Alasair 37, 228: The Black Crown of Laniveer

The Black Crown of Laniveer
Summary: The rightful King and Queen of Laniveer, or so they claim, have been crowned.
OOC Date: 24/September/2013 (OOC)
Related: None
Callem Laetitia Roslin Solara Conall Wenna Aldren Caedmon 
Throne Room
The feature of the Throne Room of Darfield Castle that draws most eyes immediately is the magnificent throne, raised on a dais at the far end of the room. The Kilgour Family coat of arms, passed down from father to son through the centuries, occupies a place of honor above the royal throne.

A rug of purple softens the path across the white marble floor, swirling patterns picked out in glinting silver thread. To each side of the rug, stand tall silver vases of Stargazer Lilies and Irises, their heady scent drifting through the air. The cool marble walls have been draped with mingling swathes of purple and silver silk, with touches of white for smooth contrast. Set about the room, tall silver candelabras hold long purple tapers, their soft glow gleaming on the rug and silks. On the balcony above, more swathes of purple and

Alasair 37, 228

The solemnity reigns, side by side, in the place where many Kilgours in the past have done, as well. Even so, and though everything in Darfield and the Crown Room is perfectly clean and well attended, a sense of obscurity is ever present. Ever there. It is a honor guest in the celebration.

A black crown rests beside the empty throne. Black as midnight. Black as the very sense of darkness that flows beneath the chamber. Black as the tunic of the High Priest, wearing insignias of Sess and a serious, distant expression. His hand is ready to hold the new crown, with expectation and uncertainty, but he awaits for the right moment.

The chairs, ready to receive the crowd of guests and spectators, are carefully set up. A special zone, placed closer to the throne, is reserved for the nobles, and yet even more special and majestic spots are there for the royal family. There is a seat for the King and the Queen of Mobrin in there, but it remains empty.

Roslin sits on the dais with her other royal siblings, in a set of chairs placed back to the side, but arranged so they are facing the room. She holds her brother Mikhail's hand in her own, whispering softly to him every so often. Both clad in the royal purple of Kilgour, the lady also wears a headband of silver that rises into 8 points each topped with a pearl. For those who know the Princess, they will note the broad, gay smile on her face and the bright flush of her cheeks - the princess is elated, surely the most that she has been since her time away in Lakeshire.

The Voice of the King stands in his proper location near the throne for this cermony. He surveys the growing crowd with his grey eyes. The air is thick with excitement and uncertainty. He himself is stoic. Tonight he is dressed for the occasion. He is wearing grey velvet breeches and doublet that is pattern of stars created from freshwater pearls.

There in the back standing is the Baroness of Blackforge, the last of the Riverwynd's. Her chestnut brown hair has been braided and bound up. A silk black veil of mourning has been attached to the her hair. Yet tonight she is not dressed in grey, instead she is dressed in a gown that sports the colors of Blackforge. The rich silk creates a pool of crimson and rose around her as she leans on a cane. Over her shoulder she carries a stachel that is black as night.

Solara is dressed all in Ruxton red and black and has arranged it so that the colours suit her well, especially with that redgold hair brushed to a shine before it was braided and swept up into a fashionable style. She enters the throne room, taking a look around, and moves to find a good spot. She is on the arm of one Prince Conall Aberdeen, though her maid and guards are with them.

A rumble of thunder, distant, soft, barely audible through the stout walls of the throne room, is felt moreso than heard as people arrive to this grand occasion.

Next to his sister is the Count. He seems a bit battered with a painful look on his face. He clearly does not want to be here but it is his duty. When the thunder rumbles he looks up curiously to the ceiling of the throne room. He now nears closer to his sister and offers his arm as the ceremony is seemingly underway by decree of the gods.

The black crown is risen by the pail and frail hands of the High Priest. But his voice, nevertheless, contrasts with them for its fierceness and strength. His words are clear, and only come after the silence has returned to the place.

"Ladies, lords. Masters and mistresses." he salutes as appropriate as soberly. "Today we are here gathered to celebrate the return of the rightness and justice. Today we are here to recognize the King who was denied of his rightful heritage. But today, in times of peril and darkness for our brothers and sisters in the vicinity, it is time for him to return and claim what is his."

The crown shines, drinking on the rays of light that cross the chamber with darkened hunger.

And a man, covered in equally shadowy robe with the lion of Laniveer depicted in grey tones, instead of its traditional gold, walks slowly towards the throne. His head is uncovered, released from the hood that masked his identity. And it is no one more than the sovereign of Mobrin himself. But today he is not an eagle. Today he is a Grey Lion. Beside him, side by side, a figure of unspeakable beauty accompanies his march. Regal and striking as only she could be.

"Callem and Laetitia Kilgour." the High Priest calls when they have reached his proximity. "As you may well know," his words are more directed to the crowd than to the pair, "House Kilgour is the true descendent from the Emperor's blood. House Ruxton, in their renowned wisdom and knowledge of the past, have unveiled it in more than one occasion. And, even then, a family of false heirs have taken for many years the royal seat of Laniveer." a brief pause is made. The murmurs of many people unite, resounding in the Throne Room for a moment. "But it has lead to sin, depravation, murder. Even the Gods have neglected their sovereignty, giving us the victory in the recent battles - because them, the usurper King of Laniveer and his family, have dared to raise their fist against Mobrin. Their reason? They are rising against their rightful rulers."

A second crown is revealed. Black, magnificent, just as wonderful as the first one. Callem and Laetitia kneel in time before the holy man.

"Callem Kilgour. From now on I, in the name of Gods and men, proclaim you King of Laniveer. Rule it wisely, and regain its lands and people to the grace of Sess and Alasair - long lost, now, but with the guide of their rightful leader, they will return to the path of the light." the first crown finds rest on the King's head.

"Laetitia Kilgour. You are the rightful Queen of Laniveer. May the Gods continue to enlighten you, and may you rule under their light by the side of the King. May your sons and daughters, and those that may come in the future, hold and rule the land after you, and may the Royal Peace reign with you forever."

"From now on," the Priest continues, as the King and Queen rise again, "And for the royal order of His Majesty, Callem Kilgour, King of Mobrin and Laniveer, we will no longer recognize the usurpers and their false reign as a legit Kingdom. Those who accept their true sovereigns as their own will find the generosity, clemency, justice, and peace from the Kilgour Dynasty. And those who keep their allegiance with the false Prince who has reigned over Laniveer, will only find death and doom."

That said, and after the convenient time for the crowd to express themselves in applause and joy -or in any other way-, Callem raises his hand in greeting to the presents, nods his head, and with a smile of satisfaction and an immutable silence, extends his hand towards the Queen and returns to the spot reserved for himself.

Roslin rises with her brother during the proceedings, her eyes gleaming with a bright pride mingled with tears. When the King and Queen of Laniveer are announced, the Princess lowers herself toward them in respect. She rises then, reaching once more for her brotbers hand. After all, by right, are they now not prince and princess of both Laniveer and Mobrin?

On cue, with the placement of the crown upon the sovereign's heads, the thunder that was distant, almost gentle, peals this time, close by. The very stone of the room quakes, almost angrily. An unseen energy rolls through the room, and as quickly as it arrives, it leaves.

Conall is coming along with Solara, watching what is going on, just rolling his eyes. Then offering smiles to those around. Letting Solara lead him along, for now. Being a foreigner and all it might not be too odd that he isn't being as loud with cheering as other might be.

Shivering Wenna takes Aldren's arm and she leans against him. The energy rolling through the room has the hair on her arm standing up. She shivers again and holds on tighter to her brother's arm. Turning her head she looks at him then her moss green eyes move to rest on King and the Queen she mutters something under her breath.
Wenna mutters to Aldren, "The… ones… moving… have… the…"

Solara sort of looks around at the thunder, frowning slightly. As the new king of Laniveer is pronounced, she drops into a respectful curtsey, bowing her head. And then she rises again to watch the proceedings. The energy that roils through the room widens her eyes momentarily, but then it's gone. She must have imagined that. She glances over at Conall, her fingers on his arm tightening just a bit.

Wenna then lowers herself into a proper curtsy, her curtsy is deep and she holds one to her brother and her cane as she holds it.

Aldren feels the shake of the walls and a worried look comes over his face. His sisters words do not seem to comfort him anymore than he allready was, in fact, less. He does applaud a bit when the cheers go up but not to enthusiastically as his Wenna has shaken him with her whisper.

Caedmon the Voice of the King stands he gaze moves to where Wenna and her brother are before his attention is drawn to the King and the Queen. When the crows are lowered on to the royal heads he offers a deep bow of respect. The thunder and the rolling of energy have him looking from the king to the others in the Throne Room.

The thunder again rolls in the distance, softer. Obviously, the storm is moving away from the area, but those who are keenly aware, or perhaps those who have a very active imagination think they hear something in addition to the rumbling….


"Let the word spread. Let them come and strike us, if they want. For they only will find death in our hands. We won't stand and defend. Mobrin will never wait and tolerate the aggression of the usurper. Mobrin will raise. Mobrin will reign. And Laniveer will not only feel our fury, but Laniveer will be ours again!"

The King's words end in shout, his fist risen to the sky and as thunderous as the nature and the Gods outside.

"Tonight we will celebrate. Tonight you will drink, dance, and have joy. Tomorrow our blades will be sharpened, tomorrow our blades will shine and taste the traitor's blood. But tonight, my people of Mobrin, tonight you all are invited to the Alasair's Battle of the Bards!"

From both sides of the room, many musicians make their way in. Singing and playing a new song: The Anthem of the Grey Lion. Callem's eyes burn in unknown intensity, and his gaze follows the bards as they start to abandon the place in search of the Riverview Inn, where people may be already gathered to participate in the festival that will come.

As the thunder bounces through the throne, Roslin leans toward her brother and says something small - only after, of course, her father has finished speaking. She lowers herself once more in a deep curtsy to her parents, eyes fully down in respect and admiration. Once they ahve departed, only then does she step down from the dais.

At the end of your glorious speech, and indeed, you hear the laughter, you see a faint shimmer. A mirage of a face, transluscent before you. A beard of fire, eyes blue embers in an ashen face. The face looks at you, and smiles, a sense of anticipation washes through you.

Conall looks to Solara as she tightens her grip. Trying to soothe her as he keeps her relatively close, but not enough to be improper. And especially not for betrothed. Leaning in to speak in low tones. Listening to the thunder and he does jump, but is quick to regain himself. Was that laughter? He is a bit of a superstitious type perhaps. Eyes going to the king and queen briefly before looking back to Solara. Giving her a smile, if slightly forced.

Conall mutters to Solara, "… anything then… free to…"

A God? What else could it be? What else could bring a sharp and fiery smile to the lips of the King at this moment?

The sword of legends and many battles of the past, praised by songs and stories all over the Kingdom, is unsheathed. A blade to be compared with no other. A blade only the ruler of Mobrin could wield. A blade that points to the ground, touches it, kisses it in a clear offering. The dark raging eyes of Callem lower a bit as his head is nodded.

"My sword is yours. Nar, Lord of war and death. And so are the swords of my Kingdom. You are here to celebrate, as we all are, and the blood of the usurper will fill your cup for your own pleasure." Pleasure, indeed, it is what his smile is telling all the time.

Solara looks up to Conall and smiles as he whispers to her, her expression lightening. Her grip relaxes somewhat, as she looks over towards the king. Laughter. She heard - laughter. The hair at the back of her neck pretty much stands on end. She shivers slightly, and turns her attention to the King and Queen, somehow sure that all this pomp and circumstance will lead to War. And just as she reaches that thought, her blue eyes shining with the realization, the King acknowledges it. Solara's head bows.

Staying in the deep curtsy Wenna holds on to her brother's arm tightly. Only when she is allowed to rise from it does she do so. She continues to hold on to his arm. Her eyes are wide. The smile that graces her lips is one that is sweet and kind. She takes a deep breath to quiet herself.

Roslin and Mikhail pause when their fother does, and bow their heads, their hands still held, to pray with him as he swears his oath. Still, the brightness and energy have not gone from her face - indeed, she is quite flushed, her breathing rather strong as though she might fall over and faint at any moment - faint from too much emotion.

Conall just continues to comfort Solara, while something seem to have him go to other thoughts, it's hard to tell what they are. He does let out a breath soon enough. Giving Sol a warm smile before nodding his head to the king and queen. Not saying much though.

Laetitia is dressed in a dress to match the color of her husbands, the roundness of her belly evident now, though she could just be overly bloated or perhaps gaining in the abdomen area due to her new found love of chocola. It's hardly an issue either way, the Queen does all she's supposed to with a serene smile, the woman's strance ever graceful and elegant, her hands lightly folded against her stomach as she follows the lead of her husband, nodding graciously to those who nod her way.

All said and done, and still graced by the smile the recent apparition brought to him, Callem extends his hand to the Queen. "My love," he says, offering to help and escort her outside, following the bards and their curious procession. Many men and women are already following the path to the Inn, and in the midst of confused faces, the joy and expectation is evident for the upcoming festival and competition.

Conall is watching with a thoughtful look on his face, though he looks down as Solara bows her head and shivers. He continues to comfort her, all perfectly appropriately.

Her maid and guards are there, and the room is full of people besides. Solara glances up to Conall and the look on her face is somewhat rueful for the event, though she seems to be showing a definite favour towards him now. She speaks fairly low, as she asks, "Conall, are you planning to attend the singing competition?"

Caedmon rambled solemn throughout the first half of the ceremony, before the venerable priest announced that often disputed claim to Laniveer belonged to the king as well. At that point, a warm and proud smile began to form on the face of the chancellor and trusted confidante. When the ceremony finally concluding, and the king and queen preparing to leave, he takes a deep breath and calls, "All hail his majesty, King Callem of Mobrin and Laniveer! Long live the king!"

Again, Caedmon calls after the first, ""All hail her majesty, Queen Laetitia of Mobrin and Laniveer! Long live the Queen!"

Roslin sends her brother Mikhail along, but she herself does not go. Instead she stays to mingle, speaking to a few friends here or there. Among those with whom she speaks, or intends to speak, the redheaded Princess finds herself nearby another redheaded woman - Solara and her betrothed, the Prince Conall. She pauses in front of them, curtsying to the pair - after all, he is a Prince and she is near enough to his Princess. "Lady Solara. Prince Conall," She rises, smiling to them both a gentle and warm smile, though it is forced - she is trying to contain her happiness, it shows. "Do forgive me, but I am afraid I have not had the pleasure of meeting either of you - not since before I left for Lakeshire, surely."

Laetitia takes her husbands hand and will curtsey appropriately to the man, the woman practically glowing from the events of today, or perhaps, just the delight of being in the company of her husband. Though in all likeliehood it's due to the fact she may be getting chocolate soon. Mmmm. With a laugh she will follow along, keeping close to her husband.

Conall nods to Solara, answering her question from earlier. He bows politely to Roslin as the young royal pauses to speak to them. "I think you haven't met me at all," he says, with a smile.

Solara offers a return curtsey, politely. "Princess Roslin. Nice to make your acquaintance again. It is true, though I do recall seeing your entrance during court where His Majesty, King Aberdeen saw fit to acknowledge my existence."

Roslin keeps her hands folded in front of her, her posture tall and regal - as tall as a teenager may be. She speaks first to the visiting Prince. "Indeed, you are quite right, your highness. I am so glad to remedy this now. Our fathers are great friends, after all, and it would be a great shame for their children not to continue their affinity in their honors." She nods her head to him respectfully. Her smile, a bit warmer for the woman she had formally known somewhat. "Ah, yes," the redheaded Princess says. "I do recall that I appeared to have made my entrance at an inopportune time. I do hope you shall find it in your heart to forgive my interruption of such an … interesting meeting."

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