Ocono 29th, 3329 A.G
At times, Vanora wondered what the point of her visions were. The gods did not allow her to share most of them, so there weren't anything she could do about them. Then she'd come to her senses again- and remember what a gift it were. This time was no exception.
She remembered opening her eyes, believing she'd woken up- and yet here she were. This was a room she'd never seen before, belonging to some nobleman or lady- with a great view she did not recognize. The furniture were well carved but not detailed with too much gold- so one of the poorer territories perhaps?
Something told her to look out the window again and down- so she did. She saw a man and welcoming party walking with the young woman she'd seen before- her hair down freely again. She seemed happier too- so Vanora wondered if she were in a time long before or long after her last vision.
Again, no one seemed to see her. She could hear nothing from where she were, so she waited. The gods always sent her where she were meant to be. It could've been moments or hours that she were alone, listening to the occasional footsteps in the hallway- but eventually the knob did turn. Eventually, she got a better look at the lord. He had many features of a Beran man- but a Prarisian nose. He were a few years older than the familiar lady- though his identity were clear at their first words.
"Lord Geffri-" The woman smiled. "I thank you for your hospitality. I.... do not deserve it."
"Nonsense-" He shook his head, gesturing for her to sit as he did the same. Still- neither saw Vanora's standing a few paces away. "Our parent's old fights do not mean we must hate one another."
"They had every reason to hate one another." Lord Geffri shrugged, pouring a glass of wine for her. "With what my father helped do...."
"No-"The young woman interrupted. "I don't wish to talk about it. It was...out of his control. What did you call me here for, Lord?"
Lord Geffri....Geffri Rand?
Lord Aenor Rand's second son?
Geffri paused for a moment before pouring his own glass. Nervousness took over, as the next moments could change how his people and descendants saw him as a ruler. The girl before him were beautiful, but grew more and more fierce with each passing day if rumors could be believed. If his words were taken the wrong way.... He'd likely not leave the chamber alive.
"You... are above me." He said. "I know this, and I know I am not my father. I'm not a warrior, nor a good advisor.... and the creature that made him who he was already takes your orders. I can, however- promise you this......."
Lord Geffri took a very, very small sip of the Cralonese grape. He stood again and kneeled before the lady's chair, a seriousness about him. "With me by your side you will never have to worry of whether or not a war is imminent. You must be tired of the fighting- with... everything that happened in your childhood."
The lady smiled, though her tone was jesting. "You made me come all this way for a weak proposal?"
"I...." Lord Geffri seemed to forget the rest of his speech.
"Do you take me for some lady of a minor house with nothing better to do?"
"No, of course not I would-"
"I don't know how many times you hit your head as a child or for how long you lived in your father's shadow, but I would hope you're smarter than to believe you actually had a chance." She smirked, both cruelly and in amusement. "I have matches lined up from each major house. One from your cousin Jeffroy, if I'm not mistaken."
Geffri gulped. Jeffroy were a sore subject, the heir to a major house(over his older sisters) as he were stuck with a minor branch. It'd been so many years, too. Why couldn't he just be rid of the exile that'd passed on from his father's actions?
"Yes... one from him too my lady." Geffri started. "But he is an arrogant, self serving piece of-"
"And you aren't?" She interrupted. "That is simply the nature of all noblemen... and women too. You want the title that'll come with marrying me- no different than him."
"His first wife apparently drowned herself to death in her tub after they'd been fighting for weeks." Geffri pointed out. "Is that really someone you want to be stuck with-"
"No." The lady sighed. She pulled her hair back and to the right side, her finger catching on a tangle as it went down. She made a face as she held the tangle up to examine in- then another when she started pulling it apart. "In any case it doesn't matter. I am already betrothed."
"Betrothals can be broken-"
"I do not want to break it." The lady interrupted. "He will make a fine husband. He is a warrior and smarter than his own parents ever were-"
"You sound like you're in love with him." Geffri scoffed. "Of course."
The lady leaned forward, her expression stern and their faces only a few finger length's apart. She would not let herself be disrespected a lowly lord- especially one who offered her nothing."What is that supposed to mean?"
Geffri gulped. She was fierce after all, it seemed. "I only meant... us nobles do not get to choose love marriages most-"
"You sound like a fucking idiot." Vanora almost wanted to laugh. The lady stood up, heading for the door. "Do not waste my time again. I will sleep here tonight, and you will have my travel companion fed. Otherwise...count yourself lucky I'm in a merciful mood."
She slammed the door, and then Vanora were left alone with Lord Geffri. He shook his head, glaring at the wall like he expected it to burst open and send sharp pieces flying down that hallway.
"Yes..." he mumbled. "Princess."
1,019
Chapter 168
Ocono 29th, 3329 A.G
There were many, many people in the world who had it worse. Amira had taught him that. Common people who had to worry about whether or not their children were fed- and parents who ate like nobility as their children starved. He hadn't touched Melmidoc's mother in months- except for handoff's when he were allowed to hold the babe, but that changed nothing.
He would never understand parents who fed themselves as their children starved- as Amira's parents had done when she were young.
He had many things to live for- a healthy son, a girl who loved him, an at least partially respected position in the Vorynese court.
But he had reasons to wish for death too, and that were how he started most mornings. No matter how much time passed, no matter how many days- the images stayed in his mind. It didn't help that he weren't there. That would've provided some certainty, at least. And though they'd told him what happened, there were certain things even they didn't know.
How long did his parent's blood pour out of their bodies before they moved the bodies and cleaned it up? Were the heads displayed on spikes outside the main home's front entrance, the same way lords and ladies of the Great War had done? How long did they leave those up?
What about the bodies themselves? Were it and the head put together for the family to say their words? Did Renard Ashhand-Vraemore pretend have at least that much decency?
How had his sister reacted when she found out?
Gods, she were a child still. Too young to marry, too young to have children of her own- and yet this was what she dealt with.
Because of the marriage, Milon no longer held a dedori lordship- making Isolde Heir to all of Ferdrar's titles. High lady. Queen- whatever they wanted to call it nowadays.
He did not worry for her care. His aunt had once been bitter over the Dedori succession, but Isolde was her niece. She would not let anything happen to her- if that meant jumping in front of an arrow herself.
His eleven year old sister on a throne while aunt Millie bit the inside of her mouth and stood by- it almost made him laugh. It would be the way of things, had the Kroban stayed out of Dedor.
His home did not belong to the conqueror and never would. And as much as he thought of involving himself- what were the point? He'd get himself killed the first time a sword were pointed at the wrong person.
He turned to his left side in the hard wooden chair, staring out the window. He'd moved it just a few hours ago- to feel the sun on his face, but now his body ached again from the lack of movement. He would've ignored it. He could've gone many more hours and only gotten up to piss, but his door swung open and Tiffan started talking. Her voice was distant- sounded like his ears were full of water, and yet he could still feel the concern emanating from her.
"The servants made a cake." Tiffan tried. "Lemon. You should....come have some. It..is your birthday after all and.... sixteen is a good number for Vorynese nobility. You will be given more responsibilities."
Milon said nothing and continued staring out at the streets and people below, no larger than ants from up here.
"Amira is worried." Tiffan pursed her lips together. "Says you won't talk to her either. What can I do? I want my son's father to... at least be happy enough to go about his days."
Milon said nothing for a long time again. Then he turned around, the chair with him. "The poison is currently being sent to your spy in Nara Ashhand's court?"
Tiffan nodded.
"And the husband?" Milon looked down at his thumbnails, bloody from ripping and picking at them. "What do you have planned for him?"
"He will get his too." Tiffan lifted her chin and repeated. "This I promise you- on each of the gods and goddesses."
"When you get him, I want him tortured." He said for what must have been the hundredth time in just the last week.The look in Milon's eyes then was so distant from when they'd first spoken. "And I want to do it."
"That...could happen." Tiffan nodded. "Perhaps I could also...arrange a visit to Dedor. So you may see your family... or your sister could be sent here-"
"No." Milon interrupted. "It wouldn't do either of us any good. She's.... closer with our cousins than I ever was and... she's never traveled before. Now would not be.... a great time to start. I do not want to see the..... place where it happened."
That, at least- was something Tiffan understood. Her sister had died at House Ashhand- and so she hadn't wanted to go with her army and risk seeing a bloodstain on the stones somewhere. She'd never be able to stop thinking of it, and that were something she couldn't allow. She had a child now, responsibilities to think of.
"Okay." Tiffan agreed. "Then there must be something that'll...... make you happier.
Milon sighed. His parents would not have wanted him to sit around and wallow in sadness. It weren't lordly- or princely they'd say. His father would take him out into their private courtyard, make him practice sword fighting or read or study the great houses until he weren't so sad anymore. The mind only had room for sadness when it weren't working, he'd say- and then he wouldn't leave Milon alone until he'd beat his own father with the sword or memorized every noble house to ever exist.
But he were not here.
Milon looked back up at Tiffan. When everything else failed, and even Amira could not cheer him- there was one thing. How could anyone frown while looking at the most beautiful babe to ever live? "Bring me my son."