#everyone was so tense especially with all the wardens and nobles out of commission for a while.

[patriamrealm]

You know, it never sat right with me that Kamado was able to get away with everything he did during the red sky. So let’s just break it down. He banished a kid for doing exactly what he was told, threatened war to the two native clans should they help her, went back on his word that the child would just be banished and sent a ninja to finish her off. Trespassed on sacred grounds to fight something coming out of the rift in the sky. Fought said child who had the solution to the problem just like he ordered and then...gets away with it with just an apology? No.

No way that’s not how that works. At the bare minimum he threatened to go to war with the diamond and pearl clans. That has to be taken seriously. Relations would be very tense following the red sky. And in this he also tried to kill a child the clans basically adopted as one of theirs and got one of the wardens mortally wounded. Yeaaa it would be way past square one that Kamado would have to build back up from.

As for those involved in the fighting and everything, the wardens they are all recovering. Several of them stay with one another and neither of the clans will let Akari return to Jublife villiage. So since Gaeric is already looking after Lian and Ingo he takes her in too despite the fact that he also needs to take it easier.

[dragonologist-phd]

Of Diamonds And Dust: Ch 3

Chapter 3: A Princess And A Plot

Marja Aeducan has been planning this moment her entire life. But when politics come into play, nothing goes according to plan.

(Also on AO3)

For the tenth time that morning, Marja twists in front of her mirror to check over her armor. The straps, the fitting, the polish- everything needs to be perfect for today if she’s going to stand up to the scrutiny of the Assembly. She’s brought out her best armor for the occasion-the suit of mail once belonged to her great-grandmother, the Assembly should appreciate that- and her pale hair is braided elaborately in the latest fashion. As long as it took, it was worth it. Now that she’s finally taking command of her own military commission, she’s not going to ruin it by showing up to court looking like some common soldier.

“Your shield, my lady?” Gorim stands at her doorway, mildly observing Marja’s self-inspection.

“Yes, yes. I can’t let people forget what we’re celebrating; they should see me as warrior.”

“As opposed to the Paragon of Beauty?” Gorim asks with a teasing smirk, and Marja playfully bats his shoulder.

“You’re impossible,” she says, but she can’t deny that his mere presence makes her feel better. Gorim’s armor has also been painstakingly polished, and his golden-brown hair is recently trimmed. As Marja’s second, Gorim has just as much at stake today as she does. And yet he manages to smile jokingly at her as if it were any other day.

“One can’t take all this marching about too seriously. It’s not good for the health.” He smiles easily. Marja rolls her eyes but lets a smile of her own slip onto her face as she exits her room and Gorim falls into step at her side.  “Speaking of, what’s the plan of attack?”

Marja tilts her head back in thought. The Diamond Quarter will be full today, not just of nobles but of merchants and smiths and warriors all decked out for ceremony. No better time to see and be seen. “We’ll browse the market, make an appearance at the Provings, and be back in time for the banquet. And try our hardest to avoid Trian.”

Gorim’s face falls a fraction. “Aye, he’s in a state today. I heard him raging at one of the servants this morning from two rooms away.”

“Prick,” Marja mutters, but that's the brother she knows. “Perhaps we should go to the Provings first. We won’t run into him there. The whole spectacle is beneath our beloved prince.”

“There won’t be much peace for you at the Provings,” Gorim says, a chuckle creeping into his voice. “From what I hear, half the men fighting today will be claiming to do so in your honor. You’ll have quite a few suitors clamoring for your favor. Lord Harrowmont in particular is convinced that one of his sons will sweep you off your feet.”

Marja swallows down a frustrated sigh. She knows that such courtship is an inherent part of the political games they play in the Assembly; any such alliance she makes could affect the entire city for years to come. She acknowledges that eventually, she will likely have to throw herself on the sword of marriage for the sake of such politics. The knowledge doesn’t make the process any less grating.

“Perhaps I’ll meet these suitors in the arena,” she says scathingly. “We’ll see who knocks who off their feet.”

Gorim frowns. “The traditionalists may see that as an insult.”

“The traditionalists take most things as an insult. The people would love it.” The more Marja thinks about it, the more appealing the idea is. “And so would Father, for that matter. Nobody in the Assembly would argue with him.”

Noise from the gathering outside becomes more obvious as Marja and Gorim approach the large palace door. Marja takes a deep breath and schools her expression into a smile. The celebrations are in full swing now; the court is waiting.

“Ready to head into battle?” Marja asks Gorim, her hand on the door.

Gorim inclines his head. “I always am, my lady.”

The streets of the Diamond Quarter are as full as Marja expected, and it seems that everyone in attendance requires a word with the princess. Marja mills about with the people, doling out flattery and intimidation as needed. In between conversations, she and Gorim exchange comments in low tones. One noble throws sharp words after a disagreement; he will need to be watched. Another seems over-eager in her compliments; she’s fishing for a favor, which they might be able to work to their advantage. Everything is mentally filed away for future use.

Eventually, an all-too familiar voice cuts through the crowd. “Marja!”

Marja bites down on her lip to stop herself from cursing aloud. Gorim tenses beside her, and Marja lays a reassuring hand on his arm before turning to greet her brother. “Astra vala, Trian!”

Trian looks as stiff and pompous as always in his ceremonial outfit. Bhelen trails after him with a weary expression. Although all three siblings share the Aeducan looks- pale blonde hair, sharp features, grey eyes- the two brothers could not be more different in personality. Marja can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy as she wonders how much of the day Bhelen has already spent tending to Trian’s moods. Unlike Trian, Bhelen greets Marja with enthusiasm. “Astra vala! It’s a pleasant surprise to see you out in the market.”

“Yes,” Trian adds, eyes narrowed. “Especially since you should be attending our father at the feast today. Have you so little respect for him that you ignore his wishes to mill about with common folk?”

Gorim frowns. “Lord Harrowmont told me we wouldn’t be needed for hours at least-”

“Silence!” Trian spits at Gorim. “If I want the opinion of my sibling’s second, I will ask for it.”

“Don’t speak to Gorim that way!” Marja snaps immediately. Trian turns angrily to her, and she fights to push back the stab of regret. She’s had a lifetime of experience in dealing with her brother; she knows better than to provoke him. He’s always had more temper than tact, and is prone to letting personal issues spill over into matters of business. It’s easier for everyone involved if Marja stays on his good side.

But she refuses to stand by while he treats Gorim like dirt. Marja stares her brother down steadily, positioning herself between him and Gorim as she does so.

“I speak to lower houses as they should be spoken to,” Trian says slowly, as if explaining a simple concept to a rather dull-witted child. “Now go do as I say.”

Marja bristles at the order, but forces herself to remain calm. The last thing she needs is a shouting match with her brother on the streets for all to see. When she does speak, her voice is soft but sharp. “It truly is adorable how you think you can order me around, you know. It’s almost as though you think you’re some kind of king.”

Trian’s face turns an impressive shade of red. “I’d advise you to watch that tongue, dear sister. Sometimes I think you forget who the heir actually is.” He stalks away, turning over his shoulder to shout, “Bhelen!”

Bhelen sighs darkly at the order, but he shakes it off and follows his brother with an apologetic glance at Marja as he goes.

Well, that could have gone worse, Marja thinks. Beside her, Gorim fidgets unhappily. Trian intimidates Gorim more than he admits- Trian has that effect on a lot of people, unfortunately. A side effect of being next in line for the throne, Marja supposes, although that may not be a position he holds much longer.

Marja mentally pulls herself back from the thought. There are rumors, yes, and the rumors grow with each passing day. Anyone with eyes can see that Marja is the king’s true favorite, and Trian’s attitude has done little to earn him any steadfast allies in the Court. It would not be completely unreasonable to expect the king to pass over his eldest son. But it would be dangerous for Marja to boldly assume he intends to do so, and so for now she plays her part and tries not to antagonize her brother any more than is strictly necessary.

“Ignore him, at least for today,” Marja says firmly to Gorim. “We’ve a lot to look forward to. Let’s not let Trian ruin it.”

They never do make it to the Provings, unfortunately. The news reaches them before they even leave the Diamond Quarter- the Provings came to an abrupt end due to some scandal, although nobody quite agrees upon what happened. Any details that make it past the arena are muddled- Marja hears contradicting reports that ring with various degrees of truth.

With few other options, Marja and Gorim return to the palace. The sense of urgency that permeated the streets is absent here; the nobles drift through the banquet hall under a façade of calm opulence. Still, when Marja at last finds her father, he is deep in conversation with a group of guards.

“Then take care of it,” he orders fiercely, and the guards hurry away. The king sighs and raises a hand to his head in frustration. In moments like this, it’s easy to see how King Endrin earned every silver hair in his long beard.

“Astra vala, Father,” Marja says, and his look of anxiety melts away.

“Astra vala, my daughter.” His wrinkled face breaks into a fond smile. “How fine you look in your great-grandmother’s armor.”

“I’m honored to wear it,” Marja replies, bowing her head slightly in respect. “What news do you have of the Provings today? I’m afraid I’ve only heard rumors so far.”

Her father shakes his head. “The guard is sorting everything out as we speak. We’ll have the full story by tomorrow or they shall answer for their incompetence. But we should not allow such a thing to sully our ceremony tonight.” A scowl crosses his face. “Sadly, our guest of honor does not agree. Our Warden friend was to be in attendance tonight, but he insists on aiding with the search. I can only hope this doesn’t interfere with our mission tomorrow.”

Marja raises an eyebrow. “What in the world has happened that would cause a Warden to miss your fine feast?”

“The Wardens have a habit of seeking out oddities, I’m afraid,” the king sighs. “And this one has obviously not come to pay mind to ceremony. He claims a Blight is on the way and that they need recruits. But there are some things surfacers cannot understand.” As the king continues to speak, anger begins to color his words. “What the Casteless did today brought dishonor to many fighters in the Proving. They will see him answer for his actions, not be whisked away to join some surface army.”

Marja raises her eyebrows. A Casteless fighting in the Provings? The rumors circulating the city are beginning to make sense. “You mean this person defeated our fighters? Perhaps the Warden’s interest is not unearned. If there is something to be gained from enlisting such a fighter…”

“Not this again.” Her father sounds tired, but Marja presses on.

“If we allow Casteless to join in the army-”

“I have heard this argument from you and Bhelen enough times.” The reply is sharp, and Marja holds back her words. What the king says is true- the argument is long-standing. The more progressive families of the Court are in support of the allowance of those born Castless to join the Warrior Caste. It is a sharp break from tradition, but it would go far in improving the lives of many within the city. More practically, it would bolster the ranks of the dwindling dwarven army and drain influence from the Carta. No matter how many times Marja and her younger brother make these points, however, the majority of the Assembly remains steadfastly traditional. Trian stands with them, and the power of the crown prince outweighs that of his siblings.

To his credit, the king has always allowed the discussion to be had, although he has little patience with it. Tonight, especially, his nerves are worn thin, and Marja knows she should tread softly. “I merely mean to express my surprise that an untrained alley fighter would cause so much trouble for the Proving participants. It would seem that either this Casteless is worthy of the Warrior title, or our actual warriors are not.”

The king gives her a stern frown that slowly shifts into a begrudging look of appreciation. “Well put as always, my girl. But this is an argument we should save for the Assembly. Tonight, we celebrate your first command and prepare for the morning’s battle. Come, the other nobles await.”

“We’re so close, Gorim,” Marja says as they return to the palace that night. The hour is late, and the halls are empty but for the occasional servant passing by. Without the crowd of the court before her, Marja feels uncharacteristically apprehensive. “I know the court loves to gossip, but… what do you think will come of all this? They say my father wishes to make me heir in the end, but it’s all speculation at this point.”

Gorim considers this for a moment, and Marja feels a rush of gratitude. She knows he will answer honestly, without fawning or worrying over her ego. At last, he says, “King Endrin will be hesitant to do something too soon. While there is precedent, it’s an uncommon act, and one that may be questioned. But he also sees the flaws in Trian, and it is obvious to all he favors you. A strong success from you would be the only excuse he needs to officially make the decision.”

Marja lets out a long breath. The words have been whispered around her for some time now, but she has scarcely let herself believe them. Future Queen of Orzammar. Try as she might to remain realistic, she wants this fiercely; it feels as if her whole life has been leading up to the title. Trian may be her blood, and she remembers a time before they resented each other, but she also knows his temper and obstinant attitude in the face of progress would only bring harm to their city.

“Then let’s give my father a strong success,” she says, and Gorim nods.

“May the ancestors look down on us with pride,” he whispers, almost to himself.

Marja smiles, her eyes distant, already imagining the possibilities. “I can see it, Gorim. We are going to be spectacular.”

Suddenly, a figure darts around the corner, looking feverishly behind him. It’s Bhelen, and when he sees Marja he grabs her arm and without explanation ushers her into an empty room.

“Bhelen! What on earth-”

“Marja, I’m so glad I ran into you. There is something very important we need to discuss immediately.”

“Prince Bhelen-” Gorim begins, following closely behind Marja, but his words halt when the prince whirls around on him. He regards Gorim for a moment, then nods.

“Yes, we can trust you.”

“Bhelen, what’s happened?” Marja demands. Her brother turns to her, the concern clear on his face, and when he speaks his voice is heavy.

“Trian is going to kill you.”