![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
First of hopefully three parts… dun dun duuunn… A bit of a continuation of wiredclover’s “The Face We Show” as I was going to write their meeting but she’d already done a grand job! Please contact me about errors; this was started at 9pm and finished at 3am! I did some Google researching... and too much procrastinating!
-----------------------------------------------------------
Eries thumbed through the trade agreements her father had allowed her to borrow for study. They were not the official paperwork, those were stored in the Counselors’ Hall. They were here father’s personal copies though and eleven-year-old Eries was delighted that he trusted her enough to have them in her protection. And that he was amusing her interest in politics. Millerna’s interest in icky medical things wasn’t one to be encouraged; queens couldn’t do anything with medical knowledge. But a great Asturian queen - or a great queen of another country - would always do well to know the political environment her husband king and his country, allies, and enemies were in. And what they could be, and therefore what they had been.
There was the usual: Asturia was pretty equal with import and export with Basram - paper and envelopes - and Cesario - tools or the materials and smiths to make them. Egzardia and Daedalus were heavy on import and light on export, though a certain Egzardian desert vegetable was a bit popular with the Asturian gentry and Daedalus had always been the best country for coal and iron. Freid was mostly self-supporting, semi-precious stones were sometimes found in its bowles but it was the army and the treaties it had with other countries that had Father’s interest. Asturia’s last neighbor, little Fanelia, had timber and sometimes drag-energists if their priest determined the gods allowed it.
It was always morbidly fascinating to Eries to read the contractual danz’amento between Asturia and Freid.
It was weird because it was her sister, her country, and the future. The future was secured, so secured it was here in writing. A few months after Marlene’s sixteenth birthday Duke Mahad dal Freid would come to Palas and they would wed in the traditional Asturian royal wedding - with much dancing, drinking, and festivities proceeding. After they would travel to Freid for the traditional Freidian wedding - a modest two hour long ceremony. Marlene would take a handmaiden or two with her and spend her days praying to the Freidian gods for good weather - among other things, the praying was the most prominent. The dowry was a hefty amount of rice added to the import, Basramian paper, and a tract of land along Freid’s bottom-most edge to expand Astruia’s shipping lanes.
Poor Marlene. Hot in the heavy Freidian clothes and the humid weather, stuck in the temples. Boring chants and hymns to the gods and goddesses of the Freidian pantheons. Rice at every meal. Inside, closeted, confined.
At least the Duke seemed a decent man, if harsh and reserved.
Upon Father’s death Marlene would become queen of Asturia and therefore Duke Freid would become king. The two largest of Gaea’s countries would be united. The two largest armies. The two largest economic powers.
A world power sounded more like Merchant Fassa’s machinations.
It wasn’t a minnow to toss away either.
Security for Asturia and security for her royal offspring.
Last to bear the name Aston.
Eries slid the paper back in its original spot; at least it wasn’t her.
She felt pity that Marlene was born to her position of first born. At least it wasn’t terrible like some other countries. Married at twelve to a complete stranger or added to a harem. Some were never allowed to see their families, doubly true for royalty.
She felt grateful it wasn’t her. None of them liked to be confined but Marlene and the Duke did seem suited for one another. They both kept their feelings to themselves but were always respectful and mindful of their stations and the lives of their subjects. Marlene could visit too, sometimes. And they could visit her. It allowed Eries to marry a secondary noble who wasn’t power-hungry and if he was a complete idiot she could tell Father and he wouldn’t force her. (Father was too smart to match her with an idiot.) Millerna wouldn’t have to marry at all, though Father would most assuredly do so; she was too precious a bargaining chip to allow to waste. (Merchant Fassa might yet get his son into the family. Dryden seemed to have a genuine interest in Millerna’s ramblings.)
In another country she could learn, even if it was their culture.
A paper she had never seen before caught her eye.
At first her eyes couldn’t properly focus on the words on the page. It had the same format of Marlene’s danz’amento. But the key words were too different. She forced her shaking hands to still.
It had her name.
And read Fanelia.
It listed Prince Folken Lacour de Fanel.
Eries clenched the paper tighter in her hands.
Surely Father hadn’t read the few letters they’d exchanged. His always arrived sealed. She had never given Father a reason to read her mail, to distrust her so. She wrote letters to a few other royal young men and women. (Scant few, but it was more than Marlene.)
But surely Father had eyes. Surely King Goau and his counselors had eyes too. Surely no one had missed the gift that Folken had given her when the Asturians had left after the treaty renewal last year. Surely someone saw the few letters they’d exchanged, if only for safety reasons for two royals.
The quills he’d given her were exquisite.
They’d spent only a few hours in the same room, a few minutes in the garden and a few minutes dancing. She didn’t know him the way Marlene cherished her novels and Millerna frettered over the imagined innards of her dolls. But they had commonalities. They both liked the gardens, held the greatest of affection for their siblings, distained for the face they were forced to show the world, and truly cared for their citizens. His letters spoke of his younger siblings’ antics and the beauty of the Fanelian forests, the grace of his mother and the genteel of his father, and the dislike of his nearing dragonslaying and betrothal ceremonies. Eries tried to curb her annoyance with Marlene’s recent withdrawal and Millerna’s icky interests, replying in kind about her father, if her view held a bit of edge, and her aversion to Marlene’s nearing betrothal.
It was easy to see how Father had come to this conclusion.
Eries hated the idea that he hadn’t asked her opinion, hated that she’d been so vulnerable.
But upon closer inspection of the document it was actually very unofficial. It was all written in her father’s hand, not the official scribe scrawl of a shared document. The dowry was minimal, almost insignificant: a replacement set of dressers and vanities for the royal rooms made of the finest Fanelian timber. (Her calculating mind figured it was less than half what Marlene’s was. She equated this worth to Fanelia’s, not hers.)
Had… had Father meant for her to see this?
Eries banished that thought as soon as it entered her mind. That was laughable. Father would never show anyone his hand, not this early - she still had a few years before entering marriageable age. Or had some other country pushed his hand? Marlene was unavailable so the second was now on the negotiating table? Stability was something the Gaean countries were always striving for. (Even if they made too many treaties instead of outright saying “Shall we not invade each other and trade fairly then?”)
Assessing her feelings while she reread her father’s handwriting, Eries realized she was’t opposed to the match, just the timing and jarring discovery. It was too early, it was too sudden. And that he’d drawn up a mock danz’amento without even discussing it with her.
That led her to believing another country had forced him to think of it this early; he hadn’t even entertained any princes with her; because she was too young.
Swallowing, she tucked the paper back where it had come from. She aligned the stack of papers to perfection, placing them back in the large envelope they’d been given to her in. Nothing would occur tomorrow, or even this year. Her budding friendship with Folken would continue. Perhaps in two years Father would start entertaining offers. Fanelia would be among them - while a tiny, slightly backwards country, they had Balgus Ganesha and an impressive army. Fanelia couldn’t contend with the other countries by any means but they were stable, content, non-interfering.
She would be safe there.
He wasn’t a complete stranger, nor an idiot.
Eries finished her night routine and crawled under the covers.
The probability of it being worse was high, the probability of it being better was low.
She had about two years before anything would even start to begin.
Sleep claimed her, feathers and childish laughter floating through the Fanelian gardens.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Not everything is secure, despite best laid plans and signed paperwork.
A dragon feasted, a bandit boy met, a sister lost.
Sometimes new plans were devised, new paperwork dawn and signed.
None of the offers were satisfactory, all of the princes sub-par. A love grew, a daughter chosen.
They met again and they were both significantly changed, too different to reconnect in too little time.
Eries wondered if she should thank Fate that at least he wasn’t gone, she got to see him one last time, say goodbye.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I turned and flipped a world map until the Mediterranean Sea reflected the Gaean map but I didn't readjust the countries for the new climate placement, that would REALLY hurt my head; there was already a lot of work put into adjusting it becaue I don't have Paint on my new Chromebook
Basram - Egypt
Cesario - Algeria
Egzardia - Chad
Daedulas - France
Freid - Syria, Iraq, Iran
“Danz’amento” is my playing around with the Italian word for “betrothal.” I couldn’t find anything for “international royal marriage contract.” Go listen to it on Google translate, it sounds really cool!
Must give credit where due to Konstantya for the idea that at Grava's death Asturia and Freid would unite.
