Chapter Text
Rellana resisted the urge to pull at her robes that seemed to shift out of place with every minute movement. However did her sister manage to walk around in her four layers of cloth and the mandatory two cloaks? Rellana had been wearing hers for not even a day and wished for the grounding weight of her armour.
“Thou cannot enter the castle in dress befitting of war. ‘Tis not battle we seek in the royal capital, sister,” Rennala had reminded her time and time again.
Speak for thyself , Rellana almost said; she’d gladly challenge Queen Marika to an honourable one-on-one duel, even though she was well aware that she stood no chance against the Eternal.
But of course her sister, ever the sensible one, was right. It would be ill-advised to start another war after one had just ended. And, Rellana had to admit, not all was bad about their visit to the royal capital. After all, the aforementioned war had netted Queen Marika and her Golden Order a quite embarrassing defeat. Were she prone to pettiness, Rellana would be looking forward to a bit of gloating over the golden dinner table.
Alas, she was currently being led through the castle by a Leyndell historian, who told tall tales of the grand capital's construction and the Queen’s involvement therein. The other Carian nobles were still pretending to listen, while Rellana had stopped sparing the effort when she’d realised it was naught but thinly veiled propaganda and endless praise for the Golden Order. She exchanged a glance with Moonrithyll, her chamberlain, who looked back just as unimpressed. They both bit their lips to stifle a smile. Rellana almost envied her sister, who was currently negotiating the conditions of their armistice with the God Queen. Rellana’s lips twitched as she imagined the situation; she trusted her sister to make the appropriate barbs and remind the Eternal of her champion's defeat as often as opportunity allowed.
“-and thus Queen Marika the Eternal saw to the construction of a courtyard that would reflect the divinity of-”
On and on it went, the guide was truly an endless well of fanaticism toward his divine ruler. Rellana slowed her steps and fell behind the group. Shadow caught her attention from the corner of her eye, something rare to be found in these golden hallways. Moonrithyll turned her head and raised a brow, but Rellana gestured for her to go ahead. On a whim – she possessed too many of those, as her sister often reminded her – she ducked into the corridor. Her digression went unnoticed and she heard the others continue forth, led by the guide’s ongoing prattling.
Rellana exhaled. What a farce. She could only hope the proceedings regarding the armistice went well and they would leave this holy cesspool before the moon waxed again. Leaving sooner would certainly be preferable, but unless another spontaneous war broke out, that was, unfortunately, unlikely. This badly written play came in three acts, and they were only in the first.
She clasped her hands behind her back and meandered down the corridor. The walls here were empty of the paintings, tapestries, and ornamentation found everywhere else. Maybe this path led to the servant’s quarters, or maybe to a forbidden area. If she was caught spying, Rellana thought, there was a chance they would be thrown out of Leyndell…she sighed. In the end, it wasn’t worth tarnishing Caria’s reputation just because its Knight Princess was tired of false formalities and spiteful celebrations. She turned around, facing the light at the end of the hallway and took a step.
Then, she heard it.
An all too familiar noise. She paused. Glanced over her shoulder. There, at the very end of the corridor sat an unassuming wooden door. Rellana bit her lip. She knew the noise coming from beyond it – the brandishing of weapons. Once more Rellana made a decision born not out of wisdom but curiosity, and approached cautiously. The sound of steel grew ever louder, beckoning her with the promise to relieve her pent-up annoyance with a good fight. Like the girl from years long gone that had listened in on her older sister’s magic lessons, she pressed her ear against the wood. There were no voices, merely the melodic singing of steel. Whoever was composing that song seemed to know a great deal about their craft. What she heard compelled her to push the door open ever so slightly to glimpse what it hid.
It was an empty room. A large, unused space, forgotten and abandoned, with nothing but a set of windows on one side. They showed the part of the castle that laid in its shadow, so close to the Erdtree and yet shielded from its grace.
But Rellana’s attention was quickly drawn from the view and to the sole occupant of the room.
Amidst all the gold and white and gleaming pretension, it was almost offensive to the eye, and Rellana couldn’t tear her gaze away. It was graceful in the most cruel way. The spear was only fighting air, but she could envision the victims of its strikes, impaled, sliced open, rend apart. The wielder was an extension of his weapon; a tall, thin man, all sharp edges and deadly violence. The bright red of the billowing cloak he had wrapped around his body was like the warning of an insect’s coat. It seemed strange to her, why he would wear such an unwieldy robe to a mere training session, but the way it swayed back and forth with his movements was too mesmerising to contemplate it further. On the subject of insects - maybe his coat was meant to compel rather than to warn. At least for Rellana, the prospect of danger straddled the thin line between caution and allure.
She leaned against the door’s frame. With a powerful move, the man thrust his spear in the air, and it erupted in violent red flame that scorched the high ceiling. It seemed to have been unintended, for he cursed under his breath and faltered in his routine. Now that she paid attention to it, Rellana saw that there were several dark marks on the walls. Fire – what a strange thing to behold in this place, where holy incantations were all the magic she’d seen. Rellana could take a good guess as to who this man was: she had spent too much time fighting Sir Radagon to not recognise that bright red hair, the sharp, thin nose and the high cheekbones. A relative to the great hero; a cousin, maybe, or a brother disgraced. Perhaps even a son. Time and age was a fickle thing in these lands. With some luck, Rellana would face him on the battlefield one day, and let her twin swords sing perpetual canon with his spear.
Now that he stood still, his bearing was entirely different. There was something off about his proportions, or maybe it was just the thick cloak covering his body. He stood slightly slumped, his shoulders curving forward as if he was trying to make himself smaller. A fruitless endeavour, she thought with an amused chuckle. Rellana, not small herself, thought that she’d still need to crane her head to look him in the eyes if he stood right before her. Well. The eye . For she could only make out one, whose piercing gaze was now directed at her.
She cleared her throat and pushed away from the door frame. She’d done nothing untoward and needn’t feel guilty, but still thought it reasonable to explain herself.
“I meant not to spy on thee. The sound of thy blade drew me here, an allure difficult to resist in these-” she changed the wording just in time, “- quiet halls.”
He shifted, raised his head and drew his shoulders back to stand with more decorum, and yet it only amplified the wrongness about his form. It wasn’t his height or the askew posture. Neither was it the lankiness that just wouldn’t fit the bulk of his shoulders. It was the way his body moved underneath the cloth, almost unnaturally so. “And who art thou to roam these halls with naught a care?” His voice, deep and slightly rough as if barely used, pulled her from her thoughts.
She opened her mouth to make introductions, then closed it and raised an eyebrow instead. Was it intentional disrespect, to ignore the obvious? Her noble robes and the great Carian crest on her chest should tell him exactly who she was. “‘Tis quite obvious, is it not? Or hast thou not been told of our arrival?”
The man paused briefly, then scoffed. “Thou art of the Carian entourage, then. Thus my question loseth not its relevance. Why art thou not with thine ilk?”
Despite her royal garb, he still spoke to her as if she were a mere servant? While Rellana was not one to care for courtesy, the open disregard, of not her but Caria itself, irked her. She stepped into the room, her back straight and her shoulders pulled back. If she had to look up at him, she would do so with as much pride as she could muster. Curiously enough, with every step she took he seemed to grow more tense until eventually, he retreated . It made her pause, this stark contrast to the way he had presented himself before. She noticed that his eyelid was flickering slightly, but never fully blinked. And then she noticed the direction of his golden iris. It was roughly, but not quite, pointed at her. She took an experimental step to the side. It followed with some delay. Then, in conjuring a silencing aura around her feet, she soundlessly stepped to the other side. He still stared at where she had once been. It was only when she let out a small laugh that his head jerked around to her.
“Thou couldst have told me thou art blind. I took thy disregard as insult, and now it seemeth it was I doing the insulting.”
His jaw clenched and his free hand flexed at his side as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He was now very deliberately making eye-contact – or at least thought he was. His unblinking iris was focussed somewhere on the lower half of her face.
“I am Knight Princess Rellana of Caria, sister to the queen. But please spare me the courtesy, thou canst simply address me as Rellana. I am more knight than princess, much to the chagrin of mine sister.”
He just kept looking at her, a frown etched between his brows and his lips slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something but knew not what.
“May I inquire after thy name?” She would know it, probably, had she bothered to spare the royal family tree more than a passing glance.
“Messmer.” It seemed to have slipped out unintentionally, for he immediately bit his lip as if to hold back more stray words.
“Sir Messmer.” She had indeed not heard of him, but his presence in the castle and the apparent connection to Radagon was enough reason to show at least a little respect. She inclined her head. He did nothing, except continue to fail to look her in the eyes.
Though tactless, she couldn’t help a small breath of laughter. She had not expected to find such interesting company in these castle walls, much less in the shape of her enemy’s kin. “I have to admit, thy display of skill impressed me. Wouldst thou be willing to exchange a few blows with me?”
“No,” he said, so fast that it made her wonder if he had parsed her question at all. He took another minute step back, further away from her, and shifted the spear so it was held between them. “I will not risk injuring our… royal guests.”
Rennala had once called her younger sister foolish in her persistence and aggravating in her stubbornness, and Rellana gladly lived up to those expectations.
“Thou couldst pretend me to be a mere servant. After all, thou hast not seen me. I could very well be lying.”
Impossibly, his frown deepened further. If only he didn’t look like he would impale whoever dared approach him, he could be quite popular with the maidens. “Thy jests are unbefitting.”
“I jest not. Besides,” she stepped closer, conspiratorially so. “I am positive that my skills and thine are a good match.”
“Thou art-” He flinched and slashed his spear before him, pointing the end at her. Rellana jumped back just in time and raised her hands, surprised that a mere light touch at his shoulder would cause such a violent reaction. His eye was widened, exposing his iris in full. His pupil was not slitted, rather there was…
“Apologies, I-”
“Know thy place.” His voice was still low and disdainful, but there was the slightest waver in it. “This is Leyndell, the royal capital, not thy damp swamp in Liurnia. Thou shouldst act accordingly.” He strode past her, irritation radiating off of him, but still took great care to not pass too close by. She stared after him until the door fell shut. Then she slowly clenched the hand that had touched him. Underneath his cloak, something had moved, muscular, smooth, and it couldn’t have been his shoulder. How intriguing. Something unexpected amidst all the false perfection.
-
It was the evening of the next day when news that the negotiations had been successful spread through the castle. Rellana had spent the time scouring the halls for paintings. Nobles, heroes, those who had contributed to the lands’ prosperity hung up on the walls, gazing down with haughty, elegant expressions. There was the queen, of course, though paintings scarcely managed to capture her beauty. There was Radagon, too, easily recognisable, for the painters seemed to have been happy to paint with a colour other than gold and white. But no second red-haired person was to be found anywhere.
“I see not why thou art so intent on finding this person,” Moonrythill said, examining the bust of a gentle-looking woman.
“Curiosity,” Rellana replied and turned away from the painting of a bearded man who was very clearly not Messmer. “I’m afraid without this search I would have already succumbed to boredom.”
Moonrithyll sighed, but knew Rellana too well to refute her.
They’d visited the library as well, to leaf through history tomes and memoirs. Moonrithyll quickly immersed herself in a thick book, but Rellana only managed to browse a few before she grew irritated at the flowery descriptions of Leyndell nobility. The name Messmer was not mentioned once. Perhaps the queen used Sir Radagon for the heroics and Sir Messmer for the dirty work, not for the battles but the slaughters. Those made for terrible stories.
No matter. She would see him again soon enough, for the Carian guests had been called to the dining room. A grand feast for visiting and residing nobility, to commemorate the armistice, however temporary it may be. Rellana wondered if anyone truly believed in it. In her estimation, another war would break out sooner rather than later. The queen was not known for restraint. She forged on until she got what she wanted. In a different world, Rellana thought they might have gotten along quite well.
“Over there.” Moonrithyll nodded to where Rennala was already sitting at the table.
“There is really no need for thee to stay and watch us eat” Rellana said, but Moonrithyll shook her head. During the many, many years of her service, she had not managed to lose her respect for customs and courtesy. She joined Moongrum, Rennala’s most trusted knight, and some other servants in the shadow of a wall.
Rellana sighed and made her way over to her sister.
“Thou’rt here.” She was wearing one of the falsest smiles Rellana had ever seen on her.
“Invigorating talks, I take it?” She sat down next to her. The table was laden with golden cutlery and white porcelain. Decorative bouquets resembling the Erdtree stood in tall vases. Rellana almost lost her appetite among so much pretension.
“Enlightening.” Rennala lowered her voice and pretended to fix a strand of Rellana's short hair. “This will be an armistice in name only. In truth, ‘tis a delay of war. We shall make preparations upon our return.”
Rellana nodded. “‘Twas quite obvious that-”
She was interrupted when her sister suddenly stood up with an even more fabricated expression. Rellana followed instinctively. Through the double doors entered God Queen Marika with an entourage of exquisitely dressed nobles, undoubtedly important figures of the capital and her court. Rellana, as much as she was loath to, had to once again admit that the Queen was a vision. Her long golden braids, her perfectly smooth skin, the flowing dress and golden filigree, her face that radiated power and authority and was slightly too perfect to be real. Rellana averted her eyes, pretended to show respect when in reality, the Queen was difficult to behold.
“Honoured guests,” she said with that ethereal voice that carried its own echo. “Carian Queen Rennala, Knight Princess Rellana. How grateful I am to welcome you in these halls, and for such a joyous occasion. Safety and peace of this land’s populace is a reason most honourable to put behind us those few differences that separate us.” She kept talking, all important phrases, surly, but Rellana turned her attention to the other guests. Among them, not a single sign of red. It seemed neither Messmer nor Radagon were present. Rellana swallowed her disappointment. Not that it really mattered. She was merely curious about the secret Messmer carried around underneath his robes. And maybe she had also been looking forward to reminding Radagon that he had lost the battle. As it was, the evening would be filled with empty pleasantries and the mildly murderous air between the two queens.
The food, at least, was phenomenal. Course after course of delicacies; Arteria-steamed crayfish with crab eggs, spiced liver with poached slumbering egg, sweet Altusbloom pie with Mirandapowder. Each dish came with the matching wine, crimson or cerulean, that helped lighten the atmosphere.
Rellana didn’t drink enough to truly notice any effects, but she still blamed inebriation for the question she posed right after the melted mushroom soup had been served.
“Why does the great hero Sir Radagon not join us tonight?”
Queen Marika turned towards her with a benevolent smile. “He has his own tasks, I am afraid, and has thus already left our capital.”
Now that the queen’s attention was on her already, Rellana dared another question. “What of his brother?”
There was no movement at all in Marika’s smile, and yet the air shifted. “Brother?”
Rellana had the sudden urge to stop speaking, but she forced herself to continue. “Or cousin? ‘Tis Sir Messmer I speak of.”
She shouldn’t have. The Eternal’s demeanour didn’t change; she still sat calmly at the far end of the table and smiled, and yet it would have been less terrifying if blood suddenly started to pool from the walls.
“Thou must be mistaken, knight princess,” Queen Marika said with a small chuckle. “Sir Radagon has no relatives in the capital.”
Rellana couldn’t speak. She merely nodded her head and turned back to her food as she tried to calm her racing heart. For a few more moments, tension continued to hang heavily over the table. Then, suddenly, the air shifted and it was all back to normal. Or whatever constituted normal in this place.
Rellana wasn’t sure how she made it through dinner, only knew that the whole time she hadn’t been able to form a single coherent thought. Her mind kept replaying the queen’s words over and over, and when it was announced that the feast was concluded and everyone would be retiring to bed, it needed Rennala to gently coax her out of her state.
“How long will we remain in the castle?” she asked as they made their way to the guest wing. Moonrithyll and Moongrum followed diligently.
“A few more days. Perhaps until the moon waxeth once more. The Queen and I will make appearances together as to reassure the populace that we have indeed reached a truce.”
Rellana nodded. She had not expected to be able to return home immediately.
“Art thou quite alright? Thou seemed distracted during the dinner. And who is that Sir Messmer thou hast spoken of?”
“It matters not. Queen Marika was right. I must have confused something.”
But she hadn’t. And Queen Marika was certainly not right.
“I shall see thee tomorrow, sister.”
“Thou shalt. And, Rellana.”
One hand already on the handle of her door, she turned.
“No more journeys through the castle by thy lonesome. At least allow Moonrithyll to accompany thee.”
Rellana bit her tongue and instead gave a Carian salute, though placed her hand slightly to the right of her heart. She had already made the decision that she would not cower in before the queen’s might, intimidating as it may be.
Whoever that Sir Messmer was, she would find out.
Only that she had to find him, first.