NationStates Jolt Archive

"Actually," Peter said, raising an eyebrow, "we don't have a cultural ministry; I guess Home Affairs and the Education Ministry do some of the things a cultural ministry would do." The prince gave a wry smile. "Although at the rate the new government is creating new bureaucracies, I suppose we'll have one by the end of the week."

Morgan laughed slightly before speaking more seriously. "I cannot believe that your nation has really recreated a House of Lords. It seems like...forgive me for saying it so bluntly but it seems like such a step backwards. What could have prompted your courts to take such a step? I must confess to being quite perplexed."

"So am I," Peter shrugged. "The matter is still before the courts, but as I understand the argument, the barons are claiming that the Council of Lords predated the Sword - the monarchy - and had the right to name the monarch, so the monarch, namely Emperor David I, had no authority to dissolve it by edict. So, even though it is not mentioned in the written constitution, they argue that it still has the right to exist under the older, unwritten constitution."

Peter smiled. "I didn't mean to bore you with our domestic politics. But, in the end, I don't think the barons will succeed in reviving the Council, at least not as they envision it. There is some support for giving the regions a greater say in the government, so there might be some kind of compromise."

Morgan and Peter danced for a short while longer and Brendan danced with the Duchess of Cadwallon. After that dance, the young people ate and then talked for awhile longer, listening to the music. After another few hours, they returned to the palace and Brendan asked to speak to his father in law.

Naturally Theodora neither wanted to gossip with Gwendolyn about their husbands nor did she do so. She actually found the remark moderately insulting, and would have resented the implication that she had nothing better to talk about with Gwendolyn than her husband if, in fact, she could think of anything else to talk about. When the party returned to the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, she wanted to go straight to bed.

It was too late in the evening for Brendan to be granted an actual meeting with the Emperor, but he could certainly speak with him during the ceremonies of the night. He was guided by a page to the Emperor's apartments, where he found a steady stream of noble ladies pouring out of the doors as he entered them. Inside he found the Emperor bidding good night to the ladies of the court as each of them curtsied to him in turn while he leaned against the balustrade which surrounded his enormous bed, draped in finely embroidered purple curtains, decorated by peacock and ostrich feathers. Hanging on the walls were paintings of Biblical scenes, and alone amongst the paintings with a religious subject matter was a painting of Emperor Andreus as a young man with his late wife Empress Theodora. Rather than being posed as a traditional portrait, the pair were sitting on the grass in the gardens of Chantouillet, the young Emperor holding out a freshly picked flower to his wife, who stretched out a hand to take it.

When the last lady had curtsied and bidden him goodnight, the Emperor was approached by a Varangian officer, to whom he gave the parole and countersign of the night, and then withdrew into the private room next to his bedroom, into which Brendan was invited by the page who had taken him to the apartments. Inside the private chamber stood Prince Basil, Princess Jacqueline, Prince Andreus and Prince Constantine. There were only three seats in the room - two arm chairs, one obviously the Emperor's, and one tabouret. On the wall across from the door through which the Emperor (followed by Brendan) had just entered was another door, left open, beyond which was the council chamber in which the Council of Ministers met with the Emperor. Through another open door was a room of indeterminate purpose, in which a number of male courtiers were congregating in order to attend the ceremony of the Emperor's grand coucher which would follow his evening conversation with his family. The family bowed (or curtsied, in Jacqueline's case) as the Emperor entered the room, and when the Emperor sat down in his armchair, Basil did likewise, and Jacqueline sat down on her tabouret. The two princes stood, as apparently Brendan was expected to do.

"Ah, Monsieur de Holista, you're back from the jazz club then?" observed the Despot.

"Oh, they have clubs for jazz?" Jacqueline inquired, apparently sincerely curious.

"Not many, but some." nodded Basil.

"I was informed just before you arrived in my bed chamber that it was your desire to speak with me, Monsieur de Holista?" the Emperor asked, addressing himself to Brendan. It would, after all, have been inappropriate for him to simply refer to Brendan as 'monsieur' in the presence of his brother, who was called 'Monsieur' without qualification, and equally inappropriate for him to refer to Brendan by his Christian name here in New Rome.

Brendan was a little irritated that Theodora didn't seem to have much of a sense of humor tonight but he didn't say anything. He showed up to speak with the Emperor, bowing politely and following him into the small room. "Yes, Sire, I did wish to speak with you. It is about Her Most Esteemed Highness's security arrangements..."

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, there are an awful lot of Esteemed Highnesses about the palace at present." the Emperor replied.

"You're concerned that Grand Duchess Morgan won't be secure here?" asked Constantine, frowning.

Brendan decided not to needly embarass the young prince by pointing out to him that Morgan wasn't an Esteemed Highness at all, although his look did indicate that he was somewhat surprised didn't know his future wife's appropriate style yet on the night before the wedding. He just smiled slightly to Constantine. "No, that isn't my worry, Your Highness."

Brendan then turned back to the Emperor. "Your Majesty, I was referring to Madame de Holista. Generally speaking, the Princess of Holista is protected by the Royal Guard and the Holista Guard when travelling except when in the actual presence of foreign personages who are themselves provided for by local security. I do not see why it was necessary for the Varangian Guard to provide for the security of the Princess of Holista when she was not travelling with any Pantocratorian dignitaries of the Court or the Government."

Brendan stood quietly as he awaited the Emperor's response, taking in the other members of the Imperial Family and the courtiers on the other side of the door out of the corner of his eye.

"You proceed on a false assumption." the Emperor replied. "The Varangian Guard were not acting under my instruction when they saw to the security of your little expedition into the city. The reason it was necessary for them to do so is readily apparent; it is their sworn duty to protect members of the Imperial Family. They therefore needed no specific instruction."

Brendan frowned visibly. "Sire, I did not say that they were operating on your direct command."

"No, but you presumed that I had a hand in it. Why else would you have brought it up just now?" the Emperor asked.

"Because I am asking you to expressly order them to stop." Brendan replied.

Prince Andreus rolled his eyes and looked at his watch. He hated hanging around through these boring family conversations which went on for up to an hour before the grand coucher. He looked between the Emperor and Brendan, and then aside to Constantine, who was watching on in interest. The Emperor frowned at the request.

"You might have asked from the beginning, then." the Emperor replied after a few moments of frustration.

"I am asking now." Brendan said simply.

"What is wrong with the Varangian Guard assisting in my daughter's security, in any event?" the Emperor inquired.

Brendan sighed slightly, glancing off for a moment as though trying to conceal his real reasons. "Their presence is unnecessary. My wife already has her own security fully capable of ensuring her safety."

"Good, and I know she does. But why should you object to there being additional security? Redundant security cannot possibly hurt anybody." the Emperor replied.

"Because redundant security which isn't properly coordinated with basic security frequently makes things more complicated and gets in the way, Sire." Brendan answered.

"Then why not properly coordinate it?" the Emperor replied.

"Your Majesty, I simply do not wish my wife's security handled, in whole or in part, by the Varangian Guard, any more than is necessary." Brendan said.

"And why not?" the Emperor demanded, expectantly.

Brendan sighed. "Your Majesty, I would rather not answer that in front of so many people."

"As you wish." the Emperor sighed. "You may join the petitioners if you like."

"The petitioners get to speak to His Majesty alone. More or less." the Despot explained with a wry smirk.

Brendan arched a brow sharply at the Despot. "Why is it that you so strongly object to such a request?" Brendan asked.

"Do you address me, Highness?" the Despot enquired.

"I address His Majesty, Your Highness." Brendan replied.

"A thousand pardons," said Prince Andreus, bowing graciously. "I had not thought it possible that somebody would address His Majesty in such a fashion."

The Emperor, indeed, did not look amused. Brendan just waited.

"If you do not wish to answer my question in front of the few close friends and family gathered here," said the Emperor, gesturing to his family and then to the fifty or so courtiers who were congregating in the room next door (not many of whom were paying any attention to the conversation, which would've been fort mauvais). "Then you may wait until I receive petitioners in private."

"I withdraw the request, Your Majesty." said Brendan angrily. "With your gracious leave, I would retire..." He bowed stiffly.

"I am not free to give my leave, Your Highness." the Emperor replied with a faint frown.

"Nobody who is here can retire early, my dear." Jacqueline offered quietly to Brendan. Constantine and Basil looked similarly sympathetic to Brendan, but offered nothing further.

"I'm afraid, having attended, Your Highness is obliged to remain until the ceremony of the grand coucher." the Despot offered, a bemused smirk still on his face. It was unclear whether he was making the observation to be of assistance to Brendan, or because he found something amusing in the embarrassment that, if Brendan were an imperial courtier, he would have felt.

"How was the jazz club, if I may ask?" Constantine asked, hoping to move the conversation along.

"It was interesting enough, Your Highness." Brendan answered. "Although the dancing was somewhat unbalanced."

"Unbalanced?" Jacqueline asked.

"There were five ladies and two gentleman, Madame." Brendan answered. "Unfortunately, most of the ladies were left to one another's company during any given dance."

"With all those extra guardsmen standing around with nothing to do, perhaps you could've evened things up?" suggested the Despot. There was an awkward silence from the Pantocratorians.

"Perhaps they could have." Brendan said. "However, none of them asked."

"Too well trained, I would expect." offered Basil.

"A probable assumption." Brendan granted.

"Nervous about tomorrow, Constantine?" asked Jacqueline with a grin.

"Uhh..." Constantine started. "I am a little, yes."

Brendan just stood quietly, glad the conversation had moved away.

"What's to be nervous about?" the Despot asked, putting his hand on his little brother's shoulder. "Worried she'll say no?"

"No, not really... should I be?" Constantine asked nervously, as if that particular thought had just occured to him.

"If she were going to say no, she would have the decency to have done it before now, Your Highness." Brendan answered. "I would not worry about that possibility."

"Yes, of course." Constantine nodded. "No, I was worried about her mother..."

"Her Majesty." Brendan corrected.

"The Queen is just a little upset, you know how silly and emotional women are." Basil reassured Constantine.

"I doubt very much Her Majesty wishes to cause yet another scene tomorrow." the Emperor said.

"The Marlunders have begun to claim, albeit not publically, that a Royal Princess of Marlund cannot lawfully be wed without His Majesty's consent." Brendan mentioned.

"Their opinions are as irrelevant as they are unwanted." the Emperor replied. "The High King of the Resurgent Dream has given his consent, as has the bride-to-be herself. The fact that Her Majesty has been remarried to the King of Marlund doesn't subject her children to the rule of a country to which they have never even been above the law of their own kingdom. A tie a few months old is nothing considered to a bond over six centuries old."

"Six centuries, Your Majesty?" Brendan inquired.

"The bride-to-be's ties to the Resurgent Dream go back not only through her own lifetime, but through six centuries of her ancestors, and further still." the Emperor answered. "She is descended from the line of kings supplanted by the Gwydion dynasty six centuries ago."

Brendan smiled, as though he found something amusing, but said nothing.

"And against all that, these Marlunders think that an association no more than a few months old via a single marriage should take precedence? Why, the impertinence of it! Perhaps we should have our cousin flatten a few more of their cities." the Despot said, tongue-in-cheek, almost a parody of his father.

"Monseigneur, have you spoken German so long that now, speaking again at last in your mother tongue, you have forgotten how to control it?" the Emperor asked icily.

"Since it is likely that His Majesty acts only at the request of his wife, the strength of the connection would seem to be the strength of a natural parent's relationship with their offspring." Brendan replied. "It is something which sometimes exerts more influence than even the bonds of holy matrimony, Your Highness."

"We were speaking of the opinion of the Marlunders themselves." the Emperor replied flatly. "Her Majesty is more than entitled to an opinion on the matter of her daughter's marriage, however in error that opinion may be."

Brendan inclined his head to the Emperor, letting another moment pass in awkward silence, glancing at the Despot a brief moment.

"Well," said the Emperor, rising to his feet. Basil and Jacqueline did likewise. "Good night Monsieur, Madame, Your Highnesses. If, Monsieur de Holista, you would like to speak with me in private, you have the entrée to speak to me after the grand coucher."

The Emperor walked into the room in which the assembled courtiers were waiting. A string ensemble burst into music as he made a stately progress across the room and approached his kneeler. The courtiers parted a path between the Emperor and the kneeler, around which they formed a circle, and a small choir could be seen moving into position behind the courtiers at the back of the room.

"Going to bed is a most trying and exhausting process." the Despot observed to Brendan.

Brendan yawned slightly as he woke up the next morning, sitting up briefly in bed before rolling over a little and lying back on the pillow. Theodora lay fast asleep next to him. He lay there drifting in and out of sleep until she woke up. Theodora eventually woke up and snuggled up to Brendan.

"Brendan?" she asked quietly. "Are you awake?"

"Yes. sweetie." he said, sliding an arm around her. "I don't want to get up until we have to go to the wedding though."

"Oh? What time is it?" she asked.

"I haven't the faintest notion." he said. "I told the servants to skip the normal wake-up call so it's probably well into the morning."

"Oh... but won't you miss the Emperor's lever?" Theodora asked, raising her head up off the pillow as she got up onto her elbows.

"Probably." Brendan said. "But I've already had a breach with the Emperor. Things must take their natural course from this point forward." Brendan said firmly, but gently.

"What do you mean?" Theodora frowned, sounding concerned. She got up onto her knees on the bed next to him, pulled her unkept hair back behind her shoulders, and rubbed her eyes.

"He wouldn't order the Varangian Guard to cease considering you one of their charges while you were in Pantocratoria. I didn't say anything overtly hostile but he certainly seemed to find my manner improper just as I found his refusal in this matter beyond insulting. At this point, I could go years without seeing him again and be the happier for it." Brendan said, angrily, although it wasn't really directed at her.

"But..." Theodora said, aghast. "That's... the stupidest thing I've ever heard! You never want to speak to my father again because of some stupid argument about guards?"

"I also hate how upset he gets when people don't know these Pantocratorian formulas for doing everything. They were created by Louis XIV entirely to prevent the development of the chivalric and martial values which previously defined nobility and still do in our country. It is hard to learn the arts of war and statecraft when one is instead occuppied learning under what precise set of circumstances one is expected to scratch one's nails on the door instead..." He trailed off. "Alright. That's beside the point." Brendan conceded before she could call him on it. "But it isn't just an argument over the most efficient arrangement and certainly not about one night out. I really, truly hate the Varangian Guard."

"But... you can't possibly be... but..." Theodora stammered, not sure what to make of it. "Brendan, what's all this about?"

Brendan sighed a little. "It will upset you to talk about it."

"You're already upsetting me!" Theodora protested, pushing him lightly. "Tell me what happened!"

He took her hand gently. "Theodora, I love you more than anything. I'm not a man given to fear but the one thing that absolutely terrifies me is...you. You've been through things that no one should ever have to go through, life changing things that I know can't just go away. I want so badly to make everything ok but...I'm scared that I won't be able to. I just...I can tell how much even normal things, marital things, upset you sometimes that...I don't quite know how to express what I'm trying to say..."

"Then don't." Theodora pleaded, beginning to cry. "Just tell me what any of this has to do with my father and the Varangian Guard."

"Because...because every time I see one of them all I can think about is that they failed in their sworn duty to protect the most precious thing in this world." Brendan said softly. "That's why it upsets me to trust them with your safety ever again."

"But... are..." Theodora stammered, her mouth trembling. "Are you saying that they might kidnap me again? Brendan, please, I don't understand, and you're scaring me."

"Theodora, I'll never let anyone hurt you again. Never." he said, taking her gently in his arms. "Even if there were no guards, I'd fight all the armies of Hell with my own bare hands to protect you."

"You're not helping!" Theodora protested, leaning into him. "Tell me what this has to do with what's made you so angry!"

"I just can't forgive them for failing you." he said gently.

"Brendan!" Theodora begged.

"I don't know what else you want me to say." Brendan complained. "I'm telling you the truth."

"I don't want to talk about how I was kidnapped... please, stop talking about the Varangian Guard... failing... just tell me why you're so angry at my father!" Theodora said, stopping her tears.

"Because he wouldn't let your people handle your security when I asked him." Brendan repeated.

"My people?" Theodora asked.

"Yes." Brendan answered. "Your usual security people."

"I can't believe that you're this angry about that." Theodora repeated.

"I explained why." Brendan said.

"It isn't like the Varangian Guard following me around means that your security personnel don't do the same thing." Theodora pointed out.

"I don't like them." Brendan repeated stubbornly.

"How did you go about asking my father this anyway?" Theodora asked. "You can't just ask him any old way, you know that."

"I just asked him, in conversation." Brendan pointed out.

"How did you just ask him in conversation?" Theodora probed. "Did you explain your feelings about it? Did you tell him why you wanted him to tell the Varangians not to follow me about? Did you get angry?"

"Of course I didn't explain my feelings about it. There were dozens of people there." Brendan said.

"So you just asked him?" Theodora asked.

"Yes." Brendan said.

"And what did he say?" she asked.

"He wouldn't give me an answer unless I explained my every inner feeling. I kept answering his questions and he kept pushing for more. Why can't he just oblige people? I have obliged him quite a bit, although I am starting to regret it." Brendan said.

"That's just his way." Theodora replied. "You mustn't take offence. He always wants to know reasons. You must remember, everybody is always asking him for things, everybody. If he got into the habit of just obliging people, then he'd say yes to even the unworthy requests."

"He could get into the habit of obliging people concerning their own families or of obliging foreign dignitaries concerning their own party or of obliging his own son-in-law." Brendan said grumpily.

"You've met the Despot and my aunt. Would you want him to get into the habit of obliging his family?" Theodora asked in a sweet voice, before kissing the corner of his mouth.

"Madame? She seems like quite a sweet lady. I don't see why that would be a problem." he said, returning her kiss gently.

"You know I didn't mean Aunt Jacqueline!" Theodora protested.

"I know. I know." he said. "Still, in purely personal matters, I do not see why he shouldn't. Besides, I hardly think it's fair to say he doesn't. Aunt Irene seems to find her brother quite obliging and the Despot has complete authority over one of Pantocratoria's largest cities."

"It just isn't his way, Brendan, there's no use in being angry about it. It's the habit of a lifetime." Theodora said. "You just need to explain yourself to him, like I've told you before."

"I can't tell him what I just told you. I could barely tell you. I did give a quite plausible explanation." Brendan said.

"Obviously you didn't if he still didn't grant your request." Theodora replied.

"I did." Brendan repeated.

"The Emperor mustn't have thought so." Theodora answered. "And you shouldn't be angry about that, since you know it wasn't your real reason anyway. He probably knew that too."

"It should be enough that I wanted it. I have a right to make arrangements for my own family." Brendan stated.

"Did you tell him that?" Theodora asked thoughtfully.

"No. He's supposed to already know that." Brendan said.

"You should've told him that. It sounds like the sort of silly male chauvinist argument which would make sense to him." Theodora grinned.

"I meant that...we could make decisions about our family without needing the approval of higher authorities...." Brendan tried to cover what he really had said.

"I know what you mean, and I'm just teasing." Theodora said, smiling broadly. "But you should've told him that, honestly. He'd appreciate what you were saying, I'm sure."

"Alright. Alright." Brendan said. "Nonetheless, if Pantocratoria is anything like the Resurgent Dream, it is far more insulting to show up late for ceremonies or court than it is to be entirely absent, no?"

"Of course." Theodora nodded. "But we're not missing my brother's wedding!"

"I just meant the small morning ceremonies we're already late for." Brendan clarified.

"There's nothing small about the lever. Not that I know first hand, but I do know that it goes for two hours." Theodora said.

"Small in that it is a daily event rather than a special occassion." Brendan clarified.

"Oh." Theodora replied. "Well, it isn't as if attendance is compulsory anyway. I just thought you would've wanted to go."

"Well, meaning no offense to anyone, but I actually do prefer you to most of the gentleman of the court. You're prettier than most of them for one thing."

"Oh, thanks." Theodora said sarcastically with a grin, and turned away to get out of bed.

Within the cavernous Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator, the assembled guests to the wedding of Prince Constantine and Grand Duchess Morgan sat waiting underneath the vast, melancholy icon of Christ which decorated the dome of the cathedral. Packed into the huge church near the front were the visiting monarchs in order of precedence, and behind them the members of foreign royal families who had come in the place of their monarchs. The upper echelons of the Pantocratorian nobility sat immediately behind the foreign royals, although the Duke of Montmanuel was notably absent, still being in Marlund and not having been given leave to attend the wedding in New Rome. Behind the haute-noblesse sat foreign ambassadors to Pantocratoria, untitled Knights of the Order of the Pantocrator, Ministers of the Crown (including the Chancellor, Thibault Drapeur), then many other members of parliament, mostly United Christian Front opposition members (although many of them were conspicuously absent). Behind the parliamentarians then sat a group of low-ranking courtiers who had been fortunate enough to be invited. Finally, at the back, were seated some two hundred and thirty seven ordinary citizens who had received their invitations by lottery. They had come from all over Pantocratoria and all looked suitably excited to be there.

The Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator was like a combination of a church and national museum, at once the focus of the city of New Rome's religious beliefs and municipal pride. The stations of the cross were painted as large heroic oil paintings (additions in the 18th Century) and were positioned about the walls all around the church. Lifelike statues of saints and emperors stood between them, with pantobyzantine icons of the same figure hanging on the wall behind each statue. The floor was checkered marble, and columns of polished granite, white marble, and purple marble all stretched up from it all the way to the ceiling high above the guests. In the centre of the church stood the high altar underneath a gargantuan canopy made of cast bronze which rested on top of columns of marble. High above the canopy the huge dome of the cathedral appeared to be suspended in mid-air - an effect created by a row of windows which encircled its base. The surface of the dome itself was decorated by a haunting pantobyzantine icon of Christ Pantocrator (Christ the All-Ruler).

The section of the church behind the altar was occupied by a massive organ, whose pipes were incorporated into a delicate rococo marble carving of a scene of celestial adoration for the tabernacle of silver encased within the marble. The sections to either side of the altar were occupied by the cathedral's two choirs - famously composed of the four hundred best choral singers in Pantocratoria (making for two choirs of two hundred, about half of which sang at any given Mass, leaving two choirs of about a hundred each in the church at present), most of their number were very young boys, interspersed with the occasional baritone.

Encircling each one of the four sets of three massive pillars around the centre of the church were gold-lined oak staircases which led to large boxes, rather like theatre boxes. Each of the boxes was made of rich oak, but one, to the front left, which was elevated a good deal higher than either of the other three (but still underneath the canopy's level, so that its occupants had a clear view) was additionally decorated with rich purple silk. A silver throne sat inside next to other smaller seats, all with purple cushions, and from the front of the box was suspended a golden double-headed eagle, clutching an orb and sceptre in its claws, with the Cross of the Pantocratorian Crusade born on a shield in front of it. While the throne was empty, the other seats were occupied by members of the Imperial Family. In the arm chair next to the silver throne sat Monsieur, Prince Basil, next to whom sat his wife Princess Jacqueline. In the row of seats behind them sat their daughters Princess Helen and Princess Marie (who had been called back from the Resurgent Dream to attend the wedding - and who looked thinner and pale than she did the last time she was in New Rome). Next to Princess Jacqueline sat the Emperor's sister, Princess Irene, behind whom sat Princess Zoë. Next to her sat Prince Joseph of Excalbia and Princess Anna, and next to that couple sat Princess Theodora and Prince Brendan of Holista. Behind those couples, next to Princess Zoë, in a silver chair (a second silver throne couldn't be made to fit in the box), sat Empress Aurora of Lavenrunz. Her husband, the Despot of New Constantinople, wasn't in the box, but was with the groom down below.

There was a second throne - this one of marble, down underneath the canopy by the altar, this one belonging to the Archbishop of New Rome, who stood in front of it awaiting the arrival of the Emperor and then the bride, while he watched Prince Constantine and Prince Andreus standing nearby in front of the altar. Constantine looked exceedingly nervous, while Andreus looked to be in an appropriately understated good humour. The elder brother every so often whispered something to the younger in an attempt to cheer him up - sometimes Constantine smiled, but usually he just shifted nervously. Both princes were dressed in splendid white dress uniforms, liberally decorated with medals and honours, although Andreus had had the generousity to ensure that his array of metal shiny things was less impressive than Constantine's - just for today, anyway.

Outside the cathedral the cheering of a great crowd could be heard, and then the sound of heavy Varangian boots crashing on the church steps and marble floor. The congregation hushed, and the dress-uniformed Varangians entered the church and took up positions by the door. They then snapped to attention and the congregation rose, more or less as one. The trumpets and horns of the cathedral's orchestra started to play, shortly joined by the rest of the instruments as they filled the cathedral with magnificent music.

The Emperor stepped into the cathedral underneath a long purple velvet canopy, delicately embroidered with his monogram and imperial eagles in silver thread. He wore heavy formal pantobyzantine regalia over a white naval dress uniform, including a cloak made of gold panels, decorated with hand painted icons in a checker pattern with plain panels imbetween, and a crown of silver crafted into the form of an olive wreath in place of his heavy diadem, which was carried behind him on a purple cushion by a page boy whose head was kept bowed in suitable reverence. In one hand he carried a heavy, jewel encrusted orb with a gold crucifix atop, and in the other, an ivory rod with gold and silver in-lay, topped by a golden double-headed eagle. His eyes were fixed at a point above the altar, as if he could see something nobody else in the church could see, and they didn't vary from that point as he started his long, stately procession up the purple carpet towards the altar. Behind him and to one side, so as to not be underneath the purple canopy or in the way of the young pages carrying it, dressed in shining golden armour, was Sir Constantine the Hardy, the Imperial Champion.

As the Emperor passed by each row of the congregation, the occupants bowed to him, although his gaze remained fixed aloft and he didn't look to see. He reached the foot of the steps up to the Imperial Box, and the canopy was withdrawn as a purple cushion was placed in front of him. The Emperor genuflected to the tabernacle, kneeling on the cushion, and crossed himself - all told a difficult manoeuvre in his heavy cloak of gold plates. He rose again, the cushion was withdrawn, and he ascended the steps into the Imperial Box, where the members of the Imperial Family were standing, waiting for him. The music ended as he stood in front of his throne. Pages carefully derobed him of the heavy cloak, which would make sitting down impossible, but then, as if to ensure that he wouldn't actually be comfortable, when he sat down the Emperor handed his relatively slight crown of silver olive leaves to the page boy carrying the heavy pantobyzantine diadem on the purple cushion, and took the heavier crown instead, which he placed on his own head. Wordlessly, the pages withdrew down the steps with the regalia, and the Emperor nodded to the Cardinal below, who then looked to the door awaiting the bride.

Morgan entered on her brother's arm. The High King was dressed in the uniform of the Grand Marshall of the Danaan Armies, adorned with the medals he'd won in Zvarinograd and in Marlund. Over his shoulders he wore the crowning mantle of ermine and on his head a golden crown set with seven bright emeralds.Morgan was dressed in a flowing gown of purest white.

Following Owain and Morgan came Grand Duchess Gwendolyn and the Duchess of Cadwallon, both dressed in elegant green gowns with golden lining. Gwendolyn also wore a silver tiara with an emerald set in the center, similar to the silver circlet with an emerald that Prince Brendan was wearing and the matching tiara that Princess Theodora was wearing.

Queen Ygraine and King Hermann sat in the front pew, dressed in their own royal regalia. Hermann looked exhausted as he stared blankly forward. Ygraine looked utterly devastated, keeping intense, worried eyes on her daughter.

Princess Sarah sat in a gown of light green with silver and black lining. Her expression remained cool and collected as she kept her eyes focused on the various important players in the wedding. Whatever she might have been thinking, she wasn't showing it.

Duchess Manjula sat next to her husband, Henri, smiling warmly at the whole proceeding. She linked her hand gently into his paler one as she glanced briefly into his eyes, just as quickly looking towards the front of the church.

Countess Marian was just trying to keep her eyes on the front and not to look towards Princess Helen. It was so hard not to just glance up but she just couldn't. She tried to focus on Prince Andreus as he stood smugly next to his little brother. A slight smile crossed her lips as she began to think.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." said Cardinal Conomos in French.

"Amen." replied the assembled congregation.

"Peace be with you." he said.

"And also with you." replied the assembly.

"Coming together as God's family, with confidence let us ask for the Father's forgiveness, for he is full of gentleness and compassion." offered the Cardinal. There is a brief pause before the assembly responds quietly in poor English.

"I confess to almighty God, and to you here present that I have sinned through my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do; and I asked blessed Mary, ever Virgin, all the angels and saints, and you, here present, to pray for me to the Lord our God." was the reply.

"May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life." the Cardinal concluded, and was answered with a slightly more confident "Amen".

The Cathedral's massive choir burst into song, accompanied by beautiful musical strains from the orchestra. They sang "Kyrie eleison! Christi eleison! Kyrie eleison!" over and over again, filling the cavernous church with their angelic voices and magnificent sacred music.

"Let us pray." the Cardinal said, and stepped forward. "Look down with favor, O Lord, we beseech Thee, upon these Thy servants, and graciously protect this, Thine ordinance, whereby Thou hast provided for the propagation of mankind; that they who are joined together by Thy authority may be preserved by Thy help; through Christ our Lord. Amen."

He motioned for Constantine and Morgan to kneel on the purple cushions which lay before them, delicately embroidered with the letters C and M (the M within the C). Owain released Morgan's arm with a small frown and she gently knelt down onto the purple cushion. Her expression was impossible to make out behind the white veil. Gwendolyn and Cadwallon took a step back. Prince Andreus withdrew back to his seat in the front row on the groom's side - there were places for Owain, Gwendolyn and Cadwallon on the bride's side, between the mother of the bride and Prince Peter. Owain sat down next to Ygraine, who pointedly turned her head the other way. His frown deepened a little as Gwendolyn and Cadwallon sat next to him, with Gwendolyn naturally sitting beside Peter.

"May the God of Israel join you together: and may He be with you, who was merciful to two only children: and now, O Lord, make them bless Thee more fully." said the Cardinal. "Blessed are all they that fear the Lord, that walk in His ways. Hear us, almighty and merciful God: that what is performed by our ministry may be abundantly fulfilled with Thy blessing. Through our Lord Jesus Christ Thy Son, Who liveth and reigneth with Thee in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, world without end."

Cardinal Poitiers-Phocas, the Archbishop of New Constantinople, moved to the pulpit from his seat to the side of the altar. Constantine stole a quick, nervous glance across to Morgan, kneeling beside him. Morgan's eyes were focused as she listened intently to what the Cardinals were saying.

"A reading from the Book of Genesis." began Cardinal Poitiers-Phocas. "The Lord God said, 'It is not right that the man should be alone. I shall make him a helper.' So from the soil Lord God fashioned all the wild animals and all the birds of heaven. These he brought to the man to see what he would call them; each one was to bear the name the man would give it. The man gave names to all the cattle, all the birds of heaven and all the wild animals. Bt no helper suitable for the man was found for him. Then, Lord God made the man fall into a deep sleep. And, while he was asleep, he took one of his ribs and closed the flesh up again forthwith. Lord God fashioned the rib he had taken from the man into a woman, and brought her to the man. And the man said: 'This one at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh! She is to be called Woman, because she was taken from Man.' This is why a man leaves his father and mother and become attached to his wife, they become one flesh."

Cadwallon shifted faintly in her seat, looking briefly to Gwendolyn, who didn't turn. Marian also frowned at this, stealing one quick glance at Princess Helen.

"A lesson from the Epistle of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Ephesians." Poitiers-Phocas said, reading from the Bible. "Brethren: Let women be subject to their husbands as to the Lord; for the husband is the head of the wife, as Christ is the head of the Church. He is the savior of His body. Therefore, as the Church is subject to Christ, so also let the wives be to their husbands in all things. Husbands, love your wives, as Christ also loved the Church, and delivered Himself up for it: that He might sanctify it, cleansing it by the laver of water in the word of life; that He might present it to Himself a glorious Church, not having spot or wrinkle, or any such thing, but that it should be holy and without blemish. So also ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself: for no man ever hated his own flesh, but nourisheth and cherisheth it; as also Christ doth the Church: for we are members of His body, of His flesh, and of His bones. For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife; and they shall be two in one flesh. This is a great Sacrament, but I speak in Christ and in the Church. Nevertheless, let every one of you in particular love his wife as himself, and let the wife fear her husband."

Morgan stole a nervous glance at Constantine as these words were spoken, her features still hidden. Ygraine looked down at her lap with a deep frown. Cadwallon frowned faintly, stealing another glance at the thus far unresponsive Gwendolyn. Constantine saw Morgan glance at him in the corner of his eye, but by the time he glanced back at her, she was already looking ahead again.

"Uxor tua sicut vitis abundans in lateribus domus tuae." sang the choir, their voices again filling the Cathedral.

"Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine on the sides of thy house. Thy children as olive plants round about thy table." said Cardinal Conomos.

"Alleluia! Alleluia!" sang the choir over and over again as once more the Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator was filled with sacred music. As they sang, the Gospel was carried in solemn procession up the aisle to the altar, where Cardinal Conomos kissed its rich, red leather cover, before handing it carefully to Cardinal Poitiers-Phocas, who took it to the pulpit, kissed it, and opened it.

"The Lord be with you." said the Archbishop of New Constantinople.

"And also with you." replied the assembly.

"A reading from the Gospel according to Matthew." he said. The assembly made tiny crosses over their foreheads, mouths, and hearts reverently.

"At that time: The Pharisees came to Jesus, tempting Him and saying; It is lawful for a man to put away his wife for every cause? Who answering said to them, Have ye not read, that He who made man from the beginning, made them male and female? and He said, For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife, and they two shall be in one flesh. Therefore, now they are not two but one flesh. What, therefore, God hath joined together, let no man put asunder." he read. "Praise be to thee Lord Jesus Christ."

Brendan and Gwendolyn each smiled at this, proving that Danaans could do something other than frown and glance about. The Emperor cleared his throat, quietly enough for only those in the Imperial Box to be able to hear it. Evidently, he didn't approve of Brendan smiling. The Emperor himself, of course, looked most serious indeed. Brendan pressed down slightly on Theodora's hand. Theodora gently withdrew her hand so that Brendan couldn't make her break the appropriately somber expression she was concentrating on maintaining. Brendan frowned, placing his hands quietly in his lap.

"It it truly meet and just, right and for our salvation, that we should at all times, and in all places, give thanks unto Thee, O holy Lord, Father almighty, everlasting God, through Christ our Lord." prayed Conomos. "Through whom the Angels praise Thy Majesty, the Dominations worship it, the Powers stand in awe. The heavens and the heavenly hosts together with the blessed Seraphim in triumphant chorus unite to celebrate it. Together with them, we entreat Thee, that Thou mayest bid our voices also to be admitted, while we say in lowly praise..."

The choir sang the "Pater Noster" in Latin in place of the assembly saying it. When they were done, Cardinal Conomos looked down at the kneeling couple in front of him. If the Emperor wasn't sitting above watching him, he would've smiled his warmest, most paternal smile, but he knew how the Emperor disapproved of smiling at occasions of reverence, so instead he outstretched his palms and looked on them with a strangely reassuring and calming face.

"Let us pray. Be gracious, O Lord, to our humble supplications: and graciously assist this Thine institution, which Thou hast established for the increase of mankind: that what is joined together by Thine authority, may be preserved by Thine aid." he said. "Through our Lord Jesus Christ Thy Son, Who liveth and reigneth with Thee in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, world without end."

Constantine stole a slightly longer glance at Morgan, trying to gauge what she was feeling when he wasn't even sure himself what he was feeling. Morgan seemed to be looking up at the Cardinal very attentively, although what she was thinking or feeling remained masked.

"O God, who by Thine own mighty power, didst make all things out of nothing: who, having set in order the beginnings of the world, didst appoint Woman to be an inseparable helpmeet to Man, made like unto God, so that Thou didst give to woman's body its beginnings in man's flesh, thereby teaching that what it pleased Thee to form from one substance, might never be lawfully separated: O God, who, by so excellent a mystery hast consecrated the union of man and wife, as to foreshadow in this nuptial bond the union of Christ with His Church: O God, by whom Woman is joined to Man, and the partnership, ordained from the beginning, is endowed with such blessing that it alone was not withdrawn either by the punishment of original sin, nor by the sentence of the flood: graciously look upon this Thy handmaid, who, about to be joined in wedlock, seeks Thy defense and protection. May it be to her a yoke of love and peace: faithful and chaste, may she be wedded in Christ, and let her ever be the imitator of holy women: let her be dear to her husband, like Rachel: wise, like Rebecca: long-lived and faithful like Sara. Let not the author of deceit work any of his evil deeds in her. May she continue, clinging to the faith and to the commandments. Bound in one union, let her shun all unlawful contact. Let her protect her weakness by the strength of discipline; let her be grave in behavior, respected for modesty, well-instructed in heavenly doctrine. Let her be fruitful in offspring; be approved and innocent; and come to the repose of the blessed and the kingdom of heaven. May they both see their children's children to the third and fourth generation, and may they reach the old age which they desire." the Cardinal prayed. "Through our Lord Jesus Christ Thy Son, Who liveth and reigneth with Thee in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, world without end."

The Cardinal gently motioned for Constantine and Morgan to rise to their feet. Cadwallon was just carefully studying her hands by now. Morgan rose as the Cardinal beckoned. Prince Andreus rose before his younger brother did, taking up his position to the side. He glanced over the assembly, and to his surprise, spotted Marian in the crowd. He gave her quick wink, so fast that almost nobody picked it up. Marian tried very hard not to respond much, although she sent a small smile towards her lord. Up in the Imperial Box, the Emperor balled his left hand into a fist, having seen the stolen wink, but it was soon behind him when Constantine nervously rose to his feet.

"Constantine, wilt thou take Morgan, here present, for thy lawful wife, according to the rite of our Holy Mother the Church?" Conomos asked Prince Constantine.

"I..." Constantine started in a tiny, inaudible voice. He stops and takes a deep breath, before continuing in a much louder voice. "I will."

"Morgan, wilt thou take Constantine, here present, for thy lawful husband, according to the rite of our Holy Mother the Church?" Conomos asked the Grand Duchess.

Morgan paused for a moment, glancing down. "I will." she said.

"And do you both affirm that you have come here of your own free will, not forced?" Conomos asked.

"I do." Morgan answered, after a second.

"I do." Constantine nodded.

"Then repeat after me." Conomos said, addressing Constantine. "I, Constantine Demetrius Louis Manuel Capet, take thee, Morgan Glynis ni Cunedda, for my lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

"I... Constantine Demetrius Louis Manuel Capet, take thee, Morgan Glynis ni Cunedda, for my lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part." Constantine said, his voice getting stronger and clearer as he went along.

Conomos nodded and turned to Morgan.

"Repeat after me." he told her gently. "I, Morgan Glynis ni Cunedda, take thee, Constantine Demetrius Louis Manuel Capet, for my lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

"I, Morgan Glynis ni Cunedda, take thee, Constantine Demetrius Louis Manuel Capet, for my lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part." Morgan said.

"I join you together in marriage, in the Name of the Father," Conomos said as he made the sign of the cross. "and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

He sprinkled the couple with holy water as Prince Andreus accepted the ring on a purple cushion from the ringbearer. When Conomos was done with the holy water, Andreus handed him the ring on the cushion, which the Cardinal blessed with holy water in the sign of the cross.

"Let us pray." he said. "Bless, O Lord, this ring, which we bless in Thy name, that she who shall wear it, keeping true faith unto her spouse, may abide in Thy peace and in obedience to Thy will, and ever live in mutual love. Through Christ our Lord."

"Amen" was the response.

The Cardinal held out the cushion to Constantine, who took the ring, and turned to Morgan. He held his hand outstretched to take hers. Morgan slid her hand gently into his. Constantine gently slid the wedding ring onto her finger.

"With this ring, I thee wed and I plight unto thee my troth." Constantine said.

"You may now kiss the bride." said the Cardinal.

Constantine gently lifted Morgan's veil. Morgan smiled weakly. He could see a little red around her eyes that the make-up hadn't quite been able to hide. She leaned forward. Constantine swallowed quietly, and then leaned in and kissed Morgan on the lips. Morgan kissed back gently. As she withdrew, Gwendolyn stepped forward to hand her some flowers which she placed on the shrine to the Blessed Virgin Mary.

"May the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob be with you: and Himself fulfill His blessing on you: that you may see your children's children even to the third and fourth generation: and thereafter possess life everlasting, by the aid of our Lord Jesus Christ." said Cardinal Conomos, making the sign of the cross. "May almighty God, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, bless you. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord."

Morgan slid her arm into Constantine's softly. The Cathedral's bell towers rang jubilantly and once again the great church filled with the joyous sound of music.

That has to be the most depressing wedding I’ve ever attended, Peter thought to himself. Fortunately, he had matured enough to keep the thought to himself.

After the reception, Constantine and Morgan were escorted to Constantine's apartments, and then each taken off to their own dressing room, where their respective attendants waited for them to help them change into their bed clothes. Outside the apartments, the buzzing sound of a crowd of courtiers could be heard, ever so softly at first, but gradually growing in volume.

Constantine was helped out of his dress uniform jacket by his dogsbody, and removed his sheathed sword before starting to unbuckle his belt. Having some difficulty, he looked down at his hands to find them shaking. He looked wordlessly at his brother, who, as best man, had accompanied Constantine into the dressing room, just as Morgan's bridesmaids had accompanied her into hers.

"Relax." Andreus smiled, patting Constantine on the shoulders. "This is the easy part..."

"But I don't know what to do!" Constantine blurted out. The servants carried on undressing him, untying his shoes and removing them quietly, as if they weren't listening to the conversation.

"You've never..." Andreus started, a little surprised. "I always assumed that..."

"No, I've never been with a woman before André, I don't know what to do." Constantine half-whispered and half-despaired.

"OK, don't worry about it, it comes naturally..." Andreus nodded, taking a deep breath. "Let me give you some pointers..."

Morgan went into her room with Gwendolyn and Cadwallon. She breathed in deeply as her wedding gown was removed. She hugged each of her two bridesmaids silently. Then she stepped into the bedchamber.

Constantine entered the bedchamber shortly after Morgan. The chamber attendants had finished heating the sheets, which were pulled back so that Constantine and Morgan could get into bed. Morgan nodded to her husband, climbing into bed in her dressing down and lying down, looking up at the ceiling. Constantine climbed into the bed after her, lying down next to her. The attendants pulled the covers up over them, and then left the room. Constantine reached for her hand under the covers.

Morgan let him take her hand, squeezing gently. "It was a nice ceremony."

"Did you think so? I..." Constantine started, before the doors into the bedchamber swung open, and all the doors between the bedchamber and the hall outside the apartments did likewise. The crowd of courtiers moved forward and starting filing by the bedchamber, pair at a time. Morgan frowned deeply, her cheeks coloring with a bright blush. She held back whatever she was going to say and nestled deeper into the covers.

"Make way for Their Majesties, the High King and Queen of the Resurgent Dream!" shouted a page from the back of the crowd, which duly parted for Owain and Marissa to satisfy themselves that the couple were in bed together and that, therefore, the wedding would be consummated. Owain walked through the crowd with an even deeper frown than he'd worn earlier, although he gave his sister the faintest hint of an almost embarassed smile. After a moment, he turned and moved back through the crowd with a sternly reserved confidence.

"Make way for His Majesty, the Emperor!" the page shouted when Owain and Marissa had withdrawn themselves, and the crowd of courtiers parted again for the Emperor, who moved up to the bedroom, gave Constantine and Morgan each a long look (without smiling, naturally), and then withdrew back through the crowd.

Morgan's blush deepened even more as she swallowed a little. This was worse than she'd expected! Constantine didn't seem very comfortable either, and he squeezed Morgan's hand under the covers again until the crowd of "witnesses" to the marriage's consummation withdrew, and the doors were closed again. The chamber attendants turned out the lights and for the first time, the newlyweds were left alone.

Morgan squeezed back before pulling her arms out from under the covers and laying them on top of the blanket. "I don't like sleeping with my hands under the sheets."

"Oh." Constantine replied, swallowing. Nervously, he reached the hand he had just used to hold Morgan's hand towards her body.

"So...my tutor told me a little about this in my hygiene lessons..." Morgan said, shifting towards Constantine.

"Erm... my brother just... gave me a few pointers." Constantine said, blushing bright red a moment after he said it.

Morgan opened her mouth as though to say something, blushed, and closed it again. Constantine shifted a little closer to Morgan underneath the covers.

"I'm..." he started, and then gave a little nervous laughter. "If you liked we could... how do you want to... what would you like to do?"

"I don't think I get to decide. I'm fairly certain this part is required." Morgan said nervously.

"Oh, you mean... you don't want to?" Constantine asked. He sounded even more nervous than her.

"I...I didn't know what you meant. I mean...why'd you ask what I wanted to do when we're already going to...you know?" Morgan asked.

"I meant how did you want to do... it... but if you don't want to do it at all..." Constantine replied.

"There's different ways?" Morgan inquired.

"Nevermind." Constantine said quietly, pulling his hand back.

"Now you're cross with me." Morgan said with a light sigh.

"No, not at all!" Constantine promised. "I'm... I just can't, right now... maybe in a little bit..."

"Do you not find me attractive?" Morgan asked self-consciously.

"It isn't that, I'm just nervous." Constantine reassured her.

"Haven't you... I mean... when you wouldn't answer His Majesty's question I assumed..." Morgan trailed off.

"Hmm?" Constantine asked, seemingly not remembering what Morgan was talking about.

"Nevermind." she said.

"Which question?" Constantine asked after a few moments of awkward silence.

"About whether you were a forn...had done this before." Morgan clarified.

"Oh." Constantine said, remembering now. It seemed like a very long time ago. "Well now you have your answer, I suppose. I'm sorry, it isn't you, really, I just need a little bit of time, I think, to... you know..."

"I don't know." Morgan said softly. "I thought all men liked this."

"It isn't that I don't like..." Constantine sighed. "I'm just nervous, that's all, and I'm not ready just yet, and all this talking about it isn't helping!"

"Alright." Morgan said, going quiet.

"Maybe... if we..." Constantine started again after a few more awkwardly silent moments. "You're very, very pretty."

"Thank you." Morgan said. "You're very handsome."

"Why don't we work our way up to it?" Constantine asked.

"Alright." Morgan said, scooting over to press against him and laying her head on his chest.

"I don't think I did a very good job of kissing you today, in the cathedral." Constantine mumbled, hesitating a moment before putting his arm around Morgan's shoulders.

"I think you did a wonderful job. But...you're welcome to give it another go.." Morgan said, grinning slightly as she looked up at him.

Constantine swallowed lightly, and then kissed her again, trying to remember how Erik used to kiss him and emulate it. The result was a passionate, probing kiss, although the technique was a little rough around the edges.

Morgan kissed back, pulling herself further up on her new husband. "A very handsome man..."

Constantine reached his other arm around Morgan's waist and squeezed her tightly against him. Morgan grinned, pulling free of him long enough to toss her nightgown aside.

"I think I'm ready now." Constantine whispered breathlessly.

Constantine and Morgan sat quietly in the ski-lift as it took them up to the top of the slope.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Constantine asked her.

Morgan looked down at all the snow below her, smiling slightly to her husband. "Yes, I'm sure."

"It's beautiful out here, isn't it?" Constantine said, looking down at the pristine wilderness below.

"It's very beautiful." Morgan replied.

"So, is skiing as bad as you thought it would be?" Constantine inquired after a few more minutes.

"I didn't say I thought it would be bad." Morgan protested playfully.

"You said everything but." Constantine replied.

"I'm sure it will be fine." Morgan said.

"That's a nice looking ski jacket..." Constantine remarked as the lift neared the peak. "Very warm. Don't you find it gets too hot after you've been skiing for a while?"

"Oh, not at all. Not in this weather." Morgan replied. "I've never been to a climate like this before. The closest I've ever come was Wyrnsk."

"It's pretty cold but after you've been skiing for a few hours, you don't find you warm up too much in that? I had to take off the jumper I was wearing under my jacket yesterday afternoon..." Constantine said. "It looks nice, anyway."

"Thank you." Morgan said. "I was hoping you'd like it."

The lift arrived at the top of the slope, and the couple disembarked. Constantine looked down the long, fairly steep slope, and then looked at Morgan again.

"Are you sure you're up to this, Morgan?" he asked.

"I'm sure." she answered.

"After you, madame." Constantine smiled, and gestured for Morgan to go first.

Morgan pushed off, starting down the slope, one which was steeper than any of the slopes they'd used so far. Constantine waited a safe distance, and then pushed off after her. He wasn't exactly a skiing master, but he had gone skiing a few times before and this slope was well within his comfort zone. He did worry that Morgan wasn't going too fast, however. And that worry was seemingly justified. Some distance ahead of him, Morgan fell forward, giving a loud, but brief, yelp of startled pain. Constantine quickly caught up with her and tried to come to a stop, although at this part of the slope it was impossible to do without deliberately falling onto his side, and so he did so, coming to rest a few metres below Morgan. He quickly undid his boots from his skis and left them and his poles aside, and scrambled up on his hands and feet to where Morgan lay.

"Morgan?" he called to her.

"I'm...I think I'm alright..." Morgan said, reaching a hand towards her husband.

"Let's undo your skis so you can stand up without hurting your ankles." Constantine said, taking her hand with one of his hands and reaching towards her boots with his other hand.

"Alright." Morgan said, holding his hand and shifting her feet to make her skis available to him.

"OK..." Constantine said as he unbuckled her skis. "Are you hurting anywhere?"

"My leg hurts a little." she said, sliding out of her skis and moving to stand, letting him help her.

"Wait... don't get up yet. I'm going to feel your leg, tell me if you feel any pain..." Constantine said. "Where exactly does it hurt?"

"Right there." Morgan said, pointing to a spot just below her right knee.

Constantine gently, but firmly, felt around Morgan's leg, just beneath her right knee, trying to feel for a break.

"Does that hurt?" he asked her.

"Not that badly." Morgan said. "Can I get up now?"

"Just wait." Constantine said. He got up, which was fairly difficult to do on this part of the slope, and then held out his arms to Morgan. "I'm going to help you up to your feet. Don't put any pressure on your leg until you're standing, and if it hurts, stop putting pressure on it straight away. I'll hold you up."

Morgan stood with her husband's aid, keeping pressure off her leg until she was standing. As soon as she was, she blinked and stared forward, grimacing in extreme pain and just staring forward in shock, unspeaking.

"Lean forward into me, don't put any pressure on your leg!" Constantine told her, supporting her weight in his arms. "Let's lie you back down..."

Morgan leaned forward, letting him take complete control. Her expression visibly relaxed as she took the pressure off. "That wasn't...wasn't where it hurt before. It was my ankle."

"You probably didn't feel it because the boot is so rigid. Let's get you back down." Constantine said, straining to stay standing in the snow with the angle of the slope, which made everything so much more difficult, whilst simultaneously holding up his wife. He gently lowered her backwards onto the slope, and then sat down on his side beside her. "The guards will have seen us by now, somebody's on their way, I'm sure. I'll call and tell them you're hurt."

"Thank you." Morgan said. "I'm sorry I...sorry I spoiled your day."

"Ssh, you haven't spoiled anything." Constantine said, smiling to conceal his obvious concern as he pulled out his phone and called the bodyguards. "Erik, Her Highness has hurt her ankle, she can't stand...."

Morgan quieted, laying back in the freezing snow. After the call was finished, Constantine put the phone back in his jacket pocket, and shifted in the snow clower to Morgan. He took her heavily gloved hand in his and gave it a squeeze through all the padding.

"Hey, they're on their way." he said softly.

"Thanks, Constantine." Morgan said. "I'm sure it won't be that major a problem..."

"Yeah." Constantine nodded, looking away to conceal the fact that he didn't share her confidence. "We should've stayed on the beginner slopes for another couple of days."

"I didn't want to bore you." Morgan said.

"I'm not such a great skiier that the basic slopes are too boring for me." Constantine smiled. "I'm sorry I let you come up to this slope too soon..."

"It isn't your fault. You didn't make me come." Morgan said.

Morgan settled down into the snow for a moment, shivering slightly. She wasn't that worried about the cold as she didn't believe it'd take more than a few seconds for someone to come carry her off. "I'm really sorry about this, Your Highness. I didn't mean to spoil your vacation."

Morgan had actually written a brief letter to her friend, the Duchess of Cadwallon, at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator and mailed it just a few hours before she'd gone off and gotten injured with Constantine.



Dearest Cat,

Southern Lavenrunz is even worse than we feared it would be. The cold here is so intense that walking out of doors is not merely unpleasant but physically painful. Skiing, too, is no more enjoyable than I thought. It mostly seems to involve putting on uncomfortable equipment and sliding down long slopes.

Still, Constantine has been nothing but the sweetest, most understanding man and I am making every effort to be a good wife. I'm rather nervous about what he thinks of me so far. He is always courteous but not especially passionate. I suppose such things are expected to take time in a marriage such as ours.

In any event, I am quite resolved to endure this for him and to give him the lasting impression that I am enjoying every minute. He has been very gentle in instructing me in skiing and I believe my appearance of excitement has contented him, which was quite my intent.

How are things at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator? Are you settling in well?

Yours,
Morgan

Constantine walked alongside Morgan's wheel chair, which was pushed by Erik, the Prince's bodyguard, as they re-entered their suite after a night spent in the hospital having Morgan's leg examined, set, cast, then recast after a mistake was made in the plastering. He had been quiet for the past few hours, although he had spent the night by Morgan's side. Morgan was silent as well, trying to smile at her husband every now and again. She was in that rather annoying stage where her drugs had worn off enough that her leg hurt again but not enough that she wasn't a little dopey. As they entered, she tentatively began "I'm sorry to ruin your trip."

"Stop saying that." Constantine told her gently, although his words weren't phrased as well as they might have been as a result of exhaustion.

"Yes, sir." Morgan said with a oddly placed giggle.

Constantine frowned at her, not understanding her strange behaviour. Erik set Morgan's chair by the bed, and Constantine lagged back a few yard behind her.

"If there's anything else, Your Highnesses..." Erik began, stepping back from the wheelchair.

Morgan's eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to concentrate. She gently set her hands on the wheels of the chair as she looked down at them. Constantine's eyes, in the meantime, looked up at the tall Varangian with a mixture of sadness and fondness. Erik put his hand on Constantine's shoulder, and the Prince quickly pressed himself against Erik's shoulder. The Varangian's eyes quickly darted back to Morgan in her wheelchair, and he gave Constantine an awkward pat on the back even while the Prince attempted to cuddle up to him. He then quickly pulled away and left the room, and Constantine turned back around to face Morgan. Morgan was still looking down, studying her chair with a rather distracted expression. She looked up at Constantine and grinned briefly. He smiled back a little nervously, and then moved over to her.

"I'll lift you out of the chair." Constantine offered.

"So what happens now?" Morgan asked.

"Well... the doctor said you'll be in the cast for six to eight weeks..." Constantine answered, a little confused. "Don't you remember?"

"That's not what I meant though." Morgan answered, waiting for him to help her into bed.

"What did you mean?" Constantine asked, reaching one arm underneath Morgan's knees and another around her shoulders.

"I meant what are we going to do now." she answered.

"What do you mean, what are we going to do now?" Constantine asked. "Put your left arm around my neck."

Morgan obeyed. "I don't know. You tell me."

"Look, you asked the question, tell me, what did you mean by it?" Constantine groaned. He was too tired for this. "Hold on..."

He lifted her up out of the chair and laid her gently down onto the bed, on top of the covers.

"I didn't...I'm sorry." Morgan said, settling down into the bed. "I love you."

"Let's get you changed for the night." Constantine said to her softly.

"Are we going to stay here?" Morgan clarified.

"I don't know. Do you want to?" Constantine asked, his hands reaching to her waist to untie the warm pink robe she had been given at the hospital.

"I didn't think these things were up to me." Morgan said.

"Oh for..." Constantine rolled his eyes as he undid the knot and pulled the robe back. "Don't be silly. Can you sit up a little?"

He helped her up off the pillow slightly so that he could remove the night robe completely, before laying her back down.

Morgan managed to sit up slightly. "Well, it wasn't in the first place, was it?"

"That wasn't the question, Morgan. I asked you if you wanted to stay here. Do you want to stay or not?" Constantine repeated, more than a little cranky from the night without sleep.

"I tried to be happy for you. I really wanted to be a good wife, Constantine but...it's just the drugs. It's just the drugs. Don't worry about it." Morgan blurted out, letting her eyes drift closed.

"Morgan..." Constantine sighed. "Stay awake a little longer, please? We need to get you changed and into bed properly..."

"I'm awake." she said quietly.

"Morgan, it really isn't your fault that you broke your leg." Constantine told her as he took the robe to the wardrobe and retrieved her nightie. "You don't want to stay here, do you?"

"It's like Siberia with worse weather." Morgan griped.

"It's OK to not want to stay, Morgan. It was OK to not want to come." Constantine answered as he returned with her nightie. "Can you get your top off yourself or do you need help sitting up?"

"I can get it off." Morgan said. "And...I know but...I didn't want you to know I didn't want to come."

"Well, if you take off your top, I'll take off these slacks..." Constantine told her. He pulled a mock look of horror on at the sight of the hospital tracksuit pants Morgan was wearing, with one leg obviously bunched up above where Morgan's cast began. "As if the skiing disaster wasn't bad enough, you had a fashion disaster at that hospital, I swear."

"Good thing there's no other ladies at hand to care about fashion." Morgan commented off-handedly as she removed her top.

Constantine grinned at her, pleased that his joke had distracted her from the situation. He carefully slipped Morgan's tracksuit pants off, and then helped her into the nightie. Morgan slipped it on.

"I just...I didn't want to make trouble for you over nothing. I already cost you your position and made a scandal for you and worsened international relations and permanently estranged my brother from my mother and all my other relatives are in love ma..." Morgan blinked a little. "I mean, all I mean is, I really care for you and I could easily learn to love you...I just...It's not quite the same as Owain and Marissa or Peter and Gwendolyn or Brendan and Theodora...And I'm rambling now, I guess."

Constantine sat down on the bed beside her and put his right hand on the thigh of her non-broken leg. He looked down at her sympathetically, and ran the back of the fingers of his left hand across her forehead and cheek.

"You just said before that you loved me." Constantine told her gently.

"I do!" Morgan protested.

"You just said that you could learn to, but that's different, isn't it?" Constantine said. He gently took her left arm and lifted it up around his neck, before slipping his own underneath her shoulders and his right arm underneath her knees. "Ready?"

"I am. And...you know what I mean. I love you. It's just...you know what I mean." Morgan rambled on.

"I think I do." Constantine said as he lifted her up. "I'm going to stand you on your good leg, lean on me, not your other one, OK?"

"Alright." Morgan answered.

Constantine set her down on her good leg gingerly and kept a firm hold on her while he used his free arm to pull back the heavy covers of the bed. After he had done so, he ran his hand gently but deliberately over the goosebumps on Morgan's bare thighs as he got it back in position to lift her up again.

"It's warmer underneath the covers." he promised her, and kissed her neck.

Morgan blushed faintly and slid into bed, kissing her husband gently on the lips. "Can we go somewhere nice next time?"

"Nope." Constantine replied with a smirk. "The Pantocratorian public likes the idea of its princes and princesses being miserable on their holidays."

He pulled up the covers over Morgan and kissed her on the forehead before moving off to the wardrobe to fetch his own nightclothes.

"Is that why your father made us come here?" Morgan asked groggily.

"It was a joke." Constantine said as he pulled off his jacket and shirt and pulled on his pyjama top.

"Oh..." Morgan said. "So you really like it here?"

"Yeah..." Constantine answered quietly as he pulled on his pyjama bottoms.

"I thought your father was just acting Russian." Morgan commented.

"Acting Russian?" Constantine asked, pulling a face as he turned back to the bed.

"The Russian Emperors used to send people to places like this when they displeased them." Morgan noted.

"When you displease the Emperor, you'll know about it." Constantine said quietly, his expression turning a little dark as he walked over to the light switches and flicked the lights off. "But you won't be sent away... that'd be too easy for everybody concerned."

"So places so cold it's physically painful to step outside are how he shows kindness?" Morgan asked.

"He thought we'd enjoy it." Constantine said as he got into bed next to her and pulled up the covers. "I did enjoy it..."

"There's penguins." Morgan pointed out. "You're not supposed to see penguins outside a specially cooled cage at the zoo. There's no place in either of our countries where there's wild penguins."

"That's not true." Constantine frowned. "There are penguins in the... oh well I suppose they're not in Pantocratoria itself, but they do migrate through the Pantocratorian Archipelago..."

"They swim all the way up from Antartica, across the equator, and into Pantocratoria?" Morgan asked incredulously.

"Yes. Penguins don't know that the equator's there, they don't know they're not supposed to live there." Constantine told her, managing to sound completely serious. She felt him slide up next to her underneath the covers.

"Alright. Alright." Morgan conceded. "But there are Emperor Penguins here. Aptenodytes forsteri."

"There are Emperor Penguins in the Pantocratorian Archipelago." Constantine continued. "Apostolis aquare."

"The Emperor does not constitute an Emperor Penguine just because he's swimming." Morgan noted.

"Aptenodytes princepi..." Constantine murmured. She felt his hand on her thigh again. "Much warmer underneath the blankets..."

"You're just trying to seduce me because you don't want to listen to me when I'm all inhibitionless or inhibition inhibited or whatever it is but I don't know because I did just break my leg..." Morgan continued, shifting a little at his warm touch.

"Aptenodytes illicere..." Constantine continued. His hand made its way underneath her thigh and up her leg.

"Constantine, I don't think you understand how miserable all this has been for me. Your father had no right to do it anyway." Morgan exclaimed.

"Aptenodytes vellicare..." Constantine murmured into Morgan's ear.

"Constantine!" she cried.

"What do you mean?" Constantine asked, his voice turning serious although he didn't remove his hand from underneath her nightie.

"It's the father of the bride's right to arrange the honeymoon. That's why everyone back home is so mad about this." Morgan blurted out. Damned drugs!

"I don't mean to be indelicate, Morgan, but your father is dead..." Constantine pointed out gently.

"I know that. Although thank you for bringing up such a pleasant subject. It should have fallen to my brother." Morgan said.

"I'm sorry." Constantine apologised. "Does it traditionally fall to the brother, or is it just because he's the King? I mean, if Jeanne Sujet were to marry, and her father was dead, who would get to pick the honeymoon destination?"

"I think normal people get to pick their own honeymoons, actually." Morgan commented.

"So who is to say here that it should've fallen to your brother?" Constantine asked. "I think it should've been up to us. The two of us."

"Yes, but the people aren't mad because their spoiled princess had a bad vacation nor would one expect them to be. They're mad because they think your father insulted my brother by planning this and my brother accepted it." Morgan noted.

"And my people are mad because they think their spoiled prince insulted them and their deepest held beliefs and my father accepted it." Constantine answered. "They'll get over it. I'm sorry you've had a horrible honeymoon and even sorrier you've broken your leg, and I'm sorry the Emperor picked our destination for us. But I'm not sorry that the High King didn't do it. I wish we did it, together, and next time, we will."

"You mean on our next honeymoon?" Morgan teased.

"Our next holiday." Constantine replied. Underneath the covers, he pinched her backside.

Morgan jumped slightly. "So where would you like to go?"

"Some place cold. With penguins." Constantine teased.

"We already did that." Morgan pointed out.

"Oh." Constantine answered. "Well, where would you like to go?"

"We could go to Florida." Morgan pointed out. "There's a United States, again, you know? That might be interesting."

"You don't mean Allanea, do you?" Constantine asked disdainfully. "No, let's rule out Florida."

"No, no, the real United States. The former Federated Menelmacari States. You have a house there, remember?" Morgan clarified.

"I do?" Constantine frowned. "But someplace warm, then?"

"Yes, it was part of my dowry, remember?" Morgan prodded.

"Oh. I never really looked into your dowry, actually." Constantine admitted. "I wanted you, not estates or houses or money..."

"I don't deserve you." Morgan said.

"Stop being silly." Constantine told her. He kissed her cheek, and then kissed her neck. "Someplace warm... what about... Iraqstan?"

"Less genocidal." she prodded.

"The Knootian East Indies?" Constantine continued.

"Sure." Morgan answered.

"That was a joke too." Constantine pointed out. He pinched her again.

"Tartarus?" Morgan inquired.

"It's hot as hell there." Constantine answered.

"The Dominion." she ventured.

"Swarthy men. Swarthier women." Constantine grinned, kissing her neck.

"Good. I don't want you around pretty women." Morgan answered.

"Oh. Should I leave then?" Constantine teased, and pinched her a third time.

She giggled a little at the pinch. "Well...other pretty women."

"I don't have eyes for other pretty women." Constantine told her. "But the Dominion would end up being work, not a holiday. There's never been a visit by a member of the Imperial Family there before, we'd have to do all that diplomatic stuff... you just want to stretch out on a beach somewhere... some sort of coconut-based cocktail in a half-coconut shell in your hand... sunbathing and swimming, don't you?"

"That'd be nice." Morgan conceded.

"We'll work something out." Constantine promised. He groped her underneath her nightie as he leant over her and kissed her on the lips, much like Erik used to do to him. A thought came to him. "Diogenia's pretty warm this time of year. It's not exactly Pele, but we could stay there during your convalescence. There are even beaches, and we can import some coconuts..."

"I really don't deserve you." Morgan repeated, rolling slightly into his touch now.

Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, New Rome

Le Chevalier du Plains-Demetrine, the Emperor's Principal Private Secretary for Court Affairs, carefully steamed open another envelope, this one bearing the seal of an extremely high born person. The envelope opened, he turned the electric kettle off again, laid the open envelope on a silver platter, and crossed the room from his desk against the wall to the large oak desk in the centre of the room, whose occupant sat directly opposite the large portrait of François Ier of France. The François Ier Room in the French Suite was a second office - it was here that the Emperor generally handled the unofficial business of the court, his official business as head of state generally taking place in the next salon, the Sun King Room. The Emperor finished reading the letter he had been reading, and placed it back down on the silver platter lying on his desk.

"A personal letter from Princess Morgan to the Duchess of Cadwallon, Sire." said the Chevalier.

Shortly after Morgan and Constantine had departed on their honeymoon, the Emperor had reacted to a courtier calling his new daughter-in-law a "Grand Duchess" by issuing specific instructions that any correspondence addressed to "Grand Duchess Morgan" instead of to "Princess Morgan" be returned to the sender, to say nothing of lecturing the courtier (which saved him from having to tell the rest of the court - news of a verbal dressing down from the Emperor spread through the court like wildfire, such that the Emperor knew that the rest of the courtiers would get the message within a few hours of him lecturing the unfortunate gentleman).

"Very good." the Emperor remarked.

The Chevalier removed the platter on the Emperor's desk with the already-read letter on it, and placed the platter containing Morgan's letter down on the desk in its place. He then returned to his own desk, where he went about resealing the letter just given to him in order to send it along to its originally intended recipient. The Emperor's eyes passed over the letter impassively...

Dearest Cat,

Southern Lavenrunz is even worse than we feared it would be. The cold here is so intense that walking out of doors is not merely unpleasant but physically painful. Skiing, too, is no more enjoyable than I thought. It mostly seems to involve putting on uncomfortable equipment and sliding down long slopes.

Still, Constantine has been nothing but the sweetest, most understanding man and I am making every effort to be a good wife. I'm rather nervous about what he thinks of me so far. He is always courteous but not especially passionate. I suppose such things are expected to take time in a marriage such as ours.

In any event, I am quite resolved to endure this for him and to give him the lasting impression that I am enjoying every minute. He has been very gentle in instructing me in skiing and I believe my appearance of excitement has contented him, which was quite my intent.

How are things at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator? Are you settling in well?

Yours,
Morgan

"It appears that Her Highness isn't enjoying her honeymoon." the Emperor remarked after reading the letter.

"What a pity, Sire." ventured M du Plains-Demetrine. In truth, he didn't care whether Morgan was enjoying herself or not, rather, he cared what the Emperor thought of the matter, and intended on adopting that wholesale as his opinion on the matter as soon as he knew it.

"Yes." the Emperor replied thoughtfully. "I thought they would enjoy skiing. His Highness enjoys skiing."

"Yes, Sire." the Chevalier agreed. "Perhaps Her Highness will start enjoying herself more as she becomes more proficient?"

"...Yes that's an excellent point. She will probably enjoy herself a good deal more after another week or so." the Emperor nodded. "Perhaps it wasn't as good a honeymoon location as I intended, though..."

"Oh, no Sire!" protested the Chevalier. "Skiing is marvellous and Southern Lavenrunz is breathtaking. Certainly a splendid venue for one's honeymoon."

"Do you think so?" the Emperor asked.

"Oh, yes Sire." nodded the other man enthusiastically. "Absolutely. A superlative idea."

"Yes, I am inclined to agree." the Emperor nodded thoughtfully. "It's a splendid honeymoon destination."

There was a knock on the door. The PPS got up from his seat and answered it. When he saw Sir Constantine the Hardy on the other side, he admitted him into the room without further fuss. Sir Constantine approached the Emperor and stood alongside his desk. The Emperor looked up at him.

"What's wrong, Constantine?" the Emperor asked.

"Sire, I just received word from His Highness' security detail." Sir Constantine answered. "It appears Her Highness the Princess has broken her leg."

"Broken her leg?" the Emperor frowned.

"Yes, Sire, skiing, Sire." Sir Constantine nodded. "I understand His Highness is waiting with her at the nearby hospital while her leg is set."

"I see." the Emperor nodded, frowning. "What a most unfortunate way to spend one's honeymoon..."

"C'est la vie, unhappily, Sire." the Chevalieur du Plains-Demetrine shrugged and sighed.

"Skiing, you say?" the Emperor looked up at Sir Constantine.

"Yes, Sire." Sir Constantine nodded. "With your leave, I'll return to my usual duties now."

"Yes, of course." the Emperor nodded. Sir Constantine snapped to attention and then left the room. "Skiing..."

"It really was a marvellous honeymoon idea, Sire..."

"Did you hear, Brendan?" Theodora asked, sitting on the stool in front of her rococo dresser in the bedroom of the apartments in which she and her husband were staying in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, New Rome. She was wearing her nightie and brushing her hair for bed as Brendan entered the bed chamber for the evening. They had yet to return to Holista after the wedding of Morgan and Constantine, although they would soon be departing back for the Resurgent Dream.

"Hear what?" Brendan asked, pausing to watch his wife as he stood, still fully dressed, in the doorway.

"It's awful." Theodora concluded, setting down her silver and ivory brush delicately on the dresser to turn to face him. "Morgan broke her leg skiing."

"Worse things have happened." Brendan said, stepping into the room and starting to undress himself.

"I wonder how Connie feels about it." Theodora murmured, biting her lower lip as she turned back to the mirror to resume brushing her hair.

"I'm sure he isn't pleased." Brendan commented. "It's his fault for taking her on such a poorly planned excursion, however."

"His fault?" Theodora asked, looking at him as if surprised. "But Brendan..."

"Yes?" he asked.

"Why is it his fault?" she asked, looking back at him standing in the doorway.

"It's not important." Brendan said, walking over to place a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sure he feels guilty anyway." Theodora said, putting down the brush again. "It must be hard for him..."

"Theodora, why is this bothering you so much?" Brendan asked.

"It's not, I'm just making conversation. I hope she recovers soon anyway." Theodora replied. She got off the stool and stood up in front of him, a little taller than she usually would be in her nightclothes because she was still wearing some shoes. She looked down at the high-heeled glass slippers on her feet and back up at Brendan. "Zoë was wearing these today. They're a new fashion at court. She let me borrow them to show you. Do you like them?"

"It's hard to tell." Brendan said, looking down.

"Oh?" Theodora asked, frowning slightly as she looked down at them again. "I was thinking of getting some myself. Why is it hard to tell?"

"Because, they are on such pretty feet that it is hard to focus on the shoes." Brendan said.

"You always do this!" Theodora giggled, hugging him. "Anybody would think you're not interested in fashion at all!"

"Lady, in matters of fashion, I will defer to your superior judgment." Brendan said, hugging her back and lifting her up slightly.

"Aie!" Theodora half-exclaimed and half-giggled as he lifted her up.

He sat her down on the edge of the bed. "I am far more interested in you than fashion."

"Aww.. so am I." Theodora replied. Then she frowned and corrected herself. "I mean, I'm more interested in you, not me..."

Brendan laughed lightly. "But that is precisely why you must pay attention to these things. If I didn't have you to instruct me, I would walk around dressed like an oaf!"

"You do go around dressed like an oaf." Theodora teased. "Flashy uniforms, medals, swords... those polished boots... shiny belt buckle..."

"You're just jealous!" Brendan exclaimed teasingly.

"I am not!" Theodora protested. She bit her lower lip and smiled mischeviously. "Anna is though. Your uniform is much more impressive than Joseph's."

"Are you sure it's the uniform?" Brendan said.

"Oh yes, definitely." Theodora nodded. "The medals, the sword, the boots, the whole thing."

"It isn't just that I'm manlier?" Brendan asked.

"Maybe, but I think I know what gets Anna going better than you do." Theodora replied matter-of-factly, bending over to take off Zoë's slippers.

"And what does it take to get Theodora going?" Brendan asked, gently brushing her cheek.

Theodora blushed bright pink at the question. She giggled nervously, sensing what Brendan wanted, and wondering how she was going to avoid it. She put down the shoes gently next to the bed and looked up at him, her eyes filled the usual adoration they always had for him, but also something else, harder to identify.

Brendan leaned forward to kiss her and then paused, looking into her eyes. "Theodora, is something wrong?"

"No..." she lied.

"Theodora, don't lie to me to shield me from something. I'd be happier if you were honest." he chided.

"No, really, it's nothing!" Theodora protested, much more convincingly.

She gave him a sultry look and reached for his belt. Brendan smiled, leaning forward and kissing her deeply. Theodora kissed him back passionately, although something didn't feel right. She didn't seem to be in the mood. Brendan pulled back and finished undressing. He lay down in the bed and waited for Theodora to join him. Theodora glanced over at him over her shoulder as he lay down.

"Why don't you come stand over here?" she suggested.

"Aren't we going to bed?" he asked.

"Sure, I just thought... I could..." Theodora began, blushing again. The hardest part of this routine was convincing him. "You know... make it... a little special."

"Make what a little special?" Brendan asked.

"I thought I could... you know..." Theodora mumbled, blushing furiously. "Instead of... you know..."

"Let's just go to sleep." Brendan suggested. "We can talk."

"Really?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound a little over-eager. She didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"Really." he said.

She crawled across the bed spread over to his side and then slipped underneath the covers. She snuggled up against him, trembling involuntarily. Theodora began to whimper. She couldn't keep it up any longer, she had to tell him why she had been behaving strangely of an evening for the last two months. Brendan blinked, putting his arms gently around Theodora. He just held her tightly against him for the moment, not speaking.

"It isn't that I don't like it, Brendan, really." Theodora began. "I love you, and I want to make love to you, it's just... more complicated than that."

"Shhh...it's OK." Brendan said softly, lightly kissing his wife on the forehead.

"I really don't mind, you know, doing the other things, I know that you..." Theodora began, but trailed off in tears. Brendan held her tighter. "I'm just frightened."

"You have nothing to be frightened of." Brendan answered.

"When I'm with you, I feel safe, safer than anywhere else in the world." she told him. "I'm not frightened of anything at all when I'm with you... except... getting pregnant."

"Why are you frightened of that?" Brendan asked gently.

"You're mad." Theodora said, worried. She pulled back from him slightly and propped herself up on the pillows so she was almost sitting up in bed. "I can tell. I knew you would be. It's OK, I deserve it, I'm sorry Brendan..."

"I'm not mad, Theodora." Brendan said, looking up. "But why are you scared of getting pregnant?"

"I thought it was just a silly phase, and that I'd get over it, but when I saw Anna with Elizabeth for the first time... I just knew..." Theodora said, pulling her legs out from underneath the covers and tucking them underneath her chin.

"Theodora, it's OK. Just tell me why though." Brendan repeated.

"I can't be a mother, Brendan." Theodora looked right into her eyes and told him, her voice deadly serious. "I know I can't."

"Theodora, you know how you're always saying that I'm your hero?" Brendan asked.

"You are my hero, Brendan, you are." Theodora told him, folding her legs underneath her as she turned her whole body towards him. "It's OK to be angry with me, Brendan, I deserve it. You'll still be my hero even if you raise your voice."

"Theodora, all I did was get cut with a blade. Morgan's skiing injury was a lot worse than what I got in that fight. You...you underwent everything they did to you and then you went on living. You learned to have a fairly normal marriage even after what happened. You interact normally with Protestants and fairies and men, even though you have reason to associate all three with the most traumatic things that can happen to someone. You smile and laugh and love and can even get worried about other people's comparatively minor injuries. You go on living your life and you prove yourself stronger than everything ever done to you. You're the strongest, bravest person I've ever met, Theodora, and you're my hero. You're absolutely my hero." Brendan said seriously.

"God damn it Brendan!" Theodora shouted at him angrily, tears welling in her eyes.

She got out of the bed and turned her back to him, wanting to go somewhere but not sure where she should go. Brendan sat up in the bed, looking at Theodora in puzzlement. She took a few deep breaths and turned around, her arms crossed in front of her. Her face was bright red and she trembled with anger and frustration.

"You call this living?" she yelled at him. "You call this a normal marriage? I don't want to be the mother of your children, Brendan! You think I interact normally with Protestants and fairies and men? You have no idea how hard it is for me to force myself to act normally around them! And if I didn't get worried about other people's comparatively minor injuries, I'd go insane, Brendan, because if I couldn't worry about other people once in a while I'd tear myself apart!"

"Theodora, it's up to you." Brendan said.

"Fuck you!" she shrieked at him, shaking. Then she fell to her knees and started crying again, slumping forward, her arms still crossed in front of her.

Brendan got up and knelt on the floor next to Theodora. "It's OK, Theodora. You're safe. It's OK."

"It's not that!" she whimpered as she leaned into his shoulder and cried. "How could you say something like that to me, Brendan? Never do that again, I can't bear it..."

"Because sometimes I don't think you know how amazed I am to have a woman like you, Theodora." Brendan said. "It bothers me that you don't seem to realize it."

"I'm not heroic, OK?" Theodora told him in no uncertain terms. "It's not heroic to go on living, you just do it, it's automatic, your heart keeps beating, you keep breathing, it's not heroic. And the rest of it you just do to try convince yourself that you can get back to how you were before. Don't say it again. I was trying to have a serious conversation with you..."

Brendan hugged her tight. "Theodora...I...think...if that's what you want."

"Give me a few minutes, I'm going to go wash my face with some water and calm down, then we can talk about it, OK?" Theodora asked.

"Alright." Brendan answered.

Theodora went into the bathroom next to the bed chamber of their apartments, washed her face and calmed down. She looked at herself in the mirror and tried to work out why she had been the one screaming at him, when he hadn't done anything, asides from trying to pay her a compliment. It wasn't his fault that he didn't know that she'd be hurt rather than flattered by his kind words. Poor Brendan... she thought. He must be so confused right now... I'm so confused... She patted her face dry with a towel and returned to the bedroom a few minutes after she had left it.

"I'm sorry I yelled." she apologised.

"It's alright, Theodora. Why don't you come sit with me and we'll talk?" Brendan said calmly.

Theodora nodded and walked over to him. She sat down next to him on the bed.

"I don't think you believe me when I say how amazing you are. I think you think I'm just being nice." Brendan said.

"Please Brendan, don't start again." she begged. "I asked you not to just a few minutes ago..."

"I'm serious, Theodora." he said. "Sometimes I'm worried I'm more a crutch for you than anything else."

"A crutch?" Theodora asked, sounding a little hurt but at least not flying into an angry outburst as she had done just before.

"Yes." Brendan said.

"What do you mean, a crutch?" Theodora asked, pouting.

"I mean...I mean that I'm scared you rely so much on the sense of security you get from me that it's hurting your own recovery and your own self-confidence." Brendan said softly.

"Mhm..." Theodora started, as if she was trying to form a word but couldn't. She felt like her heart had leapt into her throat. She looked into his eyes. "You know you're not just a crutch for me, don't you Brendan? You know I really do love you, just for you, not as a sort of security blanket?"

"I know that, Theodora. I didn't use the word just. But I also really love you and it bothers me when... I just want you to be alright, to be yourself." Brendan tried to explain.

"I don't understand... Is it that you don't think I'm selfish enough?" Theodora asked, puzzled. "I mean, I just told you that I want to go on the pill because I don't want to get pregnant, that was pretty selfish..."

"Theodora, I... Wait! You meant you wanted to go on the pill?" Brendan exclaimed.

"Well I don't want to get pregnant, Brendan, what did you think I meant?" Theodora asked, frowning a little in confusion.

"I...I'm not sure." he said. "You know what the Church says about it?"

"Yes, but Brendan..." Theodora started. "The Church says that about every form of contraceptive."

"Not natural birth control." Brendan pointed out.

"Natural birth control?" Theodora snorted. "Like my aunt and uncle use?"

"Do they?" Brendan asked.

"Yes." Theodora answered. "You are aware that so-called natural birth control is actually, basically, just not having sex, right?"

"Well... it's up to you." Brendan repeated nervously.

"Brendan, you can't be bothered that I want to go on the pill, at least, you can't be more bothered by that than the fact that I don't want to have your children..." Theodora said, looking quite incredulous.

"I don't even know how to deal with any of this, Theodora." Brendan said.

"Well, since when did you start caring about what the Church says about what we can do in the bedroom?" Theodora asked.

"Theodora, I already said it was up to you." Brendan protested.

"You know what the Church says about all those other things I do for you, right?" Theodora asked him.

"I know." Brendan said in increasing frustration.

"Then why do you care what it says about the pill?" Theodora asked.

"Theodora, you already won!" Brendan snapped, lying back in the bed.

"You were trying to make me feel guilty, weren't you?" Theodora demanded, putting her hands on her hips even while she sat on the edge of the bed.

"No, Theodora." Brendan repeated.

"Yes you were!" Theodora insisted. "Funny how you didn't try to make me feel guilty by bringing up the Church when I was su..."

"Theodora!" Brendan exclaimed.

"Admit it, you're angry!" Theodora told him, her own voice raised as she stood up off the bed.

"No." Brendan said. "Just confused. What is it you want from me?"

"I want you to stop acting like my crutch!" Theodora told him. "Do you want children or not, Brendan?"

"Yes, I do." he answered.

"So don't sugar coat it and say it's OK, Brendan!" Theodora pleaded with him, crawling onto the bed next to him. "Be honest with me, please."

"I want to have children." Brendan repeated.

"I know you do." Theodora said, lying down on her side next to him. "Does it make you angry that I know you want to have children, and want to go on the pill anyway?"

"Angry is the wrong word." Brendan said.

"What's the right word?" Theodora asked gently. "I'm your wife. Don't keep your feelings from me because you think you'll hurt me."

"It upsets me." Brendan said.

"How does it make you feel about me?" Theodora probed, wondering what her therapist would ask Brendan to make him open up.

"Disappointed, I suppose." Brendan answered.

"I'm sorry I've disappointed you, Brendan." Theodora apologised. "You're the last person in the world I want to disappoint. I just can't be a mother, Brendan..."

"Theodora, don't say things like that." Brendan said.

"It's true though, Brendan, I'm too messed up!" Theodora told him, wondering whether he'd let her cuddle up to him or not, or whether he was too upset with her. "I'm erratic and I have these terrible... dark... I can't be a mother, I'm sorry."

"Theodora, you're eighteen. You're in no position to decide this now." he said.

"No position?" Theodora asked, obviously offended. Her indignation quickly gave away to a quivering lip and trembling jaw. "You don't think I can make decisions for myself?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Brendan said calmly.

"No, I don't know it... what did you mean?" Theodora said, relieved that he hadn't intended that, and recollecting herself. "That I could change my mind in the future?"

"Exactly. We're young. It's only been slightly more than a year since everything you went through. If you want to take steps to avoid pregnancy now, I'm sure the Lord would understand why you need to, even if the Church wouldn't. But don't call it a decision to never have children. There's twenty more years that we have that option. No need to rush to judgment."

"You... really?" Theodora asked, smiling weakly. "Well, that's a start I suppose..."

"You just need time, sweetie. Are we alright now?" Brendan asked.

"Well, I suppose... although I... can't help but thinking you're not hearing me... but you're being more understanding than I probably would be, at the same time..." Theodora equivocated. She looked at him in the eye. "I'm sure about this, Brendan. I'm not going to change my mind."

"Let's go to sleep." Brendan said.

"If you still wanted... I mean... I could start taking them tomorrow..." Theodora offered.

"Do you want to?" Brendan asked.

"The only reason I didn't want to was because I didn't want to get pregnant, Brendan!" Theodora promised him, hugging him.

Morgan and Constantine were settling into Constantine's apartments in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator after the couple's early return from their disastrous honeymoon. Just as the pair were beginning to relax, a maid rushed into the room, so nervous that she forgot to knock. Trembling, she curtsied to the couple.

"Your Highnesses... the Emperor is here." she started.

Morgan instinctively tried to rise before realizing that such a thing wasn't exactly possible with her broken leg. Her face colored as though she was worried the Emperor wouldn't understand why she couldn't get up. That was the kind of vibe he gave off.

"Uhh..." Constantine began. The Emperor didn't usually make visits to private apartments, even his son's. He rose to his feet. "Show him in, I suppose."

"Yes, monsieur." the maid curtsied again. But she didn't leave. She just stood there for a few seconds before it sank in. "Oh... pardon me..."

She turned and left the room. She returned in a few moments followed by the Emperor himself, carrying a large, very old looking book in his hand.

Morgan bowed her head as he entered. "Your Majesty."

"Your Majesty," Constantine began, bowing. "What an unexpected pleavilege. I mean pleasure. I mean privilege."

"My visits to private apartments are not so rare that they necessitate the creation of new vocabulary." the Emperor replied to Constantine. As usual, the delivery was so dry and cool that it sounded as if he was most displeased with the mispronounciation.

"No, Sire, I'm sorry..." Constantine bumbled.

"That was a joke." the Emperor said sharply.

"Oh, yes, Sire, of course." Constantine nodded.

"Apparently it wasn't funny." the Emperor observed.

"We're very glad to see you, Your Majesty." Morgan said. "If surprised."

"Obviously." the Emperor said, his eyes falling on her cast. "How is your leg, madame?"

"It's been better." she joked.

"That is also obvious." the Emperor replied in his usual manner. "I want to know how it is, not how it has been."

Inwardly he winced at the harshness of his own reply to her humour, but such responses were the practised habit of a lifetime, and came automatically. He tried to soften it by adding: "Does it cause you much discomfort?"

"Not anymore. It was much worse the first few days." she answered.

"I am glad to hear that it no longer causes you too much discomfort." the Emperor replied. He looked to Constantine. "By your leave, monsieur, I would speak alone with your wife."

"Uhh..." Constantine began, looking to Morgan. The request was a little irregular.

"It's alright with me, Constantine." Morgan reassured her husband.

The Emperor arched an eyebrow at Morgan's reply, following her gaze to Constantine.

"Of course." Constantine said, turning white at Morgan vocalising his concerns. He hadn't imagined she would actually say that in front of him! Now the Emperor would think that he was uncomfortable with the idea of his being alone with Morgan...

"Good." the Emperor finally said, barely restraining his displeasure with Constantine with the knowledge that he shouldn't blame the boy for being protective of his wife. "You may leave, then. And take the staff with you."

"Yes, Sire." Constantine nodded, and then bowed.

He looked to Morgan again before leaving the room with the staff, leaving the Emperor alone with Morgan. Morgan looked at the Emperor curiously, waiting to see where this was going. The Emperor moved towards Morgan. He dragged one of the silver chairs with purple embroided cushions from the nearby desk over to the bedside, and sat down next to her. Morgan smiled faintly, still waiting to see what would happen.

"I apologise for selecting your honeymoon destination for you, without consultation." the Emperor said, as though it were difficult to say.

"It's alright. It is hardly your fault that I had an accident." Morgan pointed out.

"I was the one who decided that you should go skiing." the Emperor pointed out in return. "And you don't like skiing."

"Your Majesty...I know...I'm not sure what would make you say that." Morgan said tentatively.

"I know that you don't like skiing, you can admit it." the Emperor told her.

"Very well." Morgan said, struggling to figure out how exactly he could know.

"I..." the Emperor began, holding up the very old looking book. "Brought you something. I understand that you're trying to learn Greek..."

"I am." Morgan said, raising her hands towards the book slightly. "That was very thoughtful of you, Your Majesty."

"I should say that this book is one of a kind, that's the only reason I am giving it to you... I don't necessarily endorse its contents, which are rather distasteful in places." the Emperor began, handing the book to her.

Its cover was bound in purple leather faded with age, and bore the title "???????? - ?????????" in golden Greek letters above the label "?????????" in similar print. The pages were gold leaf, and the book was tied shut with red silk ribbons looped through silver hoops - the ribbons and the hoops were obviously much later additions to the old book.

"Distasteful?" Morgan asked curiously, examining the beautiful workmanship on the physical book itself.

"This is one of the first publications in Pantocratoria." the Emperor explained. "There were a number of manuscripts brought here from the Morea after the fall of Constantinople. They were copied to be preserved, one copy of each work for each of the twelve Monasteries of the Apostles, and one of each for the Emperor Demetrius. The set was intended to be a sort of master reference. Together, it formed the first Pantocratorian publication. If you can read it, there is a letter on the first page which explains it better than I could... just untie those ribbons."

Morgan untied the ribbons, reading the letter and struggling to understand.

To
DEMETRIUS
In Christ True Emperor and Autocrator of the Romans
Earthly Lord of the Land of Christ the All-Ruler

By Your Majesty's command, the various books and manuscripts, many old and disintegrating, taken from the libraries of your Sainted Uncle, the Great Martyr Constantine XI Palaeologus, before the destruction of old Constantinople and the slaughter and enslavement of its people by the Turk Mehmet the Destroyer, beloved of Satan, have been copied afresh and bound in the modern fashion, so as to ensure their preservation whilst awaiting their restoration to the libraries from which the originals were taken. Each manuscript was copied thirteen times, once for each Apostle, and one copy in the name of Your Majesty. The copies made in Your Majesty's name have been presented to you; those books copied in the names of the Apostles have been taken across the New Empire and placed in those monasteries which Your Majesty built for the Glory of Holy God and His Mother.

This has been done as Your Majesty commanded for every manuscript, then, except for the manuscript from which this book has been copied. Here too, we have done by your command, making only one copy. The copiers have been sworn to secrecy according to the most terrible oaths Christians can make, such that the very soul is imperilled for eternity by its breaking.

Your Majesty will find herein the Secret History of the Emperor Justinian, the Empress Theodora, the general Belisarius and the witch Antonina, the ???????? of Procopius of Caesarea. Whether the terrible things it says about the Emperor and particularly the Empress are true, I will not say, only God knows, but they are detailed here for Your Majesty's consideration. I beg that in your infinite wisdom, you will take the actions described herein as example of what a ruler must not do, if he be Christian and desires to be loved by God. If, in such a long line of wise Christian Emperors, there has been one Demon King, it is a testament to the protection of the Holy Theotokos that the Romans survived and their fatherland was preserved for so many centuries. If the Romans survived a Demon in the form of Justinian, then so shall they survive a Demon in the form of the Turk Mehmet, and surely flourish in this Pantocratoria, a new fatherland.


"That sounds...intriguing..." Morgan said, reading.

"Procopius was the official historian of Belisarius, Justinian's great general." the Emperor began. "Supposedly, he wrote this secret history in addition to all his other ones, which were propaganda in a way, since they only covered positive aspects of the reign, things people would want to read. This secret history was intended to be published after the death of those concerned, but unfortunately for Procopius, Justinian outlasted him. It was published centuries later. As I said, some of it is rather distasteful..."

Morgan nodded slightly. "That sounds rather interesting."

"I wouldn't let my own daughters read the ninth chapter." the Emperor said. "I'd recommend you didn't do so either, but then, that's only a recommendation. You may make your own decision about it."

"What's in the ninth chapter?" Morgan asked curiously.

"A rather colourful description of the Empress Theodora's life before marrying Justinian." the Emperor answered. "Almost pornographic in places. If you read it, you'll see why I didn't allow my daughters to do so, but... I think that the honeymoon was quite enough of my making decisions for you, so you may make up your own mind."

"Oh...." Morgan said, colouring a little at the Emperor's answer. "I...don't think I'll read it..."

"Well, you're a grown woman." the Emperor answered. He figured that she'd read it anyway, and just didn't want to admit that she would, but he thought that a natural enough desire. "It's your decision, I don't want you to do something or not do something based on what you think I want you to do, or even my recommendation, I've enough of that around here, and have done enough interfering in what should be your own affairs."

He glanced meaningfully at her leg.

She followed his gaze. "That really wasn't your fault, Your Majesty. But...thank you. This means a lot to me."

"Not at all." the Emperor replied, looking back up at her face and giving her a very small smile. "I'd like it if you felt free to talk to me about things, whatever those things might be."

"Why has no one ever tried to convert me?" Morgan asked frankly.

"I'm sorry?" the Emperor asked.

"Well...the wedding arrangement only required that I not be required to change my religion as part of the agreement. It didn't forbid me from converting in any way. So...I was wondering..." Morgan explained.

"Well, I did ask that you convert to Catholicism as part of the agreement, initially, I assumed you were privy to those details..." the Emperor answered. "So somebody has tried to convert you."

"That's not exactly what I meant." Morgan said. "I don't mean no one has tried to pressure me to convert. I mean... why has no one tried to convince me of the truth of Catholicism?"

"Everybody probably takes it as self-evident." the Emperor replied. "To be honest, I haven't given the idea of trying to convince you of anything any thought, and I doubt anybody else has either."

Morgan nodded. "I was just curious."

"Do you want somebody to try convince you?" the Emperor asked.

"I wouldn't mind if someone tried as long as they were polite and not incessant in their efforts." Morgan answered.

"It would bother me intensely if somebody attempted to pursuade me of the truth of their religion." the Emperor replied. "I must say, madame, that seems rather an odd thing for you to say, to my way of thinking."

Morgan shrugged ever so faintly. "We come from very different cultures, Your Majesty, and very different ways of seeing these things."

"Perhaps." the Emperor conceded. "Would you like me to arrange for a priest to speak with you?"

"If you'd like." Morgan said.

"It isn't a matter of what I'd like, madame, please." the Emperor said. "I meant what I said before. What would you like?"

"I think it'd be interesting, if nothing else." Morgan said.

"Then I should arrange it for you?" the Emperor asked.

"Yes." Morgan answered.

"Consider it done." the Emperor said. "Is there anything else you've been wondering, or would like to say?"

Morgan paused a moment, considering the question.

"Not...nothing comes immediately to mind." Morgan responded. "Is there anything else you'd wish to say?"

"Just that I hope you'll spend some time in my company... you may always consider yourself invited to accompany me at recreations and the like." the Emperor said. Morgan probably wouldn't appreciate the reaction of most courtiers, even those of the highest rank, to such an invitation, which was an invitation into the circle of the Emperor's favourites, the ultimate mark of the Emperor's favour and thus the most important sort of status in the status-conscious world of the court. "You don't have to, of course, but you'd be welcome."

"I'd love to!" Morgan answered, perhaps overeagerly.

"Good." the Emperor smiled again. The reaction wasn't at all unusual - most reactions to such invitation were positively fawning in fact. He began to rise. "Well..."

"Thank you for coming to see me." Morgan said with a smile.

Morgan eagerly took up the Emperor's offer to spend more time with him, getting to know His Majesty's intimate set as well as her husband's. She took her meetings with the Pantocratorian priest seriously, spending long hours studying and arguing over the Bible with him. As for the other marriages contracted at that fateful party, both of which were much less controversial, the couples involved seemed to settle happily into married life. Owain and his mother remained not on speaking terms, but that is a story for another time.

FIN