The New Stage of History

==Part I: Unknowns==
Many Months Ago, An Old Man
A ragged man collapsed onto the floor of some ancient ruins, some long worn castle of a forgotten kingdom. He dragged himself up a few sets of steps, darkness closing in around him as he ascended. He had crossed the boundaries of the universe to find this world, seeking a treasure believed to grant eternal life.
“Oh, a visitor!” A cheery, welcoming sounding voice caught the man’s attention, but he saw nobody around but himself.
“Where am I?” The man hacked up the words in a sentence that was more coughing than communication.
“Oh, this is where those in great need are educated. A school, you might say.” Still nobody accompanied the voice, and its joyous tone seemed undercut by something sinister, something hateful. The man coughed some more, spitting out a few more words.
“I know everything I need to know.” A statement deserving of its own category of lie.
“You know nothing, but have potential. Open your mind!” The words seared through the old man’s thoughts, leaving him feeling as if his whole body was burning. He could feel a crushing grip upon his whole body, as knowledge flooded through him.
“See the thousands of worlds that have burned at my feet, see the failure of heroes and irrelevance of villains. See the futility. See that there is only consumption.” The old man’s eyes were burning, but he could now see the form of that who spoke to him. A woman who appeared ten feet tall but was surely no more than six. She wore a crown with the mark of a shattered triforce. Between each blink it felt as if he could see a thousand eyes and mouths upon the woman, teeth gnashing.
Her thoughts dominated his. Service and reverence replaced all other thought. Her name. Her name was Vera.
“Tell me, why you have come here.” Vera asked, briefly returning his agency to him. He stuttered out the words, as his body continued to fail him on the path to his certain death.
“I came for the t-treasure, of eternal l-life…” The man whimpered, dropping to his knees, then collapsing completely. He felt a hand raise his chin up. Vera was staring directly in his eyes. Her thoughts overpowered his own again. He rose to his feet again, his strength returning.
“In service to me you will find meaning. In service you will find life.” Her words were gentle, calming. The man realized now, this touch was the treasure. Not an artifact or a spell, but Vera’s caress. He longed to serve her will, for as long as she would allow.
“Your past is gone. Your future is irrelevant. I am your present. Speak your new name as I have granted it.” Vera gently kissed the man’s cheek as she finished speaking, and he felt all the unnecessary baggage of his mind slip away. He was free, free to serve. His new name blared in his mind triumphantly, and he stood tall.
“I am Kuhn. My past is gone. My future is irrelevant. You are my present. May the world welcome your embrace.” Kuhn felt young and powerful. The old man that he was, was gone.
Kuhn was ready to bring Vera’s wishes into reality.
Sirius Fulmaren, Several Months Ago, Forsaken Fortress Cells
“Tell me again, why we are tolerating you here?” A heavyset man covered in decidedly rusted armor sat in front of a set of old prison cells. He wheezed between each breath, and from looking at him you’d be forgiven for thinking he hadn’t risen from his seat since his armor was new. The stench certainly matched such an assessment, but that could just as easily have been the cells. Cells which at present were empty, and had been for some time. Most prisoners here were temporary.
Forsaken Fortress. It had always been this kind of place, though once upon a time it was at least cleaner, if no less foreboding. A century ago had seen it filled with monsters loyal to Ganondorf on his failed quest for the triforce. Now one hundred years later it was filled with exiled New Hyruleans, banished from New Hyrule. The “True Royals”; they liked to called themselves.
“You listening?” The fat man grunted. It was hard to tell if he was becoming irritated or not since he could barely speak through his three chins.
“Regrettably, yes.” Across from the fat armored man stood another, garbed head to toe in black robes, with the hints of a wild old beard poking through the darkness. The old man lowered his hood to reveal a mess of gray hair that would not and could not be tamed. His face was wrinkled, but his eyes were young and wild. “And I believe you were instructed to give me the keys to this place, not ask questions that have already been answered by your superiors.”
“I don’t trust wizards or alchemists, or whatever you are.” The fat man grunted.
The robed man looked him up and down.
“Well isn’t that convenient, I don’t trust fat pigs.” He replied. This seemed to light a fire under the fat, armored guard. He made what sounded to be the angriest noise he could, moving to rise, but became forced back down by a fit of coughing. The coughing grew worse, and quickly transitioned to hacking up a small bit of blood. He wiped his mouth and stayed seated. His head tilted back and the coughing grew worse, but this time he could not bring himself to move.
The robed man, seeing his opportunity, forced the fat man’s mouth open and poured a thick green liquid down it from a previously concealed vial. There was no attempt to resist, none could be made.
“You see.” The robed man produced a notebook from his pockets and scribbled in it. The book bore the symbol of a crescent moon, pristine and faded all at once. “You are going to be participant number one. That’s part of the deal. And as the lucky guinea pig, you get to try this potion.” He slapped the fat man, forcing him to stay upright and alert. “This part gets a little unpleasant.” He brought his hood up, took the prison keys from the man and swiftly left the room. As he shut the metal doors to the prison behind him and ascended the narrow stairwell, he heard faint screaming from the cells, and he smiled.
“What a good morning.” He said to himself as he finished writing in the notebook, and slammed it shut. He passed another guard on the way out, this one much more loyal.
“Everything go as planned, Mr. Fulmaren?” The guard asked, rather pleasantly.
“Perfectly.” Sirius replied. “Oh, and in two hours please check on him. You’ll find him quite cooperative I think. I will bring more to join him soon.” Sirius continued. “It’s time for phase two of our testing.”
“Apologies sir, but phase two?”
“The Great Sea is about to need a lot more heroes, and we’re going to help provide them.”
==Part II: Schemes==
Ajax, Forsaken Fortress, Day 0
Black waves crashed against rock cliffs and burst into clouds of foam and salt that sailed up and over the apex of a lone black tower. Along the parapets surrounding it several lanterns danced from pikes carried by a few watchful, if tired guards. The night was clear but its stars were faded, morning’s light just beginning to shine over the distant horizon. At the east end of the wall, two men dressed in long, fine robes scratched their chins and looked out over the coming dawn.
“You will insure our losses, then?” said the taller of the two, a slender man who wore his long black curls tied back into a single tapered braid. He wore thin spectacles that obscured his amber eyes once the red sun glanced over their circular lenses.
“My people are not known for their generosity,” his partner answered back, in a thick longshoreman’s accent. “But in this case, we will certainly try.” Much rounder and older than the tall guy, the plump old Zora leaned in and slapped him on the back, but with such force that the many gold rings and necklaces adorning his fins jingled lightly under his words.
“And you will see to it that no one gets killed?” Straightening up his shoulders, our first figure slowly raised his hands and pressed them to his temples, a brief but anxious wince on his face. He dragged his palms down the sides of his black braids to interlace his fingers behind his neck, and look off in the ocean distance, suddenly wide-eyed as if deep in thought. His eyeglasses glinted as the dark gave way to morning, and the waves below clashed and hissed with the changing of the tide. He still couldn’t make up his mind.
“Of course, you wouldn’t want any blood on that good ol’ family name just yet, would you?” The Zora chuckled. “You Old Royals and your guilt, your divine justice! Always got a ***** in your armor, you lot, over some spot of land or some dead man’s ghost. It’ll be the death of you in the end, y’know?”
The Zora rocked back on his heels and grinned, looking out over the sunrise and drumming his slimy fingers along the handle of the blunt hatchet at his waist. A small pewter ring around his index finger tapped on the iron axehead, and a black skull with gemstone eyes and teeth glittered in the sun from his blue spotted knuckle. At his back, he carried a short, thick javelin with razor sharp bone spines lining the edge of its blade.
“You’ll have my word, on my mother’s eggs and all of my treasure, my men will not spill a drop of blood without your say so, including those in their command. We’ll run their puny ships out of the western seas real quiet like, so long as you make sure to keep the Council out of our hulls. Now, if some of our new recruits should sidle off on some job and get themselves killed,” he eyed the tall nobleman slyly, smirking with a sideways glance, “that can’t be helped. But for me and my crew, it’ll be bloodless—or my name ain’t Ajax.”
The squat Zora suddenly turned to face the other, and shoved his fat, webbed hand out to strike the bargain. The spines of his brows and whiskers perked up a half inch awaiting the reply.
“Good enough for you, ya’ highness?”
The Zora hustler, Ajax, stood there, strong, stiff arm outstretched, awaiting an answer. His gems and chains glistened in the peeking sun. The echo of a gull’s distant cry reached them atop the wall as the tall Hylian man nearly let the moment slip.
At last, he dropped his arms to his side, and looked in the old Zora’s eyes. “I suppose it will have to do. It’s probably best if you aren’t seen around the Fort for a while, wouldn’t you agree?”
“What, and miss the Royal Tournament? Not this old thief.”
They shook, the Zora smiling broadly, and the tall man managed a weak smirk. Against the high brick walls splashed with the early sun, their combined shadows fused at the hands and slowly began to creep over the bulwark of Forsaken Fortress.
King Daphnali of the Isles, Tower of the Gods, Night 0
“You’re certain that you wish to move forward with this plan, sire?” Nost asked.
The Chamberlain to the King and chief advisor in matters of state stood beneath one of the outer archways of old salt-pocked and lichen-crusted stone high atop the Tower. The robes of his office fluttered in the gentle breeze.
“It is long past time my friend.” King Daphnali was seated in a high-backed chair beneath an awning he’d had built to provide cover beneath the open sky within the broad, circular chamber of the bell tower—obstructed only by the grand ancient bell—that he might occupy the Tower’s highest point as only a Rito truly could. He liked to be able to look upon the stars as he contemplated the demands of his office and the governance of the seas. “Unless you can see another means to reduce these damnable tensions?”
This was not a conversation they were having for the first time, but it would be the last. On the morrow they crossed a rubicon, one at the edge of which they’d stood paralyzed for far too long.
“You know I cannot, sire,” Nost replied with some reluctance, shifting on his taloned feet and adjusting how he held the rolled scrolls in the crook of his left wing.
“No,” Daphnali mused. “All of our efforts before have failed, or been rebuffed. The Old Royals are prideful. They see as their right that which is no longer theirs, so anything short is too little. But the Great Sea is changed and they will not reclaim their past. What I have offered, and what was accepted, is the closest compromise that we will strike.”
“They left,” Nost challenged, as he so often did. He was a Rito of exceptional loyalty to the King of the Isles, after all. “They abandoned the Great Sea. What right do they have to demand anything of us?”
“The right of their name only, but that has been enough. You’ve seen the influence they’ve gathered since their return. The name of the ancient royal line still means something. I was named in honor of the Last King of Hyrule, and that link to the past grants me legitimacy in some ways, but even a name is not the same a blood.”
The King rose, smoothing his own ceremonial vestments, robes of deep blue with elaborate bronze embroidery on the cuffs, neck, and hem. He stood taller than Nost, his own beak more aquiline, a crest of stiff feathers running down the back of his head from crown to the nape of his neck, and another line of similarly stiff gray feathers forming a beard of sorts along the jawline.
He stepped out from beneath the awning and into the open beneath the expanse of stars, and he knew without looking that Nost had come forward to smooth the impression of his backside from the cushion of his chair. The man was nothing if not fastidious. The sound of clinking and scraping soon followed as the chamberlain inevitably set about reconfiguring the items on the king’s desk.
Tonight the air was cool but not cold, and a light breeze swirled beneath the encircling arches, carrying with it the smells of salt and surf, the smells of the sea. The Great Sea which now was, high above the remnants of the ancient world lost deep beneath the waves. That world had been theirs, these old ones come again who still claimed the mantle of royalty.
“I fear that someday it could come to war between us if this is not seen through,” Daphnali admitted. “And can you say for certain that allegiances will remain with us then? Will the denizens of these seas follow a king’s name, rather than his blood?”
As ever before, Nost said nothing. What could he say? That he knew their people would follow the King of the Isles in place of those who’d ruled long before? Ruled for thousands of years uninterrupted? Such assurances were impossible and the risks too great.
“If it ever turned to war, the bulk of our fleet is occupied on the sea’s southern edge,” Daphnali went on, as much to himself as his advisor and friend. “Has there been any further report from Admiral Dashar regarding the strange activity down there?”
“None, sire,” Nost said. “But I suspect we should receive another report any time within the coming days.”
“Good, notify me as soon as the next courier arrives. I will deliver the Admiral’s update to the Council myself.”
“Of course, sire.”
For a moment the gentle breeze grew to a stiff gust, and high above their heads the great bell creaked back and forth. Not enough to ring its mighty chime—it was too massive and too heavy for that—but enough to cause it to sway visibly until the wind died down again.
“Was there anything else tonight, my friend?”
“Only an update from Forsaken Fortress, sire,” Nost said in return. “The Royal Tournament, now that it is to be hosted by the Old Royals, is scheduled to begin in the coming days without issue, following the seating of their representative. Ambassador Kura anticipates significant turnout for the event this year despite the change of venue. The three vessels that Prince Nero has put up as prizes are said to be quite impressive, and with our own reward… It is believed that this will generate significant commerce for the Old Royals and further bolster their coffers, as well as garner for them an enormous amount of goodwill.”
Daphnali nodded thoughtfully, though Nost sounded dubious about the arrangement with every spoken word. “Such is their right. It is well that they see the seating of their Councilor as an event to be celebrated. Let them hold the tournament this year—they will be a part of the Great Sea now in truth, and their enrichment will enrich us all. Besides it will give me a respite from the rupee-counters downstairs who harp every year about the overhead costs. If they wish to bear the expense then I’m of a mind to let them.”
“Of course, sire.”
“If that is all, my friend, I would be alone for a while. Tomorrow will be an eventful day and I must refresh and be ready to convene the full Council of Isles in the morning.”
Nost bowed deeply and took several steps back through the archway and drop over the edge and out of view, having left the scrolls of reports he’d borne up to the Tower’s top on the small desk in a neat stack. Moments later he rose back up into the King’s field of vision on outstretched wings. With a few powerful flaps he propelled himself into the twilight and vanished from view, leaving the King of the Isles to his private communion with the sky and meditations on the future.
==Part III: Traditions==
Kura, Forsaken Fortress, Day 1
Sunset painted the western face of the old black fortress in reddish hues as an avian woman with feathered skin and claws looked out over the pink and yellow waters. She stood atop a massive stonework bridge built from one end to the other of a natural rock harbor in Forsaken Fortress Isle, a crescent bay at the entrance to which men had constructed a colossal iron portcullis. The portcullis was raised now, its saltworn iron teeth bleached white and jagged just under the bridge’s expanse. She felt the weight of the moment hanging over her--not unlike the ironworks below, she thought, as she looked over the bridge’s near edge. The Hylian men who built it in ages past were the very ones she had audience with now.
A door on the southern tower of the stone bridge creaked open, and a tall man in fine robes with small, circular glasses emerged to stroll towards the Rito woman. He wore an elegant rapier in bronze and leather sheath slung from silk ropes tied about his waist. His light leather black boots clicked briskly against the bulwarks of Forsaken Fortress.
“Ah, I see you’re enjoying the view,” he called across the bridge to her, picking up his pace to reach her at the midpoint, the soft fabric of his shoes tapping along the stone. “Divine, isn’t?”
“I must admit, being this far out over the water like this? It’s almost like flying,” she said, looking down over the sheer drop into the dark, churning waters below. Her blue robes wafted in the evening breeze. “Almost.”
“They say my ancestors worked with Rito sculptors and architects to construct this bridge, generations ago. Perhaps that has something to do with it.” The man went on. “Sadly, much of that history is lost to us now.”
“Lost, is it? Our people’s scrolls from those days lay safe in our archives. I reviewed them myself before coming here.” The Rito woman pressed her hand to the bottom lip of her beak and thought for a moment, her eyes soft as if lost in a vague mourning. “Whither your Hylian records of this place, Nero? Perhaps we can help you find them.”
“Who knows? At the bottom of the sea somewhere, I imagine. What’s the old phrase?” He laughed and smiled, turning to look his guest in her deep red eyes. He took her hand in his. “Lost to antiquity?” He spoke the phrase in a heavily accented Rito tongue, and bowed low to kiss her feathered fingers.
The Rito woman laughed briefly but soon caught herself, and turned to avoid the Hylian man’s gaze, withdrawing her hand. She chided him in her native tongue. “You’re improving, young prince. Though your accent could use work."
“Allow me to show you my progress,” he said in Hylian, a proud grin on his face, before returning to Rito in a faster pace, with no trace of a Hylian accent.
“The two sides of the tournament will proceed in parallel. In the sand pits, the fighters, archers, and swordsmen will compete in single combat; seating will be arranged for all comers, free of charge, in the surrounding arena. But for paying customers only, we’ll have a small box here on the bridge for the mage’s rounds, where sorcerers, wizards and the like will have free rein to battle over the open water. Once the elimination rounds are complete, the two finalists, one mage and one fighter, will compete until one leaves the other in the drink.”
The Rito woman laughed gently at the end of his short speech, surprised at his command of the language in so short a time. “You are quite the fast learner, Prince Hyrule.”
“Time is precious,” he said. Then, for a moment, his smile faded and he returned to Hylian speech.
“So we have an agreement then, Kura?”
She turned to face him again. “We have an agreement. The King will award honorary knighthood to the top three winners—the champion, and the two finalists from the mage and fighter circles. You will contribute three ships to be awarded as prizes, and those three ships will sail under the wing of the King’s fleet.”
“Between your titles and my ships, I’d say we’ve got a tournament on our hands,” he said, reaching to shake her hand boldly, and giving her a short kiss on the cheek by way of greeting before returning inside. Looking back from the door, he called back to her in the Rito tongue. “I believe we’ll be seeing very much of one another soon, Madame Advisor.”
Alone on the bridge again, Kura watched the last lines of twilight sink below the waves, searching her feelings about the brash young Prince Nero. She must admit she was charmed, even seduced, by his guile, but upon reflection she unearthed a buried sense of dread, as she realized how uncertain his fate was about to become.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, kid,” Kura said to no one. She opened her wings to the sea air and alighted on the edge of the low wall. A pale blue light graced the tips of her feathers and gradually shifted in the breeze. A long ceremonial dagger glistened in her aura, fastened to a finely stitched red leather belt tightened around her waist.
She lowered her goggles and set off into the darkness unaccompanied, swooping low along the wall, her robes flapping in the wind, before catching a strong breeze and soaring off into the East under a waning moon.
Windfall Island, Day 1
A bright day gently glimmered through the dust specks of a greasy window, with the echo of laughing children and a single dancing butterfly on the breeze outside, before a Goron shuttered the blinds and plunged the Café Bar back into dingy darkness with a lazy burp.
In the dim light, the Goron hiccupped into his mug at the bar, and eyed a large bill of parchment plastered on the wall. “Aye, Gillian, what’s this edict here?” he belched, noticing the heraldry of the royal seal at the top. “You know I can’t read y’all’s Hylian script.”
The barkeep raised his glasses to his nose and read the contents out slowly to the Goron. “Why, it says as follows:
LAST CALL: TOURNAMENT OF THE AGES!!!​
His Royal Highness invites all brave warriors of sword and flame to compete in his name at the 14th annual Royal Tournament!
Festivities will begin on the day of the Equinox at Forsaken Fortress!
This year’s grand prize will be a ship and crew for the top three champions, with nothing less than full honorable knighthood upon fealty to the King’s Royal Navy!
Ferries and trains will be leaving from every settled isle for two days before! Competitors need only sign up when they reach the shore!
Come one, come all, for this once in a lifetime chance to prove you’re the greatest in all the Great Sea!!!​''
“Tournament of the Ages, eh?” Grong hiccuped into his pint. He had stopped listening after the first bit. “What’s ‘last call’ supposed to mean, anyway?” he mused through slurred speech.
“Say, they’ve been plastering these damn posters for months in the inns and taverns all over the sea, trying to catch the sellsword crowd, you know. Guess this is the last round for dunces like you that haven’t read it yet,” the barkeep teased.
“So whaddya say, Grong? Interested? They don’t call you the Hammer for nothing! The ferries just started running out to the Tracks today,” he egged him on. Grong tended to get a little loose with his coin when you harkened back to the good ol’ days.
“Ha! Fat chance. My battling days are over,” Grong laughed, belching before taking another swig of his ale. He raised one flabby arm without invitation and showed a long, pale scar running just over his heart, from his left armpit to his right ribs, to anyone unfortunate enough to look. “Nah, the Hammer for Hire’s for hire no more. Especially not out there in that Forsaken Fortress, no sirrah.”
“A buddy of mine got eaten by Octoroks out there! You couldn’t pay me enough to go back.” Another patron, a heavily tattooed Hylian dockworker, piped up. He slid a small stack of green rupees across the bartop under his muscled, leathery hand. On it, a pewter signet ring with a small black skull on its face glinted in the halflight.
“Pretty odd of them to hold it way out there at the old Fortress, wouldn’t ya say, Loot? It’s been years since it was anywhere other than Dragonroost,” the barkeep, Gillian, recalled. He scooped up the man’s rupees with one hand while sliding him a fresh ale with the other, the hand he served with featuring the same black skull ring.
“Betcha somebody got rich off’a that deal! Smells a wee’ bit fishy to me, if y’know what I mean,” the drunken dockworker joked, elbowing the Goron in the ribs. Grong found that hilarious, and threw his head back with a mighty roaring laugh, even if he was unsure what Zora term his drinking buddy had used. Gillian returned to cleaning his cups.
King Daphnali of the Isles, Council of the Isles Chamber, Day 1
Dawn came swiftly upon the sleepless King. The sun’s first rays pouring through the open archways were greeted by Daphnali already on his feet, gazing out northwestward as though if he looked long enough, strained his raptor’s eyes hard enough, he could look upon Forsaken Fortress himself and the preparations being made there even now. Far below the seas were calm, and the network of wooden piers that had been built up around the base of the Tower were quiet but for the creaking of the larger ships docked alongside. Personal vessels and other smaller ships would be at anchor at the interior docks.
It was time. Even now the Councilors would be gathering in the main chamber directly below the King’s aerie awaiting his coming.
Once that vast hall had been a proving ground, as had the entirety of the Tower of the Gods, before the Rito of Dragonroost had went about the process of appropriating it for their own designs. Ancient traps had been repurposes, defensive turrets taken control of. The lifts ran without issue now for those who were grounded, and the pitfalls were spanned by bridges and staircases of varicolored light. All could be activated or deactivated at a command, making the Tower of the Gods the most secure structure on the Great Sea.
With an intake of sea-salty air, the King left himself sway forward and drop over the edge and out into the open sky, feeling the familiar lurch in his stomach for an instant before he let his wings catch the air and lift him with a few powerful strokes. Too rarely did he get to revel in the freedom of the wide blue expanse, so weighed down was he by matters of state, but it felt freeing to ride the updrafts of warm air for a moment. Eventually though, he had no choice but to bank and plunge down toward the top landing of the grand exterior stair, alighting on the edge of the balustrade and hopping down, smoothing his robes as he stepped to the door and let it slide open to admit him.
There was no crier to announce his arrival, no bells or chimes or elaborate pronouncements. King of the Isles he was, but all that truly meant was that he was the chief administrator. Unlike monarchies past, he did not rule absolutely, nor had he been meant to. The Council dictated policy and he ruled on it, implemented it, and oversaw it. Too much trouble had come from absolute power being placed into one individual, and so his Rito predecessors who’d designed their new government had seen fit to try things a different way. And so as he strode into the sprawling chamber he did so to the greetings of a cluster of familiar figures, all garbed in different ceremonial vesture, positioned around a broad circular table, while his “throne” such as it was, was positioned only slightly above on a raised dais at the far end positioned behind a polished wooden desk. He was a part of the Council, but separate and above it as well.
The King crouched and threw himself into the air with a few flaps of his wings, soared over the assemblage, and landed atop the dais next to his desk. He settled onto the high seat and peered over the edge of the desk.
“You may take your seats, Councilors,” he intoned, inviting them to the table as was custom. With the scraping of chair legs on the stone floor they took their places.
“Thank you for convening this meeting of the Council of Isles on shorter than usual notice, honored representatives,” Daphnali said, noting a few unhappy expressions among the lot arrayed before him. “I call you here outside of our normal session because I have made a decision, one that I have been deliberating on for some time now, and I mean to proceed with it immediately. It is far too long in coming, I think, so further delay would do us no good.
“As our many debates on the subject make plain, we are all aware of the return of the descendents of the Last King of Lost Hyrule and the ancient royal line. For years the Old Royals have dwelled alongside us on these seas, and because we have kept one another at arms length for so long we have allowed tensions and mistrust to foment between ourselves and them.
“No longer, I say, can we allow the current state of affairs to persist! We cannot look past one another and each pretend that the other does not exist! That way lays conflict, maybe even war. And so instead today I extend a hand of friendship and cooperation on behalf of the Great Sea. Today I invite their chosen representative to take her rightful seat within this body, that we might bind ourselves together for mutual benefit!
“Come forth!”
A hidden door at the side of the Council Chamber slid open, and in stepped a figure resplendent in robes of crimson and gold. Her long, tawny hair fell down her back in thick ringlets and spilled over her right shoulder. She took long, purposeful strides toward the table, straight-backed, her chin thrust forth. She was beautiful and prideful, and the gaze she leveled upon all, even the King above, was peremptory as she came to a halt beside the one remaining empty seat directly across the table from Daphnali. They locked eyes for a moment in silence, and she offered him one slightly arched brow before she finally stepped back into a deep curtsy.
“Katra Hyrule of Forsaken Fortress, of the blood of Lost Hyrule, I hereby extend to you a royal invitation to join the Council of Isles here in the Tower of the Gods as the representative of Forsaken Fortress. Let us set aside the troubles of years past and bring the Great Sea into a brighter future together.”
“I thank you Daphnali of the Rito,” she said as she came fully back to her feet. Around her a few heads turned as her soon-to-be colleagues noted the lack of the appropriate appellation, though her tone indicated no overt disrespect. “On behalf of my brother, Prince Nero Hyrule, I accept your invitation and will gladly represent the interests of my family on this Council.”
Daphnali held her gaze for a moment as she pulled the chair back from the table and settled into it, placing her hands on the table’s edge. A ripple of murmurs were running through the rest of the assemblage, but he ignored the noise and kept his focus on her. There was no submission in her posture, there was no gratitude but neither was there open hostility. It would take time yet to bridge the divides between them, but this was a step at least.
“Katra Hyrule now completes our number, and per the Charter of Isles and the laws set therein, only a consensus vote of the Council of Isles may unseat her, just as it is with us all.”
A smatter of applause filled the chamber, some enthusiastic and some merely polite, while a few Councilors remained silent and still. The King exhaled a breath; the ceremony was over at least, such as it was, but there was much yet to be done.
As the clamor died down, he went on. “Now, honored Councilors, let us move on to matters of state. In two days time the 14th Royal Tournament will begin at Forsaken Fortress…”
As he moved on to the business of the day he could not but continue to hold the newcomer’s gaze across the table. Those imperious eyes, the thin line of her mouth and the set of her jaw, could not but make him wonder if he’d done right after all, and what change the coming days might bring.
Later, after the business of the day had concluded and a round of handshakes, back-slaps, and daggerlike glances was done, the King approached the newly minted Councilor.
“That was very… ceremonious,” she said as she spied his approach. She had not yet walked away from her seat, though the rest of the Council was filing out and down the spiral stair outside the chamber.
“Stuffy, you mean?”
She very nearly cracked a smile at that, though her eyes still shined with defiant pride.
“One could describe it that way. I didn’t, but one could.”
That brought a small laugh from the King. “You’ll make a great politician, Lady Katra. You’ll fit in well around here.”
She didn’t say anything in answer to that, only held his gaze firmly and gave a half nod as if to say ‘of course I will, Daphnali of the Rito, I am the blood of kings.’
“My brother sends his thanks again for allowing us to host your tournament,” she said after a moment’s silence. “He has been quite eagerly seeing to the preparations this past week, and believes it should be a grand event, made greater still by cooperation between our family and the throne.”
“I have no doubt it shall be a great spectacle,” he replied, stroking the beard of bristling feathers beneath his beak. “Send Prince Nero my regards.”
“I have urgent business with my brother anyway,” she noted flatly, “so I will be sure to add your message to the rest.
“Now if you will excuse me, I must go. I’ll see you in session… sire.” The word seemed to stick in her throat as she said it. Then she wheeled on one heel and made for the exit, Daphnali’s sharp raptorial eyes on her as she departed. Then he made his exit as well back out into the open air and rode an updraft of warm air up to the bell tower. Nost was back as he flared his wings to slow his descent and grabbed at the edge of a stone archway with his talons.
“It’s done. Send a message to Outset Island,” he said as he hopped down from his perch. “I want no delay.”
“Of course, sire,” Nost replied, unfazed by the suddenness of the command. “Shall this be official post, or… unofficial business?”
Daphnali clucked his tongue. “Unofficial. This is not to go by standard courier; you know what to do. I want one of ours to put it into our asset’s hands directly… there are to be no other links on this chain of custody. Tell the agent what has transpired and direct them to travel north to Forsaken Fortress for the tournament. Have them ascertain the response among the Old Royals and their guests to Lady Katra’s seating, and any other relevant information they can gather.
“I need to know what’s happening up there.”
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