Shessara
06-02-2005, 19:19
Prince Cyridd of Shessara was not having a good day. He ran his right hand through his mussed hair as he tried to eat lukewarm oatmeal with the other. Saeth and Ymgrymiad, his two attendant pages, stood stiffly and formally behind him, awaiting his inevitable disgust with the oatmeal and call for garb.
Cyridd sighed, rubbed his aching head. Sighing, he dropped his spoon into his bowl, and pushed back the oaken bench, standing. "Saeth, please bring me a glass of water, and Aderyn- sorry, Ymgrymiad- please bring me a towel and some robes."
Crossing the stone-floored chamber in which he slept, he pulled back the drawer of his wooden bedside-table and withdrew a small leather bag. Producing a small white pill from its interior, he accepted the desired glass from Saeth and swigged it down with the medication.
A hot shower later, he felt much better. The pill had reduced his headache to a manageable point, and the water had awakened him, and he had been put in a good mood by Aderyn, no, Ymgrymiad's remembrance of his daily desire for unwrinkled clothing, though it drive the castle servants mad. Shrugging into a tunic and thick plaid trousers, Cyridd tied on his belt and donned the aristocratic half-cape he had affected recently. A heavy green woolen cloak, brooched with gold, protected him from the cold as he slipped out of the Main Keep's east doorway and crossed the flagged courtyard to the Old Keep's servant's entrance. Surprising the old cook, fat Nanna (No one could ever remember her real name), Cyridd pinched a fresh-buttered scone from the cutting-board. Nanna, out of reflex, seized his wrist and smacked his hand with the rolling pin she carried. Cyridd, laughing, lifted her hand off her arm.
"Why, my lord, you startled me! Just like when you was a boy, it were!" Kissing Nanna on the cheek and promising not to surprise her again, Cyridd took a plate of scones, munching his original one as he climbed a flight of stairs out of the kitchens and into the Guest Hall. He was not surprised to find his friend and very-distant-cousin Adyn ddim-Laeryn already there, as even though Adyn was in Shessara as a royal guest, he was still technically exile and prone to waking every morning thinking he was a prisoner- his only prior experience of Shessara itself.
"Good morning, my friend. I come, bearing gifts." Cyridd waved the scones at Adyn. Adyn, caught by surprise, knelt. "My lord."
A scone bounced off his head and landed on his cloak. "Oh, bother that. Eat your food."
Adyn blinked, raising his head. "This for me?"
"No, fool, all of this food is for Ci," said Cyridd.
Adyn had to laugh at the incongruous image of Ci, his daughter Gwen's tiny dog, devouring the pile of scones twice his size. Standing, he lifted the scone from his cloak, shrugged and took a bite. "Delicious." Then he coughed. "Ach. Lint."
Cyridd sombered and crossed the hall. "I know it's early, but I need to talk to you about political business."
Adyn looked up from his scone. "Why, what's happened?"
"Hewc sur-Laeryn of Y Drw has declared feud with Avyn mewn-Cleddyf, of whose titles I've no doubt you've heard."
Adyn nodded. "So I heard, on the plane ride in. What would you have me do?"
"Adyn, this might be a shock to you, but..." Cyridd hesitated. "I want you to lead an army to 'settle' this dispute. If Heddwyn Cleddyf gets involved the nation will go to war."
Adyn dropped the scone he had just lifted. "Impossible."
"Why?"
Shocked out of formality, Adyn continued. "I'm an exile, technically I should be dead for just returning to Shessara! Furthermore, I'm an intelligence man, not a warrior. Finally, I'm a ddim-Laeryn! No clan would go along with it."
Cyridd snorted. "Pish tush, my brother. Your exile is merely a formal sentence, a necessity fifty years ago, against the original criminals, but the ddim-Laeryn have been punished enough, methinks. You, at least, have more than earned your return. That will be enough. Also, you are one of the greatest thinkers I know, and no coward. That alone makes you a great general, before you set foot in the field."
Adyn gaped. "I... see... but wouldn't my esteemed lord and cousin Braedd be a better choice? Or Mathonwy of the Marchocáu, you seem to like him. Or even Heuliau! All better generals than I."
Cyridd shook his head. "Not so. And even with that, I can't use them. Braedd is useless for small-scale conflicts. He's a conqueror, not a general. Furthermore, he hates all Cleddyf with a passion, where at least Heddwyn limits his to Braedd alone! Mathonwy is visiting his wife's family in Eldanor, and Heuliau fell from a horse three days ago. Broke an arm and a leg. I would have no other than you, Adyn."
Adyn shook his head, slowly. "Very well, Cyridd, but I hope you know what you're doing."
Cyridd grinned and clapped Adyn on the shoulder. "We can hold the formal adoption ceremony around noon.
Adyn just sat and thought.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Braedd Laeryn, massive and brooding in the dim light of the torches in his windowless Lesser Audience Hall, leaped to his feet, howling with rage. "Cyridd did what!?"
"He has invited Adyn ddim-Laeryn to return to Shessara, and is sending him to mediate between Hewc and Avyn," the Clan Laeryn courier repeated patiently.
A vein stood out on Braedd's neck. "That... usurper... coward... thinks he'll have this throne, does he!? His family surrendered all claim to this name when they were driven sniveling from this land fifty years ago!"
"My lord," his 'companion', Asgre, cooed. "Surely he is just being rewarded for service..."
Braedd backhanded the woman, sending her stumbling backwards, blood running from her nose. "Bitch! Slut! Speak not to me of loyal service! I have given my life for this crown! Out of my sight, and I never want to see your sorry ass again!"
He seized his great broadsword from the wall, massive even for him but scaled in the fist of a battlesuit. "Bring me a prisoner- that Cleddyf rat will do."
Cyridd sighed, rubbed his aching head. Sighing, he dropped his spoon into his bowl, and pushed back the oaken bench, standing. "Saeth, please bring me a glass of water, and Aderyn- sorry, Ymgrymiad- please bring me a towel and some robes."
Crossing the stone-floored chamber in which he slept, he pulled back the drawer of his wooden bedside-table and withdrew a small leather bag. Producing a small white pill from its interior, he accepted the desired glass from Saeth and swigged it down with the medication.
A hot shower later, he felt much better. The pill had reduced his headache to a manageable point, and the water had awakened him, and he had been put in a good mood by Aderyn, no, Ymgrymiad's remembrance of his daily desire for unwrinkled clothing, though it drive the castle servants mad. Shrugging into a tunic and thick plaid trousers, Cyridd tied on his belt and donned the aristocratic half-cape he had affected recently. A heavy green woolen cloak, brooched with gold, protected him from the cold as he slipped out of the Main Keep's east doorway and crossed the flagged courtyard to the Old Keep's servant's entrance. Surprising the old cook, fat Nanna (No one could ever remember her real name), Cyridd pinched a fresh-buttered scone from the cutting-board. Nanna, out of reflex, seized his wrist and smacked his hand with the rolling pin she carried. Cyridd, laughing, lifted her hand off her arm.
"Why, my lord, you startled me! Just like when you was a boy, it were!" Kissing Nanna on the cheek and promising not to surprise her again, Cyridd took a plate of scones, munching his original one as he climbed a flight of stairs out of the kitchens and into the Guest Hall. He was not surprised to find his friend and very-distant-cousin Adyn ddim-Laeryn already there, as even though Adyn was in Shessara as a royal guest, he was still technically exile and prone to waking every morning thinking he was a prisoner- his only prior experience of Shessara itself.
"Good morning, my friend. I come, bearing gifts." Cyridd waved the scones at Adyn. Adyn, caught by surprise, knelt. "My lord."
A scone bounced off his head and landed on his cloak. "Oh, bother that. Eat your food."
Adyn blinked, raising his head. "This for me?"
"No, fool, all of this food is for Ci," said Cyridd.
Adyn had to laugh at the incongruous image of Ci, his daughter Gwen's tiny dog, devouring the pile of scones twice his size. Standing, he lifted the scone from his cloak, shrugged and took a bite. "Delicious." Then he coughed. "Ach. Lint."
Cyridd sombered and crossed the hall. "I know it's early, but I need to talk to you about political business."
Adyn looked up from his scone. "Why, what's happened?"
"Hewc sur-Laeryn of Y Drw has declared feud with Avyn mewn-Cleddyf, of whose titles I've no doubt you've heard."
Adyn nodded. "So I heard, on the plane ride in. What would you have me do?"
"Adyn, this might be a shock to you, but..." Cyridd hesitated. "I want you to lead an army to 'settle' this dispute. If Heddwyn Cleddyf gets involved the nation will go to war."
Adyn dropped the scone he had just lifted. "Impossible."
"Why?"
Shocked out of formality, Adyn continued. "I'm an exile, technically I should be dead for just returning to Shessara! Furthermore, I'm an intelligence man, not a warrior. Finally, I'm a ddim-Laeryn! No clan would go along with it."
Cyridd snorted. "Pish tush, my brother. Your exile is merely a formal sentence, a necessity fifty years ago, against the original criminals, but the ddim-Laeryn have been punished enough, methinks. You, at least, have more than earned your return. That will be enough. Also, you are one of the greatest thinkers I know, and no coward. That alone makes you a great general, before you set foot in the field."
Adyn gaped. "I... see... but wouldn't my esteemed lord and cousin Braedd be a better choice? Or Mathonwy of the Marchocáu, you seem to like him. Or even Heuliau! All better generals than I."
Cyridd shook his head. "Not so. And even with that, I can't use them. Braedd is useless for small-scale conflicts. He's a conqueror, not a general. Furthermore, he hates all Cleddyf with a passion, where at least Heddwyn limits his to Braedd alone! Mathonwy is visiting his wife's family in Eldanor, and Heuliau fell from a horse three days ago. Broke an arm and a leg. I would have no other than you, Adyn."
Adyn shook his head, slowly. "Very well, Cyridd, but I hope you know what you're doing."
Cyridd grinned and clapped Adyn on the shoulder. "We can hold the formal adoption ceremony around noon.
Adyn just sat and thought.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Braedd Laeryn, massive and brooding in the dim light of the torches in his windowless Lesser Audience Hall, leaped to his feet, howling with rage. "Cyridd did what!?"
"He has invited Adyn ddim-Laeryn to return to Shessara, and is sending him to mediate between Hewc and Avyn," the Clan Laeryn courier repeated patiently.
A vein stood out on Braedd's neck. "That... usurper... coward... thinks he'll have this throne, does he!? His family surrendered all claim to this name when they were driven sniveling from this land fifty years ago!"
"My lord," his 'companion', Asgre, cooed. "Surely he is just being rewarded for service..."
Braedd backhanded the woman, sending her stumbling backwards, blood running from her nose. "Bitch! Slut! Speak not to me of loyal service! I have given my life for this crown! Out of my sight, and I never want to see your sorry ass again!"
He seized his great broadsword from the wall, massive even for him but scaled in the fist of a battlesuit. "Bring me a prisoner- that Cleddyf rat will do."