didn't understand, he looked up to his chaperone and passed the book across to him. "What's a bod-eyce?"

Simon blinked, then flipped to the cover. "My journeys amongst the Pantocratorians", by Great Grandfather Simon, eh?" The count flipped through to the page indicated. "Oh...you mean bodice. It...it's a... well..." The Count considered the various pitfalls inherent in the question as Sebastian looked up at him with a guileless expression. "It's an article of clothing. And this book isn't appropriate for children." Simon stated, confiscating the book in question and storing it in his own travelbag. "Why would you be reading it, anyway? We're going to Pantocratorians..." And you don't have the slightest idea why, do you, you poor little bugger.

Sebastian, however, had already grown bored with this and was playing with the controls of his seat's television unit. Simon sighed in relief, then rested his head on that of the guard and began to doze off. Someday I'm going to figure out where exactly the d'Arquises sat down and said, "You know what we're going to do? We're going to sell ourselves and our children into permanent bondage to the Chyornyev family, that's what we'll do."

(Preceding conversation took place entirely in French.)
===

"What's our strategy?" The question was in perfect Russian.

Simon blinked to be asked such a direct question, especially by the pretty woman sitting next to him. "I'm sorry?"

She took a deep breath, and then slowly exhaled, clearly deciding that since he was doubly disadvantaged by being first a noble and second a man he obviously required to have the same thing repeated. "My Lord the Count of Nieue Carcassone, what is our strategy for when we land?"

"Ah. Well, I know that..." He flipped through the books. "We'll probably be met by some dignitary, then we'll head to the embassy or the palace or something. Or maybe not."

The Roanian woman nodded politely as the Arquisman talked, and then bent down and buried her face in her hands in sheer dismay at the lack of organisation evident here. "You might make a comfortable pillow, but you're dreadful conversation... my lord."

Simon blinked, sure he had misheard. "I do beg your pardon, madame?"

"Hum? I said nothing." The Legionnaire unbuckled and stood up to stretch, twisting her athletic frame to the sides. "Wake His Serene Highness, he must be properly dressed for the meeting as per our instructions." She directed to the other guard, who was just now fighting back the cloud of sleep.

He sighed and gently rocked the boy's shoulder. Sebastian instantly sprang into full wakefullness in that way with which the Chyornyevs have tormented domestic help and family members for centuries. The guard collapsed backwards without a whimper when a blow struck him in the gut. "He's awake."

Sebastian was dispatched without any more fanfare to change into official clothing. Simon waited until the electronic map was showing only twenty minutes before he too left to put on something slightly more courtly than his uniform. Leaving the two Roanians to very quietly ignore the existence of the ocean beneath them.

Zoë sat through her morning lessons with her tutors, a little bit more uncomfortable than usual. Given the fact that the day's itinerary had been fairly normal thus far, she wondered why her governess had insisted on her corset being done up even tighter than usual that day, why she had been made to wear her most expensive and impressive jewels, and why her hair stylist had spent forty minutes more than usual on her hair that morning. She had asked but had received nothing approaching a satisfactory response. At first she assumed that she was going to attend some ceremony or other, but the possibility of having the afternoon off for a special event seemed a distant one in the midst of her mathematics lesson.

***

The Roanians had been greeted at the airport by an official reception on the tarmac by a troop and band of the New Rome Imperial Infantry Legion in their dress uniforms, by Demetrios Raoul, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, and by the Emperor's brother, Monsieur, Prince Basil. They were taken from the airport by limousine through the picturesque streets of the Old Quarter of New Rome, to the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator. Varangians snapped to attention in two lines up the grand staircase to the entrance of the main palace building as the cars carrying Grand Duke Sebastian's delegation came to rest under the watchful gaze of the large statue of Emperor Constantine the Great.

Prince Basil guided them up the stairs and into the grand antechamber which was originally built as the old palace's great hall. The domed ceiling was decorated with a haunting Pantobyzantine icon of Christ Pantocrator, with eyes which seemed to follow the room's occupants about the tiled floor, into whose hand painted tiles were carved the interweaving letters "T" and "L", recalling the marriage of Empress Theodora II Comnenus to (the titular) King Louis XVII of France, a match which created the present imperial line. A giant oil painting in an heroic French style covered the whole of one of the side floors - entitled Le Martyre de Constantine XI, it depicted the last moments of the fall of Constantinople, a scene of carnage whose centrepiece was an heroic, desperate struggle between the last Byzantine Emperor as a horde of Turks, just in the process of overwhelming him at the moment captured forever in the painting. Decorative marble pillers stood in the corner and against the far wall, and statues of the Emperor Augustus and the Emperor Constantine XIX flanked a pair of massive front doors.

The doors swung open. Beyond them the delegation could see the courtiers clear a path between the doors and an elevated dias, on which sat the Emperor in a silver throne, wearing stark black clothings, with a jacket encrusted with millions of ducats worth of diamonds. There was a flare of trumpets.

"His Serene Highness Sebastian Chyornyev, Grand Duke of Agua, accompanied by Monsieur and Monsieur le Comte d'Arquis." was the announcement.

From an alcove high above the heads of the courtiers a hidden orchestra played a grand but delicate tune to accompany the arrival of the Roanians. Basil guided Sebastian and Simon to the dias, and then bowed deeply.

"Your Majesty," he told his brother. "It gives me great pleasure to introduce you to His Serene Highness the Grand Duke of Agua, and His Excellency the Count d'Arquis. Messieurs, His Majesty the Emperor."

"In the name of the friendship Pantocratoria bears for the Roanian Imperium, welcome messieurs." the Emperor said in his usual stern tone, his face displaying no obvious emotion as usual.

The Grand Duke placed one hand stiffly over his heart, snapped to attention, and bowed, then rose back to position. "C'est un honneur pour être ici, monsieur." Sebastian replied, trying his best at hiding his accent. Dressed in white silk, with the cross of Saint Michael over his heart the only decoration, he seemed nothing like the Emperor opposite him. "My father, the Tsar of Novar Ohan and the Sunset Isles, sends to you and your family his greetings and his best wishes."

Simon internall shook his head at the opulence of the court, finding it distasteful in the extreme. Taking a polite step forward, he bowed exactly one inch lower than his companion did. Arnaud should be here. He's Archduke, I'm just a count. He thought further unpleasant thoughts about his brother as he stepped back into place, long blue cape gliding around him. He was dressed in the old Inquisitorial Uniform, the cross of Saint Michael displayed prominently on a tabard that rested over his tunic and pantaloons. (He had fought, but eventually lost, that battle against Adrik Alexei, who seemed to have taken sadistic pleasure in overdressing his friend.)

Behind them, the two soldiers of the Divine Imperial Holy Legions glanced around, analysing the threats of the various military personell gathered here. They were dressed in full formal uniform, with the addition of a half-cape which even now would cause lesser people to swelter in the palace's heat. The sole concession either of them had made was the lack of the greatcoat, which they doubtless would be wearing now if Simon hadn't objected.

Sebastian stood there for a moment, feeling the eyes of everyone upon him. He didn't want to embarass himself, but he had to admit ignorance of the courtly traditions here. The product of a more spartan and overworked society than this one seemed to be, he felt out of place. Finally, he hit upon what he was sure would be a common ground. "...my...my lord Emperor, I thank you for your hospitality." He coughed, then tried to hide it. "It has been a long trip, and I would like to make use of the palace chapel to... to give thanks to the Lord for our safe arrival." He shrank a little, nervously watching the cold expression of the man seated on the podium, and he couldn't help but compare this Court to that in Tarniqin, where the Tsar, clad in uniform, would sit upon the ebony throne to hear the reports of his ministers.

"And we reciprocate His Majesty's sentiments." the Emperor nodded in response to Sebastian's greeting from the Tsar.

He regarded the young Grand Duke with a penetrating, searching gaze, the gaze which many of the courtiers at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator squirmed under and found impossible to meet. The Emperor assessed the boy as he spoke, and found him to his satisfaction - the boy was after all to be Zoë's future husband. It was necessary to determine whether he had two-heads, a major deformity, or some other objectionable trait. When Sebastian mentioned the chapel, he beckoned to Sir Constantine, a tall, sturdy middle-aged man with a scarred face, with a motion of his hand. Sir Constantine approached and leant in. The Emperor whispered something inaudibly, and the knight stepped away and left the hall as quickly as he could without being impolite.

"Certainly, Your Highness." the Emperor nodded. "I was about to go to the Chapel of St Constantine myself, after I've attended to one or two matters first. Perhaps Monsieur le Chevalier du Plains-Demetrine could show you the chapel, and I could join you there in a few minutes?"

Those "one or two matters" were entirely contrived to suit the Emperor's purpose, of course. As he spoke with the Roanians in the Great Hall, Sir Constantine burst into Princess Zoë's classroom.

"Your Highness," he said, nodding to his young charge, and then to the tutor. "Monsieur. Pardon me for interrupting the lesson."

"Not at all, Sir Constantine." replied the tutor.

"Mademoiselle, the Emperor desires that you await him in the Chapel of St Constantine." the knight said with a smile to Zoë.

"Why?" Zoë asked, frowning faintly as she set her books aside and rose to her feet. Surely it must have something to do with the unusually elaborate preparations this morning, but what?

"The Emperor didn't say, and I didn't ask." Sir Constantine said softly, offering his arm.

"Oh. Then I suppose I should go." Zoë replied, trying not to be nervous. She took Sir Constantine's arm and let him escort her at quite a quick pace to the Chapel of St Constantine, where she sat down in the pews and waited.